Chapter 3: Unintended message, someone's gonna get in trouble.
Author notes: It's a tease but we need some Leia and Han love here.
Han and Leia although not blending with the locals they were able to indulge in food and sights they have never experienced.
Many vendors gave extra helpings, all in jest for the extra mouth Leia needed to feed. Han has never seen Leia blush under the complements of strong females make strong children and they are the future.
Some recognized her as the Princess of Alderaan, more recognized the hairpin with the Alderaan symbol. One complimented the craftsmanship as Leia sat for a moment.
The back of his hair rose as he turned to his wife, a menacing-looking woman with the face of an angel and known tear drop stood an armlength in front of Leia.
Her hair gathered in a similar style Leia has worn, a crown braid he recalled. By Alderaanian standard it called to the warriors of old. Kohl-lined, harden black eyes were balanced by full wet-looking coral lips. Clad in a long black jacket with an open emerald, green blouse, offset by a black lace vest over tapered black pants tucked with low heeled boots. Very feminine with the harsh bite discipline.
Standing proud, this tank of a female screamed military officer. Not the kind that stood behind the war desk but forged in battle. It would be a safe bet she has many hidden weapons.
Instantly Han thought of at least six different escape routes.
Lowly this woman purrs in the southern Alderannian dialect, as she raises a clenched fist over her heart nods to Leia then looks over to him, "No protective squad Consort Solo? I'm disappointed." Taking Leia's six.
Ok, what the Kark? He understood enough to be pissed.
"Thank you, Marshal Dune my husband is only fluent in the northern dialect."
Slightly bending at the waist, in a stoic response, "My apologies, milady. Consort." Then saucily winks at his wife.
Oh hell, Leia is going to kill him.
Two passing Mandalorian guards preen as they nod to the Marshal.
Yep, he was going to hell.