Chapter 1: Padme Amidala
There were over 12,000 thousand jewels in the Naboo treasury. Padme knew this because she was sure she was wearing every single one. The blazing red coronation gown pulled tight over her chest and stomach and billowed in voluminous folds behind her. The bodice was cut low so her neck and chest could be painted with intricate designs and symbols. Beneath the spidery gold diadem she could feel her makeup harden and crack over every twitch of her face. If I wasn't fourteen years old with a twelve-year-old's figure, Padme thought wryly, I'd look like a whore.
Not that were any whores on Naboo, she was sure. Padme associated whores with cities, nasty, gray places like Coruscant. There was nothing urban about Naboo. Even Theed, it capital and largest city, was green and open, resembling an elegant country estate far more than a center of commerce.
The Naboo didn't like to be reminded of that. To be reminded that the exquisite pastoral symmetry of their lives was built on a firm foundation of buying and selling, haggling and scheming. The small blue-green planet hung perfectly between the central planets of the Republic and the outerworlds; a place for traders to rest and refuel, and to pay an enormous fee to do so.
That was why the Republic leadership was taking such a keen interest in the recent election of an unknown, undersized girl to be Naboo's new queen. Chancellor Valorum was here, as well as Naboo's own Senator Palpatine. The two presented a striking contrast, Valorum tall and thin, an ascetic by nature and habit; and Palpatine, shorter, with a smooth open face and graying, curly hair, which he smooth down with heavy pomade. And getting rather fat, Padme noticed. Coruscant living must agree with him.
The procession music rose to drown all thoughts. As learned and cynical as she like to think she was, an involuntary shudder ran up her spine as the Naboo holy man appeared at the other end of the topaz-colored square. Padme had known Votya Chapuys her whole life and it was hard to suppress a smile as the stooped old man seemed to grown decades younger as he blessed the spectators lining the path. Chapuys always knew how to work a crowd.
The ceremony had been going on for hours and would continue to go on into the night. But this was the most vital part. As Chapuys and the acolytes reached her end of the square and climbed the marble steps, Padme folded her voluminous skirts under her and knelt before him. Slowly, theatrically, Chapuys, Chief Holy Man of Naboo, who occupied an office far older and more venerated than hers, unsheathed a jeweled dagger from his belt. Gently, he touched the flat of it on the top of her head, then on her forehead, just between her eyebrows, which the Naboo believed was sensitive to the Hidden Powers. Finally, Chapuys press the tip of the blade to her lower lip, the only part of her face not covered in makeup. So sharp and needle-fine was the blade that Padme didn't even know she'd been cut until she felt a thin stream of blood trickle down her chin.
The utter silence of the square thundered in Padme's ears as though the wind itself held its breath. Padme glanced quickly through the crowd and caught the eye of Senator Palpatine. He wore an expression of intense satisfaction. As well he should. Palpatine had been one her strongest supporters during her dark-horse campaign to be Queen. Although electing rules as young as Padme was not unknown in Naboo history, there were those who believed Naboo had outgrown this infatuation with youth and innocence. Naboo's position in Galactic commerce was too important to be trusted to well-meaning children as it had in the past.
But Palpatine had silenced them all. There was something kind and fatherly about Palpatine that made people trust him immediately. And no one could doubt his experience and prominence in the Galactic Senate. Wasn't he the Chancellor's right-hand man? Didn't leaders from much larger star systems seek out his counsel and advice? Palpatine's eloquent defense of Padme and Naboo tradition had secured her election.
Now, wearing the scar of remembrance still wet on her lip, no one could doubt her legitimacy as Queen. She was no longer Padme Naberrie, scholar, but Queen Amidala of the Naboo. No one will ever be open or honest with me again, thought Padme, not for the last time.