Well, that's over. Still trembling Tosca is marched to the Temple adjacent to the Palace by two faceless masked and armored Imperial guards. There, she is shown into a small anteroom to sit and wait. One guard remains to hover near the door. The other disappears. Apparently, she is rightfully judged as not much of a threat or a flight risk. She volunteered for this, after all.

Tosca sags low in her chair, gulping back equal parts panic and regret. Steeling her resolve and swallowing her doubts. What's done is done. She succeeded, and she should be happy. This is what she wanted . . . right?

The waiting continues, giving her far too much time to brood while the man by the door watches silently. No doubt in disapproval. Has she made a terrible mistake? Is this the worst decision of her life? The Emperor is right. Marcus will be furious with her. If the truth gets out, he will never live it down. He'll be the Lord saved by his wife who made a sleazy bargain for his life.

She waits even longer. Is anyone ever going to come?

Finally, the door slides open. Tosca sits up as a Lord walks in. He's tall, but not excessively so. He probably tops her own unusual height by an inch or two. But that's all she can perceive. For like all Lords, this man wears a flowing black cloak with the hood pulled low. All she sees is a salt-and-pepper bearded chin and mustache, which is an unusual choice. As a rule, Lords are cleanshaven. Only the lower classes wear facial hair.

"Leave us," the Lord waves away the guard at the door. Then he turns to Tosca. "Lady Struct," he rumbles.

She stands to her feet in respectful silence. Her heart is beating so fast that she doesn't trust herself to speak anyway.

The Lord raises his hands to toss back his hood in a casual gesture. It reveals a pleasant face with even features and deep-set yellow eyes. The man is nearly as pale as she is, with no trace of ruddiness to speak of pureblood ancestry. His forehead is lined and there are crinkles at the corners of his eyes that suggest humor. He must be around fifty, she guesses. He looks distinguished. Almost kind.

"I am Tenebrae. I am the Master Sorcerer of the Temple." The man introduces himself by his name and his position in the pecking order. Because among the Sith, hierarchy is everything.

Tosca inclines her head warily. "My Lord."

He waves her back into her chair. It's the easy gesture of a man long used to command. Then the Lord seats himself and manspreads across the couch. He has one arm extended out across the adjacent cushion and his long legs apart with one boot propped on his knee. The man's casual sprawl speaks volumes about how comfortable he is in this situation compared to her. By contrast, Tosca perches on the edge of her seat, stiff with her hands on her tightly clenched knees. Sith Lords might take up space, but Sith Ladies typically do not.

The chief priest looks her over. He has a penetrating gaze that assesses her frankly. Tosca endeavors not to flinch. She's had her share of curious stares thanks to her appearance, especially her hair. She knows her overall presentation is somewhat unusual for a woman of her rank. But whatever. She's not here to impress this man who will likely be among those who abuse her. And so, Tosca meets his eyes steadily and lifts her chin.

He grunts. "Usually, the new girls are in hysterics just about now."

"Do I disappoint you?" she challenges quietly.

"You are not the usual Temple girl, that's for sure," he remarks. There is a hint of a smile about his accompanying smirk. "No one volunteers for this job. And you are hardly a girl. How old are you?"

"I will be forty next month."

He grunts again. "I would have guessed younger."

Yes, she knows. One benefit of being plump is that it keeps your face full and youthful. Maybe it's all the extra estrogen, but fat girls always seem to have good skin and shiny, thick hair.

The man looks almost troubled now. "You do know what this life entails?"

"Yes, I believe so."

He spells it out. "Temple girls assist in the rituals. Some of the rituals are frightening. Some are violent. Occasionally, they are of a sexual nature."

She looks down and gulps. Yes, she's heard whispers about orgies. Those rumors must be true.

He continues. "Temple girls are also available to the priests for comfort."

It's a polite euphemism they both understand. Tosca gulps again.

"The girls serve so long as I deign. Usually four or five years. Few last longer than that."

"Why?" she speaks up.

"Usually, it is because the priests in residence tire of them. It also makes room for newcomers. Every year, we get another one or two dragged here by their irate parents. We never run short of candidates," he assures her. "There's always some highborn teenaged girl who has managed to disgrace herself or thoroughly anger her father." Darth Tenebrae shrugs as he lists off their offenses. "Typically, it's a secret spice habit or some illicit love affair with a neighbor boy. We also seem to collect every budding lesbian in the Empire who refuses to marry to spite her parents."

"What happens when a girl is done with her service?" Tosca is almost afraid to ask.

"It's up to their families. Some agree to take them back."

"And the others?" Tosca hazards.

"They join the Force."

It's another euphemism they both understand. Tosca gulps a third time now. Because she is quite certain that when she's done here, Marcus will refuse to take her back. And then, she too will join the Force.

Lord Tenebrae merely shrugs. "It matters not to me. I let their fathers decide. These are family matters, after all." The priest shifts positions in his seat now. He's peering at her still. "In view of your unusual circumstances, I have advised the other priests that you are off limits. Meaning that you will not be available to them for comfort. Only to me."

Tosca can feel her face flame at this nonchalant frank statement about sex between them.

The priest ignores it. "Those rules will not sit well with the other girls, so do not advertise it. You are an exception. Be discrete."

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord," red faced Tosca whispers.

"Why are you doing this?" the man now asks plainly.

"My husband is on the Proscription List—"

"I know the circumstances. Why are you doing this?"

"To save his life. He's a good man."

That's an unsatisfactory explanation. "Good men die every day in service to the Emperor," Lord Tenebrae points out. "So, let Struct die. Remarry some old lonely widower who wears a mask and move on."

While that might be a solution for Tosca, who bears none of the Proscription taint, it does nothing for her husband and sons. And besides, she's not looking to exchange one husband for another. "People are not fungible. My husband is not interchangeable," Tosca replies softly.

The priest frowns. "Were you some sort of love match?"

"Of course, not!" Tosca takes offense. "We were a respectable couple. We met twice before our wedding," she retorts indignantly before she can think to be more submissive. She should probably be sucking up to this priest given who he will be to her, but that occurs to her too late. Instead, she bristles, "Who do you think I am?" before she can stop herself.

"I'm learning who you are." Thankfully, the Lord doesn't seem upset at her outburst. He continues looking at her curiously. Like he's genuinely trying to understand. "Do you love Struct now?"

"Well, yes," she answers automatically. "He's my husband. I honor and respect him." The Sith culture of arranged marriages for strategic gain might frown on sentiment as the basis for a relationship, but it fully supports familial love once marriage is established. Many marriages become extremely successful partnerships. And with divorce not an option, both spouses have to find a way to make things work. Luckily, she and Marcus were compatible from the outset. Her parents chose well for her.

"So, you wish to save the husband you have grown to love," the priest summarizes. "Why else are you doing this?"

Isn't it obvious? "I also want to keep my sons from the shame of having a proscribed father."

"I read about your husband and sons," Lord Tenebrae reveals. "I pulled their files. They are an unimpressive lot." He continues by critiquing her menfolk with the harsh objectivity that is characteristic of his culture. "Low midichlorian counts, less than average physical attributes, average intelligence. Your husband has lackluster performance reviews and your sons have mediocre grades. In all the measures of merit for a Lord, they each come up short."

"Not in my eyes," she maintains, adding tartly, "I suppose on all the measures for a Lady, I come up short myself. I'm as unimpressive as the rest of my family."

That claim prompts another smirking smile from Lord Tenebrae. "Hardly. You got this far with this harebrained scheme. You managed to impress the Emperor himself. Why are you doing this?" the man keeps asking. He seems genuinely befuddled.

She looks down. "It feels like it's my only option."

"You sound rash, my Lady. That is usually a sign of a bad decision. Did you panic?"

"Maybe," she concedes.

"Then I will allow you to reconsider," he offers magnanimously.

It's too late to renege. "I told the Emperor I would do this."

"He will allow you to reconsider. He thinks you are a valiant woman. Sacrifice is something the Empire asks of its Lords, but rarely of its Ladies. Sith Ladies are known to be a selfish, calculating bunch."

She eyes him for this comment. "Your cynicism does the Ladies of the Empire a great disservice."

"Perhaps. But nonetheless, he will allow you to reconsider. I am tasked with telling you that you have until the Proscription ritual to change your mind."

"When is that?"

"Two weeks. We have to publish the List and allow time to shuffle the ranks and jobs. The Emperor wants a seamless transition so that there will be no disruption of business."

"This is what I want," Tosca persists. This will save Marcus and the boys. There really is no other option. More time to think will not yield a better solution.

Still, the priest tells her, "Think it over." Then he shifts gears rather than continue the argument. "Alright, now that is out of the way, show me this blonde hair."

Tosca flushes but peels back the scarf from her head. Once more, she reveals her light blonde hair, tightly coiled into a chignon at her nape. Does it repulse him? If so, that might be a good thing. In his disgust, he might leave her alone. Deeming her beneath his interest.

"That hair is rare. Very rare among our people. As are your light eyes."

Yes, she knows. Her hair, her eyes, her figure. She's not your typical Sith Lady.

"Take down your hair. Show it to me."

Tosca complies. She reaches up to pull out the pins that hold fast her heavy locks. Then she unwinds her bun. Long blonde waves tumble down about her shoulders and down her chest. Only her husband has seen her hair like this. In public, she wears it tied back.

"Yours is an unusual beauty, Lady Struct," the priest says thoughtfully.

Tosca is uncertain whether she is being mocked or not.

The man now stands to his feet, moving to hover over her. He reaches out a hand to finger her hair, wrapping a tendril around his finger. It's a covetous gesture that makes her slightly uncomfortable.

"Wear your hair down like this when we are alone. I wish to see it."

And now, for the first time, Tosca senses that she has made a favorable impression. It's not what she's used to. It's also somewhat threatening given their relative positions. She was half hoping to give this man a disgust of her.

Can he sense how threatened she feels? The chief priest now steps back and retakes his seat. He cocks his head at her. "Tosca is an unusual name. I was expecting a Julia or a Livia or Octavia or something like that. Tosca isn't even Sith."

She explains, "It was a common name on the colony world my father was stationed on when I was born. My parents liked the name."

"I like the name," Tenebrae approves. "It suits you. There is nothing common about you." He says this like it's a good thing, and that's not the usual attitude for the rigidly conformist Sith. "So . . . did he grill you?"

"He?"

"The Emperor."

Tosca nods. When the priest looks at her expectantly, she elaborates. "My audience was probably only five minutes, but it felt like hours." She fiddles with her skirt nervously as she remembers. "He kept interrupting me and telling me to speak louder."

"Yeah, he can be a real dick sometimes."

"Oooh!" she stiffens, uncertain whether to respond to this vulgar disrespect. And from the chief priest of the Imperial Temple no less.

Lord Tenebrae continues his irreverence unconcerned. "Still, it probably woke the old guy up when he saw a woman in an audience. You're quite the novelty. You are maybe the second or third woman ever to get in there. Kudos to you for finagling that feat."

"The majordomo did not approve," Tosca grumbles.

"I can imagine. How long did he make you wait?"

"Almost three hours."

"That sounds like him. You'd think he is the Emperor and not the servant. That guy is a terrible snob."

"Actually," Tosca sighs, "I don't think the Emperor thought any differently."

"You are here, aren't you? And you are much better eye candy than the rest of today's Lords."

"Me? Oh, no—"

"There are not many women around the Palace," the priest tells her.

Right. That explains it. "I guess that sets the bar pretty low—"

"And you do have that striking blonde hair."

She reaches up self-consciously. "I didn't have time to dye it—"

"Oh, don't dye it. I like it. It's unusual. You're unusual."

Tosca recalls testily, "The Emperor saw it and called me a peasant."

"I told you he can be a dick."

"My Lord!" she hisses. "You are going to get yourself on the Proscription List!"

"Hardly," Darth Tenebrae smirks. "If he killed me, he'd have to find someone to replace me. And no one wants to be a professor of the Force these days. Most of the priests do their residency here and move on. They're just sucking up to the Emperor before they go back to the diplomatic corps or the navy. Darkness isn't their vocation. Usually, it's war."

She nods her understanding. "War prizes are where the money and prestige are at."

"Yes, but the Temple is where the power is. And power is a Sith's true purpose, not war," the priest contends. He takes it a step further now. "War is what got us into this situation. We overreached trying to defeat the Republic and we got trounced. It was a good thing the Sith lost so many Lords there at the end. Those guys were steering the Sith in the wrong direction."

That's not the conventional wisdom. The prevailing view is that one day the Sith will take their revenge upon the Republic for their humiliating defeat. War is the whole organizing principle of the Empire. Never has Tosca heard it stated otherwise. Flummoxed, she huffs, "You, my Lord, are very opinionated."

He laughs. He actually laughs. Then he sits forward to confide, "We sorcerers are like that. We are the contrarians of the Force. We don't play by the rules. We're always seeking to defy them or elude them."

"I've never met a sorcerer before," she concedes. It's a rare vocation. Most Lords work in a military or civic function.

Tenebrae looks mercurial now. "Sorcerers have more fun. And we have good party tricks. And that trumps a war prize any day."

Tosca raises an eyebrow at this claim. "Prove it."

Clearly, this Lord relishes a challenge. He says a few words in Kittat and concentrates a moment. And then, with a flourish of his hand he conjures a bouquet of white flowers.

"Oh!" Tosca is charmed. "Wow!" she breathes out. "How amazing!"

"For you," Lord Tenebrae stands and presents the bouquet. "Pretty flowers for a pretty lady. Bet old Struct can't do that."

"No, he couldn't." Tosca marvels at the exquisite flowers.

Lord Tenebrae chuckles low in his throat. "That's just the beginning of what I can do," he promises. He's flirting and they both know it. "See, there—I knew you could smile. I was hoping to see you smile. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance, Lady Struct. I will see you at dinner tonight." With that veiled command for an invitation, he draws up his hood and exits the room.

Next, a very no-nonsense woman appears to escort Tosca to her living quarters. Tosca soon learns that this laywoman functions as something of a matron to the Temple girls. The woman is clearly taken aback by Tosca's unexpected arrival. She is even more unwelcoming of Tosca's composed demeanor. The matron must be used to distraught, homesick young women who she can intimidate, and Tosca is nothing like that. She's a proud aristocrat long used to running her own household and supervising servants like this matron. Plus, she is here on her own terms. So when the woman speaks sharply to her, Tosca looks her over coolly. "You will address me as Lady Struct," Tosca announces. "And in the future, you will refrain from using that tone of voice to me."

Her response is the reflexive habit of a lifetime of living as an elite. It is also Tosca's introduction to the other Temple girls who stand as a crowd of gaping onlookers come to meet the new addition.

"There are no Ladies here," the disdainful matron sniffs.

"If you persist in your disrespect and rudeness, I will be forced to punish you," Tosca answers evenly. "And neither of us wishes that."

It's a quiet threat spoken in a pleasant tone, but it's still a threat. And it's a threat from a Force user. While Tosca might not be capable of summoning Force lightning on short notice and she's never choked anyone in her life, the matron doesn't know that. She backs down. The matron fumes as she shows Tosca to the small austere room that she will call her own. Then she thrusts a red veil at Tosca before she storms off in a huff. Tosca watches her go, knowing she has made an enemy.

She has also managed to make friends with the episode. The twelve other Temple girls now flood Tosca's room wanting to meet her.

They range in age from sixteen to twenty-four. All young girls who would have their whole lives ahead of them were their prospects not ruined by their current experience. Tosca recognizes two of their surnames as prominent families, but the girls are all strangers to her. As one by one they introduce themselves, Tosca can't help but wonder about their stories. How did they come to be here?

The girls are equally as curious about Tosca, and they are not shy about asking questions. Wow, you're old enough to be my mother, one says artlessly. And it's true. I'll be forty next month, Tosca admits with a smile. That is positively ancient sounding to this crowd. They cannot conceive of being thirty let alone forty. And well, given what Lord Tenebrae told her earlier, at least some of these pretty young things will never get the chance to see middle age. It's a sobering thought.

Tosca hears comments about her blonde hair that is still hanging loose. She gets a few compliments on her dress. Everyone admires the small bouquet of blooms she's still holding. Someone runs to get a glass to fill it with water to display them. It's all a prelude working up to the real question everyone is dying to ask: How did you end up here? A very young, pimply faced teen blurts it out: what did you do?

Tosca goes with her cover story. I committed adultery, she answers plainly. There seems no reason to sugarcoat the notion of sex to these girls. They are no longer the sheltered innocents typical of their tender years and unmarried status. Tosca's direct admission provokes respect and more curiosity. Who is your lover, one of the bolder, older girls asks. Then a babyfaced young one moans aloud that she hopes it's not her dad. Tosca brushes off the question which, naturally, just gets the girls' imaginations going. No doubt they are full of romantic notions of forbidden, illicit love.

The bold girl speaks up again. You're lucky to be alive. My dad would put a sword through my mother for that. He's a fucking asshole and I hate him! Ordinarily, proper Tosca might object to that language and sentiment, but she lets it slide. She's inclined to pity these girls rather than correct them. And she's not their mother, anyway.

From the girls, Tosca learns the daily routine. They appear in the Temple for the standard rituals twice a day. Other than that, they hang out. Maybe they will get summoned at night by a priest, maybe not. There are currently ten priests in residence and only three of them dabble with the girls. The others tend ignore them, much to everyone's great relief. The priests are all probably married, the boldest girl speaks her mind. You get dumped here for adultery, she gripes to Tosca, while they get it as a job perk. Life isn't fair.

She's right, Tosca knows. But these girls all presumably had a lot going for them before they ended up here. All they had to do was follow the rules for girls of their class. But somewhere along the way, they each must have deviated somehow. Looking at their young faces, Tosca can't help but wonder if any of these girls ended up here through no fault of their own. Like she did. Tosca did everything right and yet still ended up here in what amounts to the Dark Side's cloistered harem of nuns.

The rules are different for Lords and Ladies, Tosca sighs. But the bold girl persists on asking why. Why does it have to be different? Why is there a double standard for us? It's a question traditional, conventional Lady Struct has never thought to ask. She's never had to until now.

Tosca stands there a moment stumped. Because she's part of a culture that separates women into good girls and bad girls, madonnas and whores, Ladies and common women. Heretofore she has only seen the protective, beneficial side of the Sith patriarchy. Never the ugly consequences for those Ladies who fall off their pedestals. Maybe it's the mother in her, but looking around at the faces of these forsaken daughters, all Tosca can summon is compassion. She doesn't even know their offenses, but condemnation is the furthest thought from her mind.

So what are the rules of the veil, Tosca quickly changes the topic. She shakes out the red sheer gauzy fabric she has been given. It marks a Temple girl for an outcast. She learns that the veil must be worn at all times outside these quarters. It attaches with a clip to her hair and hangs down to nearly to her waist, covering her completely. Underneath, the matron requires the girls to wear shapeless heavy black long-sleeved, high-necked dresses. For girls who are basically kept as sex slaves, the outfits are ironically very prim.

Tosca takes one look at the rack of available size options for the unused dresses and decides that none will fit. For starters, not one of them looks long enough to reach past her knees. Tosca is a woman who can make a lot of things work, but too small clothing is not one of them. She resolves that she will wear her current dress instead. Can you do that, a girl asks warily. Yes, Tosca answers. The matron can take it up with her if she has issues.

Just then, there is a firm knock at the door down the hall. All the girls freeze. "Someone's been summoned!" the girl nearest Tosca hisses.

"Lady Struct." The knock at the door is the gloating matron who indicates that it is Tosca who is selected.

The other girls hurry to clip on her veil and whisper advice. If it's the fat one with an accent, she should keep filling his wine glass to get him drunk. Eventually, he will pass out and leave her alone. If it's the young guy, he's actually very nice. He often just wants company and he tends to talk about how much he misses his wife. The naval commander has a mean streak, so Tosca is told to be very meek. The really old grandpa guy just wants you to jerk him off, the bold girl informs Tosca with cringeworthy candor. He too feeble to get it up. If it's him, you're in luck. When you're done, he tends to pat you on your head and send you back.

Tosca nods as she inwardly quakes at this well-intentioned frankness. The girls don't know it, but she's heading to see the Master Sorcerer. He's a man who Tosca judges to be plenty spry for fornication. Too bad the old grandpa isn't the chief priest, she sighs.

Tosca steps out and is handed over to four guards. Once the lead guard dismisses the matron, he produces a wad of black fabric. Tosca blinks at it in confusion. "What is this?"

"It's a hood. Put it on."

Tosca gulps and gingerly pulls the heavy fabric down over her face. It obscures everything immediately. The guards turn her about several times now to further disorient her. Then, with a guiding hand at each elbow, she is marched forward. Like a prisoner.

What has she gotten herself into, Tosca wonders beneath the hood. Her quiet life full of routines upset now and then by the occasional domestic crisis is gone for good. Now, she's a figure of contempt lying to the world about a transgression she would never commit. All for the purpose of saving the family she pretends to have betrayed. She's the good girl pretending to be the bad girl. A Lady who masquerades as a whore. Was she a fool to opt out of the protections her society offers her? Once more, Tosca has her doubts. Maybe she should back out . . .

Tosca seems to go a long way given the Temple complex is not that large. She enters and exits at least two sets of elevators. She hears footsteps and men's voices now and then. But that's all she can discern. Every so often, the guards halt and turn her around again to confuse her sense of direction. It's an effective tactic. Tosca is completely lost, swaying on her feet, and feeling dizzy when finally the guards release their hold and someone standing close snatches off the suffocating hood.

It's Lord Tenebrae, the chief priest himself.

Surprised and blinking at the sudden bright light, Tosca stumbles slightly forward into him. He catches her upper arms to steady her.

"I see you missed me," he smirks. "Hungry?" he solicits as if nothing is amiss. He gestures to an elaborately set table in the luxuriously furnished room she finds herself in.

Tosca instantly rights herself and steps back. She looks to the table and then to the priest, blinking in confusion through her filmy red veil.

"Leave us," the priest barks his dismissal at the guards who still surround her. And now, they are alone again. Just her and the Lord who has reserved her favors for himself. But he's also the man who has offered her a way out of this mess. Tosca has only been at the Temple a few short hours, but she's learning fast what this wretched life entails. And she's no longer quite so certain as she was earlier in the Emperor's throne room.