Tosca opens her eyes and is momentarily disoriented. Where is she? She's in her bed in her small room in the cloister, naked and wrapped in a bed sheet. Someone dumped her veil, clothes, and shoes in a pile on the floor.

She sits up slowly, wipes the sleep from her eyes, and runs a hand through her disheveled hair, catching her fingers in the tangles. She smells like sex and sweat. His sweat. As memories of last night flood her mind, Tosca lowers her head into her hands. And that's when she hears a soft knock at the door.

Tosca tucks the bedsheet closer up around her armpits as she calls out weakly, "Come in."

It's Poppaea. "You're awake." She walks in and immediately closes the door.

Tosca looks the young girl up and down. She's fully dressed complete with veil. "Am I late?"

"It's almost ten."

"Ten?" Tosca blinks in surprise. "Oh."

"We just got back from the garden." Poppaea shrugs as she plucks out her own veil. This girl of seventeen is far too jaded for her own good. "Be glad you missed Prime. They burned the bodies," she reports. "The smell was terrible. The cleaning crew is in the Temple now but there's not enough bleach and droids to make that place tolerable again."

"Oh."

"I'm dreading Compline."

"Yeah, me too," Tosca sighs.

"He was there," the girl volunteers.

"He?"

"The chief priest. The one who did the ritual last night. The guy with the beard."

"Oh." Tosca quickly looks down.

"He was there to preside over the funeral pyre. He lit it with Force lightning." Poppaea is watching her closely now. "He was also probably there to see you," she adds casually.

"Me?" Tosca gulps.

"I was awake when he brought you back this morning. I saw him carry you in asleep in the Force."

"He carried me?" Lord Tenebrae must be a lot stronger than he looks. Tosca is no lightweight.

Poppaea nods. "With the Force, I presume."

"Oh. Of course." Tosca raises fretful eyes to her visitor. "Did anyone else see?" she whispers as she feels her face flush.

"No. Just me. Everyone else was asleep. I was awake because I had just come back myself." Meaning Poppaea had spent the night with that naval commander priest again. "Are you alright?" the girl asks Tosca softly.

She looks so concerned that Tosca answers automatically. "Yes, I'm fine. Perfectly fine." The words come out fast and defensive.

Young Poppaea raises an eyebrow with clear skepticism. Again, it's a sophistication far beyond her years. "Really?" she presses.

No. "Yes. I'm fine."

"There's no one in the shower now. A shower always helps," Poppaea suggests. Her next words betray how completely she understands Tosca's situation firsthand. "The shower is a good place to cry. No one sees or hears, so no one bothers you."

Tosca nods. That's good advice.

"This helps too," Poppaea counsels as she sets two things down on the bedside table.

"What is it?" Tosca asks blankly.

"Pain reliever and some of that new bacta gel. It will help erase those bruises."

"B-Bruises?" Tosca stammers.

"Yes." The girl points to her throat and shoulders and Tosca surmises that Lord Tenebrae's kiss has left its mark. Poppaea next sets a small muffin wrapped in a napkin on the table. "I saved you some breakfast, if you want it."

"Thanks." Tosca is grateful for these small kindnesses. Truly she is. But they are bringing home in a very real way her solidarity with miserable Poppaea, and that frightens her. Tosca's bottom lip starts to tremble and she looks away fast.

Her incipient tears are not lost on her visitor. "My Lady . . . Aunt Tosca . . . it will be alright."

"R-Really?" Tosca asks hopefully. Because she's not so sure. For in the immediate morning after, all she feels is crushing guilt. She is ashamed, so very ashamed, of what she did last night.

"Yes. It will be alright. You will be fine."

"Thank you," Tosca sniffs as she wipes at her eyes. Just days ago, she had been trying to help Poppaea deal with her situation. To draw the sullen girl out and get her talking. And now, their roles are reversed. Poppaea's befriending her now. Because this very pretty pureblood Sith teenager with red skin, black eyes, black hair, and elegant cheek tendrils is an expert at the aftermath of compelled sex. This is a sorority Tosca never dreamed she would join, but now she too is wondering if she can manage to make it to the shower before she bursts into tears. Suddenly, Tosca understands completely how why this high strung, overly emotional girl feels the way she does.

But just now, Poppaea is feigning jaded nonchalance. "It's just sex," the girl shrugs.

Tosca looks up and pretends too. "You're right. It's just sex," she agrees.

Poppaea keeps looking at her with sympathetic eyes. She probably thinks Tosca is just like her. Except Tosca's situation is far more complicated in some ways. Because Poppaea didn't volunteer for this treatment. And, Tosca suspects, Poppaea didn't enjoy herself quite the way Tosca had in her priest's arms. It's a little humiliating to admit that even to herself. She feels her face grow hot at the memory of her night with the chief priest in his bed under the window of stars.

Poppaea speaks up again now. Her voice is hushed and intense. "I'm going to get out of here. One day, I am going to get out of here." She says this like a solemn vow.

Alarmed Tosca looks up. "Poppaea—"

"Poppy. My friends call me Poppy."

"Poppy, don't talk like that. Please don't talk like that. You can't escape this place."

The younger girl has a firm set to her jaw and a determined gleam to her eye. "I will," she declares staunchly. "You'll see."

Her quiet resolve makes Tosca even more alarmed. "Don't try! It's suicide!"

"Maybe so," Poppaea concedes. "But that won't stop me from trying. I have to try."

Oh Force, she's serious. Tosca starts panicking now. "Please don't talk like that—please don't do anything foolish—"

"When I'm ready, I'll let you know. In case you want to come with me. That's why I am telling you now."

"Poppy!" Tosca hisses. "Stop this talk! Someone will hear and tell the matron—"

"I can't stay here. I won't stay here." Poppaea looks at her steadily. "Aunt Tosca, in time you will know why. When you wake up like this day after day for months on end, you will know why I need to try." Then, before Tosca can argue further, Poppaea cracks open the door to peek out. "The coast is clear," she judges. "Now's your chance to make it to the shower without being noticed. Stuff the sheet in the laundry bin and the maids will deal with it," she advises with experience that makes Tosca want to cringe.

Tosca stands now to head for a shower, but as she brushes past Poppaea she admonishes under her breath, "Please reconsider. And talk to me first before you do anything."

The shower helps. After that, Tosca spends the rest of the day trying to focus on something other than herself. All the girls here have been through a version of her experience. They cope with it and she can too. Fearful of becoming an adult version of brooding, desperate Poppaea, Tosca avoids unpacking her twisted mess of emotions that surrounds last night. She basically ignores what happened the best she can.

Later that day, Tosca dutifully shows up at Compline. The Temple sanctuary is filled with pews again. Other than the lingering smell of strong chemicals and a slight dampness to the stone walls and floors, things are basically back to normal. There's no sign of the four hundred Lords who died here last night. On some level, the quick cleanup is an impressive display of Imperial efficiency. On another level, it is a terrible statement on how cheaply life is valued at the premier Temple of Darkness. After last evening, Tosca wonders whether the Temple is more house of horrors than church. Because even the chief priest seems to find the daily services to be meaningless. The only thing of consequence Tosca has seen happen here so far is a mass execution.

Promptly after Compline, she is summoned. Truthfully, Tosca is expecting it. She marches to the door, dons the black security hood, and follows the guards' directions. There's no point in resisting and she might as well get this over with. She is going to have to face Lord Tenebrae again sooner or later.

The guards deposit her in the same lounge she has been in before. It includes a table set for two just like she remembers. Tonight, apparently, she and Lord Tenebrae will dine before things get started. But where is he? The room is empty. It's just Tosca and those red armored guards who look so fearsome.

She wanders across the room to ostensibly look out the window. Tosca stands tall and composed beneath the red veil. She's trying for maximum dignity with her body language. But really, it's just a pose to put her back to the contemptuous guards and create distance from the table set for dinner. She's standing still with her hands clasped when the door slides open to admit Lord Tenebrae. She knows it's him without looking. No one else creates such a blank in the Force. It's like some concealment trick, she realizes.

"Leave us," he dismisses the guards. Only once the door slides shut behind them does Tosca turn her head slightly to acknowledge the priest. Then, she's back to pretending to look out the window. Except she's gripping her hands tighter now to hide their trembling.

Lord Tenebrae does not approach. He just stands there off to her right near the door, watching.

Tosca makes a face beneath the veil. This is every bit as awkward as she feared. She should say something, but what? She truly does not know how to handle this situation. There is no tried-and-true social script to fall back on. Tosca's aplomb deserts her.

He breaks the silence. "Did I hurt you?"

How does she answer that question? Physically, yes. A bit. No woman's body is made for that much sex. She's stiff all over and a bit sore down there. But it's all very minor, like the slight bruises on her neck and chest. And emotionally? Well, she's kind of numb. Tosca has successfully avoided processing what happened last night. From the ritual murder to the adultery, it was all too much. Way too much.

"Tosca, did I hurt you?" he asks again.

She should say something. But there is everything and nothing to say. Her options are too much or too little. And no matter what she says, it won't change anything. So, she takes refuge in the time-honored non-answer of upset women everywhere. It's what she told Poppaea this morning and what she has been telling herself all day long: "I'm fine."

She's fine. She's always fine. Because no matter what happens, no matter what life brings, Tosca finds a way to make things work. She solves problems or manages things and moves on. It's who she is. The cook leaves a pan on the stove and sets the kitchen on fire and the repairs are just a small remodeling project to plan. Her son is told not to bother applying to the Academy and suddenly she's rationalizing engineering as an alternative career path. Her husband comes home to announce he's on the Proscription List and she finds a solution. That's how things go: in her domestic sphere, she is the one to clean up other people's messes, manage the damage control, and find alternatives. All while standing mostly unheralded in the background.

"I'm fine," Tosca repeats. And she doesn't know who she's trying harder to convince—herself or him. Because she's stuck as this man's concubine living with a miserable bunch of castoff girls at the Palace Temple. Escorted everywhere by guards who are armed to the teeth and openly disrespectful. Meanwhile, she has abandoned two children to fend for themselves with the servants while their father is deployed to the edge of the Empire. The youngest is only ten and he still sleeps with a stuffed toy even though everyone pretends not to know it. So, she's fine. Absolutely fine. F-I-N-E fine. Thanks for asking.

Lord Tenebrae sounds apologetic now. "I overdid it. I should not have used you that way."

Used. It's the perfect verb choice, Tosca thinks bitterly. She made a bargain with the Emperor and fell into this guy's lap as a job perk.

He starts explaining now. "I have been too long without a woman. And I have a tendency for excess."

Yes, indeed. It was like an entire honeymoon's worth of sex in one night. Too much. Way too much.

"It got out of hand. I did not intend for things to become so . . . intense."

He's talking in the vague and uncomfortable way that men and women always discuss sex. It's a hard topic, naturally. But sex used to have rules she understood. Not anymore. And that's the problem.

"Are you alright?"

Lord Tenebrae walks closer now, but she's still facing away. Her body language is rejection even if her words downplay it. "Yes, of course." She's alright. She's fine. "I'm fine," she says doggedly.

"You're lying," he accuses.

It gets her hackles up. "I am a mature, married woman, not some teenaged virgin you deflowered. It's fine," she declares in a choked voice. Then, she repeats her new mantra: "It's just sex." That's what she's been telling herself since the conversation this morning with Poppaea. But somehow the words are no consolation. Saying them out loud doesn't make them any more convincing either.

She's not fooled and neither is he. Lord Tenebrae observes dryly, "If you are as mature and experienced a woman as you claim to be, then you know there's no such thing as 'just sex.'"

"No. There is not," she agrees somewhat plaintively. "My Lord—"

"Carl."

"Do not treat me like that ever again." She throws back her veil from her face and turns to him now. She does not want last night's orgy for two to set a precedent. So, Tosca starts boldly claiming boundaries. "When I wish to leave, the e-evening is over. When I d-decline, you will respect that. You w-will treat me like the Lady I am despite my . . . ah . . . predicament." The words are strong but the delivery is shaky. Because Tosca finds it very hard to talk about this so directly.

Lord Tenebrae eyes her coolly. "You don't get to make the rules."

"I just did," she snaps.

He looks almost amused by her assertiveness. "This is how you had words with the matron, isn't it? All frosty and ladylike? I am not the matron, Tosca. You do not intimidate me. And you have no leverage here."

Oh, yes, she does. Tosca remembers very vividly last night. Unless he has another fat blonde woman stashed somewhere for his nightly pleasure, then she has leverage. But she's too smart to state it overtly. Instead, she takes refuge in his earlier euphemism for their arrangement. "This is how I wish us to be friends, my Lord. This is how we both can be comfortable with this matter."

"Carl. We are alone. When we are alone, call me Carl."

Tosca digs in. "Are we agreed?"

"I will agree not to repeat last night."

That's the best she's going to get out of him, Tosca decides. This power obsessed man won't cede an inch. So, she relents and deems it victory. "Very well, my Lord."

"Carl."

"Carl," she repeats.

That conversation takes a bit of the awkwardness out of their meeting. It clears the air somewhat to address last night straightaway. But Tosca is far from relaxed. She's very concerned that this guy is going to think last night is the new normal. But she's done all she can to prevent that.

"Come, sit down," he invites, pulling out her chair. "I missed you at Prime. You had me worried."

Tosca takes her seat. "I was tired." For obvious reasons.

"Wine?" he asks as he lifts the uncorked bottle waiting on the table.

"Yes, thank you." He fills her glass and Tosca grabs for it. Maybe if she's tipsy, this evening will go better.

They lift the warming covers off the waiting plates. He begins eating as she drinks. Tosca doesn't really want food right now. So she conducts a covert inspection of her dinner partner. His eyes look better today, she judges. They are still bright yellow, but the red spots seem to have faded. And if Lord Tenebrae is any worse for last night's excess of Force and sex, it doesn't show. He looks fit and rested. Happy even. It's a far cry from Tosca's slightly puffy, red rimmed eyes and bruises. She's not feeling her best or looking her best currently.

As she sips at her wine and looks her fill, Tosca's conscience keeps pricking at her. For everywhere she looks, she is reminded of last night. The hands that lift the bottle to fill her glass are the hands that stroked her body until it quivered. His wry half-smile are the lips that drove her wild with passion. Under that black cloak are the broad shoulders she clung to, pulling him closer. Now, a day later, Tosca cannot deny that she is attracted to Lord Tenebrae on a purely physical level. It's unsettling. She ought to be repulsed by this guy. But she's not. And that's one more thing to feel confused and guilty about.

"You're not eating?" Her untouched plate gets the priest's attention as he moves to refill her glass.

"I'm not very hungry."

"You slept through breakfast, you skipped lunch, and you're not hungry?"

"How did you—"

"There are no secrets in this Palace," he informs her pointedly. "You should remember that."

"Yes, my Lord," she whispers out of habit.

It annoys him. "Yes—"

"Carl," she yelps quickly. "Yes, Carl." Then she takes another big gulp of wine.

"Stop looking at me like that," he growls at her.

"Like what?" she squeaks nervously.

"Like I'm going to drag you to the floor and rape you." Lord Tenebrae is resentful. He points his fork at her to punctuate his words as he grinds out, "I told you I am not Dramath."

"Yes, my Lord."

It's the wrong thing to say. He rises, throws down his napkin, and stalks across the room. He's visibly frustrated. Even the Force projects his anger.

Tosca looks down and corrects herself softly. "Yes, Carl."

He turns around. His mouth is a tight, straight line as he fumes, "I have ruined things, haven't I?"

What does she say to that? He's looking at her expectantly, so she improvises. "This is new to me. I have never had a lover. But I am trying."

"Well, you can stop guzzling wine. I won't touch you tonight. There's no need to get falling down drunk in anticipation of me," he gripes. "And stop telling me 'yes.' The woman who marched into the throne room wasn't a woman who said 'yes' all the time and agreed with life as it comes. That was a woman who took matters into her own hands and thought for herself."

That lecture is unfair, and Tosca says so. Irritated, she drops the submissive posture and speaks her mind. "You just told me that I don't get to make the rules. And now, you want me to break them? Let me guess—you want a woman with spirit so long as her opinions don't contradict yours, right? Men always want to be obeyed and their judgements ratified. They never want to hear that they're wrong."

"I don't like you meek. It doesn't suit you," he counters as he stalks back towards the table.

"Do you know what happens to women who take matters into their own hands and think for themselves in our society?" she jeers. "Some of them end up in your Temple cloister as martyrs to the misogyny of the Sith! So forgive me if I am apt to agree too much. But as you pointed out already, you have all the power between us." Yikes. She is nearly shouting. Tosca reins herself in, embarrassed for the outburst.

But she's getting it now. This man wants it both ways. He wants her accommodating but challenging. Just like last night he had praised how good she is while he egged her on to be bad. What an impossible man. There will be no pleasing him.

But then, Lord Tenebrae confounds her. "Better," he approves. "This is better. When we are in private, I like you unfiltered. I hear 'Yes, my Lord' all day long. I don't want to hear it from you as well." He retakes his seat at the table. "Now, eat something so you don't fall over drunk from two glasses of wine on an empty stomach."

Tosca complies. And given his encouragement to plain speaking, she now raises a subject that has been worrying her. "Last night you said that it has been seven hundred years since you last kept a woman."

He nods, "Yes."

"Why?"

"I've been busy," he answers breezily. And that is unconvincing given this guy is rarely in his own Temple. Tosca still has no idea what he does all day. But he can't possibly be that busy.

"Who was she?" Tosca probes.

He puts her off. "It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter."

"Tell me," she presses. "I want to know." She's very curious about her predecessor.

Lord Tenebrae is clearly reluctant about this topic, but he answers anyway. "She was a safe choice. A villager from a colony world. She had no family. No Force. No aspirations—or so, I thought at the outset. She was sweet natured and accommodating. She was a simple girl really." The priest now shoots a sly smirk across the table. "She was nothing like you, my Lady."

Tosca ignores the provocation. She can't tell if it is praise or not. "So . . . you got bored? Is that it?"

"No. It wasn't boring at the end."

"Did you love her?" Tosca asks bluntly.

Lord Tenebrae raises an eyebrow. "I only love power."

Yes, and his mother, Tosca remembers. "Were you together long?"

"Two years or so. She got pregnant and things didn't work out." The priest makes a face at Tosca and warns rather belatedly, "Don't get pregnant." He has the gall to say this like it would be her fault alone.

But it's a non-issue. "I'm way past all that." Tosca took permanent birth control years ago when she and Marcus determined that they couldn't afford a third child. Not given the expense of all the schooling and other advantages they wanted to give their boys. It wasn't Tosca's preferred outcome—she would have welcomed another child—but it was the right choice. She long ago accepted it and moved on. And besides, at forty she's probably not particularly fertile any more. So, she tells the priest with full confidence, "There is no risk. I took care of that years ago."

"Good," he grunts. "Because I don't want a child. I will not have a child."

And that just begs the question: "What happened to your pregnant girlfriend?"

"She forced my hand. Refused to get rid of the baby. Wanted me to marry her." Lord Tenebrae sighs and warns, "I do not respond well to ultimatums."

Uh oh. This doesn't sound good. Tosca's eyes widen. She looks at him questioningly.

He takes refuge in vagueness. "I handled the situation. It ended."

"Oh."

Tosca's reaction must show her fears for the worst. Lord Tenebrae does nothing to downplay them. "I killed her," he says very matter of fact. "Do not get pregnant. You're the mothering type who would want to keep it. I won't let you keep it. Do you understand?"

She nods. "Yes, my Lord." And for once, he does not correct her.

"The Emperor would never allow it. He knows that were I to have any offspring, they would be a threat to him. They would have too much Force."

"I understand." And why is he harping on this? Tosca doesn't want to have another baby, she wants to help her existing children. That's why she's here.

But the priest keeps up his stern warnings. "I will not marry you. I am not the marrying type. You should know that."

"I remember. You're a confirmed bachelor." Then, Tosca points out, "I'm also already married." She's doing this to save her husband, not to find a new one.

Lord Tenebrae relents now. "I'm glad we understand each other. Any other parts of my past you wish to know about?" he solicits. "Ask away. I'm an open book."

Tosca very much doubts that. Not when he has over a millennium of personal history to account for. But the priest must be sensing her relax somewhat as they talk longer. And, putting last night aside, Lord Tenebrae has always spoken of them as friends. Like he wants a relationship and more than just sex. Tosca is starting to think she wants that too on some level, if possible. Because making this a purely physical thing seems very empty. Verging on transactional. Like she's some sort of prostitute.

"Nothing?" He cajoles her now when she doesn't immediately pepper him with questions. "Tosca, I want you to be comfortable with me. I want you to know who I am."

Well, okay then. His words embolden Tosca to ask about a name from his distant past that keeps coming up. It's the name that Lord Tenebrae likes to contrast himself against. "That Lord you killed to seize control of your homeworld—that was Lord Dramath, wasn't it?" she guesses.

The priest's eyes narrow. He doesn't look happy about this topic either, but he nods. "Yes."

"Were you trying to liberate your world?"

He grunts at her heroic romanticism. "I was trying to kill my father. It was personal, not political. I killed him and his family for revenge. I have never regretted it," he boasts. Over a thousand years later, Lord Tenebrae is still proud of that dubious achievement.

"And what happened to your mother?" Tosca asks. She's the only person Lord Tenebrae speaks fondly about. Tosca instinctively wants to know more about the woman.

As expected, it's yet another touchy subject. The priest exhales a long sigh before he answers. It makes him seem to deflate a bit. Some of his self-assurance disappears. "My mother died a few years before I killed Dramath."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tosca remarks automatically. "You must have been very young to lose her."

Lord Tenebrae looks away and blurts out, "Don't be sorry for me. I killed her. I killed my own mother."

"Oh." Tosca swallows hard. She didn't see that coming. Well, there's a story there, for sure. So, with more than a little trepidation, Tosca softly urges, "Tell me." She is trying to sound neutral without judgement. To listen to his explanation like she listens to the Temple girls confess their sins. And really, it's for the same goal. She's trying to understand this man. The chief priest of the Dark Side seems very much an enigma. Basically, all she knows about him is that he's a bit of a heretic and he's killed a lot of people. There has to be more to him than that.

Lord Tenebrae resists, eyeing her with suspicion. "Why do you want to know this?"

Because he says loved his mother. It's one of the few things that redeems this man in Tosca's eyes. But she answers more benignly. "Carl," she uses his given name and he looks up sharply. "Carl, I want to know you. So we can be friends," she uses his turn of phrase again.

He thinks a moment, as if deciding when to begin the story and how much to tell. Then he speaks slowly as he looks away, like he's reliving the distant past as he recalls it.

"My stepfather drank. Afterwards, he would come home and knock my mother around, calling her names. I'd seen him do it many times. But one night, I finally intervened." The priest sighs again and deflates some more. "I killed him. It was an honest accident. I was angry and my power kicked in and I couldn't control it. I was trying to scare him but I went too far. I never meant to kill him."

He glances over as if to gauge whether she believes him. Tosca does. He is utterly sincere. And miserable about it still, she sees.

"How old—"

"Ten. I was ten." The same age as Lucius who still sleeps with his stuffed bear.

"I was horrified. Crying my eyes out because I thought I had killed my own father. That's when my mother told me truth. He wasn't my father. My father was the local Sith Lord. She and my stepfather had gone to him for help, seeking justice on a land dispute. They left without justice. Instead, they left with a bastard child. Lord Dramath raped my mother. I was the result."

"Oh, my." Now Tosca understands the distinction Lord Tenebrae keeps trying to draw with references to his father.

"It took me years to piece together the story. It wasn't the sort of thing my mother spoke to other villagers about. But my aunt confirmed it."

"So why did it happen?" Tosca presses gently. "Why did you kill your mother if she was not to blame?"

Lord Tenebrae looks increasingly uncomfortable and his words slow down. He's choosing them carefully now. "My ten-year-old self didn't understand that she was a crime victim and not an unfaithful wife. Suddenly, all the ugly names my stepfather called her when he got drunk made sense. Because he knew that she had been with another man. I guess he couldn't get past that humiliation and anger. I later learned that my mother had argued with my stepfather about whether to keep me. But she prevailed and they raised me as their own. Only the decision didn't sit well with my stepfather. It festered over time as I grew and they had no children of their own."

Lord Tenebrae's face is full of regret as he keeps revealing more. "All I knew that night was my mother had admitted that I was the spawn of Dramath, the enemy Sith and the most hated man on our world. She had betrayed the man I loved as a father and she had betrayed our family with the invaders. I was already out of control, so the solution seemed obvious. It was easy," he chokes. "That's how little I understood what I was doing. It happened before I could stop myself."

The sad story is less shocking than how vulnerable Lord Tenebrae now appears. It's a marked departure from his normal self. The priest appears as a man in his fifties. But right now, his crumpled face is that of a lost child. As a mother, Tosca recognizes that bleak neediness in his watery eyes. "Oh, Carl, you poor boy," she whispers before she can stop herself. Because as awful as his decisions were, he was still a ten-year-old. He had set out to defend his mother, but he ended up orphaning himself. All because he couldn't control his immense power.

Lord Tenebrae meets her eyes now. "It was my first lesson in the Force. I had no Master. I had to learn from my mistakes."

She's not following. "What was the lesson?"

"Control. You must learn control." Lord Tenebrae now repeats what he told her last night in the aftermath of the ritual. "Darkness is dangerous. If you do not control it, it will control you. And then it will consume what you love. You can lose what matters most in the pursuit of power."

She's almost afraid to ask, but she does anyway. "What happened next?"

His delivery becomes very matter of fact now. Lord Tenebrae is dispassionate about the fallout from his parents' deaths. "It was a downward spiral from there. I panicked and went a killing spree to cover my crimes. Once I started, I couldn't stop. Those who I didn't kill, I subdued. Slowly, little by little, I began to take over neighboring villages by manipulation and by the Force. It was a defensive tactic to help them hide me from the local authorities. But over time, it became a creeping takeover of my homeworld."

"And Lord Dramath didn't stop you?"

"He was a lazy administrator. It took him a year to even notice. By then, I had a foothold. I eluded capture for a few years. And then one day, I became tired of living as a hunted criminal. I walked into Dramath's throne room and challenged him. He laughed. But I won." Lord Tenebrae sits back and flashes a truly wicked grin. "It was the best day of my life. Power never felt that satisfying again."

Really? Tosca gestures to the luxury around them. "All of this power and prestige doesn't feel good?"

He shrugs. "It's fine. But it's not killing Dramath. That was revenge, but it was also justice. Everything since then has just been . . . " he falls silent, searching for the right word, "more. It's just more. It's not better. Plus, the higher you climb, the farther you will fall. Sometimes," Lord Tenebrae muses wistfully, "I wish I had stayed the Sith Lord of a fringe world. Conjuring rainstorms to feed the crops in my mother's old cooking pot."

"You're a long way from that now," Tosca remarks with true admiration. This man's rise is nothing short of remarkable. And yet, he's so dissatisfied sounding. Tosca doesn't know what to make of it. Because this man is a big winner in life even if he didn't start out that way. But maybe the real problem has nothing to do with achievement in his career. Maybe what's missing is people to share it with. But that's entirely his own fault, Tosca judges. Because no matter the crimes of his misspent youth, Lord Tenebrae had a chance to create a new family of his own and he squandered it. Recalling his story about killing his pregnant girlfriend, Tosca is not sympathetic in the least. Lord Tenebrae didn't break the cycle of violence, he repeated it. This man killed his entire family, even his own baby.

"You and I—we are very different." Tosca tries to say this without judgement, but it's hard because they have completely different values. She's here trying to salvage her family's future, willing to debase herself in the process, while this man seems hellbent on destroying everyone close to him.

"We are very different," he agrees mildly. "You are good."

He leaves the corollary unspoken: that he is evil.

"I ceased to be good when I was ten years old. Through a series of events that I could and couldn't control, I ended up supplanting Dramath. I became the very thing I swore to destroy."

"That was the Force at work, wasn't it?" Tosca says with sudden insight.

"Yes," he approves of her comment. "Just like the Force sent you to me."

Tosca bites her lip and tries to push down her misgivings. Because the more she learns about this man, the more dangerous he becomes. She watched him kill hundreds last night in a ritual style execution. But that bloodlust wasn't just Lord Tenebrae doing his job for the Emperor. Killing appears to be his way of life. It's how he handles most problems, she worries. Is this why the chief priest is lonely enough to pick a homely middle-aged Temple nun to declare as his friend? Because he hurts everyone else who gets close to him? Because, unlike with Tosca, if he took a peer wife and hurt her, there might be repercussions from her family? And, oh Force, what does that mean for her?

Either the Force or her face is giving her away, maybe both. Because Lord Tenebrae observes, "I have frightened you."

"Yes," she freely admits.

He is philosophical about it. And unapologetic. "I am not an ordinary man and I do not live by conventional rules."

Yes, clearly, she thinks. But why does the Emperor let him get away with all this?

"Tosca, I have no wish to hurt you. We have no quarrel and I desire to keep it that way. And I am no longer age ten. I can control my power. I do not kill indiscriminately any longer."

Yes, he kills on purpose. And that's only slightly less scary. Tosca doesn't even want to guess this guy's kill count. He's probably lost track given his unprecedented life span.

As the conversation has progressed, Tosca has grown increasingly subdued but Lord Tenebrae is back to being his blazingly confident self. It's like confessing his past has lifted a weight from his shoulders. The priest now flashes that half smirk, half smile that she's grown accustomed to. "I'll only hurt you if you let me." He's teasing but he's half serious. Even when he flirts, this guy is inscrutable.

Lord Tenebrae takes a long drink of wine and watches her over the rim of his glass. "Now you know the defining moments of my life. What are yours?"

Tosca thinks a moment. Then, she starts downplaying. "They aren't as dramatic. I'm a wife and a mother. So, I suppose my wedding day and the birthdays for my children were my defining moments. The usual stuff for a woman, I guess."

"Wrong," he decrees. "That stuff was preparatory. None of that matters as much as the day you knelt to the Emperor and begged for mercy in exchange for your virtue. That was your defining moment. It showed your true colors and revealed your purpose."

Yes, it did in a way. Tosca came here for love and for loyalty. For her family. "You might be right."

"Of course, I'm right." He smiles again, his yellow eyes snapping at her. He leans forward slightly in his chair. "It brought you to me."

Those eyes shift now to her blouson sleeves she keeps smoothing down. Like the rest of her wretched Temple girl dress, they billow with movement and make her appear huge. Tosca would have to work hard to choose a garment that is less flattering to her figure.

Lord Tenebrae agrees. "I hate that dress. Don't wear that dress again. Wear the original dress. The one with the cape that showed your shoulders. You looked like a heroine."

"I would wear it," she agrees, "but the matron-"

He interrupts. "She has been terminated."

"Oh. I see." And at her behest, too. Suddenly, an awful heretofore unforeseen thought occurs to Tosca. Her eyes narrow. "Terminated how? Terminated like fired or terminated like killed?"

He chuckles. "I dismissed the servant. I didn't murder her." He raises his eyebrows. "Should I have? If you would prefer—"

"No!"

He laughs again. "As you wish, my Lady. Now, grant me a favor in return. Be the new matron."

"Me?" She blinks.

"Yes. I can't think of a better choice than an upstanding Lady like yourself."

Is he mocking her? Tosca can't decide. A lot of his comments are ambiguous. Take them at face value and they're fine. But there's often a subtle undercurrent of sarcasm that gives them bite. Moreover, Tosca doesn't know how to respond to the offer. Her instinctive response is to decline.

As she hesitates, Lord Tenebrae breezily grants her carte blanche. "Make whatever changes you want so long as the girls show up for services and are available to the priests. Other than that, I don't care how they live or what they do. But fix the clothes. Get them new clothes. I tire of those homely dresses and dreary veils."

Tosca looks across the table steadily at the chief priest who is her self-appointed lover and now her would-be boss. This man is fast taking over her life. Even telling her what to wear. "I wanted you to abolish this tradition," she reminds him tartly. "I wasn't looking to be in charge of it."

"And I told you no. But you can make changes to improve things. Go mother that flock of fallen angels, Aunt Tosca," he smirks. "It will be good for all involved."

She balks. "You're making me complicit with my own captivity."

"You volunteered for that veil," he purrs. Lord Tenebrae leans forward in his seat to tell her, "Since last night made you a real Temple girl, you are perfectly qualified for the job of matron. How well you understand the girls' plight."

Tosca shoots him a hard look. It's way too soon for cracks about last night.

Lord Tenebrae must realize it, because he shifts gears. "Think of all the good you could do," he coaxes. "How many small improvements you could implement to make things more tolerable. How you could improve the girls' quality of life. Spend what you want, do what you want. I will not limit you."

He knew that ploy would convince her, she suspects. Mostly thinking of miserable Poppaea and her death wish escape plan, Tosca grumbles her acceptance. "Very well. I will do it." Because better her in charge than another version of the current matron.

"Excellent."

Just now, there is a knock at the door. Lord Tenebrae frowns but waves a hand imperiously and it slides open. "What is it?" he complains to the young Lord who steps forward. Tosca recognizes him as the man who interrupted before to announce the capture of the man who fled Proscription.

"My Lord, the Chiss delegation is here. You asked to be informed."

"Yes." Lord Tenebrae rises to attend to business. "Finish your dinner," he tells Tosca. "The guards will bring you back when you're ready."

"I'm done," Tosca announces and she stands as well.

Lord Tenebrae turns his head to bark at the young Lord, "Get her an escort." As the man disappears to follow orders, the priest turns back to her. "Time for peekaboo," he smirks. He's got the black security hood she wore in here in his hand.

She reaches for it, but he tugs it back. "Allow me, my Lady." Lord Tenebrae lifts a hand to brush her voluminous veil back from in front of her shoulders. Then his hand stops and lingers. He fingers a bruise he has revealed by her collar.

It's tender. She squirms away.

"Does the rest of you look like this?"

A lot of her does. There are marks from his mouth on her throat and chest, and marks from where he gripped her waist and hips too hard and too long. "Please don't treat me like you did last night," she whispers. It was all just too much.

He nods soberly. He's clearly troubled. "I am not Dramath. Neither am I my stepfather. I'm sorry, Tosca. I never meant to hurt you."

He sounds sincere, but the fact remains that he did hurt her. This man is dangerous even when he doesn't mean to be.

When she doesn't respond, he offers, "I will make it up to you."

"Yes, my Lord," Tosca says dutifully.

"Meet me in the garden tomorrow after Compline. I want to hear how your first day as matron goes."

That's sounds innocuous enough. Tosca accepts, "Yes, my Lord."

Then he pulls the hood over her head. Pausing just briefly to brush his lips against hers before he tugs it the rest of the way down. Then the door slides open and he hands her over to the guards for safekeeping.