Mr. Almac arrived in the evening with his nose already turned up at the house. "Good evening," he said stiffly. "Mr. Kryze."

Satine's father smiled. "Mr. Almac," he said. "Welcome."

A dull, strange silence was the only response—Satine found that nothing in her cousin's actual countenance had changed.

Then, with lifted voice, Adonai added, "We're glad that you're here."

Satine nudged her sisters. That was their signal to descend, although they were all slow in their walk down the stairs. Even Esme seemed particularly off-put by their cousin's sudden arrival, her hands and lips clasped tightly together.

"Cousin," Mr. Almac said, nodding to Satine. "You look well."

"As do you," Satine replied, making a point to keep her eyes level with her cousin. He had grown considerably since the last time Satine had seen him, and it certainly didn't help that Mr. Almac just had a neck longer than the average person's. Satine briefly wondered if her cousin perhaps stretched his neck daily as one would stretch their arms or legs to get ready for the morning.

The thought, which Satine had hoped would make this meeting a bit more lighthearted, only made her grimace. She wished she hadn't conjured up the image to begin with.

"Well," Mr. Almac said at last. "Best not just stand here—Satine, please show our guest to his room."

Satine shot her father a quick look, but he just tilted his head towards Mr. Almac. A subtle tilt, one that Satine read as a quiet plea.

Satine dared not look at Bo-Katan or Padmé as she stepped back. "Of course."

Mr. Almac nodded, stepped through the doorway. He nodded once to Padmé, who nodded back with a tight smile. He nodded to Bo-Katan, who just looked at Almac with slightly furrowed brows.

"Bo," Satine said, "come help with Mr. Almac's things, will you? And Padmé, would you—"

"Of course not," Padmé said quickly, walking up the stairs. She looked at Satine once, and Satine would have been glad to start laughing aloud then, for her sister gave her the most bemused look already.

Bo-Katan, on the other hand, didn't look too pleased to be the one chosen for the task, but she nodded if only, Satine supposed, to at least absorb more information about their cousin.

"How lucky I am," Mr. Almac commented as the four of them started up the stairs. "To have cousins so willingly able to help."

"We would help any of our guests, Mr. Almac," Satine replied, setting a hand on the rail. She reached the landing after a few quick strides and gestured down the hallway.

"You keep many guests, then?" Mr. Almac asked, looking at the door curiously. He craned his neck, looking around to the other rooms. "I would not have expected a house as small or old as this to hold too many at a time."

At this, Bo-Katan narrowed her eyes. Padmé, too, frowned just the slightest at the remark, and though both her sisters started to say something, Satine replied evenly, "I can assure you, Mr. Almac, our house is quite capable of holding multiple guests. We might have even held multiple suitors here, if our father were just a bit less concerned with reputation."

Padmé laughed, covering it up with a quick cough when Mr. Almac turned to look at her.

"Feeling poorly, Miss Amidala?" he asked stiffly.

"No," Padmé managed. "No, just a bit of dust."

Almac squinted at the windows. "Yes," he said halfheartedly. "The house could probably do with some more cleaning…"

"You can let our mother know of your concerns then, Mr. Almac," Satine said, still smiling. "I am sure she will be most pleased to hear of your opinion."

Bo-Katan cheered. "Good idea," she said. "In fact, I can get her right now…"

"No," Padmé said, brushing a finger against the window. There was, of course, no dust at all—Padmé's finger came away clean. "I am certain Mr. Almac will find that airing his grievances over dinner would be much more preferable."

"After all, the conversation must be somewhat stimulating," Satine said, flashing her sisters a quick smile. She turned her gaze back on her cousin, who simply looked lost. "Isn't that right, Mr. Almac?"

"I—yes," Mr. Almac said. He turned to Bo-Katan, extending his hand. "My case, please."

"Of course," Bo-Katan said easily, handing Mr. Almac his belongings—or what was probably supposed to be a neat hand-off of his belongings, anyways. The case fell with a particularly loud thump, just barely missing Mr. Almac's feet.

"Oh dear," Satine said. "How clumsy of you, Bo."

"Indeed," Bo-Katan replied.

Mr. Almac just huffed. He picked up his case and, turning to Satine, said, "I suppose the door beyond is my room then?"

"It is indeed," Satine replied, opening the door. She gestured inside. "We will meet you for dinner, cousin."

"Thank you," Mr. Almac replied, and a moment later, the door closed in their faces.

Satine dared not look at Padmé or Bo-Katan right away—they all hurried down the hall to their bedroom—and Satine only just barely managed to close her door before the three sisters burst into quiet titters.

"What did I tell you?" Satine asked Bo-Katan. "He's rather ridiculous, isn't he?"

"Small, old…" Bo-Katan rolled her eyes. "There is nothing wrong with our house."

"Oh, yes, the windows must be cleaned," Padmé said airily, sitting down on the bed. "Bo, I hope you realize that there will be more remarks to come at dinner."

"Do you think Mother will actually get annoyed?" Bo-Katan asked. "Or will she just sit prim and proper as ladies are meant to?"

"I suppose we shall see," Satine replied, sitting down on the bed. She dragged Bo-Katan down with her, and the three sisters laid back, their hands and hair tangling together as they looked up at the ceiling. "It would be an interesting debate to witness, wouldn't you two think? They could fight about suitors and windows and how best to dress a turkey…"

"What table manners consist of and how often a lady must do things like darn socks and embroider…" Bo-Katan murmured.

"Oh, they wouldn't argue about that," Padmé said seriously. "They would argue about much, much sillier things."

"Something even sillier than darning socks and embroidery?" Bo-Katan asked.

"No, Bo has a point," Satine said, looking to Padmé. "I would think it rather difficult to find any topic that might be more trivial than such."

"We will have to use our imagination then," Padmé replied.

As the three young women dissolved into laughter again, there was a sudden knock on the door.

All three sat up quickly, and Satine wondered if perhaps they had been too loud—if their cousin had somehow heard them from across the hall, but a moment later, Adonai called, "I believe you three have something from the mail."

Satine looked at Padmé and Bo-Katan, who both shrugged.

Satine walked over to the door, opened it to find her father standing with three envelopes—cream-colored, clearly made out of expensive paper, written in careful black ink. "I believe we have an invitation," was all what Adonai said before handing Satine the letters.

Satine turned the envelopes over in her hands. The paper had to be more expensive than it looked—she could feel the heaviness of the paper in her hands, the slightest grooves from where the ink had dried. "Is it…" She started, but when she looked back up, her father was already walking back down the stairs.

Satine frowned down at the envelope.

"What is it?" Padmé asked. "Anything particularly exciting?"

Satine closed the door and walking back to the bed, said, "I think you'll have to see for yourself."

She threw one letter to Bo-Katan, the other to Padmé. Flipped the last one—the one with her own name scripted so carefully on the paper—over and over in her hands until both Padmé and Bo-Katan had folded open their letters.

"I believe," Padmé said, looking up quickly, "the Skywalkers are hosting their first ball after all. As promised."

"Really," Satine said, and rushing over to Padmé's side, scanned the letter: she found slightly messy script, a small little drawing at the corner of the paper. Satine smiled. She saw two little figures dancing in the corner, puddles of water gathered about their feet.

"A ball," Satine repeated. "Well, that will be most exciting."

"Another ball?" Bo-Katan asked, closing up the envelope. She tossed the letter to the side and, with a scowl, added, "But I had been under the impression that balls took so much longer to organize."

"And that so much longer phase has apparently run out," Padmé said rather happily now. She stood up and, still smiling at her envelope, said quickly, "We'll have to discuss this at dinner—if Father hadn't showed Mother the invitation already." There was a pause. "Do you think Father—"

"I don't think so," Satine said, just as a sharp cry broke from downstairs. Satine heard the guest room door bang open, most likely either check for commotion or scowl at whoever was causing the said promotion, Satine was not quite sure.

But another moment passed, and then Esme's voice floated up to the second floor, loud and clear: "there is hope for Satine and Bo-Katan just yet! They'll have their suitors eventually, and now…"

Satine tossed Padmé a grimace, one which the young woman returned with equal ease.

"Well, Mother will at least have no worries for you," Satine said, setting aside her envelope. She settled back between her sisters, and closing her eyes, added, "She has most certainly predicted your wedding date already."

"Oh, don't," Padmé said, putting her own envelope down. "She's only rushing into things."

"Do you think Mr. Skywalker would agree with that sentiment?" Satine asked. "Or do you think things are not being rushed enough?"

Padmé paused. "Mr. Skywalker has his own opinions," she replied. "I will not speak for him."

"Ever the diplomat," Satine said, smiling, but before Padmé could respond, the door flung open.

"You three," Esme said, her cheeks pink, "don't just hide in here—entertain your cousin."

"Must we?" Satine asked wearily, sitting up. "Mr. Almac would most certainly be better entertained by a rock."

"I can assure you he won't," Esme said. "Because he has been pestering your father about property holdings ever since he finished unpacking—now quick. Just until dinner!"

By the time dinner was ready, Satine thought she had quite enough of her cousin. She could only listen to him speak of sermons and his great patron for so long before wanting to leave him—and she knew her sisters felt similarly, as they kept stifling yawns or rolling their eyes when Mr. Almac wasn't looking.

Satine had been most relieved when Esme finally told them that dinner was prepared—she no longer wanted to be the sole member of the family keeping Mr. Almac company, but the moment they all sat down to the table, Satine knew that there would still be tedious discussion.

"And to which of my fair cousins am I to thank for this affair?" Mr. Almac asked, cutting into his food.

"Mr. Almac, we are perfectly capable of owning a cook," Esme said stiffly, and if Satine hadn't already been annoyed with her mother for forcing her to spend time with Mr. Almac, she would have cheered.

"And how could we possibly have prepared this?" Satine asked now, picking her glass. "We've been busy with the much more impressive task of keeping you company."

There was a short laugh from the other end of the table, but Mr. Almac didn't seem to notice. "Yes," he said, "I have most enjoyed our spirited conversation."

Spirited, Satine thought, sipping from her glass. Mr. Almac had been the one doing the majority of the talking.

"I was only telling your daughters of my patron," Mr. Almac said now, looking around the table. "The great Count Dooku—he owns quite the estate, and he every so often rides past my own dwelling."

The clatter of forks and knives against plates were the only response.

"He has been most adamant about my finding a partner," Mr. Almac continued. "And he has introduced me to a number of young ladies that he deems respectable." He smiled, and Satine sipped once again from her glass. "One such young lady, I commented, had all the qualities of being a duchess—I told Dooku that she had all the graces of someone more elevated than her rank."

With another pleased look around the table, Mr. Almac continued, "These compliments, I am to believe, are most acceptable to the ladies, which I believe myself bound to pay."

Satine lifted her eyes to look at Padmé, who was across the table. Padmé seemed more interested in her food, although Satine noticed the slightest twitch in her cheek—presumably her sister trying to keep herself from laughing.

Biting back her own smile, Satine looked to Mr. Almac. "Tell me, Mr. Almac," she said, "are these compliments those that come about from the impulse of the moment, or are they the result of previous study?"

Satine felt a kick at her shin—but she refused to look at Padmé, who most certainly was responsible, because even out of the corner of her eye, Satine could spy the slowly widening grin.

"Occasionally, the rise in the moment of time," Mr. Almac replied with a smile. "Although I will admit that often I will compose such compliments—in such cases, I take great care to give them as unstudied an air upon delivery."

"Believe me," Satine said with as much surprise she could muster, "no one would suspect your manners to be rehearsed."

That did it—both Padmé and Satine let out a short laugh, one which both covered with a napkin or the sudden grab of a glass.

"Then Mr. Almac," Adonai said, looking suddenly fascinated with his own glass, "I suppose you will be most pleased to hear that you will have many opportunities to practice your…compliments when we attend Mr. Skywalker's ball."

"Do you consider yourself a great attender of such events, Mr. Almac?" Satine asked politely.

"I do not often attend," Mr. Almac replied, and Satine felt something in her relax—but only for a moment, because then Mr. Almac said, "Although I will be most pleased to attend with this family."

Satine looked at Padmé, whose smile had faded.

"Now, I was wondering," Mr. Almac continued, "if I could perhaps read to your family for an hour or two after dinner…"

Such was how Satine found herself avoiding Mr. Almac at the ball. She did not particularly care if Mr. Almac wasn't familiar with the majority of those in the Skywalker residence—if he was so determined to embarrass himself, then he would embarrass himself without Satine's help.

Only Mr. Almac seemed determined to keep Satine in his company, and when he asked her to dance, Satine found that her mother agreed for her.

And the dance had commenced—with trodden toes and clammy hands and Mr. Almac prattling on about something that Satine didn't quite care to learn about. She tried to stay at least somewhat focused to avoid herself from getting stepped on anymore, but when shes came back to the dance, Mr. Almac had started speaking of "the count's agreement that his future spouse must be a woman of great…"

Satine shot a look to Padmé, who was torn between her own dance with Mr. Skywalker and her sister's plight.

"Don't you agree, Miss Kryze?"

Satine looked back at Mr. Almac. "Of course," she said.

The music wound down, and Satine was glad to let go of Mr. Almac's hand. She stepped back, tilted her head, and was ready to flee to the other side of the room when Mr. Almac said, "Then I hope that you will do me the honor of staying by my side for the rest of the night."

Satine stared.

"He said that he hoped I do him the honor of staying at his side," Satine groused to Padmé. They now hid at the very farthest side of the room, although Satine could see Mr. Almac steadily making his way towards her. "Men."

"You did try to give him one dance," Padmé said, squeezing Satine's hand. "I'm sure that will be enough."

"I think not," Satine replied miserably. "In the case you haven't noticed Mother and her constant prattling…" She looked at Padmé. "She practically threw me to Mr. Almac, and if I know Mother, which I do, then she will have a plan for me to—"

"Miss Kryze."

"Oh, whatever now—" Satine turned and, quite suddenly, found herself face-to-face with not Mr. Almac, but—

"Mr. Kenobi," Satine said. She spied Mr. Almac stopping short behind, his eyebrows furrowed just the slightest.

Mr. Kenobi tilted his head. "May I have the next dance?"

Satine looked at him. She expected some kind of mockery to follow, but when none came, she replied, "You may."

Mr. Kenobi nodded, and once he was gone, Satine whispered, "Did I just accept a dance from Mr. Kenobi?"

"I believe you did," Padmé replied mildly.

Satine sighed, and, realizing that Mr. Almac was still walking towards her, she tugged Padmé and herself away.

The music did little to ease the tightness in Satine's chest as she bowed to Mr. Kenobi. When she lifted her head, she again waited for some mocking look—some cold expression, but he remained as still as ever, the only movement on his face the slightest flicker of his eyes upon stepping forward.

Satine took his hands, too aware of their warmth as they circled one another. She remembered quite suddenly the hand that had led her up to the carriage—and like then, the hands that held hers were surprisingly light.

"I love this dance," Satine said shortly, letting go of his hands. She circled around the other dancers, came back around to meet him. "I find it most invigorating."

"Yes, I agree," Mr. Kenobi replied.

They circled one another once more, and Satine waited a few beats before saying, "Well, I have now commented on the dance—this is where you must comment on something like the state of the room or the other couples."

Mr. Kenobi looked briefly to Satine before they took their turn. "Do you make it a rule to talk while dancing?"

Satine smiled to herself. "No," she replied. "I prefer to be unsociable." She looked at Mr. Kenobi. "It makes the dance all the more enjoyable, don't you think?"

Mr. Kenobi did not deign to give this a response. He only looked to the other side of the room, and, after another pause, he asked, "Do you and your sisters often walk to town?"

Satine tilted her head at him. He looked back down at her, if only for a few moments before looking again to the other side of the room. "Yes," she said after a while. "My sisters and I often walk to town." She circled about him. "It's a great opportunity to meet new people."

She looked once again to Mr. Kenobi. She remembered their sudden encounter then—where she had just been standing with Mr. Vizsla and Mr. Maul, and then the odd looks that one party had given the other. "In fact," she said slowly, "we had only just the pleasure of making new acquaintances when we last met."

"Mr. Maul," Mr. Kenobi said with surprising quickness, "is quite good at making new friends. Although I assure you his talents of keeping them are less so."

Satine lifted an eyebrow. "Well," she said, looking steadily onwards, "he has been so unfortunate so as to lose your friendship, I assume. And I dare say that must be an irreversible event?"

"It is," Mr. Kenobi replied sharply. They paused together, even though both music and dancers had not stopped. He was studying Satine so carefully, she realized now. Grey-blue eyes meeting her own with a sudden fierceness that she had not recognized before. "Why do you ask such questions?"

"To make out your character," Satine replied, lifting her chin.

"And what have you discovered?" Now that they had paused, Satine registered that they were standing much closer than they had all night. She counted the smallest and faintest of freckles on Mr. Kenobi's cheeks.

"Very little," Satine replied. His lashes were longer than she had expected, too. "Although the different manners in which others perceive you is most puzzling."

Mr. Kenobi dropped his eyes down Satine's face, then lifted them back up—first to her eyes, then beyond her. "Then I hope to afford you more clarity in the future."

They stepped away from one another, and the dance resumed. Satine let go of Mr. Kenobi's hands, circled around the other dancers—but she wasn't aware of who was whom, not as she lifted her eyes once more to Mr. Kenobi's.

He met her gaze unblinkingly, unwavering.

They came back to each other, hands no longer as light as they had been at the start—hands too warm. If she moved her fingers just the slightest, she could probably find Mr. Kenobi's pulse.

She thought she felt Mr. Kenobi's hands twitch in hers.

When the music stopped and they let go, Satine could still feel that warmth.

A/N: sorry for the wait, everyone! life is a little odd at the moment, but i wanted to get this chapter out before i hit the road (the spring semester's about to start for me!) later today.

as always, reviews/follows/favorites are greatly appreciated!