Chapter 1
She was dressed from head to toe in ivory. Her voluminous gown glimmered in the sunlight, emanating a pearly sheen on the marble floors of the palace. The aureate doves and shields on her hem reflected their golden threads onto the shiny golden flats that caressed her heels. Clinched at the waist was a slim glimmering belt that rested nicely on her hips, bejeweled with citrine and opal stones interlocking with pearls. She was slightly uncomfortable with the tightness of her corsetted bust and how it accented the shoulders her maids had rubbed with oil.
"Your Grace?"
Satine straightened at her title, pushing her shoulder blades back and raising her chin. She stared at her face in the mirror, crystal blue eyes ablaze with righteous fire, slim cheekbones painted a pale pink, and with her hair in a low bun, Satine was about to face her destiny.
"Your Grace?"
Those words shook her from her revelry.
Satine swallowed, addressing the lady that had just appeared in the doorway, "Yes, Fesma?"
"Your train, Your Grace."
Satine gasped, Mandalorians were not ones for frivolity, but this cape, the royal coronation train, was the most glorious thing she'd ever seen. Fesma stepped forward, Khaami, her other lady appeared in the doorway just as the purple velvet was draped over her shoulders and tied along her collar bone.
"Your Grace, the carriage has arrived."
Satine placed her hands on her stomach and inhaled, steadying herself, this was it, the day.
"Let us go then."
Satine rode in a covered aircraft that slowly crawled through the city of Sundari, headed to the glorious Jaru Cathedral. She'd been nervous all morning, but now it was real. The people, so many of them, cheered as they tried to get a glimpse of her behind the veiled windows. In the car behind her rode four of her coronation maidens, only Fesma and Khaami were with her now.
"You will excel, Your Grace," Fesma spoke up.
Satine turned to her.
"Are you sure?" slipped out her mouth before she could stop herself.
"Quite," Fesma answered firmly, "you are the Duchess."
"It is true, Your Grace," Khaami agreed, "it is your birthright."
Satine tried to smile, "I thank you, ladies, for your kindness."
Fesma and Khaami had been natural choices for her ladies, they were the daughters of powerful counts, and she had known them since girlhood.
As they arrived at the Cathedral, the trumpets blared. Satine's sister, Bo-Katan, dressed in light blue with a violet sash, opened the car door.
"Here we go, Bine," Bo-Katan held out her hand, "it's time."
Satine took her sister's hand and climbed out of the carriage, the crowds roared. Satine looked up at the camera, and it was then she truly smiled, her people, they loved her.
"Ready, Your Grace," Khaami whispered from behind.
Satine turned around to check, her ladies were holding the sides of her cape, it wasn't allowed to touch the ground. Behind them, her coronation maidens were waiting. Steeling herself, Satine walked forward, with Bo-Katan on her right as her coronation maidens fell in line, she looked every bit as regal as she felt.
At the Cathedral entrance, Bo-Katan was given a sword, she held it upright and stepped in front of Satine, the trumpets blared again. Slowly, the nobles in the stands stood and Bo-Katan stepped forward. Satine knew that her sister had practiced for this moment, as she was not one for royal engagements, and for that Satine was grateful.
As they made their way to the end of the aisle, Bo-Katan stepped off to the side and Satine turned to sit on the grand throne center stage. Her ladies spread her cape around her off to one side, elegantly accentuating her posture.
"The Archbishops of Sundari."
Slowly, two ancient men made their way from Satine's sides, one on the right the other on the left. One carried a knife, the other carried a bowl, they stopped in front of Satine and bowed deeply. When they rose, Satine watched as one Archbishop held out his hand to her, Satine tried not to shake as she took the knife.
"Do you solemnly swear," droned the other Archbishop, "that you are as pure and as holy as warrior King Korkyrach the First?"
"I solemnly swear." Satine spoke.
"Do you solemnly swear" began the other one, "that you will lead Mandalore to greatness as the Queen Mara the First once did?"
"I solemnly swear." Satine said sternly.
The Archbishop held out the bowl, and Satine made a shallow cut on her wrist. Gingerly, she poured some drops of blood into the ancient artifact.
"The Gods have accepted your blood," the Archbishops stated together, "the Gods have proclaimed you worthy."
Trumpets blared and the Archbishops moved to stand at her sides. Down the aisle came the High Justice, carrying a scarlet pillow with the most decadent crown upon it. Satine was conscious of her eyes widening, but she didn't realize the rapid rising of her chest.
"Calm, little one," whispered the old High Justice when she was in earshot, "this is your birthright."
Satine straightened. One of the High Justice's attendants took the pillow from him and the High Justice raised the crown above Satine's head.
"As Jaru the Divine blessed the first Dukes of Mandalore, she now blesses you, Satine Kryze, as you are officially crowned, Duchess of Mandalore!"
Satine felt the weight of the heavy crown on her head and she closed her eyes.
"Long live the Duchess!"
Satine opened her eyes.
"Long Live the Duchess!"
Straightening, Satine focused on her breathing.
"Long live the Duchess!"
The High Justice and his attendant stepped to the sides of the throne as Bo-Katan walked forward. Just in front of the throne, Satine's sister got down on one knee and took Satine's hand in hers.
"I, Bo-Katan Kryze of Clan Kryze, declare myself to be your liege of life and limb, your sister in battle, and your servant in peace. May Mandalore prosper under your reign."
One by one, the clan leaders came up and pledged allegiance to Satine, their new duchess, declaring that her reign would be a glorious one. When it came time for her to leave, Satine's ladies and coronation maidens encircled the throne and Satine stood. The crowd surged forward as she appeared on the steps of the Jaru Cathedral, Satine smiled and waved as she got into the carriage. After a few minutes of her ladies arranging her cape, the coachman closed the door.
She made a speech on the balcony of the Summer Palace, facing all of Sundari as she repeated the practiced words she'd been preparing for weeks. The people cheered when she finished, the nobles clapped politely.
"Long live the Duchess!"
Satine didn't expel the breath she was holding until after their backward march, when the panes of the palace balcony closed.
"Congratulations, Your Grace."
Satine choked on a giggle.
"Your Grace?"
Satine sighed and turned to face her ladies and coronation maidens, "Thank you all."
"Come, Your Grace," Fesma held out her hand, "let us help you to your quarters."
In her quarters, Satine took off the ceremonial crown and set it down on her toilette, then went her gloves, her diamond choker and pearls, and finally, her cape.
"Fesma, Khaami?"
"Yes, Your Grace?" the ladies looked up.
"Please return the ceremonial regalia and my jewels to the royal treasury."
"Of course, Your Grace."
Satine placed the crown in Fesma's hands and draped the cape over Khaami's arms.
"Hm," the Duchess stood back to admire her handiwork, then cracked a smile, "I think you should wear the jewels to transport them, don't you think?"
Khaami's mouth dropped open and she coughed on a gasp. Fesma's eyes went wide, but she recovered.
"Are you sure, Your Grace?"
"Yes, Fesma."
Khaami squealed. Satine placed the necklaces on her ladies.
"Be back quickly, I have to change."
After her ladies left, Satine sat down in her toilette chair, staring at herself in the mirror. She'd done it, a proud expression crossed her face, she was the Duchess of Mandalore. Yet, something felt...wrong.
Satine inhaled sharply, she wouldn't think of him. Satine wouldn't think about how she felt when he'd taken harpoons for her, or how he made her laugh with her belly, or how she'd given him her body without a second thought. Where was he now? Did he remember her? Had he moved on?
"Your Grace?"
Satine looked up, she hadn't realized she'd been crying.
Clearing her throat, she answered, "Yes, Fesma?"
Fesma frowned when she saw the Duchess, "We must get you dressed for the banquet."
"Yes," Satine wiped her eyes, "I am the guest of honor after all."
Standing, the Duchess did not miss the look of concern that passed between her ladies.
"Your Grace, are you-"
"I'm alright, Fesma," Satine interrupted, "but we must get ready."
The coronation had been held at around 11 o'clock in the morning, but Satine had barely eaten breakfast; she'd been so nervous. So while Fesma prepared a bath, Khaami went to fetch food.
"Fesma," Satine's face darkened suddenly, "what was it like the year I was gone?"
The lady froze, swallowed, shook her head, and continued on with her task.
"Not even us nobles fared well, our houses were raided, food became scarce-"
"I'm sorry." Satine confided.
"What about you, Your Grace," Fesma asked, "what was your year away from home like?"
So many memories came back to Satine, dancing with Obi-Wan under a dark sky with stars as their only light, learning how to climb trees just so she could watch her Jedi protectors meditate, and learning how to swim with Obi-Wan's hands guiding her.
"Your Grace?" there was a curious edge in Fesma's tone this time.
Satine sighed, "It was an adventure."
After Satine had washed herself, she ate while Fesma dried her hair.
"You're late." Fesma had observed when Khaami returned.
Khaami blushed, "I ran into Yorge."
Satine grinned, "Is that why there's extra cakes?"
Khaami returned her smile, "That and because it's a special day, Your Grace."
Satine offered some cakes to Khaami and Fesma before they continued getting ready. She never liked painting her face, so Satine waved it off, but Fesma did insist her hair be done the way her foremother's had worn it, in braids for battle.
"They frame your face, Your Grace." Khaami observed Fesma's handiwork.
"Call me Satine," the Duchess said suddenly, "like you used to."
Khaami looked down.
"My father said that it's different now," she said, "because you're the Duchess."
"Well as the Duchess," Satine straightened, "I decree that you shall call me Satine."
Fesma grinned, "I guess that's that, then."
By the time it was four o'clock, Satine was fully dressed. Her gown was a deep royal purple with golden embroidery on the hems. She had a golden belt with amethysts that hummed softly against the dark stone on her bust that connected to her layered pearl necklace. Satine ran her fingers along the navy sash across her body, clipped with all sorts of medals and regal symbols.
Khaami came up behind her, "And to finish it off."
The Duchess smiled, Fesma took the tiara from Khaami's hands and placed it on Satine's head.
"You look lovely, Satine." Khaami clapped.
"Thank you," the Duchess turned to her ladies, "now go get dressed yourselves, the reception starts in an hour."
Squealing, Satine's friends ran from the room. The Duchess smiled sadly, it had been a month since Obi-Wan left, and it had been a month since she last giggled like a girl. Now, she was no longer a girl, but the Duchess of Mandalore.
Satine sighed, Obi-Wan was like a crushing weight on her chest everytime she thought of him, and her corset currently wasn't helping. Why did he half to command such a power over her, the charming padawan with his roguish smile and twinkling eyes. He'd said he'd loved her, and she'd confessed the same.
Inhaling and trying to hold back her tears, Satine made her way out of her personal quarters and into the sitting room that adjoined it. There she would find something to do, but bookshelves and a piano didn't hold any interest for Satine at the moment. Over her year on the run, she'd learned to appreciate the little things, unfortunately, the Duchess couldn't seem to pull herself out of her sadness.
Finally, after running her fingers along book spines and fiddling with piano keys for an ungodly amount of time, Fesma and Khaami returned to Satine's chambers.
"Satine," Fesma whispered quietly as they took their places in the hall, "remember to smile."
When her name was announced, trumpets blew and the grand double doors swung open, Satine smiled as politely as she could and descended the stairs, arms clasped in front of her. The crowds parted, ladies curtsied and men bowed as Satine walked by, making her way to the throne in the back of the room.
"Your Grace."
Satine admired her subjects, they all seemed so radiant.
"Your Grace."
And she was Duchess of them all, a great responsibility.
"Your Grace."
Satine must earn their respect. Turning, she sat on the throne as Fesma and Khaami took their places beside her. The mingling began. Satine watched for the first five minutes, making connections in her mind as to who connected with who. Then she stood and took a turn about the room, she graciously greeted the clan heads and dignitaries from foreign courts who had come to witness her coronation. By the time it was announced that dinner was served, Satine felt like her brain was melting. So many back-stabing compliments and veiled unpleasantries, the Duchess wasn't amused.
Satine picked up her spoon and took the first bite, the court followed.
"What a splendid performance, Your Grace." the man on her left, Tarrei Vizsla commented.
"Thank you, Count Vizsla, that is most kind."
"Have you considered what your first act as Duchess will be?"
Satine smiled, "Likely it shall be opening the new Parliament."
The Count's lips twitched, and Satine wondered for a minute which side of the war he'd been on. The New Mandalorians, a peaceful sect, had just taken over the government and were picking their cabinet members, Satine had alluded to being a pacifist in her speech earlier in the day, but she hadn't outright said it. Count Vizsla was probably seeing where she stood.
The Count nodded politely and returned to his food, Satine wondered if she had just made a huge mistake.
When Satine finished her meal, she allowed the man on her right, an ambassador from Onderon, to lead her into the ballroom. For the first hour, she danced with all the high-ranking dignitaries who asked to take a spin with her. Afterward, she sat with Fesma and Khaami, claiming she needed a refreshment.
"This is quite the spectacle," Khaami whispered, leaning into Satine.
"I agree," the Duchess frowned, watching her people dance, "the last time we threw a ball my father was the Duke."
"He would be proud of you, Satine," Fesma placed her hand on Satine's, "I'm sure of it."
The Duchess grimaced, "I don't know if he'd agree with my political views."
Fesma shrugged, "Children have to rebel somehow."
The Duchess danced a couple more times in the next two hours before bidding good evening to the guests that approached her before leaving. Finally, when Satine was free to leave the party herself, she practically ran back to her room.
"Thank goodness that's over." Khaami sighed.
The Duchess huffed in agreement, taking off her tiara and jewelry.
"I'll take those downstairs if you like, Satine." Fesma offered.
"Yes," Satine smiled wearily, "thank you."
As Khaami began to help the Duchess shed her many layers, Satine felt a queasiness in her stomach. She opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it quickly. Just as her dress fell to the floor, she ran to the fresher.
"Satine?"
Expelling saliva-infused chunks of her coronation meal, the Duchess began to choke.
"Oh, Satine!"
The Duchess heard Khaami run over to her and begin to smack her in the back.
"Khaami, what-"
"Satine's ill." Khaami explained to Fesma.
The Duchess regurgitated a chunk of meat into the fresher.
"Well hold her hair up, then!" Fesma ordered.
When Satine's stomach had calmed down and she was able to speak again, she asked for a cup of water and to be left alone. Fesma and Khaami had shared a look.
"Alright," Satine sighed, "I need you ladies to do something for me."
"What?" Khaami wondered.
Satine turned to her earnestly, "Something that you can't tell anyone you did."
"It's not illegal, I hope." Fesma took a step back.
"No, no, it's just," Satine paused, "a lot happened while I was away."
"Like what?" Khaami asked, still confused.
"I," Satine's hands began to shake, "I don't think I have a cold."
Fesma crossed her arms, "We should get you down to the medical wing to check."
"No!" Satine roared, outstretching her hand.
"Satine?" Khaami questioned.
"I need you to get me a medical droid to examine me, in here," Satine clarified, "and if my suspicions are correct, then we'll have to wipe its memory."
Fesma gave her Duchess a querying look.
"I still don't understand." Khaami confessed.
"Duchess," Fesma began, "are you, I mean, do you think you might-"
"Yes." Satine answered firmly.
"Khaami," Fesma turned, "fetch a medical droid from the med wing, but take the servant passageways and let no one see you."
The lady did as she was asked, and the medical droid confirmed Satine's worst fear.
"You," Khaami gasped, "you're-"
"Expecting." Satine finished.
"How-"
"The Jedi who protected me," Satine looked down, "the padawan and I grew close."
"Satine," Fesma's face paled, "Mandalorians aren't fond of the Jedi."
"And my enemies could use this against me." agreed Satine.
"What will you do?" Khaami worried, coming back to herself.
Satine bit her lip, "Do you think I should tell him?"
"Are you going to keep it is the real question." Fesma frowned.
Khaami covered her mouth.
Satine was silent for a long time, "I want a piece of what I can never have, this baby is my way around the rules."
"But, Satine, how will, who will-"
"In secret," the Duchess answered, "and I will."