notes: Huzzah, a new update! I'm doubly glad that I decided to split the last chapter into two, as this half of it clocked in at over 5.5k. That would have made for one longass chapter. Not a lot happens in this one, as with last chapter, but it is very important set-up for later things to come...so bear with me as we get through it. In fact, I hope you can find it in you to even enjoy it a little bit! If you do, I'd love to hear from you... please? Most importantly, though, is for you to enjoy it.


CHAPTER 5

The waiting room outside Emperor Palpatine's office was both lavish and luxurious. Thick red carpets spread across the floor from wall to wall. Couches and armchairs ringed the room on two sides, and sat in groups of twos and threes, each of them a deep wine color with black and gold pillows. A large fireplace, which was currently unlit, filled half of the eastern wall; the hearth and mantlepiece were deep mahogany etched with gold. Gold filigree was inlaid onto each of the walls, painted wine to match the upholstery, sweeping in great arcs and curls from the ceiling. A gold and diamond chandelier hung in the middle of the room, casting a sharp but warm light that made the red glow. Two armed and armored Imperial Guards stood to either side of the door leading into the Emperor's office.

Tarkin sat in a high-backed armchair, one leg crossed over the other, posture rigid and straight. His hands were clasped loosely in his lap, hiding the anxiety he felt. He had to play his cards perfectly—couldn't make one single misstep, or he risked the Emperor punishing rather than rewarding him. He had, after all, used one of the Emperor's guard dogs for his own purposes, and had paid a palace doctor to keep his secrets.

The doctor, at least, was taken care of. His man, Fire Fist—a gaudy, uncouth name, but the one he insisted to go by—had called him in the early hours before dawn to inform him that the deed was done. She would never be able to sell the secret of Leia Organa's parents, and she wouldn't be able to tell Palpatine—or his guards, or his torturers—that Tarkin had bribed her to work for him.

Twelfth Brother was more worrying. Tarkin would have to tread carefully with him, saying just enough to appease Palpatine's curiosity, hiding enough that he would not wish to investigate further. For if Palpatine pressed against his mind with anything but the gentlest of touches, Tarkin feared he would discover the truth.

No, he had to dance the perfect waltz—tell just enough truth that the Emperor did not detect his lies, but keep just enough back that the Emperor would not know of his secret dealings.

Again, Tarkin considered trying to train Leia in secret, to be his own weapon. But again he dismissed the idea. It was too dangerous for him. And the Emperor's favor would be enough to offset the loss of the living weapon Leia Organa would become. Besides, he had no way to train a Force Sensitive.

No, he would tell Palpatine, as he had planned, and would reap the reward that Palpatine would offer for bringing him Anakin Skywalker's daughter.

The door to Palpatine's office opened, and Mas Amedda appeared. He gave Tarkin a cursory glance, which threatened to morph into a glare, then swept past, robes billowing. Tarkin watched him go, fighting to keep his expression placid. He disliked Amedda, just as Amedda disliked him.

The door closed, making the visible part of the Emperor's study—a sliver of black carpet—disappear. Tarkin took a deep breath, and forced his shoulders to relax. It would do him no good to appear before the Emperor as tightly wound as a spring. He needed to be composed—confident and at ease.

It helped, Tarkin hoped, that Palpatine had known him since before the rise of the Empire. He had been one of Palpatine's supporters since before he had claimed the title of Emperor. He had fought in Palpatine's war, and brought victory after victory to the Republic's credit. He had not been as close to Palpatine as some, such as Organa and Amidala, but he had been close enough to be invited to the then-Chancellor's birthday gala the year before the Empire rose.

No, the Emperor would not be willing to grant him grace on the stands of a past not-quite friendship. But for Tarkin's many years as a loyal servant, perhaps he would be willing to overlook a few errors in Tarkin's judgment. Errors that Tarkin intended to continue to make—though the Emperor did not need to know that.

Tarkin just hoped that Palpatine would not employ the Force to read his mind.

Footsteps, muted by the carpet, approached Tarkin. He turned to find a tall human woman approaching. She wore a red dress that hugged her curves and accented the unnatural shade of red dyed into her blonde hair. She was, Tarkin thought, very beautiful. He suspected she knew that.

"The Emperor is ready to see you now," she said. She smiled at him, and Tarkin smiled in return, though it did not mean what she thought it did.

"Thank you," Tarkin said as he stood, the perfect model of gratitude. He graced her with one final smile, then turned and strode toward the door leading into the Emperor's office. It opened as he neared—and then he was swallowed by the rich shadows of Palpatine's lair.

It was as black as the waiting room was red, though the walls were painted silver. The sconces on the walls were black, letting only the faintest shade of light through, and the furniture was the color of obsidian: black desk, black chairs, black mantle on the fireplace to the right of the door. The main source of light was the wall of windows behind Palpatine's desk, which overlooked the towering skyscrapers of the Business District near the Palace.

"Welcome, Wilhuff," Palpatine said. He did not smile. "Sit."

Tarkin obeyed with a bow. The leather of the seat across the desk from Palpatine creaked beneath his weight.

For a painful moment, there was only silence. Tarkin waited for Palpatine to speak, to give him some clue as to how to proceed; Palpatine waited, Tarkin assumed, for him to show his hand, expecting the silence to fray Tarkin's nerves to breaking. Two, however, could play at that game.

At last, however, Tarkin relented. He did not think it wise to antagonize the Emperor of the galaxy.

"Your Grace," he said, bowing his head in submission and respect, "I come bearing news I think you will find interesting."

"You claimed it was more important than anything I would hear today—or so you told my secretary. Is this true, Wilhuff?"

"Yes," Tarkin said without hesitation. "It is news that I believe, Your Grace, will change much."

"Let us hear this news," Palpatine said. He did not sound interested, merely bored with the proceedings. Tarkin was forced to grit his teeth, and struggle to keep his tone respectful.

"It has to do," he said, "with Leia Organa."

"Is that so?" Palpatine asked. For the first time, he seemed interested.

"Yes, Your Grace," Tarkin said.

"Tell me," Palpatine commanded.

"Two weeks ago," Tarkin said, "one of my spies reported an incident in the Organa household. He said it could have been explained by coincidence and a trick of physics—or, he said, it could have been an incident of the Force. Leia Organa fell fifteen feet from the bough of a tree, and landed on her feet. She was perfectly fine. He was the only one to see the incident."

Palpatine, who had leaned forward in his chair at the start of Tarkin's account, sniffed and settled back into his large chair. "Leia Organa's Force Sensitivity has already been investigated," he said. "She is as Sensitive as her adopted father is. That is to say, as Sensitive as a rock."

Tarkin struggled to keep from smiling. "Forgive me, Emperor," he said, "but you are mistaken.

"I took the liberty of revealing my spy's suspicions to one of your Inquisitors. Two nights ago, on the eve of the Winter Solstice, he went to check Leia's midichlorian counts. What he discovered was not, as you said, the Force Sensitivity of a rock."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Your Grace, that Leia Organa registered as having a midichlorian count of nearly 6,000. But that, Your Grace, is not the end of my story."

"Go on," Palpatine said, leaning over his clasped hands.

"I had Leia brought to your Palace, and asked one of your doctors to attend to her. It was believed that she had been poisoned; she was indeed very ill when she was taken by the Inquisitor. It was discovered, however, during routine blood scans, that her midichlorian counts were rising."

"What do you mean?" Palpatine asked sharply. "How is that possible?"

"We do not know for certain, but there was an unknown substance in her bloodstream that could have accounted for her lowered midichlorian levels. As the substance was flushed out, her midichlorian count rose; when the substance was flushed entirely, her count ceased to rise."

"And how high is it?" Palpatine asked.

"15,000," Tarkin said.

Palpatine sat back in his chair, his expression smooth and unreadable. "I see," he said. "And where is Leia Organa now?"

"Still down in the Medical Wing," Tarkin said. "But there is more."

From beneath the cowl shadowing his face, Tarkin imagined Palpatine raising the memory of his eyebrows. "What else is there?" Palpatine asked.

"Her parents," Tarkin said. "I know who they are."

"And why does that concern me?" Palpatine asked.

"Because her parents were Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala."

Silence. Then, softly, the Emperor said, "You are certain of this?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Tarkin said. "The doctor checked it twice."

"And who is this doctor?"

"Her name is Tera Mardock," Tarkin said. "I told her not to tell anyone of what she discovered."

There was another long period of silence in which Palpatine thought and Tarkin forced himself to remain still. Let the Emperor digest this, he told himself. You can't rush him now.

"This is, I take it," Palpatine said at last, "the real cause behind Bail Organa's death?"

The deaths of Bail Organa and his entire staff had been, as Tarkin had expected, headline news. Though he had mostly kept to himself in his office over the last day and a half, even Tarkin had felt the powerfully deep shock that had resonated through the city at news of Organa's passing. That Leia, the beloved little princess, had been butchered beyond recognition made it all the worse.

Tarkin once again fought to keep from smiling. "Yes, Your Grace," he said. "I sent my men to plant evidence of a coup. I doubted that you would want his death to be traced back to one of your Inquisitors."

"And which Inquisitor was this?" Palpatine asked.

"Twelfth Brother," Tarkin told him. "We have worked together in the past, and he was the only one I knew I could trust."

"Indeed," Palpatine replied, though Tarkin suspected he hardly knew what word he had said. He was thinking again—was lost deep in his thoughts. What those thoughts were, Tarkin wished he knew.

"The Inquisitor believed," Tarkin said carefully after a moment, "that Organa knew his daughter was Force Sensitive, and that he had been hiding her. I can't help but wonder now, knowing how hard he tried to keep her from being taken, if he knew of her parentage as well. He was, after all, close to Amidala."

"Indeed," Palpatine said again.

He was silent for a moment, then, softly, he said, "Well done, Wilhuff."

This time, Tarkin allowed himself to smile. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said.

"Where, exactly, is Leia?"

"I can take you to her, if you'd like," Tarkin said.

Palpatine rose. "Then do so," he ordered.

"Now?" Tarkin asked, somewhat taken aback. He had expected Palpatine would want to think longer on the matter.

"Now," Palpatine said sharply.

Tarkin stood quickly. "Of course, Your Grace," he said. He skirted his chair too quickly and bumped his knee against it. A sharp pain lanced through it, and Tarkin clenched his teeth to keep from cursing.

Palpatine laughed, high and mocking. Again, Tarkin gritted his teeth—this time to keep from growling.

"I did not think, Wilhuff, that you are one of my subjects who scurries to do my bidding," Palpatine said, rounding his desk.

"I do not scurry," Tarkin said, bridling the venom threatening to creep into his voice. He clenched his hands together behind his back tight enough to dig crescents into his palms with his nails. "I do, however, understand the value of acting promptly when my Emperor asks something of me."

Palpatine laughed again. "That's the Wilhuff I know."

Tarkin took a step forward, trying to ignore Palpatine's last comment. "If Your Grace will follow me?" he said, and then led the way out of the office.

~oOo~

The time crawled by with excruciating slowness. Leia slept in fitful bursts, waking whenever one of the Stormtroopers shifted, or when the woman came in to draw her blood. She counted the tiles on the ceiling five more times before giving up out of boredom, and started imagining ways in which she could escape the room. They ranged from the practical, like dislocating her thumbs—she had heard of criminals doing that to free themselves—to the fanciful, like using the fabled Jedi's Force to open the binders. Twice the Stormtroopers unhooked the binders from her wrists and escorted her to a small bathroom a few doors down the hall. Leia thought about trying to escape then, but the only door to the bathroom was the one she'd come in through, and at least one of the Stormtroopers kept a hold of her the entire time they were in the corridor.

Then the woman stopped coming.

At first Leia had thought that she was just bored, and that time had seemed to stretch out into infinity because of that boredom. Once the Stormtroopers at her door switched places with two new Troopers, however, Leia began to suspect that her perception of time had been right—that the infinity she had felt really had been a long while.

The last thing the woman had done was draw two fresh vials of blood from the crook of her arm, and then performed a physical. She had shone a light in Leia's eyes and ears and nose, had tested her autonomic responses, had ordered Leia to grip her fingers as tightly as she could, had listened to Leia's heart and lungs. Leia had made it as difficult for her as possible, sighing while she tried to listen to her chest, slumping back against the pillow when she wanted her to sit up straight, yelling in her face when she tried to look in Leia's mouth.

"Just tell me who you are," Leia had said, plaintive and pleading. "If you do, I promise I'll behave."

The woman did not tell her who she was.

Finally, the woman had finished and, packing up her supplies, including the two vials of blood, had left. That was the last time Leia had seen her.

Leia sighed and, as she had done every few minutes for the past hour, tugged fruitlessly at the cuffs binding her hands to the bed rails. As always they clattered and clinked, but did not give. Her wrists ached, the pain a dark shade of purple as it crept through her flesh and down to her bones. Even so, Leia gave another tug—and then flopped down with a second sigh.

She sat up again an instant later as the door opened. She looked toward it, expecting to see the woman.

It wasn't her.

Leia had only met the Emperor twice: once when she was a baby—he had asked her mother and father to present her to the Imperial court, purportedly in order to further legitimize her claim to the Alderaanian throne—and once when she was six and the Emperor and his entourage had come to stay on Alderaan for a weekend. Even so, she remembered what he looked like; she would know him anywhere.

He entered now, followed by Tarkin and two red-dressed Imperial Guards. The Emperor's face was shadowed by a cowl, his frail body draped with a long, flowing, black robe. His hands were tucked into the broad, bell-cut sleeves, and he moved with slow, but purposeful, intent.

Stopping and turning once he was inside, the Emperor raised a hand to the two Stormtroopers standing guard at the door. "You are dismissed," he said, waving his hand. They both saluted, then filed out of the room, giving their places to the two Imperial Guards.

Then the Emperor turned toward Leia. She stiffened, going rigid and frozen at the sharp feel of his eyes on her. She imagined them like embers, burning in the darkness beneath his cowl, and she shivered at the sensation of them on her—felt them like a real and living thing caressing her face, her shoulders, her chest.

"Leia Organa," the Emperor said. His voice was thin and raspy; to Leia it sounded like a nail scraping against duracrete. "Do you know who you are?"

The question was strange to Leia. She frowned. "I'm Leia Organa," she said.

"But who are you?"

Leia shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "I'm the Princess of Alderaan," she said, not sure what the Emperor was asking.

"And is that all?"

"Yes?" Leia said, but it was a question.

The Emperor walked toward her, his gait measured and controlled. He seemed like a snake to Leia, moving with coiled, deadly precision, full of rippling muscles and the promise of venom if she dared get too close. She shrank back, pulling at the cuffs binding her to the bed.

Halting, the Emperor looked at her again. Leia wondered if his eyes had ever left her.

"You truly believe that?" the Emperor asked, voice low and alluring in its softness. "That all you are is Princess of Alderaan?"

"Yes," Leia said, stouter than she felt. "What else would I be?"

Beneath his cowl, the Emperor smiled. "So much, my dear," he told her. "So very, very much.

"Are these binders really necessary?" the Emperor asked. He reached out and ran a wrinkled fingertip over the back of Leia's hand, then up the length of the chain to the cuff hooked around the bedside railing. He flicked his fingers, and with a pop the binders sprang open and fell to the floor with a clatter.

Leia pulled her hands to her chest, rubbing her wrists. They smarted and burned all in one, and looking down at them Leia saw the ugly purple of a deep bruise already blossoming beneath her skin.

"I trust," the Emperor said, just as soft as before, "that you will not need the binders to stay put?"

Leia looked at him, and thought, I'm not going to promise that. She had to escape—had to find Aunt Mon or Master Carlist or someone else who would help her—and promising to stay put would hamper that escape.

Beneath his cowl, the Emperor frowned. Leia saw the tightening of his chin, felt the strain of emotion gather around him like a cloud. She did not have time to wonder at her ability to feel that, however, before a narrow band of invisible power tightened around her throat, cinching her windpipe closed.

Leia panicked.

She clawed at her throat, fingers ripping through the invisible band without touching it. Her nails scratched long, shallow furrows into her skin. They bled long streams of scarlet, staining the collar of the white cotton shirt she wore. And still the band constricted.

She gasped, dark shadows climbing along the edges of her vision, encroaching closer and closer with every second. Lights popped behind her eyes, and her muscles strained as she fought to drag in breath.

I'm going to die. The thought flashed through her mind, half-formed and half-forgotten as soon as it was gone.

And then, just as suddenly as the band had appeared, it was gone.

Leia gasped, coughing and blinking against the receding shadows. She dragged in one, two, three deep lungfuls of air, and clutched at her neck, bleeding fitfully.

The Emperor smiled at her kindly, though his tone carried beneath its softness a hard chill. "I hope you won't try to defy me again, Leia Organa."

Leia shook her head.

"I trust," the Emperor said, even softer—and even more dangerous, Leia realized now—than before, "that you will not need the binders to stay put?"

Again, Leia shook her head.

"Good girl," the Emperor said, and Leia could feel his amusement and his pleasure.

The Emperor turned. "Come, Tarkin," he said, passing by the Moff. He didn't even look at him. "We have much to discuss."

Tarkin bowed. "As you say, Your Grace," he said, and followed the Emperor out of the room.

~oOo~

Some time later the door opened again, and a red-clad Imperial Guard entered the room. Leia sat up and looked at him with unhappy eyes, absent-mindedly rubbing her wrists, which still ached terribly.

"Come with me," the Imperial Guard said. His voice came out all harsh edges and sharp consonants, each syllable highly modulated by the mask covering his face.

Leia slid off of the bed and onto wobbly legs. For a second her knees threatened to buckle and her feet tried to give out, numb and cold as they were. Leia caught herself on the end of the bed and gripped at the sheets with fingers of desperation, not wanting to fall on her face—especially in front of the intimidating Guard.

After a minute, Leia straightened, and tried to take one, then two tentative steps. Her feet held her, and her knees did not give way, despite the wash of pins and needles prickling up and down her legs. Leia gritted her teeth and forced herself to take another step, then another.

A hand closed around her upper left arm and Leia jerked, surprised. She looked up to see the Imperial Guard standing over her, face mask unreadable.

"Come," he growled, and nearly yanked her off her feet as he started walking.

Leia half-ran, half-stumbled after the Guard out the door and down the hall. A light flickered overhead, causing Leia to shiver; accompanied by the cold floor and the sound of a far-distant drip of water from a leaky pipe, the whole place had a very unused, forgotten feel. That meant she was forgotten—or as good as forgotten—didn't it? And how would Master Carlist or Aunt Mon or anyone else find her then?

They rode up a lift in silence, the Guard's hand still fastened around Leia's upper arm. She squirmed in his grasp, trying to break free—but he only tightened his fingers into a bruising grip, a silent warning to be still. Leia obeyed, feeling her heart beat thunderously in her throat. Never before had anyone dared to harm her—and if they had by accident, they had apologized immediately, and begged for her forgiveness. Now this Guard was hurting her and seemed uncaring and unrepentant. That, more than the actual bruising pain itself, frightened Leia.

The lift doors opened, and the Guard dragged her out and down a long, gently sloping corridor. At the end were two great doors that stood at least four times Leia's height, made of what looked to be black, shining rock. Gold inlays edged the door and wrapped around the two metal handles in shapes of twining vipers and twisting eels. Four red Imperial Guards stood to either side of the doors, vibrospears in hand.

Leia shivered, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold tiles against her bare feet.

The Guard holding her saluted the eight Guards standing at the door as they approached. The Guards saluted back, and then the two innermost stepped forward and, each gripping a metal handle, drew open the doors with a long, low groan.

"Stand up straight," the Guard escorting Leia growled.

He released her arm then, and pushed her forward. Leia stumbled, catching herself only just in time to keep from tumbling to the hard ground, and took three quick, staccato steps to keep her balance. And, just like that, she was in the throne room.

The one and only time she had been in the throne room was as a baby. Her mother used to tell the story of how she had squalled all through the ceremony of presentation, reaching a fevered peak when the Emperor himself had descended from his throne to hold the newborn Leia in his hands. "You worked yourself up to such a degree," her mother would say, and when they were alone in Leia's room her mother would allow herself a small laugh, "that you threw up on the Emperor's robes. He was furious, but half the galaxy was watching, and so he could do nothing about it but hand you back to me."

Now, seeing the throne room for what felt like the first time, Leia did not blame her younger self for having squalled.

It was a terrifying place. The ceiling arched so high above her head that the rafters were lost to view, and the scarlet banners emblazoned with the Imperial Crest that hung from them wafted gently in an unseen and unfelt breeze. Pillars made from the same black material as the doors, marched down the full length of the great room to either side flanking the crimson carpet that stretched to the dais on the far end of the room. The floor was made of black marble whorled with gold, which matched the curling etchings sweeping down the sides of the pillars. The dais was made from obsidian, as was the throne sitting upon it.

The throne itself was a nightmare to behold. Huge, made of sharp lines and sharper edges, blanketed with a rich, red throw, it almost seemed to swallow the man sitting upon it—almost. Instead, it seemed to center the entire gravitas of the room upon the Emperor, leading every eye and every heart to him, seated above them in every way.

The throne room now was filled with an uncertain smattering of men and women. Half of them were dressed in the smart grey uniform of Imperial officers, the rank insignias on their lapels showing them to be Grand Admirals and Grand Moffs stationed on Coruscant—the most important of the most important. The rest of the occupants were dressed in varying kinds of leather armor, all dark in color, all seeming to have been made by the same armorer, for all their differences. On their hips hung lightsabers.

"Kneel," the Guard escorting Leia hissed as they reached the foot of the dais, and he pushed her down to her knees. Leia went without protest, biting her tongue as her knees banged against the floor, fighting to keep tears from springing to her eyes.

"Welcome, my child," the Emperor said from his throne. Looking up at him, Leia could see beneath his cowl—could see the crooked smile pulling the corners of his mouth up into a scythe. The sight made her skin crawl.

Around her, the others in the throne room tightened together and moved forward, closer to the dais. They knew now what they had been waiting for. They stayed well clear of Leia and her Guard, however, giving them a wide berth.

"Tell us, child," the Emperor said, breaking the glass-like stillness of the throne room. "What is your name?"

Leia swallowed, and glanced up at the Guard standing behind her. He did not move.

"Tell us, child," the Emperor encouraged. His tone was kind and friendly—his most dangerous tone, as Leia had learned earlier.

"Leia," she said, her voice sounding very small, as if it had been swallowed by the vast room.

"And what's your last name, little Leia?" the Emperor asked, still just as friendly.

"Organa."

The Emperor's smile grew. "That's not your birth name, though, is it, little Leia Organa?"

Leia frowned. "Yes," she said. "Mamá and Papá…" She trailed off, seeing again flowers drenched in blood.

"Yes, little Leia? What were you going to say about your Mamá and Papá?" the Emperor encouraged, still sounding friendly and kind.

Leia glanced around at the Grand Admirals and Moffs surrounding her. Most of them quickly averted their eyes, though some few stared openly at her, confusion and curiosity in turn written in their faces. None of them, however, offered her any help.

"They gave me their name," Leia said, looking back up at the Emperor and reciting what her parents had told her ever since she was old enough to understand. "When they adopted me, they gave me their name."

The Emperor's smile grew. "So you know you are adopted, then?" he asked.

"Yes," Leia said, hesitant. She did not know why, but this line of questioning made her very uneasy.

"And do you know who your birth parents were, little Leia?" the Emperor wanted to know.

Leia shook her head.

"Would you like to?"

Again Leia looked around her. This time only a few averted their gaze. As before, however, none offered her any help.

"Well, little Leia?" the Emperor asked.

Leia shook her head again. "I don't think so," she said.

The Emperor's smile slipped an inch. "Well I would like to tell you," he said. "Your birth mother was named Padmé Amidala. And your birth father was named Anakin Skywalker."

A sudden, quiet rush of sound whispered out from those surrounding Leia. She turned to look at them, surprised, and saw that many of them were murmuring to each other. They seemed shocked, she thought—shocked, and something else she could not name.

Leia herself was surprised as well, though she had no one to whisper to. Her mother and father had both told her tales of the brave Senator from Naboo, and many of her bedtime stories had been about the famous Anakin Skywalker, his padawan Ahsoka Tano, and his former master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"I'm sorry," she said, as polite as she could be, "but I think you must have made a mistake."

All of the murmuring around her went silent, as if murdered.

The Emperor's smile slid another inch. "Oh? And how is that, little Leia?" he asked.

"I can't be Anakin Skywalker's daughter."

"And why not?" the Emperor asked.

"Because," Leia said, floundering, "because Jedi couldn't have attachments." That was something else her father had told her—that Jedi were forbidden to love. Leia had always thought that was very sad.

"Anakin Skywalker broke that rule," the Emperor said dismissively. "You are the result of that taboo."

Again Leia shook her head, but did not speak.

The Emperor leaned forward in his throne, elbows braced against the armrests. "Search your heart, little Leia," he said. "You know what I am saying to be true."

"No," Leia said. But even as she spoke, something in her—something dark, something secret, something she had long known existed but had ever since ignored because she could tell it frightened her mother and father—rebelled. The word twisted in her mouth, turning bitter and sour. Something buried in her chest constricted, turning hard and black. A voice, silent and sinuous, whispered, No. It is right. You are the daughter of Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

"I—" Leia began, then faltered. "But it…"

The Emperor smiled, and rose.

"Hear me, my faithful subjects," he said, raising his voice to address all in the throne room. "The daughter of Anakin Skywalker will be trained in the arts of the Sith. She will be a great weapon for the Empire, and under her hand and heel my rule will be established for generations to come. She will be the greatest among you, and the most feared." The Emperor smiled then, and added, "But you alone as yet know of her existence. Keep her life a secret, and you shall all be rewarded richly upon her ascension to my right hand. Tell anyone else, and you—and all you told—shall die a painful death. Am I understood?"

Bows, and a low murmur of, "Yes, Your Grace," rose from the crowd.

Leia stared up at the Emperor. What did all that mean? What—or who—were the Sith? Her father had always told her that they had been defeated at the end of the Clone War by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker—her father. And why would the Emperor think she would hurt anyone? That was what he had implied, wasn't it? And more than that, she didn't want to be feared.

The murmuring silenced as the Emperor raised his hands. "Bow, now," he commanded, "to my new Right Hand."

Around her, the men and women all bowed. It took Leia a frightening second to realize that they were bowing to her, even the Guard still standing at her shoulder.

No, she wanted to say. Stop. She had been bowed to before—had been bowed to since before she could remember—but never before had it felt like this. Then it had been an act done in honor and delight. Now, though, it felt like a mockery, like a flower hiding a poisoned thorn.

She opened her mouth to speak—and stopped. She felt the Emperor's eyes on her, and she shivered again in spite of herself. She hated the feeling of his gaze; it felt like oil and like snakes, like tar and like venom.

"Learn well, little Leia," the Emperor said, his voice suddenly so soft that Leia barely heard him. He seemed to be speaking only to her. "Your life depends on it."

He nodded, and the Imperial Guard standing behind her grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. He led her down the red carpet to the double doors, which opened at their approach, and brought her back to the room she had awakened in. Hoisting her up, he placed her on the bed and fastened one of the two binders back around her wrist, sealing her there.

Then he left without a word, leaving Leia very much alone.


end notes: Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Want me to write super duper fast and get the next chapter out in the next week? Tell me what you thought!