When she agreed to marry him, she thought she was happy.

The wedding ceremony ended, they kissed as husband and wife, and she looked into his eyes and saw him smiling—she couldn't do the same. Why couldn't she smile? How did she get here? Why did it feel so wrong?

Of course it was wrong, it was forbidden for a Jedi to marry.

It was wrong because she loved someone else.

She was relieved when his eyes were finally off of her, when they looked out together over the lake at the setting sun, the wind carrying a chill across the water and right through her.

Had she wanted this? She could count on one hand the number of times that she and Anakin had shared a kiss or embraced—now they were bound for life.

Stars were beginning to pierce the sky, the darkness pushing away the light towards the horizon and the next thing she knew she was hoisted up into Anakin's arms. He lifted her so effortlessly that it took her breath away, but as she held onto him, she felt… powerless.

He carried her over the threshold of the open terrace doors of her room and set her gently on the bed, lying her on her back, the laced veil of her dress pooled behind her. He threw off his cloak and leaned over her, and she could see that he was already breathless. He seemed nervous and her first instinct was to comfort him with a hand to his cheek.

The flame of desire was in his eyes. She wanted to wrap herself in a blanket, to cover herself from those eyes. They were were blue, but not like his master's. The blue of Anakin's eyes could burn hot or cold at any moment, and they reached deep inside her. Her own thoughts escaped her and her body responded in kind to his. He was young, inexperienced, but he knew what he wanted.

They had their wedding night, and she gave herself completely to him. She fell asleep beside him, her dreams entrenched in Anakin's words of love and agony for her, her own voice screaming in the distance. She awoke, dazed. When Anakin looked into her eyes and spoke to her, she was calmed.

She loved Anakin. She believed it whenever he looked at her.

But then came the inevitable separation when he left her on Naboo because he was called on a mission to a system that was at risk from the new Confederate Army, as led by Count Dooku. And when he was gone, she was struck with panic and the love she felt for him wavered.

What had she done? Why did she marry him? This wasn't like her at all.

She was afraid and knew she should reach out to Anakin for comfort, he was her husband, that was what a wife was supposed to do. Instead she found herself glad with the distance from him.

She wanted to speak to Obi-Wan. With him, she could always find solace in his steadfast wisdom, in the way she knew he made her feel. When she was with Obi-Wan, she felt at home.

And the guilt of how she felt was eating away inside of her. Anakin was a good man, he had risked his life for her, he worshiped her and loved her deeply. He was worth her affections, even if he wasn't allowed to have them. Padme had never been disingenuous to any man she knew romantically, she was honest and frank every step of the way. And yet, she wasn't sure that she was lying to Anakin. The affection was real. To call it love was too far, but she could not stop the syllable from pulling out of her throat.

Worst of all, she didn't understand her own emotions well enough to speak to anyone about it. This was a secret to be closely guarded, for Anakin's sake more than hers, and she felt far too ashamed and confused. If she spoke to anyone, he would be expelled from the Jedi Order and her own reputation would be left in shreds. To speak to Obi-Wan would obligate him to respond as a Jedi, and she knew she couldn't bear to be on the receiving end of that silent, lethal look of judgment. He spoke volumes without uttering a word, and his disgust in her would kill her.

And Anakin… Without a doubt he was a powerful, skilled warrior and a genius mechanic, with all the courage and confidence to match. But his heart was brittle. She feared what would become of him if his heart was broken. Perhaps she could be strong enough for the both of them. Maybe he needed something to come home to every time he was called to war.

This confusion had to be put aside so that she could focus on her work. The galaxy was churning with escalating conflicts in every system, clones and droid armies dispatched and clashing in all directions.

Since their marriage, she and Anakin had their secret rendezvous only three times. It was five months since she had last seen Obi-Wan, and only four weeks since she last saw Anakin.

As always, when Anakin returned to Coruscant from an assignment, he went straight to her at the first opportunity. They made love—passionate, but tender—and afterward as they lay together naked, they talked, knowing he would have to be gone in the morning. It was their way.

She lay with her head on his chest as it rose and fell heavily so that he could catch his breath from their exercise, her own body still thrumming. In these moments she was not as confused and she knew she loved him. It felt so different than her nights with Obi-Wan, it made her wonder if her feelings for Anakin or his master was love at all. Maybe it was love for one and not the other, but she could not understand which.

One thing was for certain. It was nice to just lay with him like this, to not shirk any intimate embrace because it might denote attachment. To not think about anything else and to just listen to the heartbeat of the man she married. But he sighed heavily, in that haughty way that he did when he was frustrated. She looked up at him in the dark, the lights of the city coming through the blinds just enough to light the crease of his brow.

"What's the matter?" she asked softly.

"It's nothing, my love…" he said quietly.

She waited.

"It's Obi-Wan," he huffed. He couldn't help it. He could never keep it in.

"What about Obi-Wan?" She felt ashamed saying his name, the way it made her blood rush.

It felt like years since she had seen him, longer than ever, when it was only mere months.

"I'm finally going to graduate from a padawan… The council finally thinks I'm ready after I fought Count Dooku."

"That's wonderful news, Anakin," she sat up, smiling with happiness for him. But he was still frowning hard. "So why are you angry with Obi-Wan? He doesn't think you're ready?"

"He does… He was the one who convinced the council that I was ready and didn't need to undergo the trials. Which… I'm grateful for."

The gratitude sounded forced.

"But he still questions me going on my own missions without him."

There it was. Anakin was keeping his voice level, but his robotic hand was in a fist as he pressed it to his furrowed brow.

"He hovers over me, doubts me, accuses me of arrogance… He still treats me like a child."

This wasn't the first time that she had heard him complain about Obi-Wan's mentorship.

"He cares about you," she said softly, her fingers lightly toying with the small braid over his shoulder, realizing it would be gone soon. "I think he will need to adjust as much as you with no longer being his apprentice… Be patient."

"Sometimes I feel like he doesn't want me to succeed as a Jedi… Sometimes I sense that he hopes I'll leave the order."

"He always devoted himself entirely to teaching you—"

"Why do you always defend him?"

She didn't realize she was doing it, and Anakin had lifted his head to look at her, his eyes sharp.

"I just want you to know how loved you are, Anakin…" She stroked her thumb across his brow, as if to smooth away his frown. "Sometimes the only way people can show they care is by being hard on us…"

He sighed at her touch, his eyes fluttering closed. "I don't think he cares… Not like you do, Padme…"

Yes, she cared about Anakin. But a chill of guilt rattled through her when she realized that she didn't care in the way that Anakin did. His love for her burned with such an intensity, it was impossible to reciprocate. He proclaimed he couldn't breathe when he was away from her—she could. And she couldn't help the ringing through her body whenever she heard Obi-Wan's name.

They fell asleep together and she was taking in the scent of her husband, but her thoughts got away from her as she sank into dreams…

Obi-Wan….

Her focus was on his lips first, framed by that auburn beard that she missed feeling on her body. Everything seemed as if encased in a fog and she had to feel her way to see the rest of him, her hands wandering from his lips, over his beard, his cheeks, his brow. His hair was shorter now, it wasn't long like she remembered. Dreams weren't always accurate, she knew.

Now she could see his eyes, blue like the lakes of Naboo, glimmering in that cheeky way that always made her want to giggle like an idiot. Now she found his neck, his shoulders. Where was his Jedi tunic? Oh well, she remembered what he was like without it. She found his chest, she could even feel the tickle of the hairs there on her fingertips.

All along his torso she went, as if sculpting him out of thin air into how she remembered him. But there was a scar on his bicep that was not there before. Certainly her imagination put it there, she had seen his injuries on Geonosis. She could feel the rough texture of it, still hot from a lightsaber.

She found his hips, the line of his pelvis and down she went, feeling it all. She stroked him, felt him. She had not sculpted out his hands, she could not see them, but she could feel them on her hips—through her hips and reaching deep inside of her, finding the deepest, most sensitive corners.

His touch ignited her, filled her with the warmth of the universe. She could not offer him the same, beyond the dexterity of her hands. The air itself felt frenetic, desperate, hungry. and the universe inside her coalesced until it exploded and she cried out with pleasure into the fog, melting into a pool of stars.


Obi-Wan opened his eyes with Padme's scream still echoing in his mind, the sound of ecstasy burning through him and he woke in mid, violent orgasm. He was sweating, his heart palpitating wildly, and he was alone in his quarters at the Jedi Temple. He sleepily swiped the strands of short bangs that stuck to his brow, his new hair cut creating a new habit of doing so.

After his talk with Yoda, he spent the rest of the evening meditating to clear his mind of the emotions that plagued him around Padme, but so many little things brought her back to him. One of them was the memory of her fingers in his long hair. He decided to cut it. He would never discuss the motives to anyone (no one had reason to ask) but it felt like a symbolic purging of unneeded feelings. He kept the beard, though, he quite liked it.

Obviously this ritualistic haircut did not work miracles. The dream of her was so intense his heart was still beating out of his chest, his body shuddering and hot.

Even when he suffered through raging puberty as a teenager, never had he experienced such a dream, as if Padme had been in the very room with him. He knew she was miles away in her apartment… with Anakin. He hadn't even been thinking about them. He was far too exhausted from their last mission and was glad to sleep.

This was just a vivid dream. So vivid, in fact, that he had to change his clothes—highly inconvenient and undignified.

Dreams pass in time, he once told Anakin.

But what kind of dream left the smell of Padme on his fingertips?