"How could you be so stupid? Behaving like a common whore! And with Malgus of all Lords?"

Sullen Portia says nothing. She really hasn't offered any excuses, and she doesn't plan to.

"You're supposed to be the smart one! The serious one! The one I knew I could depend on to handle things while I was deployed!"

Yes, she's smart, serious, dependable Portia Metellus. A good sister and a good daughter. And while those characterizations are admirable, they did not set her pulse racing in the same way that being a hot girl pinup on Gaius' comlink did. Her humdrum reputation is probably why she got away with it for so long—no one knew to suspect her. Because Apollonia is right—she was boring . . . until two nights ago, that is. And now, her life is in uproar as a result.

"With all that is going on, you had to do THIS? Now?" Cato is bitter as he continues to eye her with disdain. "We could still be invaded, you know."

Yes, she knows. It's actually why she felt emboldened to take the risk of an elopement. Better to die Lady Malgus than to die plain old Lady Portia. She doesn't want to be a virgin martyr of the Dark Side. She wants to live a little in case some Jedi Knight puts a sword through her neck like they did to so many women and children long ago. The compassion of the Light Side is a lie that extends only to those who accept their ideals, which Portia will never do. So given the chance to convert or die if the Republic invades, she will choose execution without hesitation and die with a curse for the Jedi on her lips.

"I still can't believe you did this! I am so disappointed in you! I'm glad Father is dead so he didn't live to see this! You have brought shame upon yourself and upon our entire family! The Council—the DARK COUNCIL—watched you simpering up to that random! It was disgusting."

"I was only at the Palace because you went there," Portia sighs. She's grown weary of the never-ending litany of recriminations Cato keeps shouting. For a guy reclining on the couch with a new lung that hasn't fully healed who's wearing an oxygen tube up his nose, her brother sure seems to have a lot to say. And at peak volume, too.

Apollonia is here, naturally. She's loving that by comparison she's the virtuous paragon daughter of the house. So while none of this concerns her directly, her sister continues to participate in every discussion, even if it's just observing while gloating, which is what she's doing now. Fuming Portia glances away. Her sister's smugness grates.

It's been like this since yesterday evening when Cato came home from the hospital after collapsing from oxygen deprivation at the Palace. Once it became clear that Cato would recover just fine, the family turned its attention to what to do next. But what began as a serious discussion of their options quickly devolved into a shouting match of slut-shaming. Everyone, it seems, has something to say but her. Lots of questions get directed her way, but they are all rhetorical. Mostly, they are accusations. Her job is to sit meekly and absorb it in silence. But less than a full day in, pensive, increasingly indignant Portia has heard enough. Time for her to join in the blame game.

She lashes out at Cato with a viciousness that matches his own. "You never should have gone to the Palace! This was a completely private matter until you went to the Palace!"

"Honor demanded that I confront the Lord who compromised my little sister!"

"Mother told you not to go but you went anyway-like an idiot!" she hisses. "You were the one who made all this public! You were the one who made this a disaster!"

"I had to get that comlink!"

"I got the comlink, remember? Gaius would never have made those texts public. He would have gladly surrendered his comlink to me or to you in private! This all could have been resolved privately."

"It's bad enough that you did what you did, but then you compounded the risk by taking pictures of it!" Cato pauses to gasp for breath before he snarls, "I couldn't take the chance that random would start posting pictures he took of you sucking his di—"

"Cato, that's enough!" It's Mother speaking as she glides back into the room with a waft of perfume. Lady Oderint wears an expression that would quell even the most determined Lord with her regal hauteur and downturned lips.

"But Mother-"

"I said, that's enough! This bickering is pointless. What's done is done. Your sister's behavior is disgraceful but your behavior is stupid. She's right-you escalated the situation. And yes, I know you had good intentions. But now, matters are worse." With this grim pronouncement, Lady Oderint sinks dramatically down onto the couch in a huff.

"I'm going to kill Malgus," Cato growls as he clenches his hands into fists.

And here they go again. They've been over this point time and time again. But Portia dutifully plays her role, pushing back against her brother's latest posturing. "You can't kill him."

"Yes, I can!"

"She's right," Appy sighs. Even she sees the truth. "Cato, you are no match for him in a duel. No one's ever beaten Malgus except maybe that Jedi who ran away at Korriban."

"I can beat him! Once I'm healed—"

"You will still be no match for him." This time, it's Mother speaking. "Cato, you'll only get yourself killed. We must find another acceptable resolution for this situation. It's time to stop shouting and start thinking. You have vented enough on your sister."

Mulish Cato looks to Mother, raises his eyebrows, and goads, "You have a different idea for how we should handle things?"

"Yes." Exasperated Lady Oderint squares her shoulders and wears a resigned expression as she announces, "I have given this a lot of thought, and I think your sister should marry Malgus."

"What?" Appy echoes.

"What?" Portia blinks.

"WHAT?" Cato roars.

"It will make them happy, it will resolve the scandal risk, and you won't need to fight him," Mother reasons. "We can admit to it being an unfashionable love match without getting into the details. That can explain your personal reluctance in the matter."

"You would reward their behavior?" Prim Apollonia is scandalized.

Mother retorts, "Have you got a better solution?"

"Father would never stand for this!" Cato declares.

"Your father is dead," Mother reminds him with the harsh bluntness that characterizes a Dark Side family fight. No one pulls any punches behind closed doors of a Sith household when things get heated, most especially when honor, social standing, and prestige are involved. "While your father would not have approved of Portia's actions and he would have wanted a better Lord for a son-in-law than this Malgus, he would have seen the wisdom of a quick marriage at this point. Better to marry her to Malgus and embrace the romance, than to marry her to another Lord who will resent this matter and perhaps treat her badly for it. Your father knew a thing or two about love and attraction himself." With a wry twist to her mouth Mother observes, "He might actually have understood her foolishness."

"Have you forgotten that the Palace opposes the match?" Cato scowls.

"Lord Tenebrae opposes it, yes. But perhaps his mind can be changed."

"What are you proposing?"

"I have an appointment to see Tenebrae this afternoon. With you, Portia. You will make your most sincere apologies for your inappropriate actions and intemperate words, and together we shall implore Tenebrae to permit the marriage."

"You will do no such thing!" Cato scoffs. "I will not have him in the family!"

Mother pulls rank. "Cato, I love you as my son and I honor you as Lord of our house, but be quiet. Let me handle this. You have done enough already."

"Absolutely not! I will not let her marry him!"

"Ordinarily, I would agree. But things have progressed to a point where hearts are engaged and reputations are at risk. Lives are at risk. And that changes things."

"No, it doesn't!"

"There are times," Mother intones as she glares in Portia's general direction, "when even our family must relax its standards." Mother now turns to Apollonia to confide woman-to-woman a truth of the Shadow Force patriarchy. "Take a lesson here, my dear. Men are useless at resolving these sorts of things. They are too dug into their positions, too vested in their egos, too pumped for a fight to see the proper course. This situation calls for a woman's touch. Remember that with Traverse after the wedding. There are things that a wife needs to handle because a Lady has more latitude for compromise."

"Yes, Mater."

Cato's eyes narrow. "You plan to charm Tenebrae," he accuses.

"I plan to try. This family is not without influence in the Empire, and that might matter in wartime more than ever. If I fail, we can try things your way. Fighting is always an option, but let's make it the last resort. Portia, go upstairs and put on the purple dress. The formal day gown with the shoulder details. I'll send my maid in to do your hair. And wipe that pout off your face. Contrive to look your most apologetic."

"More like contrive to look your most virginal," Cato sneers, "because anyone who watched her at the Palace might think she was the one who seduced Malgus, and not the other way around."

Mother shoots Cato a quelling look. "I don't like your tone, son," she reproves icily.

Portia now leaps to her feet to announce, "I'll go change," with a cold parting look of her own for her brother. She's happy to play along with Mother's scheme, mostly because it allows her to quit the room and get some much-needed distance from Cato.

Even now with all the fuss, Portia feels 'sorry, not sorry' about the whole elopement fiasco. Well, perhaps it's more accurate to say that she's sorry she got caught but not sorry she did any of it. And really, that's what has Cato incensed with her. Portia knows that he might stop hollering if she broke down into hysterics and pleaded for forgiveness. She's pretty certain that Cato might be moved by that sort of performance. But here's the thing—she can't bring herself to do it.

With Cato's bluster showing no signs of abating, it occurs to Portia that her discouraged, depressed brother has finally regained his confidence. Cato hasn't been the same since he came home wounded in defeat. But the chance to fight Gaius and to defend the family honor seem to have re-lit the spark within that had dimmed. He has found his cause and, unfortunately, it's revenge. In between chest thumping, testosterone fueled diatribes, her brother can't stop talking about all the physical therapy he wants to do to get in shape to kill Gaius. Everyone's concerns that he is too weak to fight have Cato determined to fast track his recovery. And normally, that might be a good thing. But if it culminates in a tragic duel, this situation will have spiraled out of control.

Two hours later, Mother pronounces both of them suitably attired. After yet another verbal exchange with Cato, they depart for the Palace Temple. Once inside the family speeder, Mother raises the divider between the front seat where the chauffeur sits and the back seat where they ride. She wants privacy for their conversation, and that doesn't bode well. It's also a meaningless gesture because between Darth Tenebrae bringing her home in the middle of the night and all of Cato's shouting, every servant in the household knows the gist of what happened.

Mother stares out the speeder window as she starts to speak. This is actually the first private conversation Portia has had with Mother since the botched elopement two nights ago. Overbearing Cato has felt the need to be a part of every conversation and that meant gloating Apollonia invited herself along as well. But now, she and Mother are finally alone. And Mother, it seems, has much to say.

Shaking her head, she begins, "I think I know why you did this . . ."

The comment grates. Portia is heartsick over what has happened and she's tired of everyone berating her. She pushes back. "You don't know me." And that's the point, really. Her family are all so shocked at her behavior and Portia knows that's in large part because she has upended their expectations. Nerdy, responsible, tall, and chubby, she is the last girl in the whole extended Metellus clan who anyone would envision falling in love before marriage. Gritting her teeth, Portia says it again: "You don't know me . . ." Years of resentment surface in those words, making them especially biting.

"I'm your mother. I know you."

"You don't know me. Not like you think you do."

Mother sighs and concedes, "I haven't always been as present for you as I should be . . . I know that."

"You were locked in your bedroom for most of my childhood!"

Mother sticks to her topic. "This isn't about me. It's about Malgus. What's so special about this boy? Did he give you attention? Did he flatter you? Is that why you allowed yourself to be compromised?"

"He's not like anyone else. That's pretty much the point of Gaius. It's what I like about him," Portia sulks.

"So, this is rebellion? Is that it?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know . . . He came along and wouldn't go away and he sort of grew on me." Portia doesn't have a better way to describe it. Love crept up on her when she wasn't looking.

Mother gives her a slow, appraising look. "I can see that he means a lot to you."

Portia lifts her chin defiantly. She proclaims, "I love him. And he loves me."

"You just think you love him," Mother sighs.

"I love him!" Portia's getting shrill from the emotion of the moment, but she doesn't care. "I love him, and you won't talk me out of it!"

"This is puppy love and hormones. In time, it may pass—"

"It won't!"

"—and so I am asking you now, Portia Flavia Metellus, if you are absolutely sure that you want to marry him. Because if this meeting succeeds and we are granted permission from the Palace, you must marry Malgus." Mother stares her down and warns, "If you beg a favor from a man like Darth Tenebrae, you must follow through. So . . . are you sure you want to marry him?"

Portia doesn't hesitate. "I'm sure."

"Very well, then," Mother nods. "If this works, I will do my best to put a good spin on this marriage publicly to welcome him to our family. Your brother won't. You will both have to deal with Cato."

"I understand."

"Do you? Because you will suffer socially for this mesalliance. A marriage to Lord Malgus will keep you off certain guest lists and blackball you from many clubs, committees, and boards."

"I don't care about those things."

"Not now. But in time, you might," Mother informs her with a knowing look. "Lord Malgus is a warrior who will be away on deployment for months at a time over a long career. You will want diversions and projects to fill your time."

"I told you—I don't care," Portia sniffs.

"And when children come along and you have some white-faced, brown-haired son or daughter who other parents don't want their children to play with, you might care. You might find yourself seeking a lot of social projects and connections to ease their path in life."

Portia shrugs off the concern. "Things are going to change."

"Maybe so. But I doubt they are going to change as fast as you and Malgus would like. The first time your child gets mistaken for a servant, I want you to remember this conversation," Mother huffs.

"The children could look like me."

"I certainly hope so."

A long pause falls as Mother resumes looking out the window. Looking at her sharp, aristocratic profile prompts Portia to raise a very awkward topic. But better to tell Mother first before Darth Tenebrae does it. So, with a deep, fortifying breath, Portia ventures, "I need to tell you something."

Something about her tone must give away the gravity of what's coming next. Mother's head whips around and her eyes bulge. "Oh Force, you're pregnant after all—"

"No!" Portia reflexively yelps. "No! It's about Gaius."

"Yes?"

"He's uh not a random. At least, Lord Tenebrae says he isn't."

"What does that mean? What are you telling me?" Mother snaps impatiently.

Portia comes out with it: "His mother was a Lady, but his father was a colonial. He is uh part pureblood, I think."

"He's some half breed?" Mother fairly screeches.

"I guess. He must have taken after his father in looks. And," Portia cringes as she reveals, "his parents weren't married."

"He's a bastard?" Mother throws a trembling hand up to her forehead and closes her eyes in dismay. "Oh, Portia . . . Who is this young man you have gotten yourself mixed up with?"

"His mother was a Temple girl—"

"A WHAT?!"

"—sent to the Temple for adultery. Gaius inherited his Force from her, I guess."

"Oh Force, this keeps getting worse!" Mother mutters under her breath. "Who is his mother's family?"

"Tenebrae didn't say."

"Who knows about this?"

"No one knows. Gaius didn't even know. I was there when the priest told him. He was shocked."

Mother's ears perk up. "No one knows? You're sure about that?"

"Yes, but you can ask Tenebrae if he brings it up."

Mother's socially astute mind is already thinking through the issue, strategizing for how to handle it. "If no one knows, we must keep it that way. In fact, it would be best if we do not ask Tenebrae about it so we have no official knowledge. That way, we can deny it plausibly if it gets out."

"Okay . . . "

"No one must know!" Mother insists. "That includes Cato and Apollonia. It's just too . . . too . . . dreadful to contemplate. As far as this family is concerned, Darth Malgus is a random."

"So . . . you're alright with this?" Portia is honestly a little shocked.

"No! I am not alright with any of this!" Mother hotly retorts, "but I will try to help you. You're my daughter. And if you love this Lord like you say you do, then I want you to have him. I remember what young love feels like," Mother confides in the choked tone that means she's missing Father. "I want you to have that if you can . . . even if it's with this embarrassing, boorish bastard random." But no sooner does she say this than Mother laments, "I hope I'm doing the right thing . . . If you can marry him and Cato will drop this revenge idea, then this will help both of you."

"This is basically for Cato, right? Because you're worried for Cato?" Portia grumbles. Mother always did love him best.

"This is for you both. I love you both." With a steely look full of reproach, Mother contends, "I am trying to make the best of a very bad situation," through gritted teeth. "I hope you appreciate that fact."

Yes, she understands. But Portia can't help but grumble, "I don't think this is going to work." She remembers Darth Tenebrae's snarky glee at thwarting her and Gaius at the Temple. She can't imagine what could change his mind. The man seemed intractable.

But Mother is determined to try. "You never know," she posits with more determination than true optimism.

"I suppose . . . " Feeling a little sheepish now and fearing that she has been ungrateful for Mother's unexpected show of support, Portia ventures, "Thank you for doing this."

Lady Oderint flashes a quick, wan smile and reaches to squeeze her hand. "It's worth a try. Let's do our best."

But as the speeder pulls up to the stately Temple that abuts the sprawling Palace complex, Portia begins to lose her nerve for the upcoming interview. "This isn't going to work." She all but cursed Darth Tenebrae with the Force when she saw him at the Palace, urging Gaius on to revenge someday. But Mother apparently doesn't know that part, or she doesn't think it's important, because she seems to believe that the Chief Priest can still be persuaded.

"He agreed to this appointment, didn't he?" Mother points out. "He didn't have to do that. Perhaps it is a signal of openness to a compromise."

They exit the speeder. Mother straightens her dress and commands under her breath, "Let me do the talking." Then she sweeps into their destination like she's the returning Empress. Portia does her best to emulate her poise.

But sure enough, the meeting with Darth Tenebrae is as pointless as Portia fears. There is no more shouting and there are no more threats. The torturous thirty-minute discussion is exceedingly civil and polite. But also upsetting and deeply unsatisfying.

It is held in the Chief Priest's private office. As she and Mother are ushered in past the praetorian guards, Portia reads the list of titles posted on the wall outside the priest's office door. Darth Tenebrae is the Grand Pryor of Darkness, Defender of the Faith, Kittat Patriarch of Korriban, Cardinal Crusader for the Force, President of the Pontifical College of Power, Member of the Dark Privy Council, and Apostolic Minister of Marriages. That last job, Portia knows, is why she and Mother are here. But the list of other impressive appointments brings home the full meaning of who she and Gaius have crossed.

Darth Tenebrae's enormous office is sparsely furnished—almost monastic in décor but somewhat incongruously ultra-luxe at the same time. For the simple, timeworn antique furnishings are covered in lush velvets. The drapes are handsome and look impressively expensive. The rug that depicts a star map of the original Empire is silken beneath Portia's slippers. The overall impression is princely restraint, and that strikes Portia as a strange fit for the snarling, bedraggled Lord she remembers from the other night.

Mother looks around and smiles her approval—she cares deeply about trappings and appearances. She greets the Chief Priest as if they are two heads of state convening a summit meeting to avert a war. Portia has to suppress a grin. Mother can be so over-the-top sometimes. But today, Portia is secretly glad for it.

"My Lord Tenebrae," Lady Oderint begins with a low curtsey as though she were being presented to the Dark Lord himself, "thank you for seeing us. My daughter wishes to express her deep regret for her shameful actions in person."

That's Portia's cue to grovel. After she and Mother are invited to sit, Portia does her best mea culpa. She apologizes for flouting the Palace marriage rules in an attempted elopement. She regrets her rude and disrespectful words spoken in the heat of anger. She is embarrassed by her bold and unmaidenly behavior. She is not normally so impulsive, Portia explains as Mother vehemently nods her agreement.

"Then why did you do it?" the priest asks.

Portia hesitates.

"Answer Lord Tenebrae," Mother softly prods as their host's piercing yellow eyes stare her down.

Portia answers truthfully in a small, sheepish whisper. It's the excuse that Mother and the priest already know. "Because I love Lord Malgus."

"That young man," Mother immediately jumps in, "has turned my impressionable daughter's head. He has convinced her of his radical ideas and egged her on to emulate his own brashness."

"Indeed," Tenebrae concurs.

"She was always a well-behaved girl before he came along. She does well in school. She does Temple work. My Lord, Portia has never done anything like this before. It's not in her nature. But she's only seventeen. I fear that she is immature."

"Just like Lord Malgus," the priest intones. Tenebrae accuses, "He has dragged her down."

"Yes," Mother immediately agrees. Then she starts explaining how nevertheless, she thinks the pair should be allowed to marry.

It's a big pivot that another Lord might dismiss out of hand. But Darth Tenebrae lets Mother speak at length, making all of her arguments. In essence, Lady Oderint admits, this is a pragmatic ploy. Marrying her daughter to Malgus resolves the scandal risk, sidesteps a family feud, and avoids the need for revenge that endangers her already wounded son. She hopes that her daughter and Malgus will be happy together, but if not, then they will be forced to live with their rash mistake for a lifetime. I don't want this marriage, Mother concedes, but it seems like the best course of action under the circumstances. Things have progressed too far to pretend otherwise.

Lady Oderint promises that the Metellus family will pay whatever fine the Palace deems appropriate. She stops short of offering an outright bribe, but she's basically asking Tenebrae to name his price for their marriage. She reminds Lord Tenebrae of her late husband's service to the Empire which was tragically cut short by his untimely death. The Metellus and Valerian families, Mother contends as she namedrops half a dozen notable living relatives, are longtime patriots. Bringing Lord Malgus into their fold will hopefully grind down his rough edges and give him a new perspective. Perhaps if Malgus is less of an outsider, she reasons, he will mature into a fine Lord. But if some Jedi kills him in the meantime, Mother volunteers as she lets her true feelings show, then that will be fine too.

Darth Tenebrae smiles at that comment.

For her part, Portia sulks in silence seated at Mother's side. She mostly observes the priest to assess his reaction to Mother's arguments. This isn't the dim light of the Temple. Portia can see clearly the pale skin that marks Tenebrae for a colonial. His complexion is more the beige variety than the pink white alabaster hue of Gaius. The priest looks to be frozen somewhere in his middle years. Is he in his forties? Or maybe fifties? Portia's young eyes are unsure, for he looks generically old to her. Tenebrae has crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the top of his cheeks that suggest good humor and wit, but today he is serious and reserved as the topic befits. The greasy, straggly hair Portia recalls turns out to be light brown in daylight. Today, it is pulled back neatly and looks like he might have washed it. Even his bizarre déclassé beard looks neatly trimmed. Altogether, Lord Tenebrae's personal presentation is much cleaned up from the man she first encountered. He's wearing a hooded cassock with the traditional priest collar that looks impeccably tailored and recently pressed. There's no sword hilt at his waist, Portia notices. That, at least, is the same as when she first met him.

But the most marked change in Tenebrae today is in his demeanor. He speaks with a patrician's vocabulary and crisp inflection. Gone are the drawling colloquialisms and flat low-class accent she remembers. This man sounds both educated and polished. He interacts with Mother as an equal, but with the customary respect and gallantry shown to a Lady. All in all, the priest is gentlemanly and thoughtful. It's everything that a Lord of his rank and position should be, albeit a little on the formal side. Mother, naturally, eats that up. She is rather cool and distant herself.

Today's version of the priest is such a marked departure from Portia's first impression that she becomes suspicious. Who is the real Darth Tenebrae? Is it the sneering colonial who might be mistaken for a vagrant? A man who comes to conduct a midnight séance with a cauldron so utilitarian that it looks like a soup pot? Or is the real Darth Tenebrae this impeccably turned out, mannered and patient professional they sit before? Could he be both? Portia isn't sure.

She is usually very good at reading people. She prides herself on her Force-assisted intuition. But this bizarre priest is a riddle. As the interview drags on, Portia begins to feel deceived. Is Tenebrae giving his dead colleague's widow a hearing out of courtesy? Could he be embarrassed by his own behavior and appearance and so have welcomed this chance for a second impression? Is this just manipulation? Portia can't decide. That the priest slips so easily between different characters makes her uneasy.

But in the end, Darth Tenebrae reiterates what he said at the Temple to her and Gaius and then later the next morning to her family: she and Lord Malgus cannot marry. There is too much risk of an infanticide from their union. For, as all the leading families of the Dark Side know, boy children born with too much Force must be sacrificed lest they grow to present a threat to the Dark Lord.

Mother has anticipated this reasoning. With a gulp and a glance her way, Mother asserts that the family is prepared to take that risk. If marriage to Malgus begets an overpowered child, then so be it. "They will accept the will of our Dark Lord in the matter," Mother says gravely as she preemptively acquiesces to the murder of her future grandson.

Darth Tenebrae frowns and now delves further into unsavory topics. "There are aspects of Lord Malgus' background of which you may be unaware . . . " he begins.

Mother begs his pardon as she interrupts and tells him flatly, "The family knows of his origins. My daughter has told us that he is the—" Mother pauses to lower her voice as her cheeks flush purple, "—the out of wedlock son of a Lady condemned to the Temple." Lady Oderint gathers a breath and musters her prodigious dignity before she continues. "The family can accept that circumstance. Although, we would prefer it not to become public, of course."

Darth Tenebrae looks none too pleased to have his fallback objection anticipated and preempted. He now stops speaking in polite euphemisms and pretty words. Instead, he levels with her and Mother. "The Force is strong in his family. Too strong. Were Lord Malgus not believed to be a colonial random, he would have been an automatic infanticide at birth. As it is," the priest tells them, "Lord Malgus might not live to see his next birthday." The Jedi and the Republic might kill him, the priest explains. But if not, the Dark Lord might do it himself. Only Lord Malgus' current usefulness is keeping him alive. With a gleam in his strange eyes, Darth Tenebrae tells them that Malgus is in extreme disfavor with the Emperor and that is unlikely to ever change.

And that is why, Darth Tenebrae concludes, he cannot in good conscience permit the marriage. Very likely, your daughter would become a young widow to a proscribed husband with a dead baby. Better to marry her to any other Lord, than to allow a union with Lord Malgus. It's reasoning that is sound, but listening Portia can't help but suspect that it's not the real motivation. This hater priest wants to dash her and Gaius' hopes for a happy future, and he will say anything to do it.

The priest and Mother talk some more, but it's all for show. Tenebrae's mind is made up. The answer is no.

Mother takes the decision with grace. She thanks Lord Tenebrae, gathers her purse, and stands to leave. And that's when the priest speaks up.

"My Lady?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Please inform Darth Adraas that there will be no official repercussions should he choose to seek vengeance. I leave the manner of the reprisal to his discretion. Just know that in view of the Metellus family's high esteem by our Emperor, the family is granted permission to harm Lord Malgus in any manner you deem fitting. All I ask is that you wait until after his upcoming mission," Tenebrae adds as an afterthought.

Mother nods slowly. This is what she had hoped to avoid—a fight in which her son might be the loser—but to no avail.

"If Lord Malgus survives the Republic at Sluis Van," the Chief Priest schemes with a slow spreading smile, "then he is all yours to kill."

Portia sucks in an outraged breath and fumes. Here again, she thinks, the priest is showing his true colors. He wants Gaius dead, and he wants Cato to do his dirty work for him.

Mother has her usual cool aplomb as she inclines her head in acknowledgement. Steely Lady Oderint is outwardly unfazed—she might as well be discussing real estate, rather than murder. She replies, "Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord," as though she has been granted a favor.

That's when Portia decides that she has had enough. Pushing past Mother to lean over the desk the priest is seated behind, she hisses, "I see through you!"

Tenebrae looks mildly amused at her assertion. He sits back, crosses his arms, and eggs her on. "What exactly do think I am?"

"You are a bitter, sad, and jealous man!"

"Portia!" Mother yelps her disapproval and yanks her back.

Darth Tenebrae smirks. He cocks his head up at Portia and inquires, "What tells you that?"

"The Force. The Force tells me that!"

"Portia!" That's Mother's 'I mean business' tone.

Reluctantly, Portia backs away from the desk where she's still looming over seated Darth Tenebrae. She turns to leave when a sudden thought occurs to her. It gives her pause. "Wait—" she nearly chokes with the stroke of insight, "you're the husband!" Her eyes widen as she stares at the priest with new understanding. "You're the husband! It's so clear—you're the husband who sent his mother to the Temple! That's why you hate him! Because Gaius is your wife's child with her lover!"

Tenebrae's brows lower. He hisses back, "You don't know what you're talking about!"

Portia responds with a smug, knowing look. "I told you I had you figured out."

"You're wrong."

"If I am, I'm still close to the truth." All along, Portia has sensed that the official obstacles between her and Gaius were personal. The Palace rules were a mere pretext. And now, she thinks she knows why.

For her part, Mother is appalled. "Portia!" she hisses. "Stay out of Lord Tenebrae's personal business! My Lord," Mother begins sputtering an apology to the priest, "she is disappointed and upset, and is not acting herself."

"I rather doubt that," Tenebrae observes dryly. "I think this is your daughter at her truest self. It's how I remember her from the Temple when I caught her and Malgus ready to slash hands."

The gentlemanly veneer that Tenebrae has been playacting throughout the interview slips completely away now. The priest is the very same nasty man Portia remembers from that scene at the altar. It is, to use his words, his truest self, she suspects.

Darth Tenebrae looks her over coldly and warns, "Careful, girl, or I will arrange to have you ordered to take the veil. Here at my Temple, you can pine for your beloved Gaius as the priests pass you around night after night as their newest toy."

It's an ugly, serious threat issued with a heavy dose of gleeful misogyny.

Mother chokes and pales. Then, she takes charge. "My Lord, that will not be necessary. We thank you for your time. The family shall handle things from here. Come, Portia." Mother grabs her upper arm and physically propels her from the room.

"As you wish, Lady Oderint," the priest calls after them. Portia doesn't have to turn her head to know that he's laughing at them.

Mother walks fast to the Temple exit. Even with her longer legs, Portia has to exert herself to catch up. "Well, that was worth a try," Mother mutters in a tone which reveals that all along she had very little expectation of succeeding. "I'm sorry. I had hoped it would work."

"What now?" Portia worries.

"Plan B."

"What's Plan B?"

"You marry Darth Defile."

"Defile?" Wait—what?

"He is in need of a wife, he's Cato's friend, and we would proudly welcome him to the family. He's a Clodian by birth and a Scipio on his mother's side. His lineage is impeccable."

"Isn't he like thirty or something?"

"He's twenty-nine. Cato says you two know each other and get along well together. And I'm told he is witty and good looking."

"That's true but—"

"Cato is contacting him this afternoon to see if he's interested."

"He is? But—"

"Defile might be the best offer you get," Mother informs her curtly, "so be grateful if he's willing to do it."

"But what about Appy and Traverse? Don't they have to get married first?"

"Not under the circumstances since you have disgraced yourself."

"Oh."

Despite the harsh words, Mother gives her a sympathetic look as together they wait for the chauffeur to bring the speeder. "You need to forget Lord Malgus," she counsels. "Your destiny lies along a different path from his."

With a gulp, Portia nods to acknowledge the truth of the situation. She and Gaius are a hopeless case of forbidden love. She can't be too upset about it either, since she knew all along there were huge obstacles to their happiness. So while Portia could never have predicted the precise details for how their romance played out, its demise was always a foregone conclusion.

She wipes at a tear that stubbornly leaks out despite her best efforts. She swallows back a sob that threatens. Then, Portia stoically looks to Mother and agrees, "Defile will be fine."

"Good. That's settled."

As angry as Mother is with her right now and as resentful as Portia feels in return, nevertheless . . . this is the closest she has felt to her parent in a long time. Portia is grateful for Mother's support and her detached, clear thinking in a crisis. While Cato is caught up in his loud ranting, Lady Oderint quietly plots. Who says Sith Lords are the fiercer sex? Regarding Mother now, Portia thinks that Sith Ladies are underappreciated for their valor. They do the far less glorified domestic tasks of raising families, managing estates, rearing children, looking after Apprentices, and safeguarding the family social standing. But a menace to any of those vocations brings out the cunning in a Lady. Even reclusive Lady Oderint can be coaxed out of seclusion to storm the Palace Temple to confront a threat to her family.

While Mother might have failed to convince Darth Tenebrae on her behalf, she's not giving up on helping Cato out of his predicament, whether he likes it or not. "I will try to rein in your brother's zeal for a duel. It's a good thing he's still recovering because it will give him a few weeks to cool down. I hope in time he will be open to an alternative revenge on Malgus."

"Me too." A duel would be a disaster for everyone, Portia fears. Better to destroy some of Gaius' property, to do damage to his already questionable reputation, or to seek some other vengeance where no one gets hurt and honor is satisfied.

"I have an idea," Mother volunteers with intriguing slyness.

"Yes?" Portia wants to know more.

Mother puts her off. "Let me discuss it with your brother first. If I pitch it right, perhaps he can be convinced that it's his own idea." The speeder pulls up now. Before they get in, Mother turns to her and speaks caution under her breath. "Even assuming that Lord Defile can be convinced with a hefty marriage settlement, this is not over yet."