No one could deny that Padmé Amidala would be the bell of the ball that was celebrating Emperor Palpatine's seventy-fifth birthday. She was easily one of the most adored and beautiful world leaders in the galaxy. First being the Queen of Naboo most of her adolescence and then taking on the role as a Senator. It was her way with words and purity that made the people like her so much.
Despite her reluctance to the spotlight it was truly inevitable that all eyes would be on her during the ball. Pictures would be taken, the media would certainly advertise her whether it be good or bad. And all eyes were on her from the moment she walked into the ballroom dawning a snow white gown with rhinestone spaghetti straps and a low back that melted into a tight long pencil skirt that flared a few inches at the bottom.
She looked flawless—pure and punctual.
There were some people who were sneaking glances at the young Senator and others were down right gawking at her—though her dress was by far not the most eye-catching in the ballroom, that title belonged to Duchess Satine who wore a dress that seemed to be inspired by peacock feathers. It was Padmé's natural beauty that caught the eye of others. Her impressive stature. To be a Queen and a Senator by the age of twenty.
She stood next to a few of her colleagues, among them was Bail Organa. He stood with a comforting hand on her shoulder and a glass of champagne. They made light conversation, not even thinking about broaching the topic of the Emperor and his late arrival.
Though it was curious the Emperor was late to his own celebration that he threw for himself. Palpatine was certainly an interesting fellow and that was all Padmé would ever care to say about him. She didn't particularly like the Emperor. At all. In fact it was well known that Emperor Palpatine and Senator Amidala fought tooth and nail about pretty much everything they ever discussed during their time together in the Senate.
Her opinion of him only got worse when he rose through the ranks, blew through the galaxy's democracy, and declared himself the Emperor—not to mention his little pet he kept on a leash. The devil himself, the notoriously infamous Lord Vader.
Maybe it was too crass to compare the devil to such a creature—Lord Vader wasn't the devil, he was worse.
The rumors surrounding Palpatine's apprentice were anything but pleasant. Unlike the skyving politician that Palpatine was, Lord Vader didn't waste time lying or beating around the bush. He got straight to the point—if he didn't like you, he'd simply kill you. Not a quick death either.
"Attracting a lot of attention, aren't you?" Senator Mothma inquired, sipping a glass of wine in her hand. Padmé looked over at her older colleague, "though I do envy your hair." Mon added almost condescendingly.
She didn't take it to heart, if anything she blushed at the compliment. Dorme had worked vigorously at Padmé's hair, the rhinestone headpieces and individual rhinestones she weaved into her curls took an agonizingly long time.
"Thank you, Senator Mothma." Padmé disregarded Mon's first comment, she was always making snide comments towards the young Senator—Bail had told Padmé it was pure jealousy that made her act like this.
"It's a pleasure, as always." Mon nodded, stiffening a little in her burgundy gown. A to die for off the shoulder number with an immense amount of delicate pleats.
"Senator." Bail Organa greeted Mon, tightening his grip on Padmé's shoulder before taking another gulp of his drink. "You look nice." He said hastily, Padmé smiled at his comments towards Mon knowing damn well he'd spent the first half hour at this ball telling Padmé about how he hated the way Senator Mothma ran things. How she was always stepping on his toes and needed to stick her long nose out of everyone's business.
"Senator Organa, thank you, of course." Mon said, sweeping his compliment under the carpet. A strange expression fell over Mon's features. Almost terror. "But have you heard the rumors," she lowered her voice, barely audible, "Lord Vader is making an appearance tonight."
Senator Organa dropped his drink, Padmé hastily caught it before it could clatter to the floor and cause more of a ruckus. What?
"You're kidding, Senator." Organa began—Mon shook her head wildly.
"I'm afraid not." She replied, "I heard security talking about it." Senator Mothma eyed Padmé sparingly, the young woman sank deeper into the comfort of Bail Organa. Feeling suddenly self-conscious.
If Lord Vader was actually intending to make an appearance—which seemed highly unlikely. For God's sake, the Emperor was late. And the blaring fact that Lord Vader never came to the monstrous balls his Master had thrown before in the past. A show of money. Padmé didn't believe it—couldn't for that matter, but she knew better than anyone to underestimate Emperor Palpatine. And his motives.
"Stars, I wish you didn't look so lovely tonight, Senator Amidala," Mon muttered quickly, "Palpatine is sure to make a spectacle of you if his apprentice does come."
Padmé felt her blood run cold—he certainly would make a scene with Padmé being his leading actress. She hoped he wouldn't.
"Doesn't matter if she were wearing a trash bag and Vader wasn't coming, he'd still make a spectacle of her." Bail said, a hint of bitter in his voice. "Padmé, do yourself a favor and leave." He suggested, gulping the rest of his champagne and grabbing another from a passing waiter.
"Nonsense, Palpatine would grow suspicious if she weren't here—perhaps he'd even send Lord Vader to find her and bring her back. It's a better outcome if she stays. We can deal with the media's lies later." Senator Mothma said quickly, "just don't fall into his trap."
Easier said than done, Padmé thought bitterly but nodded sweetly to Mon.
"Of course—I wouldn't have left regardless." Padmé peered around at the guests. "Have either of you seen Lord Vader? In the flesh, not on the Holonet." Padmé asked, letting her curiosity win.
She had never seen the hooded figure that reeked hell on all that got in his way, the proclaimed "Sith with No Fear". She called bullshit—some of the stories that circled him were ridiculous and bafflingly untrue. Couldn't be true. Too horrid to be true.
"No I have never seen him, never want to, honestly." Bail muttered shortly. Shaking his head.
"I've met him once," Mon stated simply, "it's not something you'd ever forget and he was just standing there at least ten feet away from me."
Padmé visibly cringed in the thought—she wouldn't want to be near him either. She could imagine it would feel like walking on very thin eggshells. Something she did not like.
"My word—", Bail muttered, a small gape on his face. Looking at the entrance, following the Emperor was indeed in fact Lord Vader. And the chill that ran through the room was real. And it was terrifying.
"Holy sh—", Mon cut herself off, not wanting to attract attention to herself. Though she certainly would since she was standing next to Padmé Amidala.
It took a little over fifteen minutes for the shock to subside and for people to return to dancing again. But once it started people started to enjoy themselves again, despite the presence of the two Sith Lords. Who were intently watching the ballroom and briefly sharing words with each other. It made Padmé sick to her stomach. She suddenly wished she didn't drink that shirley temple Bail had gotten for her since she was too young to enjoy actual alcohol.
And it was only a matter of time before the Emperor made his way to Amidala and caused a scene. It seemed the time was now as here he was standing in front of her with Lord Vader a foot behind his Master. If she could run, she would. But she didn't. Her curiosity ran too deep.
Her blood ran cold and Bail tightened his grip on her shoulder slightly.
"Senator Amidala, you look ravishing tonight—I guess the rumors were true. You certainly are the bell of the ball." Emperor Palpatine compliments were all in vain, Padmé would never take a compliment from him. He was a liar by nature. She felt disgusted that he was even looking at her.
"Thank you, your excellency. You're too kind." And it was those last words that made Palpatine realize that she knew what game he was about to play with her. Senator Amidala never thanked him nor did she ever compliment in response. She usually questioned.
Politely, of course.
Let the game begin. "I don't believe you've ever had the chance of meeting my apprentice, allow me to introduce the two of you?" He asked but he wasn't really asking. He didn't even bother acknowledging Bail or Mon, furthering her belief that he was just here to make a fool of her.
Padmé smiled softly, hiding her fear very well. "Please," she insisted. Looking over Palpatine's shoulder to see the hooded figure. Had anyone ever seen his face before?
"Lord Vader please meet the beautiful former Queen of Naboo and now Senator, Padmé Amidala." The Emperor introduced Lord Vader, she noticed that under his velvet cloak he wore a black suit.
How charming. Truly.
"Senator," Lord Vader spoke lightly, she hid the shock she felt and spoke in return to his words.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Lord Vader." She said softly, a smile on her pink lips.
Palpatine smiled, which genuinely scared Padmé but she took it in stride and then froze at the words that came from his lips.
"Lord Vader, why don't you dance with Senator Amidala, I've yet to see her on the dance floor." Palpatine insisted, eyeing the Senator as if saying 'checkmate'.
Padmé didn't miss a beat before politely declining, "oh, that's not necessary, I'm not much of a dancer—I wouldn't want to inconvenience Lord Vader." She said kindly, hopefully brushing the subject off. Palpatine was absolutely nuts if he thought she would dance with Lord Vader, just imagine the tabloids.
She mentally shuddered at the thought of it.
"Nonsense—Lord Vader is an excellent dancer, my dear." Palpatine insisted once more—Padmé loudly let a long stream of colorful curse words inside her head, something along the lines of 'fucking bastard, wooden headed twat!'
Fine she would play his game and she would win.
"Oh, well if it's not too much trouble, then I would love to dance with you, Lord Vader." She might as well have just signed her death warrant. God what was wrong with her?
But she didn't hesitate to accept Lord Vader's extended arm, gripping his forearm gently—she would be the perfect actress. She would not show that she was intimidated (even though he was at least a head and half taller than her). She would not show any fear (even though he was the most dangerous man in the galaxy). And she would not give him any reason to think she was in any way inferior to him (even though he could easily and most definitely kill her if he deemed it necessary—which he wouldn't).
"Milady," Lord Vader muttered gently, as Padmé accepted his arm and walked closely by his towering side. People quickly moved out of their way—well…his way. Though they were equally surprised to see 'the Galaxy's Sweetheart' on the arm of Lord Vader, commander of the Imperial Military.
A crowd formed around them—a five foot radius and prying eyes of people curious to see Lord Vader and Senator Amidala dance together. Padmé swallowed her discomfort and reluctance, placing her right hand into his and her left hand on his shoulder. Slipping her fingers underneath his cloak.
That's right, she was really testing the waters.
She shivered as his left hand snaked around her waist, tugging her closer than she'd ever thought she would be to Darth Vader. She mentally thanked whatever possessed him to wear silk gloves, because she definitely did not want his bare hands on her bare back.
Still, the feeling of his hand sent tingles through her body.
Padmé wasn't sure but it sounded like he cleared his throat before speaking, "you look lovely, Senator."
She fought the urge to blush, though it was a nice sediment, she wanted to be more than just pretty to him. It was an odd feeling for her to have. She had always been so sure of her worth, but under his scrutiny (even though she couldn't see his eyes) she felt insecure.
She didn't like that.
"Thank you, Lord Vader." She replied sweetly, smiling slightly as he started the simple waltz. Padmé breathed in his scent—old spice and fresh rain. She was pleased and displeased that he smelt good. Why did a murderer get to smell good? But she'd rather not dance with someone who smelt bad.
He led the waltz effortlessly—it was a traditional Nabuian dance, something she learned when she was queen. A waltz with a few intricate lifts, a twirl, and a finale dip.
Pulling Padmé flushed against his side, he forced her off her feet and lifted her off the ground. He faced her as he slowly spun with the rhythm as if he was looking for her discomfort, she didn't show any. Though she couldn't say what she felt was discomfort, it was more embarrassment. To be seen dancing with him.
Padmé swallowed her nerves, "I heard you were in Naboo not too long ago." She started, "I hope your stay was pleasant." Yes, ease the tension with small talk. Great thinking.
He set her down, they continued to simply waltz. But this time he pulled her closer. She could feel the outlines of his body through their clothing.
Naboo was known galaxy wide to be one of the best places for vacationing, it was known for its unique hospitality. Though she strongly doubted he was present there for vacation and swimming in the pearl blue pools of the lake country or sight seeing in the cities. But she'll ask anyway.
"It was, Senator." Lord Vader answered, he had a lower voice but she'd hardly call it old. He sounded younger—his voice was softer. Almost kind. That only sparked her curiosity. It was a dangerous curiosity. "Your home planet is very beautiful."
"Thank you," Padmé uttered thoughtfully, "would it be too bold for me to ask where you are from?" Fear skyrocketed in her chest. Curse her immense curiosity and whatever will she had to ask him such a question.
"I trust you won't share the information, Senator." He said stiffly.
"Of course not." She replied as he gripped her waist, lifting her once more but differently this time. He spun her around faster, her chest closer than she ever wanted it to be to his hooded face.
"Tatooine." He stated gruffly after he set her down once more then clutched her in his arms which didn't feel uncomfortable in the slightest. In fact, it sent tingles throughout her—a pang of guilt shot through Padmé. He was a murder.
Following the rhythm of the music and people dancing around them that weren't gawking at the two—he spun her out of his arms and then quickly yanked her back into first position.
Padmé didn't say anything in response—Tatooine wasn't a wealthy or beautiful planet. People who lived there barely got by, it was mostly a slave labor planet. She was thankful when the song came close to the end and Lord Vader dipped her backwards before lifting her back upright.
His hand still lingering at the small of her back. He retracted it—offering his forearm to her once more to lead her back to the edge of the ballroom where she originally was. She accepted it.
"Thank you for the dance, Milord. It was quite lovely."
"The pleasure was all mine." Lord Vader said, though she didn't think he meant it—his voice was so monotone it would be hard to believe anything sincere that came out of his mouth. Though she supposed he had been quite gentlemanly through the course of the dance they shared.
It was shocking.
"Oh, Padmé!" Duchess Satine gushed, quickly walking towards her. "You look just elegant tonight—oh, doesn't she, Lord Vader?" The Duchess was the daughter of Count Dooku, they were in ties with the Empire. Huge supporters of the Imperial Military. The Duchess was nice, they were friends because they had to be. Nothing more.
"She does." He nodded slightly and Padmé felt the heat involuntarily rising to her cheeks.
Duchess Satine smiled brightly, "aw, you're making her blush." Padmé shook her head in amusement.
"Please, you look more lovely than I ever could." Padmé insisted only for Duchess Satine to roll her eyes.
"Oh come on Padmé, everyone knows that you're the one that everyone is looking at. And after that little dance you two did—which was just wonderful, I didn't know that Lord Vader danced." Duchess Satine eyed Lord Vader, "goodness I didn't even realize you two were together—though I'm so happy you finally found someone, Padmé. The ladies and I thought that you would never settle down."
What?
Oh no! No. No. No.
Absolutely not!
"Oh we're not together, Duchess." Padmé clarified, "we just danced, that's all." Horrified at the thought of people thinking that she would ever consider Lord Vader as a lover, let alone a husband. Hell, her allegiance was to the Republic, to democracy. Not the Empire.
"Oh forgive me for assuming—"
"—will be taking our leave, Duchess." Lord Vader interrupted the Duchess, before tugging Padmé to where Bail Organa and Mon Mothma still stood.
They conversed quietly in the side of the ballroom. Only glancing briefly at Padmé before Bail hastily got her a good five feet away from the hooded man. Lord Vader bowed his head slightly in Padmé's direction, before going off to find his Master.
