This is the last part. Enjoy. :)

PART 4: IMPACT

"Ani?" she whispered, face pleading. "Where is that little boy I used to know?"
"He's dead."
She fell back a step. "Then I die with him, for my love has created a monster."
"What love?"
Her eyes widened, tears brimming in them. She put up a hand, as if to ward off what he'd said. "Oh, Anakin—"
"That name no longer has any meaning for me."
"Promise me you'll forgive yourself when you regret this."
He didn't answer.
"Promise me. Please."
"No. Because I'll never regret it."
Her hand lay on her breast, her soft voice wobbling. "You've killed me."
She collapsed.

"There you are." The Chancellor came forward, smiling. "Your journey was comfortable, I trust?"
Ryoo glanced around his office before stepping off the lift. She bowed stiffly. "Yes, Chancellor."
Palpatine's hand gripped her shoulder, and he guided her to the window. She'd grown, enough that he didn't have to constantly look down at her. "And how did they treat you?"
"Fairly well."
"Only fairly?" A scowl clouded his face.
"They didn't trust me."
"What? Sabé didn't trust her former Queen's niece?" He spoke musingly. "She must pay for that. Her husband—what was his name?"
"Marson Solo."
"Any children?"
"One. A son. Han. Scrawny little thing," she jeered. "Why not leave him for the rats?"
Palpatine looked at her. She couldn't read his gaze, but a slow smile spread over his face, and he turned back towards the window. "Excellent."

Pain streaked up her arms.
"You thought you could get away from us, didn't you?" sneered the Dark Jedi. "From us?"
"I did."
Pain, again. This time in her eye. Jade didn't mind beating her, especially since she'd just led him and his peers on a wild goose chase through the Imperial Palace. It had taken them almost a week to find her.
Padmé didn't make a sound as Jade punished her out of his frustration.
His wife slogged him, keeping his next blow from landing. "Master wishes to see you. Don't try anything, this time!" hissed Mira Jade as she guided Padmé out.
She didn't care. Different doctors had come up with different diagnoses for her condition. Melancholia, chronic depression, neurathenasia… The Healer she trusted most had privately warned her it was a self-induced aberration.
In the lift to the Throne Room, Mira finally asked what she'd been pondering. "Why don't you ever scream?"
It was about time she asked. Palpatine was going to execute her, again, one of these days; probably for the last time. She gave the reply she'd always planned to give.
"You'll understand when they come for Mara."
Mira was staring at her when the lift opened at its destination. Without even looking around, Padmé knew his guards were gone. She also knew something else…
"M'lady!" her handmaiden cried.
"Dormé." At the sight of her old double, her mental shell faltered. Dormé was bruised, her clothing torn, and due any day. Padmé swiftly reestablished the aberration.
"What was that, Aunt Padmé?" Her niece smiled wickedly. "I didn't quite hear."
She didn't respond.
Palpatine came forward. "Your handmaiden looks rather unfortunate, does she not?"
"Yes."
"Were you aware of her lover, Senator?"
"No."
The Chancellor-Emperor's yellow eyes narrowed with pleasure. "Guess his identity."
"I cannot." Short answers were the easiest for her to give.
"I'll help you. Think of a Jedi, well-established on the Council for his superior fighting skills. An alien," he added with distaste.
"Not Ki-Adi-Mundi?" Padmé asked dispassionately. She thought she was shocked, but wasn't quite sure what she felt, anymore…
"The same. Who you," he growled at the ashamed, cringing handmaiden, "allowed in your bed!"
By the Force Ki-Adi-Mundi seduced her! Padmé closed her eyes.
A surge of Force-energy made her open them. "Watch."
Dormé's screams soon filled the room.

"Ryoo."
She scrambled to her feet. "Master." She bowed, wondering if he'd notice…
"You've grown, child." Patting her on the shoulder, he went to talk to 'Uncle' Anakin.
Ryoo Naberrie glared. Was that all he could say? Hadn't she helped him since she was younger than Skywalker had been at the Battle of Naboo? Didn't she serve him unquestioningly? Vader often asked the Emperor's reasons for something. She never did. She merely obeyed.
Aunt Padmé had been dead a few years, now. Ryoo still remembered the sound of her ragged breathing, the scent of the woman's seared flesh… She wondered what Skwalker would do if he knew she'd been the one to finally execute her aunt. That had been fun, experimenting with her new lightsaber to see what she could do…
And he thought Aunt Padmé still lived—hoped she lived, longed to see her again. She hadn't mentioned Skywalker's growing desire to find what had happened to Padmé to her master. He'd known all along it would come. That was why they'd killed her.
Quietly, Palpatine had also sent some to find her so-called brother, but Skywalker had killed him on Naboo with his 'parents', never knowing of the child he'd fathered. So much the better. Ryoo sometimes wished they'd given Aunt Padmé the luxury of a grave, rather than dumping her remains into space, if only so she could spit on it, dig it up, dishonor her memory in every way thinkable. She'd doctored records so her name would be forgotten; so she'd be blamed for the very things she'd sought to prevent. Aunt Padmé had stifled Ryoo, keeping her from being all she could…
From being what she was now.
"Ryoo."
She followed him into his private suite. He looked around it appraisingly as he sat down to one of his rare meals. "Excellent."
She didn't respond, standing a bit to the side.
Suddenly, he looked at her as if for the first time. "You've grown."
She bowed her head. "Yes, Master."
"Keep your chin up!" he snapped. "There is no need to hide your face."
"Such was not my intention, Master." Her hair stood on end. She had always been an empath of sorts, and now was no exception. Her heartbeat raced in excitement.
The Emperor put his plate aside. "Come here."

"Away with you!" she snapped, lashing with her words and the Force. She hated the fawning servants her Master provided her with; loved torturing them. She'd been worse, of late.
Ryoo looked in the mirror, sneering at herself. She took a knife and slashed her arm, finding a perverse pleasure in the pain.
Her baby's wails grew louder. She raised the knife threateningly over the crib. "I hate you!" she hissed. Curses followed.
"Now, Ryoo." Palpatine's voice was cold. "Any children she bears might be of use to us."
She whirled on him, not caring how he might punish her. "I won't raise a worthless brat! I won't!"
"And if I order you to?"
"I still won't! I'll kill her first!" Her knife was centimeters above the child, ready to kill the normal baby girl, completely devoid of any Force-senstivity.
The Emperor nodded slowly. "Queen Jamillia owed your aunt a favor, Ryoo. That is your option." He left, his unspoken threat hanging in the air.
Ryoo's face whitened with rage. To use her detested aunt as a reference for help—wouldn't Skywalker love to see her do that!
She flung her knife away, grabbing the infant and dropping her in a carryall. He wouldn't see her.
"Ryoo," someone sighed.
Picking up the case, Ryoo looked around. She was alone. She dismissed her aunt's voice as a figment of her imagination.
At the door, she stopped, grinning. "Padmé," she breathed. A hated child named for a hated aunt, and if Skywalker ever met little Padmé…
She shook the bag.
Skywalker would know just whose child the girl was.


Want the story of Padmé's actual baby sister & just who was the "Jedi grandmother"? Ask & I'll write it.