Hello! Welcome to my newest longfic. I have been working on writing and editing this since April and brainstorming and plotting it since January, so I'm so excited to finally get to post it. Apologies for the long AN, I like talking :D

This originally sprang from a tumblr prompt I received over two years ago:

Luke Naberrie has been elected a Senator. And Empress Amidala and her enforcer, Lord Vader see something familiar in him.

The fact that Luke had been raised by Padmé's family but she didn't yet know about him intrigued me, and the ensuing family drama spawned this monster.

I'll be updating this fic every Saturday, life and timetable willing. It was a joy - and a pain - to write, and I hope you enjoy it!

Her office was neat and cosy, her desk even more so. A thick, lush carpet softened the sharp clacks of her footfalls as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. Her keys dangled from her fingers, glinting with a jewelled keyring to keep them together, and they hung heavily in her pocket when she slipped them back in. She smiled at the flush of warmth that swept over her—the fire was already going in the hearth, merry and bright—and moved towards that desk.

As she sat down behind it, holos sprang up from their embedded projectors—her refugee work on Shadda-Bi-Boran, her and her handmaidens holidaying in Varykino at the end of her term. Her gaze lingered on that, as it always did, before she turned away. The third holoprojector was disabled, blinking a faint red. She did not switch it back on.

Instead, she reached for her datapad, unlocking the drawer of her desk it was kept in, and leaned back as she watched reports flood into her inbox. Some of them were utterly benign, and she gave them all a brief, charming response with a flourish of her fingers. Of course she would consent to more funds to the Junior Legislative Program. Of course she approved of the new layout of the palace gardens. Of course she would greet each new senator when they came to meet her the following week.

Other issues were thornier. She glanced over the reports from the Outer Rim Project and grimaced. The Rebellion was using the situation to drum up more support and allies—if she didn't keep an eye on them, they'd actually accumulate into a united threat. She thought she'd eliminated that possibility when she'd had to imprison Mon for her efforts to that effect.

Her husband had no doubt already seen these. He had barely been home for two weeks, but she would probably have to prepare arguments for why she didn't want him to go and take care of it himself. Sometimes she wondered which he actually cared about more: spending time with her or chasing shadows that he'd decided were Kenobi's.

Her stylus unconsciously tapped against the desk as she thought about what she could argue, wishing that an assistant was there to brainstorm with. It was nearly time.

She glanced at the chrono but needn't have. Pooja arrived moments later, punctual as always, her own datapad and reports in hand. Padmé smiled at her.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Aunt Padmé," Pooja replied, her smile a practised, habitual thing. Her hands twitched on her datapad; the corner of her mouth quirked. She didn't seem quite… there.

Curiosity made Padmé put her previous concerns aside. "Have you got something exciting for me?" she asked as Pooja sat down opposite her.

"I have the information requested about the new senators coming in."

"Oh?" She paused. "Is it the Senator from Alderaan? Have they finally removed that child from the position? Princess Leia's talent of stirring up trouble—"

"Princess Leia is unfortunately still a member of the Senate."

"We shouldn't hope for too much, I suppose." She sighed but smiled. "What is it, then?"

"They have a new senator for Naboo."

Padmé blinked. "Oh—of course. They would need to replace you."

Pooja's mouth took up a bitter twist, then, but it softened again when she glanced back down at the report in her hands.

"Whom did the queen choose?"

"A baffling choice. For several reasons. She chose my brother." Pooja tapped her own screen and sent his file to Padmé's datapad. She opened it with curiosity.

Pooja had talked about Luke Naberrie before. Her foster brother, who had become true family despite the minimal years he'd spent with them. Indeed, when Padmé glanced at his holo, he looked nothing like a Naberrie. He looked more like Ani had, if she were honest, but even that didn't seem to fit.

"A refugee from the Outer Rim, if I remember correctly?"

"Yes."

"It is so like your mother to take them in," Padmé murmured, but noticed how Pooja stiffened at the mention. Neither of them had spoken to Sola in a long time. She forced herself to perk up. "But this will be wonderful! Our family truly are drawn to politics." Her fingers were already curling around the datapad, reaching for that projected hologram of Senator Luke Naberrie. A foolish government official had exiled her from Naboo, despite it being a part of her empire; she had never met him. But he was Pooja's brother, her nephew, and she would soon.

"That's part of why this is baffling," Pooja said, still staring at her brother's case with a frown. "Queen Dalrana hates our family. She hates me. Why would she appoint my brother to follow me?"

"To get rid of him?" Padmé suggested. "If he is causing trouble at home…"

Pooja snorted. "Luke tends to cause trouble wherever he goes." She had a private, fond smile on her face, some memory rising to the fore. Fierce jealousy welled inside Padmé; she forced it down. "So his term should be interesting. But I'm still concerned."

"Why?"

"Because Luke is not a politician." Pooja stared at her screen one last time, then turned it off. "If he was, he'd be the worst politician I've ever met."

Senator Luke Naberrie had been causing trouble at home. Judgement on his skills as a politician, he hoped, would remain pending. It wasn't like most members of the Senate already knew who he was—why would any of them pay attention to who was Prince of Theed, when the only galactic relevance Naboo held was with their banished queen? Maybe he'd get a grace period before they kicked him out too.

"I trust you are prepared for your role?" Queen Dalrana asked as she walked with him to the landing pad. Her makeup was done up in the celebration style: two diamonds on each cheek, with hints of dark green around her eyes. It was the traditional face for sending off dignitaries, but Luke got the feeling she was genuine celebrating his departure as well.

"I am," he replied. "If you would rather I serve Naboo by addressing corruption in the Senate instead of addressing the corruption in the government at home, I will not object."

She smiled and dodged his accusation. "You are our most popular politician. When the term ended, and we needed someone permanent to replace our previous senator—"

"My sister," Luke said.

"Your foster sister, yes—you were the perfect choice. You shall be the voice of Naboo in the wider galaxy. I am sure I can trust you to be more loyal to our ideals than she was."

"Democracy, respect, diplomacy, are all burned into my heart," he assured her.

"Diplomacy especially." Her smile would have been tight and cutting, had the makeup not smoothed it into pleasantness. Luke knew what she meant, anyway. She radiated irony.

"I'll familiarise myself with the Senate and be back to report for the Festival of Light," he said. "If you want a prompter response, I'm sure I can manage it."

"Oh, have no worries. The Festival of Light is fast approaching anyway. As ineffectual a celebration as it is, these days." Luke didn't respond, and eventually Dalrana just smiled tightly again. "Safe travels. Serve us well."

Luke gave her a smile of his own. Wide enough that it twisted the burn scars on his left cheek, though he knew his makeup still covered them. "I will," he promised, then kissed her hand as was customary. "Naboo deserves better than what we have."

Taken aback, she nodded sharply and let him ascend the ramp of the sleek silver ship he'd been gifted for his role.

Sabé was already running checks and scans on the equipment, her hands darting across the controls. The long, thin scars across her knuckles flashed in the morning light. "She couldn't wait to get rid of you," she observed without looking up.

Luke shared a smile with Tonra in the pilot's chair, then nodded at Sabé. "I'm not going to argue with that."

"That fact she sees you as a threat would be hilarious if it wasn't so inconvenient."

"She doesn't see me as a threat. She knows I'm not interested in her position. It's about getting a less belligerent Prince of Theed while still using me elsewhere."

"You might not threaten her," Sabé murmured, "but by sending you out there, she's threatening you."

"I won't let them eat me alive, auntie."

"I won't let her do it either," she promised. Luke, who did keep his political career separate from his personal relationships, didn't comment on her wording. A beep on her console, and she looked down. "Sola and the others are here to say goodbye."

The personal farewells always came after the political ones, Luke knew. He'd made plenty of them, but never actually been on the receiving end before.

"I'll be ready to depart the moment we're done."

"In an hour, then?" Tonra quipped.

Luke's mouth twisted into something that was half-smile, half-grimace. That too tugged painfully at his scar; he flinched and touched his cheek, waving off Sabé's concerned look. He didn't want to explain the shouting match and tears that had followed his declaration at the dinner table that the queen had asked him to take Pooja's place as senator.

"I'll be back," was all he said, and walked down the ramp.

All of them were there. Sola had pushed her way to the front and wrapped her arms around him the moment he stepped off the landing ramp again, pressing her cheek against his. He felt some of his makeup rub off onto her, and absently wiped it off her cheek when she pulled back.

"I'm proud of you," she said, "since I know no one else is going to say it, even if we feel it. Just make sure"—her gaze roved his face—"you be careful. It's not your greatest strength, but…"

He laughed. "I will, auntie. I'm there to do my job, not start a revolution."

"That's what you said about running for office," Ruwee ribbed, stepping forwards to clasp Luke's forearms. He didn't look concerned, though. He looked invigorated. "You go and remind those Imperials what Naboo really stands for!"

"Those Imperials include our daughter and granddaughter," Jobal admonished her husband, quiet enough that only Luke and Ruwee could hear it. Ruwee ignored her, and Luke didn't want to get involved.

"I'll try my best," he promised weakly instead, as ever slightly unnerved by his grandfather's enthusiasm. He didn't know what had happened between Ruwee and Empress Amidala, when she'd seized power, but he did know his grandfather. Ruwee was fiercely politically active, despite never running for office himself, and fiercely pro-Naboo ideals. He imagined it hadn't gone well; poor Jobal and Sola had been caught in the crossfire.

"Then that's all we need! Your best is excellent."

Luke smiled and humoured him until he stepped away. He loved Ruwee—he had been Luke's number one supporter when he tried to enter politics, as unorthodox as his style was, and his champion—but his intensity could be a lot.

But the events had clearly upset Jobal, whose hands shook slightly when she stepped forwards to hug Luke. Padmé was always a sensitive topic for her—she'd fought bitterly against Pooja entering politics, and now Luke was betraying her too.

So, Luke made sure to whisper in her ear, "I'm going to bring Pooja back, Grandma. You know that. That's the only reason I agreed to go. I'll go there, find her, and convince her to come back."

She held him tighter in response. "You sweet child," she murmured. It was the first thing she'd said to him, when she'd first met him. She had been opposed to their family taking in another child, but she'd met Luke and seen his scars and embraced him wholeheartedly. "I know. Keep your tender heart, won't you? I can't lose you too."

Luke squeezed her hand. As she moved away, Sola put her arm around her shoulders. They exchanged a heavy, intense look that they thought Luke wouldn't notice, but he'd been noticing the emotions they radiated for days.

"Ugh, I'm not losing two siblings to that nest of vipers, am I?" Ryoo didn't hug him—she wasn't one for hugs—but she took his hand and grinned. Darred stood behind her, hugging himself. He looked lost. "Tell Pooja to comm more often."

"I'll share your well wishes," he said drily. The pain the older generations felt so keenly tinged the edge of her smile, but they were both keeping out of it as best they could. "Yours too, Darred."

Darred jerked, then managed a smile for Luke and nodded. His voice cracked a little as he said quietly, "Bring her home."

Perhaps, Luke thought, it was a good thing he was leaving. Pit of vipers or not, the Senate wasn't any more fraught than the family situation he'd left behind.

The trip was long and arduous—once they reached Coruscant. Hyperspace was plain sailing, but it had been so long since Sabé had flown a ship on a crowded ecumenopolis. Or so she said. The number of times she was flagged by a traffic droid for flying in an illegal or 'shifty' manner made him wonder.

But they reached the Senate building eventually. Luke had revised his schedule on the way there and learned with a flap of panic that Empress Amidala had ordered him to present himself first of the new senators, so he would have barely a few hours once they landed to make himself presentable for her private throne room. When he'd told her that, Sabé's lips had gone white and thin, muttered something, and vanished into her bunk while Tonra flew.

At least it was a private viewing. That lack of transparency in politics, how much happened behind closed doors, was another thing Ruwee hated about his daughter's regime, but Luke was grateful for it now. The presentations happened one by one, to the Empress and her staff—and her husband—individually. He still had to look his best, but at least some of the pressure was gone.

Even if he knew there would always be more eyes watching him than he was aware of. If there was one thing Naboo taught its citizens, it was that there were always more beneath the surface. Whether that was pleasant, fertile ground or a watery grave remained to be seen.

He changed out of his travelling gear and laid out the outfit they'd prepared for his presentation to the queen. Highly aware that the Senator for Naboo was a station that had been held by two dictators, Ryoo had helped him choose his wardrobe for his term to avoid any notable similarities without deviating from Naboo's traditional politicians' wear. He had the coats and blazers with slightly puffy sleeves, the strong colourful patterns, the muted trousers to sit underneath the main piece, but none of the designs resembled Palpatine's or Amidala's senatorial wear. It was useful, having a fashion historian for a sister.

When Sabé stepped inside, though, he was ready, and inspecting himself in front of the mirror. For once, she didn't fuss: just raised her eyebrows, tilted her head, and said, "You look perfect."

"Utterly noncommittal?" He twisted to check how the light caught the gold embroidery at his wrists. The indigo fabric glowed darkly in contrast.

"Like Sio Bibble."

Luke wasn't sure whether to snort or smile. Bibble had died a few years ago, but he'd been Pooja's mentor, and briefly Luke's. He had despaired of Luke.

"Your makeup's rubbed off a bit, though."

She didn't try to fix it for him. She stood back and let him do it himself, grimacing in the mirror as he covered up his burn scar, shadowed his cheeks to make himself seem older, and painted his lips. It wasn't traditional senatorial makeup, but these were strange times, politically.

"Is this too focused on Naboo?" He frowned. "I won't get to meet the other representatives until after meeting the Empress, I don't want to push them aside."

"That won't be an easy meeting no matter what, Luke. Right now, they know this is the message for Empress Amidala, not for them."

He swallowed. "What did they think of Pooja's term?"

"They're furious."

"Understandable. They'll know I'm related to her."

"Yes."

He grimaced again. One would think that the Naberrie family's unpopularity would be due to their imperial daughter, but she'd spent her political career using a pseudonym and still did. Queens' family names were kept a secret for their own safety, and she'd kept that anonymity after she'd survived an assassination attempt on her first day as senator. Pooja, on the other hand, still called herself Naberrie.

Luke could call himself Skywalker, he supposed, but that would put him in danger for entirely different reasons. Not in the least because he had three aunts who would kill him for it.

"I'll deal with that when we come to it," he decided, and snapped the makeup case shut. "Right now…"

Sabé was unflinching in the face of her own fear. "Right now, you need to get to the Senate building."

Coruscant was large enough to make his head spin. Voices clamoured at his conscious, but he pulled up deeply buried memories—you can do it, Luke, try to block me out—and kept himself calm.

The Senate building itself was a blur. Sabé rushed him through the doors and then through corridor after corridor packed with guards and politicians. No one looked twice at Luke. It was both overwhelming and refreshing.

A few did look twice at Sabé, however. A brief double take, a half-aborted bow, but then she had hurried on and they were gaping after her. Luke knew his aunt used to be Padmé Amidala's primary double, and he knew they looked alike, but he hadn't anticipated for her mere presence to lead to such confusion. What rumours would abound from this? If any did—he'd heard about what Vader did to rumourmongers.

He shivered. Facing the Empress was one thing. But he'd heard Vader's name before he even knew who the Empress was.

They swept into the antechamber of the Empress's greeting room, watched intently by crimson-robed guards. One guard stepped forwards to scan their documents and identchips, staring at Luke with an inscrutable face, before handing them back and waving the two of them to stand next to the door.

A few minutes ticked into ten, twenty… Sabé put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed, which he sensed was more for her comfort than for his. Finally, light fell on the rich carpet of the antechamber, the guards snapped to attention; before Luke could blink, the doors had swept open of their own accord, and he and Sabé were being flanked as they approached the Empress.

The throne room was as ostentatious as anything to be found on Naboo—Empress Amidala had not abandoned her homeworld in that regard, at least. Luke had never quite felt at ease around such lavish tastes, and he felt just as queasy here. It was rude not to look at the Empress when approaching her, but Luke flashed his gaze in an attempt to take in more of the decorations than just a colourful jumble of sensory input.

Banners and drapes hung from windows high on either side, the walls themselves a glittering mosaic of stylised star maps. Each world represented had iconography of their main attractions. His gaze lingered on the twinkling waterfalls of Naboo, framed against the silver silhouette of the Royal Palace. The design only showed Theed in detail, not the remote village Luke had spent his first few years on Naboo in, or the Gungans' swamps that he'd visited so often. It showed politics, not home.

He did not dare to search for Tatooine.

He finally moved his gaze to the Empress, and the shadow at her shoulder. Light streamed in from the wall of transparisteel behind the throne; the spires of Coruscant matched the iron spires of her crown. He was struck at first by surprise at the lack of grandeur in her bearing, but only because every depiction he'd seen of her—mostly in stained glass windows long vandalised, small shrines from loyal Amidalans, the pages of history books—was as queen.

Unlike the tactics of the queens of Naboo, she didn't dress to look larger than life, wasn't wearing a wig or a dress broader than her. The lack of obvious methods of deception made him nervous for which ones she did employ. She was just wearing a dark red dress with thin straps and long skirts, embellished with embroidery and pearls, her hair netted in gold. That iron crown, its spires three inches tall and set with diamonds that formed the centre of Imperial cogs stamped around its rim, almost vanished into her other jewellery.

Luke knelt at the base of the stairs up to her throne and bowed his head.

A wave of cold rolled over him. He didn't look up, but he forced himself to think about what he had seen that he'd tried to forget: Darth Vader, at her right hand, dressed head to toe in black. Her dress seemed bright in front of him, like he was the shadow to throw her into contrast.

A shadow with eyes—eyes fixed right on Luke.

"Presenting the newest Senator of Naboo," a voice called out. Luke blinked. Pooja. He'd been so distracted by his worry that he hadn't noticed her at Amidala's left, either. "Senator Luke Naberrie."

"Rise," Amidala said—not loudly, but loudly enough that her voice carried. Luke rose, his eyes finally finding Pooja.

She beamed at him, dressed in an orange dress and velvet cape that glowed against her hair. It eased the tension in his shoulders slightly, though he still knew almost nothing about her situation. She had risen through the ranks enough to be introducing the senators to the Empress? He hadn't known that. Perhaps Ruwee had.

Amidala's gaze was still on his face. She rose, and that made her seem even smaller—harmless, even. This was the woman who owned everything and everyone in the galaxy—every star in the sky, every grain of sand in the Dune Sea long since burnt and glassed, even blade of grass he'd ever felt shifting under his bare feet. She was shorter than Luke.

"It is wonderful to meet you," she said, using one hand to lift the hem of her dress as she descended the stairs. She offered her other hand to him, and he kissed it awkwardly. This was not the same gesture he'd extended to his queen only a few days before. He was diving into an uncharted deep. "I trust Naboo is thriving in her isolation?"

He swallowed. "The queen's leadership is as skilful as ever, Your Majesty."

"Wonderful. I miss it." She smiled again. Luke really did not know what to do with this personal approach—did she take this with every new senator?—and just nodded along. "Pooja, my handmaiden, has told me much about you as well. I look forward to working with you, Senator."

"Handmaiden?" he repeated, glancing at Pooja. When she beamed, he tried to imitate her. Imitating the insane behaviour around him seemed to be his best bet, even if he couldn't understand it.

"Did you not tell your family, Pooja? When she was dismissed from her post, I couldn't bear for such talent to go to waste. I offered her a role in my own household."

"No. We've had radio silence from Pooja, unfortunately." That last argument had been too explosive to expect otherwise. "That was very kind of you, Your Majesty."

"What are family for, if not to stand by and care for you?"

Luke did not want to answer. His head was pounding.

The Empress saved him from answering, mercifully, and placed a hand on his arm. "I trust you and your staff have settled in?"

The hand was the last straw for Sabé. She stepped forward. "We had scarcely landed when you summoned us."

Amidala jerked her head up and zeroed her gaze in on Sabé. A flicker of shock and something else rippled her features, like a fin fluttering the surface of a still lake.

"Tsabin," she said. "How lovely to see you."

"It's still Sabé."

"Oh." Another flutter, then a seafoam-white smile. "I'm honoured. And honoured that you could join us—are you an aide?"

Aide. Bodyguard. Mentor. Aunt. Luke would be lost without her; if she hadn't been willing to come to Coruscant when she heard the news, he would not have come himself.

"Aide, my lady," was all Sabé said. The title was a knife in her mouth.

"I'm thrilled to see your return."

"It was a necessary evil."

Amidala's amiable mask hardened. Luke watched the calculations pass through her mind, when—

He stumbled back, raised a hand to his head. His sleeves compressed against his chest.

Scrunching his eyes shut, he shook his head, but the thin needle of pressure between his eyes only seemed to worsen. What had he been taught when something like that happened? Ease it out. Feel it and extricate it, don't fight it. Silk bent around arrowheads and harpoons, but it didn't break or pierce.

He tightened the silk membranes around his mind. Pulled. Pushed. Worked with it…

He shouted and fell to his knees.

Whatever jibes Amidala and Sabé were sharing halted. The carpet was thick enough not to bruise his knees as he hit the floor, and there was a light hand on his upper arm. He blacked out very briefly, and a few precious seconds dropped out of the galaxy.

"Luke? Are you alright?"

The pain vanished.

When he opened his eyes, it was to scarlet and black. His fists were clenched around something dark, stark against the carpet. He blinked at the coarse fabric in his hands, then trailed his gaze upwards until he had to crane his neck to see.

Darth Vader, with his bug-like gaze, stared down at him.

Luke released his cloak at once, leaving creases in the dense armourweave, and scrambled to his feet. "Lord Vader—my apologies—"

He nearly stumbled, but Pooja, her hand still on his arm, caught him. Sabé caught his other arm and Pooja let go as she helped him to stand, then dusted off his trousers. He was too mortified already to flush.

Vader's regard was still settled around his shoulders like a cold blanket.

"My apologies," he repeated, and bowed his head.

"Your mind is open and uneasy, Senator Naberrie." Vader's voice was booming. Luke's eardrums crackled with the force of it. He could feel the vibrations in his stomach, his bones, his skull.

Vader reached out to take Luke's tiny chin in his massive thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up to the light, inspecting him. Luke wanted to fight it, but the grip was durasteel, and he knew he should not, anyway. He was released a moment later, none the wiser on what Vader had been looking for in his face.

Evidence of relation to the Naberries and Vader's wife, perhaps. Evidence that would not be coming.

"A politician with an open mind is a dangerous thing."

Luke had no idea what that was supposed to mean. He nodded appreciatively until Vader, satisfied, retreated like a bat back to the right hand of the throne.

"I should not have summoned you so promptly," Amidala fussed. She made to take Luke's arm to help him, saw Sabé already holding him, and aborted the motion. "It is I who should apologise—forgive my excitement for meeting you. I do not want to keep you if you are unwell."

"I haven't sworn the oath yet," Luke protested.

Sabé frowned. "Luke, if you're ill—"

"I'm fine, auntie."

If Amidala stiffened at that, it was imperceptible. She waved Luke off. "No matter. I trust that you shall do that later—and it is only a formality, anyway."

"I should—" Sabé elbowed him lightly, and he bit his tongue. He should not be arguing with the Empress. This had been a strange enough first day already. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"It has been a pleasure meeting you, Luke. I trust you will reach your quarters alright?" Her gaze was nothing but sympathetic. Sabé's return gaze was everything but.

"We'll be fine."

"I can escort him, my lady."

Amidala turned to Pooja with the eagerness of a nexu sighting a new meal. "How kind of you Pooja! I'm sure your brother would appreciate that. Dormé can make the announcements in the meantime."

Sabé's face tightened. Whether from the mention of Dormé or of having Pooja accompany them, Luke couldn't tell. Perhaps both.

Luke couldn't exactly refuse. And he did want to talk to his sister away from Amidala's domineering presence. He could see now that she didn't need a queen's grand wardrobe—she filled a room easily enough without it.

"Thank you, Pooja," he said. He was still a little breathless, which possibly made his gratitude seem more sincere than his fear. "Your Majesty."

"I hope to see you soon, Luke," Amidala said. Her casual use of his given name chilled him—as did the gaze Vader still had fixed on him. "In less official circumstances."

Luke stood up fully, but even lurching a few inches above the Empress, he felt incredibly small.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Pooja walked with them to Luke's office and workspace, where Tonra had dropped off a number of his things and scanned the room with a whistle. "The cleaning droids work well, don't they? You couldn't tell that these rooms have been empty for months."

"I'm fairly sure it was Tonra who worked so hard to make them look liveable," Luke said, before Sabé could defend him herself. Tonra, tapping his datapad on the sofa in the corner, smiled.

Sabé walked over to him and sat, stiffly. She leaned over his shoulder and a murmured conversation broke out over whatever fascinating items he was taking care of. The message was clear. Luke's imperial sister was his to deal with.

Pooja sat herself down in the chair at the desk, before getting up again hurriedly when Luke had to reach over her to put some styluses and his datapad into the drawer. She sat in the chair opposite the desk instead, while he took her abandoned seat. It was only slightly warm against his back, but the trace of her previous presence there burned anyway.

"Ryoo told me to tell you to comm more often," he said abruptly, still sorting the stacks of resources in his lap into the various desk drawers. He didn't look up at her. "Every time we tried to get hold of you, there was no response."

"I'm sorry for that." Her brows drew together; her lips turned downwards. "Since… since taking up this job"—that was not what she'd been about to say—"I've been so busy."

"I don't get the impression from the Empress that she runs you off your feet so often you're unable to take time for yourself."

"She doesn't. I take time for myself. What that doesn't include is time spent being yelled at by relatives who refuse to listen to my explanation for my choices."

Luke swallowed. "I understand," he said. "But Ryoo and I never yelled at you. Nor did Darred." The poor man was too laid back and forgiving for the family he'd married into.

Pooja swallowed as well, at that. It was her only tell, when it came to her discomfort, and Luke knew he'd picked it up from her when they'd met; no one wasted water like that on Tatooine. "No," she admitted. "But I thought Grandpa might get hold of me through you."

"And Sola?"

"And Mum."

"What are you afraid of from her? She misses you."

"Does she miss Aunt Padmé as well?"

Luke was aware of Sabé staring at them both, but resolutely ignored it. "From what I've overheard? Yes."

"Then why don't—" Pooja cut herself off. "No. You came here to work and also to see me and I'm bombarding you with a drama that happened before you even joined our family. I'm glad we're still in contact." She put her hand on his. "I'll comm Dad and Ryoo when Theed is back into its morning cycle. Hopefully, Grandpa won't be there."

"He won't. He and Grandma moved back to Thistedel."

"That little village again?"

"Yeah. They wanted to get away from politics in Theed."

Pooja snorted. Luke ignored her. He liked Thistedel, a tiny, quiet village in the mountains with streams tumbling through it like veins. It had been the delight of any desert boy.

"That's good to know, then," she acquiesced. "I'll comm them."

It was a start.

"But what got you into politics?" Pooja pushed, a smile twitching her lips. "It's not quite your favoured skillset."

He flicked her nose. "While you were messing around in the Senate, I was running for Prince of Theed."

"And you won?"

"Being honest wins you points in this day and age."

Pooja nodded. "The amount of propaganda the Naboo government peddles… I didn't even think about it until I came here. It's insane. There's masks and deceptions over everything. No wonder you got popular by calling people out."

"I don't call people out."

"When I saw your name on the roster for today I dug up some of your speeches. You compared Dalrana's isolationist policy to burying her head in the earth rather than planting seeds in it."

"That was an exception. We get along well, now. She made me senator."

"She made you senator to get you off her planet."

Luke burst out laughing. Pooja grinned at him. Even Sabé's demeanour softened.

"You're right, as well," Pooja added. Luke's stomach swooped. "Naboo could be a galactic power if she hadn't shut off all trade. Her policies meant none of the other representatives from the Chommell sector wanted anything to do with me."

"I'd like to reach out to them."

"Going behind her back?"

"She trusted me to take the role as I see fit. I see this as fit."

"Good. Take the initiative. It's what got me noticed by the Empress."

"I think she'd have been interested in you, anyway, judging by her warm welcome today."

"That's true. I do worry about nepotism sometimes."

That was promising, at least. She wasn't onboard with all sorts of corruption. "What's it like? Working for her."

Pooja smiled. "I feel valued," she said. "Not just as a staff member. As part of the family."

Pooja hadn't contacted the family that had raised her in nearly a year.

"That sounds like a nice experience," Luke said, hiding his bitterness.

"It is! She's a charming woman. She'll tell you the truth, but do it gently, and she always knows what's happening in her empire. Every tiny corner of it. If there's an issue, she'll fix it—without bowing to the whims of people with ulterior motives."

"No more Trade Federations," Luke echoed. That was one of the points that the Amidalan sects on Naboo always preached. She'd taken every step possible to protect Naboo, from the bottom to the top. She had also betrayed them for it.

"Exactly! No more war, when the Separatists realise that the galaxy is in competent, pacifist hands." She smiled to herself. "It's really nice to have a cause you can believe in."

Luke could believe that.

"I think that's me unpacked, now," he said, cutting the conversation short. "It's probably best to head to the senatorial apartments and unpack there. I'm still running on Theed time."

"I'll come and help!" Pooja stood up at the same time as him. "Those apartments have a lot of idiosyncrasies—Empress Amidala told me about a lot of them herself, and I can tell you."

Sabé dropped her datapad. It shattered on the floor, glass going everywhere. Tonra ran for a brush.

Luke said, "How could I refuse?"

Meeting the rest of the new senators was a distracting, gruelling task, and the moment it was finished, Padmé retired. Corusca Prime was just bleeding into the horizon when she unstrung the net of pearls and gold from her head and led Miré help her get out of the more complex trappings of her gown.

Once the difficult parts were out of the way, she bade goodnight to Miré and stepped into the bedroom she shared with her husband. Vader emerged from his hyperbaric chamber a few moments later in soft pyjamas, his breathing mask already over his face. Padmé smiled when she saw him in the mirror and kept braiding her hair.

"You stayed around watching me greet the new senators for much longer than usual," she said teasingly—an observation, but also an invitation to talk.

Vader sat down on their shared bed, his white sleeping clothes stark against the deep green throw. They were stark against the red blotches on his skin, as well: as soon as Palpatine had died, they'd started working on improving his general health, so his skin was no longer riddled with open wounds, but scars and discoloured patches remained.

"Luke Naberrie?" was all he said, and Padmé understood.

"I'm really glad he's here," she admitted. "I missed having a larger, extended family. It's lovely having Pooja, and now her brother is here too."

"Foster brother," Vader corrected.

"He's still my nephew."

Vader's face twitched at that, but he didn't say anything; Padmé had no idea what that might be about. She hardened her voice a little. "My father explicitly said he wants nothing to do with me, and my sister and mother went along with it. Whatever family of mine want to reach out, I will take it, Anakin."

"I do not disapprove."

She sighed. "Thank you." Vader had always been hung up, on her family and her mourning for them. He had never articulated why. She just knew that he hated Pooja.

"And Luke reminds me of myself," she admitted. "When Pooja came to the Senate, she was practical already. She knew what she was doing. But Luke is bursting with foolish idealism. I think we should encourage that—teach him to focus it on something worthwhile, instead of the bloated democratic system he's been taught to venerate. Like I did."

"Luke reminds me very much of you," he confirmed, his voice eager.

"I'm glad it's not just me who sees it." She finished plaiting her hair, stood up, and sat beside her husband on the bed. When she put her head on his shoulder, his body curved around her, welcoming her weight.

"He has so much to learn," she murmured. "And we have so much to learn about him, if I'm to help him; he won't accept help willingly. It must be delicate. We need to find out more about him."

"He was a refugee who moved to Naboo several years ago and was fostered by the Naberries."

Vader didn't hesitate, and Padmé raised her eyebrows. He had stayed longer at the greeting of the new senators than usual, but he had still left early. She supposed she knew now what he'd left early to do.

"Where did he come from?"

"That is not in the records."

"Strange," Padmé mused. "But I'll ask him myself. There is no need to skulk about in legal documents when we can learn more about him through perfectly innocent questions." She smiled. "I'm glad you're so willing to help me connect with my niece and nephew, this time."

Vader smiled back, slightly wobbly, and she squeezed his hand.

"Enough talk for today," she decided, getting up and reaching for her nightdress. "We can deal with politics tomorrow. For tonight, we're just a family of two." She swallowed down the other words: As we always will be.

Vader didn't hear her unspoken regrets, though. His smile had not faded, and the look in his eye was distant, with the sort of hope she hadn't seen anyone bear in years.