Given that she was not yet invested as Heir to the throne, Padmé Solo had no receiving room. So, the next morning, I set out and tracked her down. Soon enough, I spotted her as she wound her way back from work with one particular tutor.
Her sandy blond hair was up in one of the elaborate braided styles reserved for heirs not yet fully invested. Her honey brown eyes—Han's eyes—sparkled merrily, with their relaxed combination of mischief and flintiness. As usual, she wore an elaborate gown, this one in emerald green, and little satin slippers that could have fed all of Anchorhead for a month were set on her feet. While Padmé had no claim on beauty, she nevertheless radiated a perceptible vitality always, as if every one of her nerves were continually smoldering. And she also carried an aura of authority that automatically rendered everyone else a subordinate.
Including me.
"Your Highness." It always felt strange to address my niece so formally—to bow to her—but given she knew me only as Luke Whitesun, an old friend of her mother's, the ploy proved necessary.
"Why, Mr. Whitesun!" cried Padmé.
She stuck out her hand. I duly kissed it. Like the rest of her, from her vast height to her broad shoulders, it was a strong, well-built hand—perhaps less suited to the imagined ideal of a princess than Leia was, but sturdy like me. But where there might exist any lack of physical princessly trope fulfillment, she soon made you forget with her natural charm and undeniable regal charisma.
"What a wonderful surprise. It's been so long. Much too long. Are you here visiting my mother?"
"Indeed, I am."
"How fortuitous," she effused, all evidence of delight in her. But her honey eyes—the only thing that ever departed from the graceful and ladylike, perfectly princessly act—remained flinty, scanning, as always.
"Is it so?" I replied, the Inner-Rim accent as foreign to me as it ever was; it felt like constantly chewing toffee, to make my words so elongated and my vowels so short. But it was how Leia talked, and her daughter.
Although, I noticed that Padmé's voice now carried a hint of the affected Coruscanti accent, no doubt taught to her by Tarkin. Technically, the man was closest with Leia, as her "mentor and guide" (AKA puppeteer). But in fact, Takin had long taken an interest in Leia's daughter. I couldn't be sure what such an evil man saw in Padmé that made him pay such hawklike attention, and for a while had been concerned he suspected the truth of her lineage, in his closeness with Vader. But given none had come of that theory after fifteen years, I was forced to concede he might just genuinely care.
Bizarre for the destroyer of planets and commander of the Death Star, but human. Which was the scariest part of all.
"Absolutely," continued Padmé, looping her arm through mine and urging me without a word to walk on with her. "I have, lately, been discussing what planets I might visit for my charitable tours as part of my Challenge of the Heart, and I thought Riosa might serve well. Since you're so familiar with that world, I knew I must ask you your thoughts on necessity and possible locales."
Smooth, I thought. Though this didn't surprise me. Padmé had been born to politics, utterly brilliant from toddlerhood. It seemed not a day had gone by when she didn't make the right moves, say the right things, have the right instincts for a situation, or know how to manipulate someone to do exactly what she wanted. Or to think exactly what she wanted them to.
I replied, "Oh, I'm not sure I could help you with that. What does your father think?"
Asking about Han had been no accident. I'd been looking for a good way to introduce him into the conversation. My reward came in the form of a quick frown creasing her thin lips. She threw this off valiantly, resuming her attentive and charming manner, but I didn't need simple sight.
I had the Force. And in the Force, my niece was a sea storm. Conflicting feelings lashed within her, giving rise to vast waves which devoured the stillness of the water and then did so all over again. Her thoughts dwelled on her father, care and boundless love there. But her feelings also hinted at a war within her: love for her father versus shame at his mannerisms and actions. A distinct, foul stench of Tarkin wafted off these latter feelings.
And self-centeredness, too. Wanting her own reputation to remain polished and pristine. Perfect.
Lightly, Padmé replied, "I haven't yet had the chance to ask him. He was… indisposed… this morning."
Han. Still working off his hangover. "Ah," I replied. "I see. Well, how about I think on it and get back to you? I'd hate to give some kind of half hazard answer. I should be back in a few weeks." Because in a few weeks, I would take the plans here to Leia. If I survived retrieving them, that was.
"Would you? That would be absolutely perfect." Padmé adored the word "perfect". She always had. Her liking of perfection bordered on obsession, and I often thought her love of the Empire stemmed from its orderly, traditional, and rigid strictures. Its perfection.
Of oppression.
She added, "I'd appreciate it ever so much. Given there is how much rabble there is in the galaxy, it can be hard to pick exactly where to go to service to the poor, bumbling dears."
I managed to smile back, fighting down my flush at her words. What would my niece think, to know she spoke with one of those "poor, bumbling dears" this very moment? A simple farmer of Tatooine? "Of course. So, tell me: how have you been preparing for your Day of Demand and Challenges…?"
And so, we walked on, discussing her coming investiture, discussing Padmé's best friend Alba Tarkin and how she was—oh, headed to the Imperial Academy on Coruscant in a few weeks, already? Wow. Incredible. Time flies. Discussing Darth Vader, who indeed as Leia said seemed to be a new fixation for Padmé. (Or not new. Just new to me.) Though I hadn't known, Vader was apparently the most perfect diplomat, the most wonderful warrior and most honorable man to ever grace the face of the galaxy. My stars! Her exultation of him exceeded even that of Sidious!
But Padmé didn't know. She knew only what she'd been taught. And for all her Imperial love, there was a depth of sincerity there in it. She didn't know. She didn't understand. She was, quite simply, genuine in her adoration and heart-feeling.
Maybe it was time I show her another side to the Empire—no matter what Leia wanted.
"And, of course," Padmé concluded, "dad wanted for us to go away together—you know, we usually do this time of year—but I told him I couldn't. My duties. The commoners expect a well-prepared princess, not a wandering vagrant!" She chuckled, obnoxious, but unknowing. At least my theory about Han was confirmed.
"Your dedication to duty, Padmé, is very admirable as always."
"Thank you, Mr. Whitesun."
"Please. We've known one another for so long. Call me Luke." It was one step away from "Uncle Luke," but it would have to do for now.
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