Dinner was, in sum, the blazes. I had to sit through the Alba Tarkin The Fake Presents Herself Beautifully and Charmingly parade while making occasional comments like "oh, yes" and "that was one of your greatest triumphs, Alba". For the most part I went on autopilot, focusing my energies on staying here in the moment. If I drifted…

No. I couldn't think like that. I wouldn't drift. I couldn't. Point blank.

Nigel, as usual, was blandly supportive of his older sister, whom he seemed unable to survive without holding onto the coat tails of. He contributed to the conversation by offering yet more good things about Alba while she preened and feigned modesty and faux affection for the Imperial Heir.

Prince Palpatine, for his part, seemed polite, if insufferably boring. He reminded me of most of his Elder House counterparts: well bred bores with small cocks they were idiotic enough to be proud of. For some reason, as I thought this last, one of the prince's manservants currently dancing attendance on him gave a cough that sounded something like a suppressed laugh. My gaze automatically swiped to his, my eyes narrowed—

It was like being stuck by lightening . But in a good way. In the best way any woman has felt since, roughly, the creation of the universe. I lost my breath for a moment, from no failure of my pulmonode. Confusion flashed through those fathomless ocean eyes, and then something like recognition. Then, excitement—but it was of a feral variety that sent my mechanized heart pumping again.

I turned away and paid attention to the dinner again as best I could. But I swore his eyes remained fixed on me the rest of the time.

Alba had shoved me into a dress of Daala's that only just accommodated my vast height. After taking one look at me, her triumphant smile had slipped right off of her lips. So then, because of this unexpected and unfortunate incident of my presence during her moment of victory in the catch, she'd decided insulting me was the best route. " My goodness! Look at you! You look a fright… We can hardly let His Imperial Highness see you like this, Padmé…" (As if he wasn't standing just off to the side of us.)

She had also forced makeup upon me that was multiple shades too pale for my skin tone, and lipstick that made me look severely trampy.

So as soon as I got the moment, I slipped out from the after-party to go and change into something —anything —besides this. Unfortunately, a manservant seemed to have the same idea as I at the same time. We rammed right into one another in the hallway. I only just managed not to swear at him.

But then, those ocean eyes met mine. All the anger and fear flew from me. It was the manservant from dinner, the red headed one.

He demanded sharply, "Can't you watch where you're going?"

Me? He was the one who —"I apologize," I said smoothly, getting back up to my feet. "You're right. It was my fault."

I saw that in the crash he had dropped something, and so I bent down and got it for him. "Here."

He looked down at the box, which must be something for the prince. Oh, stars . Let it not be a ring. I couldn't handle proposals tonight. I would vomit.

"Uhm—thanks," he said finally, something imperceptible passing through his eyes as he seemingly took me in afresh. Then, "It was my fault. I—I wasn't… looking." He set his teeth, visibly angry with himself. And in moment I recognized something in the way he couldn't quite meet my eyes.

This guy wasn't rude. He was shy . Extremely so. And I, Padmé Solo, had made this shyness emerge from the confident demeanor he had so carefully projected at the dinner party.

Now would be the perfect time to taunt him, perhaps to flirt with him. Diverting. And to ensure he suspected nothing of my wanderings in these hallways except the obvious attempt to change clothes.

But for some reason, I didn't want to do that to him. Either one—flirtation or taunting.

Instead, I found myself reaching out and squeezing his arm, which proved quite slim and fine-boned beneath the servant's robes, making me think of a bird. "Don't worry about it. Seriously. I've braved worse than a little crash."

He eyed me with sudden sharpness. "So I've heard."

Did he hope to embarrass me?

I sighed. "I'm sure you have." Probably Alba gossiped about me to the prince all the time. As one of his attendants, the boy would naturally hear. I found myself smiling drily. "And just what have you heard?"

"Doesn't matter. I see now that it's inaccurate," he said succinctly.

A hint of grudging respect began welling up inside me. For some reason, despite years of politics telling me never to believe anyone's words, I believed this boy's. He said what he meant, wasting no time with frivolities. I wished I could be so free.

And it also meant he didn't think me entirely mad. Always a plus. "Well, then, here is to the inaccuracy of gossip. May we forever remain shocked," I replied in a stage-whisper.

And I could have sworn that a hint of respect shone in his eyes, in turn. So surely he didn't suspect a thing from me. No one in Imperial service would wait a moment before reporting someone so much as inferred in rebellious endeavors.

Still. I felt I should not have mentioned the worse that I had braved.

The evening wound down soon after that. And so I necessarily infringed on the Tarkins' not-so-willing hospitality (on the part of Alba, at least) even as the Imperial prince infringed with their wholehearted consent. It made it impossible to sleep: the knowledge that the Heir to the Empire slept under the very same roof as I tonight. If I had more courage after today's curveball, I might have tried to take a knife to his throat and cut away one of the Rebellion's—and one of my personal—topmost enemies. Instead, I left my guest room and headed outside, padding softly through the estate so as not to wake anyone else.

Once I got outside, I felt somewhat less constricted, but not much. It felt as if durasteel bars had wrapped themselves around my chest and were determined to press ever inwards. Danger constantly pricked at me, and I sensed it might be more than mere fright: the Force itself was warning me of something. But of what?

"Can I sit down?"

I yelled, jumped up, and wildly went for my blaster— but of course I didn't carry it on my pyjamas . Or, rather, Alba's pyjamas: a lovely flannel set she'd given me which, in the heat of summer stifled; it was a dowdy thing I was sure was meant to insult me. The lack of a blaster merely left me to clench and unclench my hand, breathing hard through my teeth, wanting worse than ever to swear at this boy.

"Don't… ever… do that again," I told him, attempting to return to some semblance of my former dignity. He had snuck up on me from the shadows with a velveteen tread so soundless I hadn't known he was by my side on the bench until—well, until he was.

Even in the pale moonlight, it was clear he'd colored. "Sorry," he said so earnestly that I couldn't stay mad.

"Forget it."

"You seem to say that a lot."

"You give me so many offences to dismiss." I waved him to the bench, and sat back down myself.

He pouted, a touch playfully. "Only two."

"Right. So don't get any more strikes."

"Three and I'm out?"

"Something of that nature."

Silence.

Longer.

He tried, "You couldn't sleep?"

"I find anywhere except my room in the palace to be difficult for proper slumber." That, a sufficiently officious answer, ought to sound so spoiled he wouldn't pursue the deeper reasoning for it.

Except his voice held amusement when he responded, "I see, Your Highness."

Was he—was he mocking me? I decided not to deign to reply. Instead I asked, "And you? Couldn't you sleep?"

"Oh, it's the same kind of situation as yours. Without a feather bed and five plump pillows I just can't get a bit of shut-eye."

He was sassy . And funny. I didn't want to admit the second, given I still felt mocked. But my lips twitched, and betrayed me.

Starting to smile, he continued, "And I have to say, I mean, as much as I love it here on the estate… the accommodations are almost… subpar ."

"I wouldn't let the prince hear you say that."

"Why not? You know that the prince actually quite cares about my opinions."

Such boasting. Was he trying to impress me or did he seriously believe it? Both, perhaps? "Well, he will probably be coming here quite a bit soon enough," I said with meaning.

"You mean because of the merger?"

Uhm. "...marriage." And how could he be so indelicate as you broach the subject? It was incredible.

He shook his head. "The merger. That's what he calls it anyway."

And I couldn't help it. I laughed. Then I wanted to slap myself. He might be testing me. This might all be a trick. How could I have laughed at such a thing? It might put everyone in danger. What if he should tell the prince that I laughed at such a joke? What would that tell him? Oh, stars. Might it be considered treason?

I felt faint.

I jested, "Oh, come on. I'm sure he's very fond of Alba."

"No," he said simply, harshly. "He despises her."

Again I felt that respect well up in me—not for the prince, who maybe wasn't as feckless as he seemed after all—but for this boy. He didn't pull punches. I wanted to honor that. But I wasn't sure that I could.

And he still might be playing me.

"Then why marry her?" I returned, arching an eyebrow.

"Because his grandfather wishes it," was the prompt reply.

"And that's good enough reason to make himself miserable?"

"He'll hardly have to see her."

"That's not what I've heard about marriage."

"Oh. You're one of those people who think it should be based in 'love'?"

"Of course not. Love doesn't exist," I retorted, my voice coming as coldly as his formerly had.

His eyes widened a moment. He said, " Finally . Someone who agrees on that."

"But I do think that some matches can be better than other ones."

"And you think the better personal match should supersede the better political one?"

"Who said the Tarkin match is good politically?"

It just… left my mouth . And as soon as I did, I wished I could bite my tongue and turn back time all in one stroke.

And I had no such mercy as him missing the implications of such a comment. His russet brows rose as if by a conductor's baton. He remarked, "Do tell what you mean."

I had to play it cool. I must . And I must stay in the game, not drifting. I clamped down on the inside of my cheek and used the pain to steady myself.

Lightly, I shrugged. "I only meant that the stronger part of the alliance of the two families comes in the military wing. Because uniting the Tarkins, who have such wonderful loyalty from the Imperial troops and such a legacy of fine service, with the Palpatines, who are our beloved rulers, carries the most benefits in military cohesion. But there will be many political benefits as well, I am sure."

"Oh," he said, "of course." His gaze sparkled in the moonlight, shining with what I thought might be more respect—for my quick thinking, maybe.

But that also meant he didn't believe my hastily-constructed but well-reasoned explanation. He was too sharp for that.

Quietly, he added, "Don't worry. Your secret opinion is safe with me."

Oh, if only I could believe that one. Regardless we moved on in the conversation. I asked him precisely what his role was in serving the prince to whom he was "so close". Vaguely he said he did various things, but mainly acted as his "eyes and ears".

"Like a spy?" I remarked.

"Yes." A softly sibilant wind had begun to whisper around us, carrying his chocolatey voice on the breeze. "Very much like that. Do you like spying? I mean— spies , such as in HoloVids."

"Of course," I replied, heart pounding, pounding, pounding. Was this a hint? A threat? Or simply a question? He looked as lighthearted as anything. But that must be an act. Any spy of the prince's would be sharp as a tack and a good actor.

Oh, stars.

But a hint of boldness rose up in me. "So long as they work for the right side."

"That is a very wise answer, Your Highness."

"Call me Padmé."

"Oh, I couldn't."

"I insist."

"Alright," he consented.

"And what should I call you?"

A pause. Then, "Call me Ray."

Ray . "It's a good name for you," I decided, and rose to my feet, deciding it was time. We had been out here for at least half an hour. How quickly the time went with this servant of the prince's! "Goodnight, Ray."

"Goodnight," he echoed softly. And I could have sworn he used my first name back at me. But surely not. Surely it was the mere whisper of the wind that sounded like, Padmé. Padmé. Padmé

Ray. I liked that name very much. I think... I liked him very much.

Getting back into bed fifteen minutes later, I clutched at the front fabric of the awful flannel pyjamas and whispered to my chest where my heart had once lain, "You stupid, treacherous thing. Stop ."

I had far bigger issues to worry about than a stupid little crush. If that's even what it was.

But at least I wouldn't return to the rebel base a failure now. Luke and my father must acknowledge my capabilities. For I had gotten the plans we needed, against all odds.