A.N.: Because I've had some people ask, in this fanfic, Leia is twenty right now. The day of the ball was her twentieth birthday. I know she was 19 when she left Alderaan in ANH, but, for the sake of this story, Leia's already twenty. Also, sorry for the long wait.

Han was still gripping Leia's hand with his own as they made their way out to Valden's speeder where he was once again parked in the grassy lot beside the rest. The night was still warm with a light breeze whistling through the small forest around the barn dance house. The sun had faded, moon rising to take its place. Darkness enveloped the sky, inviting start to decorate its canvas like shreds of glitter. Though it really wasn't that cool, Han still draped his coat over Leia's shoulders before guiding her to their ride.

When they had come about halfway to the speeder, Leia rested her head against Han's shoulder, her other arm coming to wrap around his, too. Han smiled. Approaching the speeder, he let her in first, holding the door open as Leia crawled in. But something caught his eye, a quick, fluid motion and his gaze darted up to see a questionable figure leaning against one of the speeders, talking with a few native Alderaanians. The figure was a little smaller in stature than Han himself. His skin was colored teal and sported small bumps all over his head until the skin smoothed out more around his snout and bulbous, purplish blue eyes. Two small, oval-shaped ears sprouted from the top of his head, both on one side of the column of hairs lining his head down to the nape of his neck. He wore green pants and a long shirt with a tan vest over, also sporting a typical utility belt adorned with a few imposing weapons.. "Kriff," Han muttered under his breath, being sure the Rodian wasn't looking at him.

"Han?" He turned his view back to Leia in the back seat of the speeder. She was looking up to him, concern painted very clearly in her features while she prepared to get out of the speeder and see what was the matter. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"No." Han was quick to push her back into the speeder, perhaps harsher than he had meant. He silently swore and quickly slid in next to her. "Don't worry. It's nothing to worry over," he told her, brushing her long, chestnut hair past her ears. Still, she wasn't convinced. She asked him again, "Are you sure?"

Han nodded. "Positive." He planted a kiss to her head and told her again, "Don't worry about a thing. Now, let's get you home."

Before taking the final steps to the doorstep of the palace and entering, Leia stopped, took deep breaths, calmed her pounding heart. Once she was ready, she let herself in and called out to the dark, empty foyer. "Papa! I'm home! Papa? Mama?"

A shadow began to creep along the left wall and slowly shrunk in size until Leia made out the live figure of her father as he approached her with open arms. Leia walked into them, embraced her father with genuine love. "I hope you're feeling better now," he said, still holding her in his arms. "When Sabé asked about letting you have a night off, I was really worried. I mean, if Sabé thought you needed it . . ."

"Oh, Papa." Leia slowly eased out of her father's grasp and held his gaze to keep him assured. "It's alright. I'm feeling much better now. I was just kind of tired, but it's okay now. Really, Papa."

More convinced now, Bail gave a small nod. He let go of Leia and told her, "I'm glad to hear it. You have had me and your mother quite worried after that trick you pulled."

"No trick."

"Obviously. You looked half dead and I was ready to call an ambulance. Were you really that worried about making the announcement?"

" . . ." Leia fumbled for an appropriate answer, unsure of what to tell her father. What was she supposed to say? There were two clear choices. The truth. Or the lie. The truth; that she was relying on Sabé to help her postpone any wedding or announcement as long as possible and that she was currently tied up in a strange scenario with a . . . different suitor. Or the lie; that she'd chosen(offers a teasing smile as she continues) and he'd find out soon. Neither sounded very good to her and she feared her father would quickly grow suspicious. But, to her relief, Bail took her silence to mean whatever he thought and caught her in a brief hug again, saying, "I'm sorry, Lelila. I didn't realize it's been that nerve-racking.

Leia bit back any retort and left the commentary to herself. You have no idea, she thought to herself, enjoying this moment with her father while he still thought he knew what was going on. You have no idea. "It's okay, Papa," she finally responded, stepping back and turning to the staircase. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Of course. Goodnight, Lelila."

Leia hurried to her room, slipped off her shoes, put away her earrings, washed the makeup from her face. She dressed herself in her typical nightwear and crawled under her bed's covers, her heart pounding in thrill. This whole thing going on between her and Han . . . it was introducing all kinds of new thrills to Leia that she still had yet to make sense of. First of all, she now knew real love, had someone she could lean on and whom she supported just as much. She had someone who cared about her, listened to her. Who loved her. Han loved her. And she loved him. How this had ever happened, Leia wasn't sure, but she knew that her perfect, desired future was within arm's reach yet so far away. Leia wished it didn't have to be like this. She didn't have to keep it a secret from her family, her friends. She wished she didn't have to sit here playing the part of a controllable doll while everyone else dressed her and told her what to do; she wished she didn't have to listen and obey every command. She wished she could just tell them what was really going on and everything be fine from there. Of course, Leia considered herself lucky to have Sabé, who understood, to talk to. It was wonderful to have even Memily now, too! But with the whole scenario came a pang of guilt as she considered how hard it was to keep so much from them.

Her and Han's relationship came without title, but both somehow understood that they couldn't exactly call eachother "good friends". There was some kind of title there, whether Han or Leia were aware of it or not. To not be able to tell Breha or Bail about it, to have to play along with every suitor that constantly came to her door, offering more money and wealth with every passing day . . .

Leia threw her arms out, shook the thought away. She didn't want to think about the future because she knew how likely it was that Han would still be in the picture. Eventually, Rouge or Celly would catch up to Leia, drag her back to where they thought she belonged, have her married off to Isolder or Gram, but probably Isolder. And Leia would remember Han as what had been an amazing escape, someone who had been there as long as he could, listened to her through every struggle, supported her in every way that her now-husband didn't. And so would go life. She didn't want things to go that way, though it seemed unstoppable, something she couldn't prevent. This, all that Sabé and Memily were helping her to keep . . . they were only temporary, temporary pleasures she shouldn't have let herself get caught up in. But she had. And now it was going to hurt that much more when it all ended.

Leaning off the side of her bed, Leia reached for her drawer stand, opened the bottom drawer and stared at the bottle of fine white wine with the thin, creme ribbon tied around the bottle's neck. She supposed now wasn't the time to drink it, any of it. Perhaps, she would save it for when she and Han could share it together. Yes, she thought with a smile. That's what she'd do. She'd wait until the perfect moment, the perfect date when she and Han were outside on a dark but gorgeous, starry Alderaanian night. They'd be sharing a picnic in the grass and she'd remind him of the bottle he'd given her on her birthday and they would share it in the peace of the night, undisturbed, with all the time in the world . . .

No, she had to remind herself again. It wasn't realistic. None of it was. Not the fantasy dreams or the kisses before bed each night or the relationship in itself. It was only a matter of time before someone found out and Han was ripped from her arms and she, with the great force of her aunts, whisked to the bed chamber of some snotty, pompous, arrogant, vain prince. That was reality. And Leia despised it.

She shut the drawer, tore her gaze from the wine bottle, shut them tight against the reality that surrounded her. But Reality's pain lingered just behind her closed eyelids and so she squeezed them tighter, tighter yet. Reality screamed at her, took her by her shoulders and shook her, back and forth, back and forth. He screamed in her ears until she was sure they would start to bleed, tried to make her face him. Still, Reality remained relentless until Leia could no longer keep up the face and her eyes snapped open and tears began racing down her cheeks. She quickly sat up, searching her dark room for Reality. She snatched her pillow from behind her back and held it to her stomach, protecting herself. Her eyes continued their search, afraid that the lurker was still here. He always was.

Then, Leia found him, standing in the corner of the room nearest the door, defiantly, no sign or hint of fear nor surrender. Adorned in jewelry and riches, he held Leia's stare, not even flinching. At first, Leia couldn't approach him. She couldn't seem to find the words she needed to scare him away. He refused to leave. Leia shook her head, first slow then faster and faster. "Noooo!" she screamed, running to the dressing and slinging her pillow across the top. "No! I don't want to." She fell into a hep on the floor, fell before the dresser, in the middle of the mess of perfumes, money, jewelry, rings, and other valuables. The hem of her dress became wet with perfume, but it didn't matter to her. "Please," she cried, begged, hugging her pillow to herself. "Please don't make me. I can't keep this up. Please. Please change reality. Change my future. Please."

How could one truly describe emotions in words, Han wondered, staring at the blank flimsi. It was an odd thing how words described Han's life, his thoughts and emotions. They used to work just fine. Han could finely explain just how he felt about everyone around him, about Bria and Chewie and Lando, the Falcon. Words were plenty. Well, at least they had been. And now they weren't. Now there was Leia and love and butterflies in his stomach and flutters in his feet and an odd pounding that would control his heart whenever he approached the princess. There was a guilt, a pain, a struggle. None of which words could begin to explain.

Guilt, pain, struggle. He didn't deserve Leia nor her love. He was far from a wealthy, educated prince and had very little to offer the alluring princess. Not much other than his own love. He understood that none of this should even be happening, that Leia was soon to marry an actual prince and gain his hefty wealth in addition to her own and bestow it upon her precious Rebel Alliance. A prince for the princess, of course. And then he would lose her on that day and the pain would come like an onslaught, tearing at his heart, ripping at his flesh. A hand would strike through his chest and tear his heart out. The blood would be everywhere, staining his clothes, pooling at his feet. And he would take one last look at the princess before he let his body hit the ground.

No, he wasn't suicidal, but when Reality came . . . but Han harbored no doubt that it would hurt like death.

Suddenly, his comm rang. Han picked it from the desk where it sat and answered the call. "Hello?"

"Han?" The voice that responded back sounded broken almost, weak and shaky.

"Hey, Princess. Are you alright?"

"I miss you."

Words caught in Han's throat and it was a long moment before he could find the voice to speak. "I miss you, too. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine. I just miss you. That's all."

"I miss you, too."

"This is hard, Han. It hurts and I don't want this to end."

"I know, Princess. I love you, too. I wish it didn't hurt, but . . ."

Normally, in any other case were the circumstances normal, the caring and concerned boyfriend would be telling his girl that he'd hurry over, spend all day with her until it didn't hurt anymore. But that wasn't going to help this time. It was because he visited so often that this hurt. And Han had no way to make the pain go away.

"But I still love you."

"I know." When she said it, Han knew she was smiling from the way her voice slightly lifted and it brought a smile to Han's face, just to know he had helped her even a little bit.

"Alright. I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I'll try and see you tomorrow in the night. Chewie and I have a lot planned."

"Okay. I love you."

"I know."

He hung up.

The only words Han knew to describe his new life with were fear and love.