"You trod on my toes again."

"Sorry!"

Pooja laughed, a sound Luke realised he hadn't heard in a while. "I forgive you," she said self-importantly, then doubled over when he poked her in the side. "Focus!"

"I already know how to dance," Luke complained. "Why do I have to learn more?"

"Because Naboo ballroom dances are elite, but not the only elite dances that the upper echelons of the Empire enjoy. Besides," she cast a sceptical look at his feet, "I'm not sure you do know how to dance."

"Then shut up and teach me."

She gave an exaggerated smile. "Let's go again and figure out what it is about that third step that distresses you so much."

"It does not distress me."

"Then why do you look so afraid at the mere mention of it?"

They danced for a little while longer, and when they finally got into a rhythm where Luke could do the steps, he just needed to practice them, Pooja let them both relax. The dance was fun to do once he understood it, and when Pooja made him lead he grew more confident with every try, until he was doing it on instinct.

"How are you feeling?" she asked after a long silence.

"Less like I'm about to injure you."

She didn't laugh. "I mean about the ball."

Luke had known that. He just hadn't wanted to answer. But he sighed and pushed his lips into a smile. "I'm ready," he said. "Mother's right about that. It just seems a big step."

"It's nothing official yet," Pooja argued, stepping away from him so they could circle each other. "You can get a taste for how it will feel when you get properly instated as prince. There won't be an official announcement, so anyone wanting to sidle up to you based on hearsay can be turned away without offence."

"Anyone?"

She grimaced. "Well, a few people can't. But that's just because it's a bad idea to anger them in general. But they're people you'll already have known not to anger."

"Like who?"

"Well, there's Grand General Veers, the head of the army under Vader—"

"Never heard of him."

"—and Admiral Piett of Death Squadron—"

"Nor him."

"—and General Tagge as well, on the military side, and that's without going into the ore barons and resource magnates, like—"

"Pooja, I haven't heard of any of these people. You don't interact with them when you're a senator."

Pooja frowned. "You don't? I thought…"

"The Imperial Senate is a joke." Saying the words felt like a betrayal, but it was true. Padmé had them solidly pacified. "We don't talk to people with actual power. You know that."

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Well, you do now," she said. "And that's exciting. What do you intend to do first?" She noticed his downcast expression and frowned. "Luke. What is actually bothering you about this ball that's coming up? Aunt Padmé is throwing it for you. You get to figure out how to be a prince before you become one."

"This is the first time I've spoken to anyone other than our immediate family in two months, Pooja."

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. "That's not true," she protested.

"It is, and you know it. No, servants and handmaidens don't count."

"Are you worried about it being overwhelming?" Her gaze lit up as they came back together to take each other's hands. "Is it the Force? If you can sense other people with it, will—"

"No." He stiffened and nearly fell over when she kept leading him through the dance, though. "I didn't consider that. What if I get overwhelmed?"

She rolled her eyes. "And now I've worried you about something else." When the dance demanded that they take each other's hands, she squeezed his. "It will be fine. You're a good politician. You can handle this."

"I'm pretty sure your reaction to hearing I was the new senator was to call me the worst politician possible."

"Aunt Padmé told you I said that?"

Luke snorted. "No, but ouch, thanks for confirming it."

Pooja let out a laugh. "Alright, you're not great by regular standards. But no one can fault your composure and passion. It's just your subtlety that needs work."

"Maybe it's everyone else's honesty that is lacking."

"My point is, the entire reason Aunt Padmé thinks you might be able to handle the rigorous demands of socialising in your new role"—the only reason she trusted Luke in this situation, was what she really meant—"is that you've done so well as governor. I heard that you've made Naboo safe enough for even Imperial officers to walk home alone again."

He didn't know how to answer that.

"I did what I had to," he settled on eventually. "And what I could." The Imperial occupation of Naboo was a given. He didn't have authority to remove it and decreasing it might just incite hope in the revolutionaries and cause more violence. His best option had been to scale it back where he could, in public life and in everyday circumstances, so that the Empire didn't have the same intimate control over every aspect of Naboo lives that they wanted from plenty of other planets. He had ordered bureaucratic records that would allow that destroyed—citing the reason that they were what the Millaflower Movement were known for targeting, and thus were dangerous to hold, but he didn't think his mother was fooled. "I know what next steps I need to take. I have a meeting with Queen Seralina to get her approval."

"Her approval? You don't need that."

He grimaced. "I'd rather have her behind me rather than against me. She can still make things difficult."

"So, you don't want to make her your enemy."

"No." Luke didn't like Seralina, but he tried to inform her of all his decisions and forestall any issues she may have with them to begin with. Naboo had elected her; she was the one of the two of them who actually had a mandate. She was his political opponent; everything she did, she did because that was how she thought Naboo should be run. So far, she had stuck to her guns in opposing every value that Luke and Ananya had held dear and had kicked up a royal fuss about Luke's destruction of the Empire's not-strictly-necessary records, but when what he did had clear logic in favour of the Empire, she supported it.

"I've noticed you don't like having political enemies."

"Who does?" Luke shot back. She tilted her head to concede that point, but Luke did know what she'd meant. "There are politicians I despise. The fact that Senator Erialus always votes in the interests of the shipping companies on Corellia that he is a shareholder of disgusts me."

"Even if he's taking the opportunity to further himself?"

"He has a responsibility as a galactic leader to champion—and balance—the needs and desires of all his citizens, not just himself and his friends." Luke realised he'd switched to his Senate voice, which was lower, clearer, and with less of a trace of his Tatooine accent, and grimaced. "I don't want to lecture you."

Pooja shook her head, smiling. "You're exactly what the Empire needs," she told him. "It keeps getting dogged by accusations of corruption, mainly due to senators like Erialus. But they're the ones who have been loyal from the start; if we punish them, we risk sending the message that loyalty is not rewarded."

"It should be rewarded," Luke interrupted. "Just not at the expense of allowing odious behaviour. That's not a reward. That's a lax and unequal application of the law."

"As I said," Pooja continued pointedly. "You're exactly what the Empire needs. People have done investigations into you, you know. Especially since you were dismissed, replaced as senator, and seemingly vanished. Digging into you, your background, your interests"—Luke froze, but Pooja didn't seem concerned—"and they found nothing. You have a reputation for being upright and true."

"I agree."

Luke blinked. Pooja deftly stepped into the spinning part of the dance so he could twirl to see his mother in the doorway of small, luxurious room they were using for dance practice. She was gone in a moment as Luke twirled away again, the imprint of her grand presence blossoming in his mind: an arresting woman with her hair piled and pinned on top of her head, clad in a rich purple dress loaded with mauve tulle and lilac lace.

Padmé stepped forwards, holding out her hand between them. Pooja stopped dancing immediately and dropped into a curtsy, as she always did, but Padmé barely glanced at her.

"You will be fantastic for the Empire," she told Luke, gaze lingering on his frockcoat. It was one of the ones she'd had made for him after the majority of his own wardrobe was destroyed: a teal silk coat with golden embroidery cascading over the back and front. He even had on the gloves she'd selected; she ran her thumbs over the silk when she took his head in her own gloved ones. "When you are announced as prince, it will seem as though a new era has dawned. One free of the corruption that lingers from the Republic."

Luke was about to say that he was fairly sure corruption had increased since the days of the Republic, but he wasn't actually sure. Erialus had been a senator for a long time. He had likely been doing what he did his whole life—and Padmé was right in that he hadn't been there.

"It couldn't have been this bad back then," he said.

"Oh, it was worse. It was simply impossible to solve any problems, with how many senators were in the pockets of the companies and warmongers who caused the problems in the first place. Now, with the Imperial Senate, we can easily address problems like war in the Outer Rim, rather than fearing that we have to battle with the people who caused them."

"And what about when that is because you caused them yourselves?"

"You always make things about Tatooine." She frowned at his hair, licked her finger, and flattened it down. "You should probably get a haircut soon… But yes. That was a complicated situation. Any response would have been problematic; we did what we could."

"Yes, Mother."

She beamed at him. "Pooja, leave us. I can finish teaching Luke."

"Aunt Padmé—" Pooja swallowed. "My lady, you have duties. I can handle it."

"Pooja has been a very good teacher," he offered.

"My duties can wait. My son cannot."

"I can," Luke said. But Padmé had already taken his arms in the correct hold.

"You do not have to dance with everyone at the ball," she began. They started dancing before Pooja had left the room. Luke craned his neck to glance at her, catching her forlorn look back before she left. "Far from it. But there are a few people who I would recommend you dance with, just so they know you and can support you when the time comes. I'll tell you who they are; everyone else, you should refuse…"

He was still alive, but a well-placed knife strike that slit him open from neck to belly fixed that. He didn't even scream, which was convenient; she'd made sure to lure him out to a distant ravine in Ryloth, but there still might be people nearby.

Sabé brought out a rag and wiped her knife on that. Blood and orange dust stained the already-dark fabric. Her shoulder ached from the blaster bolt she'd taken to it during the scuffle, even if the fabric of her tunic was thick and treated to be blaster-proof, like every royal handmaiden's was.

The Twi'lek stared up at her, face contorted in horror, his bruises and stab wounds a grotesque tapestry. She had worked with Free Ryloth only briefly, during the Rim Relief Movement, so she didn't know him. That was something to be grateful for. Padmé hadn't yet given her any targets that she knew personally, but Sabé had been very well connected within the Alliance. It was only a matter of time.

Had been very well connected. Bail and the others were debating fiercely about her involvement with Amidala, she knew. They might eject her entirely. Send someone to kill her, as she was being sent to kill them. Or they might, as she'd all but begged Bail in her short, curt explanation of the decision she'd made, decide to still trust her, and trust that the information and warnings she provided them mitigated the bloody cost.

They wouldn't know about this one, at least. This man had been one of the more open-minded of Cham Syndulla's fighters, the one trying to make contact and forge links with the wider network of the Empire. Syndulla had been suspicious of offworlder support since the Clone Wars and beyond; Padmé wanted to keep it that way. Isolated, Vader could destroy them.

As such, Sabé made sure to leave her Rebel-issue blade stuck in his gut as his eyes turned glassy. Not only was their mediator dead—he appeared to be dead by the Alliance's hand. It wasn't much, and anyone who looked deeper would be able to tell this was an outsider's work, but who would look deeper when war and desperation meant they struggled to see anything at all? That was the entire logic that Palpatine had run the Clone Wars on.

Grimacing as she did, she patted down his corpse. Did he have the information that she, his Rebel contact, had required he bring? He did. It was in his breast pocket, drenched in his blood.

She wiped it clean and inserted it into her comlink. The numbers that scrolled in front of her were in Ryl, but she'd brushed up on that and read it without too much trouble. Sure enough, it was all there: information about their numbers, the bases they had across the system, and imprecise details of their distribution. Not any more specific than that—even a trusting fool such as him wouldn't have agreed to hand over more—but it was enough.

Free Ryloth wasn't massive. Without the Alliance, they could be taken care of easily. Vader could do it even without this intel; with it, he just had another place to start.

She pocketed it and wiped her hands clean before she commed Padmé. There was a long period of waiting before Padmé responded, but there always was. Sabé was her secret. She needed a place to hide her association with her, if needed, and she couldn't talk to her in front of anyone else.

When she finally responded, Sabé had sat herself down on a rocky outcropping and was rubbing her shoulder idly. She was bone-tired—she didn't sleep much in these violent times—and hardly noticed the comlink light up in her hand.

"Were you successful?"

"Yes, my lady," she said, forcing herself to bow her head. She wasn't kneeling, she was barely awake enough to stand, but she decided she didn't care what Padmé thought of that. "He's dead, but he brought me the relevant information. I'm transmitting it to you now."

Padmé's idle gaze flicked away as she viewed the transmission she was receiving, a small smile playing about her lips. "This is exactly what we need. You've done brilliantly."

"Thank you, my lady. I live to serve you."

The words came out a little rote, but Padmé didn't seem to mind. "I know, Sabé. Your work is unparalleled as always. I missed you."

Sabé tried to return the sentiment. She couldn't.

Padmé didn't mind that, either. She just cocked her head, watching. "I was about to give you your next mission, but… Was there something you wanted to ask?"

She knew what it was. She was going to make her say it.

"How is Luke?" Sabé asked breathlessly.

"Very well." The way Padmé's face lit up at the mention of him, from her satisfied smile to one of pure joy, assuaged some of the tightness in Sabé's chest. "He has taken to his new role in leaps and bounds. You must have heard about how much the situation on Naboo has improved—peace reigns at last, and the Empire with it."

Sabé had heard that. It had only made her worry more about her charge. Luke was still anti-Imperial, she had to believe, even if the fact that most of his choices were beneficial to the Empire. He must have very limited options.

"You must be proud of him."

"I am. We are. There is to be a ball in a few weeks, a function for senators and other high-ranking officials of the Empire, which he'll be attending with us. I'm going to be watching him very closely all night."

Sabé swallowed. "Have there been any more attempts on his life?"

"No. He has not left the Palace." So, she was isolating him. That didn't help Sabé's conviction that Luke must still be a Rebel at heart. "But I fear for him at this function. Which brings us to your next mission."

She paused—intentionally. Sabé knew that, but she still hardly dared breathe.

"We need all the security we can get. I want you to plan it with my other handmaidens and be on patrol in the Palace during the event. You cannot attend the event. You cannot speak to Luke. But I need you to keep him safe."

"I will be there before the end of the week," Sabé said instantly. "If you need me to start work earlier, I'll do it in transit."

"We do need that. I will put you in touch with the others you will be collaborating with. At the moment, Ellé is the most experienced in security, so she will be your deputy." Padmé paused. "This ball must go well."

"Why?"

"Because his safety is not the only reason I will be watching Luke so closely. If he acquits himself well, and handles high society with the necessary panache, I intend to make an announcement claiming him as my son and heir within the month."

The bottom dropped out of Sabé's stomach. Once that happened, Luke would be lost to her—she could run away with the Senator of Naboo, maybe, but she couldn't run away with the Imperial Prince. He would be shadowing his mother so closely, learning to take her crown in the future. And though Sabé had faith in him, she knew exactly how persuasive Padmé could be. She had to wonder how much of his sweet nature would be left once he'd grown into the role.

"Is he… ready?" was all she could say.

"Nearly. His work as governor is testament to that. This is my final test. I had intended to wait longer," she admitted, "but this cannot wait. He is my son."

Sabé smiled sadly. "He will make a wonderful prince."

"I'm glad you agree." Padmé's eyes were cold. "For all that you hid him from me, I have to thank you for that. You made sure he grew up to be my son, through and through."

A chill ran through her.

"Do not disobey the parameters I set down. Do not attempt to see him. I am sending you the information you need. His life may be in your hands. Treat it better than you have before."

Her holo winked out.

"Governor Naberrie," Seralina said, smiling thinly. "A pleasure as always."

"Likewise, Your Highness. I shan't take up too much of your time, but as always I wanted to discuss my new orders with you before I send them."

She nodded. He couldn't make out much of her royal regalia today from the holo, just her shoulders and headdress, but he could tell it was a rich purple, with a stiff collar, a ruff, and a fan that spread out at the back of her head.

"I thank you for your thoughtfulness as always. Though I continue to take issue with some of the decisions you have made against my wishes."

He smiled tightly. "And I apologise both for those decisions and for your issue, Your Highness. You know I would only go through with the orders without your blessing if I were absolutely certain they were necessary. I hope the reportedly calmer situation on Naboo has assured you of my good intentions."

"It has." She didn't seem like she wanted to admit that—she was still dealing with the Prince of Theed she'd hated so fiercely—but she was a woman of her word. "I am curious what your stated plan to decrease the influence of the Millaflower Movement entirely is. We all are." She gestured around to her council.

"That is simple, Your Highness. We should offer them total amnesty."

He had expected the silence that followed. And the arguments in the council. When it got too loud, he muted his speakers, until it seemed that Seralina had got it under control. He unmuted when she was speaking alone.

"—radical decision," she got out. "One that is reckless, pointless, and even in opposition to our stated commitment to bring them to justice. Explain your reasoning."

"If it is known that every member of the Movement is to be trialled, the current members will only double down and become desperate. None have been caught yet, so there is no precedent for how they will be treated but considering the fate that met Moff Panaka's nephew for suspicion of Rebel activity, they will not be optimistic."

"I have heard about your campaign in the Senate for court reform. I do not intend for you to continue it here now that you have lost influence there."

"Nor do I, Your Highness." He fought the urge to sigh. His desk chair was digging into his spine, but he leaned farther back against it anyway. "This will allow members of the Movement who are only slightly committed to get out safely. If they joined on noble ideas only to grow disillusioned, we have given them a chance to leave. That would slash their numbers, especially since plenty of their members joined before Panaka's assassination and may disagree with their recent turns. Furthermore, in order to claim amnesty, they would have to present themselves to your government and to the Empire. Their names would be recorded, and a watch could be kept on them, to ensure they are not seeking reintegration into society just so they can cause more trouble."

"My government is meant to take a strong line against terrorism."

"How can it do that if it does not aim to address those who will have been pulled into it against their will? Naboo still has its divisions, Your Highness. By being the one to show mercy, and embracing the enemy back into our folds, you can bridge them. Do not destroy your enemies. Make them want to be your friends, instead."

She still looked doubtful. "I will have to discuss this in the committee."

"I would not dream otherwise. But I believe that by making their own people choose to leave rather than hunting them down and decreasing their numbers by force, not only can we decrease the violence and effort spent by the Empire, but we can build a stronger society under the banner of Imperial Naboo."

Which was the catch.

In order to get passed, everything Luke did had to be in service to the Empire. It had to help Imperial rule of Naboo, even as it also helped the citizens. He couldn't sit happily with that.

He understood the line that Ananya had tried and struggled to walk so carefully. They had to protect Naboo. But they had to protect Naboo's ideals, as well. As long as there were Imperial troops on Naboo, he would always have to make hard decisions.

"Your opinion is noted," Seralina said.

"Hold still." Miré's voice was faintly accented with the lilt of the Lake Country, which Luke found soothing—she spoke like their neighbours from Thistedel had when he was a child. "Stop fidgeting. It's only a bit of hair."

It was, in fact, most of Luke's hair. And it was getting cut just in time for the ball. Padmé had insisted on it, saying how messy it tended to look when he wore it as long as he did, and Luke hadn't had the heart to say no to her. But he watched the shower of golden hairs congregate on the floor mournfully. He had liked how calming it was, fiddling with it, feeling it shift across his forehead, braiding it.

Miré was finished soon and held up a mirror for him to see. "Is this satisfactory, sir?"

The new haircut made his head narrower and harsher, like a TIE pilot's. At least it wasn't a full military cut; he could make it slightly softer and messier if he wanted. He looked more no-nonsense than he had before, but not necessarily stern.

"It's lovely, Sabé," he said. It was. It just didn't feel like him.

Her smile faltered in the mirror. "It's Miré, sir."

He winced. "Force of habit."

"Understandable. We mimic each other intentionally; getting us mixed up is the point." He didn't answer that. "Are you ready to get dressed? If you need help, just ask. I've laid out your outfit for you on the bed."

"Thank you, Miré. I can dress myself."

He did. The outfit that Padmé had picked out for him to wear at the ball wasn't to his taste, but he could see the political worth of it. A set of black robes that hung almost to the floor, with stiff, treated fabric at the bodice and more flexible skirts. Wide sleeves dropped from his wrists. The robes were hemmed on all sides with gold ribbon, but, above all, were crowded with every pattern of gold embroidery that could be imagined, until the fabric across his chest was almost rigid with it. Crowns, cogs, and stars intermingled in a tangle of sharp brambles, until he couldn't take it all in. At least, he thought, it balanced the black enough that wearing it didn't wash him out. He had a teal shirt on underneath his robes, but he doubted it would be noticed.

The boots he liked. They were knee-high, polished, and fit him snugly. He felt like he could do anything from waltz to kick down a door with them on.

Once he had dressed himself, Miré daubed his face with makeup until his scar was non-existent and the black didn't make him look too pale. She combed his hair thoroughly, breath whistling out from her teeth in frustration when even then it didn't sit totally flat. Before he could blink, she had slapped gel on it, and he resolved himself to feeling like a slimy fish for the whole night.

She stepped back, surveying her handiwork, and nodded. "Are you ready?"

He forced a smile. "Of course."

"Good. Poojé is already here to escort you down."

Sure enough, his cousin was approaching down the corridor. She knocked on the doorframe before stepping through the open door, nodding respectfully to Miré as she scanned the room. She did a double take when she saw Luke. "Shiraya's word, you look different."

Luke nodded at Miré. "It's all her handiwork."

"I couldn't take credit for it," Miré insisted brusquely, though he sensed a glow in her at the acknowledgement. "This is my job."

"You do it excellently," Luke assured her, and got a smile in return. He offered his arm to Pooja. "Are you here to lead me down?"

"Of course. We don't want you getting lost in there." Luke snorted, but she ignored him. "And you might need some help navigating the waters." Her gaze lingered on his hair and outfit again, a glimmer of concern trickling through her shields.

"Then lead the way."

Miré remained behind in his quarters, to sweep up the hair and tidy away the makeup. It wasn't until there was a corridor separating them from her that Luke asked, "Poojé?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't realise you'd changed your name."

She laughed. "I haven't advertised it, don't worry. But it's a requirement for all handmaidens. Tradition, by now. An important part of showing that we belong." Her voice got weaker at the end.

"Are you alright?"

Pooja studied him. "Yes," she said. "You just look almost unrecognisable."

"Miré—"

"No," she interrupted. "I mean… I thought you liked having longer hair?"

"I do."

"And I thought you liked block colours. We always teased you about those."

"I like them. But as you said, they're a bit of an eyesore when done poorly." Luke shrugged lightly. "Most of my wardrobe was destroyed. Mother helped me pick out ones that were more appropriate in the Empire and didn't give the wrong impression."

"You look like a whole new person," Pooja said.

"Is that a bad thing?"

She shook her head. "No," she said quickly. "No, you look fantastic." She kissed him on the cheek. The motion was quick and light, like a butterfly's wings.

They stopped in the corridor: Pooja watching Luke, and Luke watching Pooja. He was a mind-reader, technically, but he had no idea what she might be thinking.

"We should head to the ball," he offered.

She shook herself. "Yes," she said. "We should."