Meetra is dozing in that delicious semi-conscious state between sleep and alertness when the bedroom door slides open and a familiar voice calls.

"You awake?"

She cracks open one eye but doesn't move.

"I know you're awake. The bond tells me you're awake."

Tony now looms into view. He's leaning over her on the bed, industriously brushing his teeth as he peers down. "You're awake," he concludes.

Meetra rolls over to stare at the canopy of her enormous, overly festooned bed. "I'm awake . . . now," she replies as she wipes drool from one cheek. "Are we under attack? Is the house on fire?" she yawns.

"Negative," Tony responds, not bothering to suppress his smirk. He looks very comfortable sauntering into her bedroom at this ungodly hour wearing only pants and brandishing a toothbrush.

"Then why are you here?"

"Want to spar? I've got some time. I want to put it to good use."

Meetra props herself up on her elbows and squints at him. "You want me to fight you?"

"Yes. Let's rumble, little Jedi."

She eyes him and stifles another yawn. "Killing you does have some appeal right now . . ."

"That's the spirit!" he grins. "Get dressed and come next door. Be quick about it."

Meetra dutifully rolls out of bed and yanks on her old clothes that the housekeeper discreetly deposited in the back of her closet. Grabbing her sword, she heads next door. If Tony can enter without a knock, she decides, then so can she.

He's yanking on his boots as she barges in. At least he's no longer half naked. He's wearing a black t-shirt that matches his pants.

Tony looks her over. "Wow. You look very Jedi." It's not a compliment.

"I'm not going to fight you in a dress," Meetra retorts. Her old clothes are all she has that's suitable.

His eyes find the saber she's clutching. "Leave your sword. I've got one for you. Come," he stands and beckons. "Let's do this."

"Okay." She turns to toss her personal sword back on her bed and then follows Tony through his bedroom and down a hallway to a large training room.

On the way, Meetra's eyes stray to where she healed him last night. "So, how's your . . . your . . . er . . ."

"Butt?"

"Blaster wound," she quickly yelps. "How's your blaster wound?"

"Better. Much better. I can't wait for tonight's booty call," he teases. "Get it? Booty—"

"Don't start." She shoots him a quelling look. It's way too early for Tony's silly humor.

But the man is irrepressible. "If this keeps up, I won't be a pain in the ass much longer."

Meetra groans. "Stop. Please stop."

"Do I crack you up?" he chortles, with emphasis on the word 'crack.' He leans in to snicker,

"I'm ass-king for a friend."

Meetra rolls her eyes and complains, "Can I go back to bed?" But then a giggle escapes despite her best intentions.

Tony leers triumphantly. It makes him look especially goofy. "This will wake you up," he promises. "There's nothing like a morning workout to start your day."

"I guess so . . ." She's not a morning person. She'd rather be in bed.

"Here. Use this." Tony shoves a saber hilt under her nose.

She lights it up. "It's red."

He nods. "We don't make them any other color. The Sith don't swing ugly blue, green, yellow, or"—he shudders dramatically—"purple swords. Red. We like red. Only red. This is an elegant weapon."

Whatever. "It's a practice sword," she points out, while she starts adjusting the length of the blade. It's far too long. "Why are we using kiddie swords?"

"I don't want you to kill me."

"The feeling is mutual."

"Ergo, I'm using a practice sword too." Tony produces his own beginner training weapon. Red, of course.

"Alright," she agrees. "I guess that works."

"Practice swords will sting and bruise, but that's all."

"Yes, yes," she agrees impatiently as she takes a few test swings to gauge the heft of her borrowed weapon. "We have our own version back home."

"Come here," Tony beckons her to him. "Before we begin, I want you to feel the Force. Feel the bond."

That's easy enough. At their touch, their special connection blooms to full effect. As always, the advent of the Force brings a smile to her face.

Tony meets her eyes and smiles back. "Good. Now, I want you to borrow my Force to fight, just like you borrow my Force to heal."

"Can I do that when we're not touching?" she worries.

"I felt you trying to do it when I was busy with that last prisoner."

Right. She remembers. "It didn't work."

"It did. I felt you using my Force."

"It didn't work. I was trying to heal the marriage scar." Meetra displays her left palm with the still-red diagonal slash mark. "See? Didn't work."

Tony grins. "The Force wouldn't let you heal it . . ."

"No, and I'm still bitter about that."

Tony wisely keeps his mouth shut about the conclusion she knows he goes right to: that their marriage, like their dyad, is the will of the Force which she cannot undo.

"I did feel you tap into my Force," he insists. "And we've sporadically been able to communicate telepathically. Come on, let's try it. The more we use the bond, the stronger it gets."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she counters skeptically. "This could be a disaster if we can read each other's minds while we fight."

"That's why we're using practice swords."

"Right. Good point. Okay, so what do I win? What are the stakes?"

Tony squints. "Do we need stakes?"

She nods. "I'm the competitive sort."

"So am I," he admits.

"I can tell. It's killing you not to be in the running for Dark Lord." And whoops, maybe she shouldn't have said that out loud.

"You can see that?" Tony cringes.

Meetra quickly rephrases her point. "I can see that you want the job to go to a man who you respect. If it's not you, you want it to be someone worthy."

"Yes." Tony looks somewhat mollified.

"Well, I don't blame you," Meetra offers. She'd feel the same way about the Republic. But back to the fight at hand. "So, what are the stakes? And don't say bragging rights. Because I don't get out of bed this early for bragging rights."

Tony thinks a moment and proposes, "Winner gets a kiss."

"And if I win? What do I get?"

"A kiss."

"That's a prize?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Yes," he maintains, looking a little miffed.

Meetra tosses her head and declines. "No deal. I want something good."

"How you wound my fragile ego . . ." Tony is positively prissy in his affront.

She laughs at his irritation and counters, "I want the first ride in your new ship when it arrives. Make that my prize."

"As you wish." Tony now brandishes his weapon, executes a jaunty salute, and issues his challenge. "Come at me, wife."

Are they doing this? Yes, they're really doing this. So, Meetra starts with the Force. She nods grimly as she focuses hard on the mental feel of Tony in the bond. These days, she has an increasing awareness of him when they are in close proximity, even if they are not actually touching. He's the only person whose Force imprint she can still sense, and naturally that means he commands her full attention. Meetra latches on to that mental presence now and clings.

"Good. Goooood," Tony approves, sounding very Sith as he draws out his vowels.

Meetra keeps concentrating, mentally digging in. They might not be touching, but she wants the full bond. And whoops! Her intent succeeds in literally dragging Tony across the room to her in a mighty Force pull.

"Whoa!" Did she just do that? She did.

He's inches from her now, his buzzing sword held down and away, like hers. "Did you—"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Wow! It worked!"

And now, Meetra figures that if she can pull him to her, perhaps she can thrust him away. She concentrates again and it works. Tony gets a Force push back to nearly collide with the far wall. He's her plaything now, under her control courtesy of his own Force.

Tony looks as pleased as she feels. He picks himself up and gushes. "I knew you could do it!"

Emboldened, Meetra now attempts to hurl herself forward with the Force, swinging her sword as she lands. And now, the battle begins in earnest.

It's been a while since Meetra has dueled, but the mental and physical challenge feels welcome. Suddenly, she's very glad that Tony awakened her. They trade a few simple saber blows here at the outset. Nothing fancy—just a few standard moves to gauge their opponent's reach and timing.

Frankly, Meetra's far more interested in fighting with the Force than in fighting with her body. After a few more obligatory saber passes, she throws up a hand to repel Tony. But he answers the effort in kind. They become locked in opposition, equally matched. Probably because they're using the same source of Force. The result is the same for the other tricks she tries. Either Tony anticipates her through the bond, or his reflexes and ability are equal to her own. The Force, it seems, will give neither of them supremacy.

So, Meetra gives up and starts focusing on her swordplay. In this, they are both awkward. He's left-handed and used to left-handed opponents. She's right-handed and has trained with right-handed sparring partners. Neither feels comfortable when blows come rushing at them from the opposite side they anticipate. It's a bit like fighting a mirror image—for each move looks familiar, but feels backward. Still, gamely they engage with determination.

"That twist is nice. Teach me that twist?" Tony angles as she swerves and stabs right.

"Only if you'll show me that disarming pass. You nearly had me," she admits as she thrusts a quick riposte.

His footwork is slow, she notes. Less a dance and more a series of glides and lunges. Could that be designed to conserve energy? It's very different than what she's used too. She's the far more acrobatic of their pairing. Tony launches his whole body once or twice, but there is never any flashy flipping that Jedi duelists so esteem. In fact, the longer they fight, the more apparent their stylistic differences become. She's more the fast feinting rapier type, and he fights more like he's swinging a broadsword. But yet again, despite their mismatch, they seem equal in ability.

"When I watched you fight on Korriban, I was entranced," Tony tells her. "I have rarely seen a modern Jedi in action. The technique is so different."

"You'll find I'm full of surprises," comes her saucy response. Then, she plants a quick Force-assisted kick on his weightbearing leg and sweeps it out from under him.

Tony goes down. But he skitters away fast as she makes to stab him. She's still on her feet with the advantage until he hurls his sword straight at her. And now, ducking Meetra goes down to avoid it, giving Tony time to hop to his feet. Suddenly, he's the one with the advantage ready to lunge for the kill as his saber flies back into his grip. And that sequence is pretty much how the entire fight has transpired—she's winning until he starts winning, and then the momentum shifts again.

This time, she jerks left and then left again from her position on the floor. Scrambling fast, she kicks up to catch Tony beneath the chin as her sword bats his thrust away in the nick of time. And there's the opening she needs. Meetra launches herself to stab his torso.

She gets the kill. Well, the fake kill for her fake husband using her play sword. But it's what counts for victory today.

Tony lands flat on his back and lays there laughing. "You got me!"

She's panting. Too out of breath—and humiliatingly out of shape—to do much gloating. "Yeah . . ." she heaves. "I got you . . . "

He climbs to his feet and extends a hand down to haul her up. "Well done," Tony approves, beaming down at her. "I would love to keep going, but I have to shower and get to a breakfast meeting. Same time tomorrow for a rematch?"

"Sure, but hold on a sec. Let me heal that bruise." Her kick to his chin left a bloody graze that is already swelling. Meetra is confident she can erase it with little effort. Summoning the Force again through the bond, she cups his chin with her hands and the flesh knits back together before her eyes.

"Thanks. That feels so good," he exhales his appreciation.

Meetra nods, looking up. And that's when it occurs to her that they're in the perfect posture for a kiss. She's close, her upturned mouth mere inches from his. It would take nothing for this moment to turn romantic and pick up where things left off last night.

He knows what she's thinking. "Next time, I'll earn it," he whispers, his eyes flashing Dark feral yellow.

"Not today, Sith," she shoots him down, stepping back to toss her head and remind him, "I'm the victor." Then, Meetra saunters off, trying her best to hide that she's still catching her breath and limping a little because she's already stiff. Darth Sion, by contrast, looks fresh like he could keep fighting all day and that's humiliating because he's the zombie invalid.

He's also a very busy guy. Meetra sees Tony in the mornings briefly for a workout and in the evenings at dinner and then afterwards for his daily healing session. But otherwise, he's in a meeting or on his throne and she encounters him rarely and only in passing. It's not a bad schedule, all in all. She has her space, and he has his work.

Day by day, Meetra settles deeper into fake-married life at Fortress Sion. Her fancy clothes ordered from the Sith capital world begin to arrive. They are as exquisite as their expense suggests, but Tony wholeheartedly approves. You must look the part to play the part, he reminds her. Let the clothes give you confidence. Use them to intimidate others. You are a public figure as my wife and these dresses are as much a uniform for you as my armor is for me. Truthfully, Meetra is fast becoming accustomed to the rigorous costuming of a Sith Lady. She begins to welcome the daily routine of hair and makeup, donning her disguise without complaint. It's strangely comforting to see her familiar self disappear behind the painted facade of Lady Sion. And so far, so good. For no one seems the wiser for who she truly is.

To the housekeeper's delight, Meetra continues to appear at official events at the Fortress. The occasions always strictly involve laypeople. They are usually something feel-good or ceremonial concerning women or children. That makes her involvement low risk. But removing even one item from Darth Sion's daily to do list is helpful. The point of these appearances is to spread goodwill on his behalf, and the assignment isn't hard. As far as Meetra can tell, the job of Lady Sion amounts to appearing sumptuously dressed and acting regal. She floats into a room with a waft of heavy perfume and a swirl of black lace, bids everyone to rise and says hello to a few notables, and then makes a quick exit.

For now, Tony does not want her to mix with any aristocratic Sith Ladies. They can be ruthless in their own way, he explains, and they will observe you far closer and judge you much harsher than their husbands. Dark Ladies are the rumor starting, exclusionary, status obsessed sorts. They are far more likely to sniff you out as an imposter than any of their husbands, Tony warns. Meetra believes him. And so, when invitations are received from local Ladies seeking to meet the new Lady Sion, Tony manages to command her attendance at public events that preempt her acceptance.

There are, however, numerous occasions to mix with her husband's Sith Lord peers. For there is much speculation about the future, and that means a steady stream of Lords find reasons to drop by Fortress Sion ostensibly 'on business.' That business is treason, of course, and it cannot be conducted by hologram transmission or comlink message. It must be spoken in-person in the seclusion of a private home with minimal witnesses to the proceedings. To bolster the case that these dinners are merely friendly socializing, Darth Sion keeps his wife present. That's plausible—she's the new, thoroughly unexpected refugee wife who people are curious to meet. But after a few kind words of greeting at the outset of every evening, Meetra is soon eclipsed as the topic of conversation. No one wants to waste time asking her probing questions about her background. Everyone wants to talk about who will make a play for the Imperial throne. And since she's a woman, no one looks to her for information or opinions.

As hostess, Meetra gets a front row seat to watch Darth Sion's machinations. She hears firsthand the latest rumors. Afterwards, she and Tony compare notes and debate strategies because like it or not, she's Team Sion now. And that means she wants her fake husband to be well positioned for whatever is to come. Not that he needs her advice, however. Tony, Meetra observes, is a consummate player in the nasty, backstabbing world of Sith politics. He cries friends with Lords who run the gamut of the political spectrum. From them, he gleans a steady stream of information and speculation. And as it turns out, Tony's former Apprentice isn't the only Lord who urges Tony to consider his own bid for Dark Lord.

Some are sincere, Tony assesses. Others are looking to bait him into it for their own purposes—they want a stalking horse to assist another candidate. And some Lords are just floating the idea to see how he reacts. How Tony knows this gamesmanship is a mystery to Meetra. But he seems very certain of his judgement and who is she to argue otherwise? He clearly knows all the players, if only by reputation.

The Lord of Pain is a deft political operative. Tony refrains from offering many opinions, he prefers to listen to others' views. And this ploy comes across as validation for many of his guests who tend to be the self-important types who like to hear themselves talk. It helps that Sion downplays his differences with others at every opportunity. To the archconservative types, for example, he explains his lack of secret police as a budgetary decision since he runs such a small system. But to the more progressive Lords who share Tony's admiration for Republic-style civil rights, his disdain for covert surveillance and unofficial arrests is a statement of values.

For Meetra, who failed miserably Jedi internal politics, it's an education to watch Tony play to his audience. He dances around issues while still managing to state his views. He's not deceiving others so much as he is looking for common ground. He's also holding his cards close to his chest. Who will he support for Dark Lord? Darth Sion is making no promises just yet. He's privately still set on his brother-in-law, who has yet to make an appearance. After that, Meetra can't tell his short list of contenders.

No one else can either, but they keep coming to discuss it. Why is everyone at least pretending to be a friend to Darth Sion? Meetra decides on three reasons. First, he's had such a long tenure in his role that no one can remember a time when Sion wasn't around. He's something of a fixture in administrative circles. Sure, he departs from a lot of Sith government norms, but it doesn't seem to alarm anyone because that's just Sion being Sion and it works in his little system. Secondly, Tony seems to be a generally tolerant guy. He has his preferences, but he's open to contrary ideas and solutions that are reasonable. There is a strong streak of pragmatism in him that reminds her of Revan. It's the mindset of someone who appreciates the practicality of rules, but who isn't afraid to bend them. And that's not so much hypocrisy as it is prioritizing. Lastly, Tony does not go looking for conflict. He keeps to himself his unorthodox views of the Force. His criticism, when voiced, is always measured, usually constructive, and rarely personal. He even openly admires other Lords in rival systems. But mostly his tactic is to invite others' thoughts. Tell me more about why you think that, he asks. What would you advise me to do, he solicits. And if he disagrees, he rarely says so. He is the furthest thing from a bombastic ideologue. More than anything, he comes off as an experienced executive with an inclusive, 'can do' approach to problem solving.

Moreover, what you see is what you get with Darth Sion. By contrast to the secretive Darth Vitiate, Tony is transparent about his issues. Everyone knows that the Lord of Pain is a walking dead man who channels hurt for power to keep himself living. His health struggles are common knowledge, and many Lords ask after his situation with genuine concern. Sion, in turn, is upfront about his weakness. That might be because his zombie status gives him serious Dark Side cred. For certain, no one doubts Sion's allegiance to the Shadow Force. And that posturing might make some of his more liberal views more tolerable, Meetra suspects. True to form, he's similarly open and notorious about her. Tony doesn't make a big issue about their marriage, but he certainly puts it out there for others to see. Meetra recognizes the strategy—he's acting like there's nothing to hide, like she is old news, while he moves on to the more pressing matter of regime change that he and others are obsessed about.

All in all, hiding her in plain sight is a rather ingenious setup. Meetra keeps her eyes open, her ears open, and her mouth shut. Only once does she screw up. Tony is hosting the colonel who runs the local Sith Army garrison for dinner upon the occasion of a visit by his commanding officer. Someone addresses the visiting guest of honor as 'General' and Meetra automatically turns her head. But luckily, only Tony notices.

In fact, Tony notices her a lot. At least once a day, Meetra looks up and catches his eyes lingering on her. Sometimes, it's across a crowded room at an event when he breezes in and out in what he calls a 'fly by.' Other times, she's walking back to the Fortress from one of her long, meditative afternoon walks. She looks up and sees a solitary figure in gleaming black armor standing on one of the building's many balconies. Has he been waiting for her to return? Did he just happen to wander outside for a break and some fresh air? She's unsure. But whether it's a flicker of admiration as a servant pours her more caf over breakfast or a silent moment in the evening when they are alone together and she's just finished healing, the undercurrent of tension persists. A woman doesn't have to be told that a man finds her attractive. Usually, there are lots of subtle signs. But in the case of a Sith Lord, it's glaringly obvious. The telltale clue is always the same: the flash of yellow in Tony's otherwise light eyes. It reminds Meetra that there's a demon of Darkness lurking within him. It's the drive to dominate and to possess fueled by the Shadow Force that encourages passion for power. If the drive for sex is natural in all beings, it's especially strong in the men of the Dark Side, Meetra suspects.

Some small part of her thrills to be the object of Tony's attention, to be wanted as a woman. But she is also quite threatened because that's the sort of thinking that leads to attachment. And here's the thing: Meetra knows she can have sex without attachment, but might she still wind up with an attachment in a completely sexless relationship? Tony has stopped overtly pursing her and yet she seems more engaged by him than ever. Could he be the one playing hard to get? If he is, it's working. For as her stay at Fortress Sion lengthens, the mosaic of information she knows about Tony and his people begins to fill in. It's a rich and varied portrait of a man and of a civilization that she heretofore only knew from rumor. And much of that rumor, she has discovered, is incomplete or flat wrong.

One morning as she and Tony spar, she blurts out her consternation. "You're very different than I expected."

He laughs as he lunges. "That can only be a good thing."

"True." She easily dodges his thrust and responds with a lunge of her own.

"You're very different than I expected," he counters.

"Am I? How so?" Meetra can't wait to hear this explanation.

"Well, for starters, you're much prettier than I remembered."

"Is that all?"

"No. I expected you to be prim and preachy. I was prepared for a lot of Light Side lectures."

"Do I disappoint you?" It's a serious question.

"Not at all," he assures her. "You're pretty low key on the Jedi talk except when I torture."

"True," she concedes as she stabs for his arm but veers wide.

"Missed me!" he smirks. Then, he's back to listing all the ways she has failed to live up to his expectations. "I didn't think a Jedi would have a temper."

Meetra sighs, owning that failing. "You realize that I'm a bad Jedi, right? Maybe the worst ever."

"Nah," he scoffs as he swipes for her leg and misses when she jumps. "You're human and you have feelings that you wish to express. There's nothing wrong with that."

"There is for a Jedi," she harrumphs. She's supposed to rise above petty trivialities like emotions.

"Anger, joy, sorrow, love . . . Those are parts of life. Never run from them. Meetra, you cannot hide forever from yourself."

He's talking about Malachor V again. Trying to fix her again. Once a day, Tony manages to find a way to allude to the war's end and the Darkness she unleashed while trying to save the Light. But he's gentle about the reminder. He never pushes, and so she generally ignores it.

Today, she changes the topic. "When are we going to fake my death?"

"Have you decided how you want to meet the Force?"

"It won't be in a sword fight. You haven't put a mark on me yet," she brags. Meetra can't decide if she's really that good in a fight or if Tony isn't trying to win. Because each morning when they spar, she emerges victorious. Tony handles it well, seemingly taking pride in her skill.

Since he never wins, Tony never claims a kiss. But the thought of that prize has Meetra tempted to lose some mornings just to see what happens. Eventually, her competitiveness kicks in and she recommits to the pursuit of victory . . . and wins, like usual. So far, she's got a lot of rides in Tony's new starship banked.

But the topic this morning isn't sex, it's violence. Not how to kiss her, but how to kill her. Tony approaches the matter with very Tony-like pragmatism. "When we do fake-kill you, it needs to be convincing. I'll need to get a blood or tissue sample to submit for the bounty. That way, it can be tested for midichlorians to confirm that I killed a Jedi and not some random lookalike."

"How are you going to explain not sending a body?"

"I'm going to take a lot of pictures and send some ashes from the Temple along with the samples."

"Will that work?"

"I hope so." He shrugs. "Whether they pay the full bounty isn't really the issue. The point is to satisfy the Empire that you're dead so they will stop looking for you and move on down the list to others. Hopefully, to Traya."

"Why does she get a free pass here in the Empire?" Meetra has wondered about that.

"Vitiate permits a certain amount of troublemakers to persist. They are convenient to blame things on. And, if they're extreme like Traya, they make the Emperor look moderate and tolerant by comparison. Traya's not a threat. She's more of an agitator."

"And your supposed ally," Meetra jeers. Tony has clearly duped Kreia like he has duped many others about his true beliefs. "So . . . what does dying feel like?" Meetra wants to know.

"It hurts."

"That figures. What hurt worst—the saber wounds or the blaster?"

"Definitely the blaster," Tony answers.

"Okay, then no blasters. How about you strangle me?" she proposes. "You know, with your bare hands? Will that be lurid and ghoulish enough?"

He laughs. "I don't see why not."

"Then, that's how I'll die," she resolves. It's a decidedly non-Jedi end, but whatever. She's no longer a Jedi general who should die heroically if she doesn't make it to a ripe old age.

Meetra doesn't like to talk about her Jedi days or about the Republic. The past is painful and still very much unresolved for her. Speaking of that time in her life also feels like a betrayal. She's certain that her former colleagues would not want her to speak of them to their enemy. But Tony has no such qualms. He tells her all about the Empire and Sith society. The only thing he doesn't volunteer are the details of his personal past. And that, Meetra suspects, is because his losses are still painful and unresolved as well.

Tony will, however, speak of his revenge quest that ended so terribly. And from that, she gleans a few details about the first Lady Sion. The topic comes up while she's healing his wounds that remain stubbornly fresh all these years later.

One night, she bemoans her slow progress on his blaster damage. It's been nearly a month and yet she's made little progress. "I feel like I'm failing you on this one . . . " Healing the saber stabs to his chest was far simpler.

He brushes aside her concerns. "Nonsense. It's already so much better."

"It doesn't look better."

"It's a horrible wound," Tony shrugs. As always, he is very matter of fact about his condition. "Each of the three wounds from that day were fatal." He grimaces and sighs. "I failed spectacularly . . . "

"Sounds familiar," she commiserates.

"The fallout from my failure made it worse," Tony shares.

"Yeah? What happened?"

"The rest of the family fell apart. It was a downward spiral for everyone," he laments.

Meetra doesn't press for more details. She just keeps healing and waits for Tony to continue. This is his way—he raises a personal topic and then unburdens himself slowly. Usually, with much regret and self-blame to accompany the facts.

"My wife was the favorite child of her father. Old Cato Caesar much preferred Cornelia to her twin, who was the family's only son. When Cornelia was murdered, my father-in-law blamed her brother. Those two had all sorts of father and son drama. Cornelia's death made it much worse. She had long been the bridge between them. After she died, they turned on one another and there was no one who could make either see reason."

"That's too bad . . ." But not surprising. Meetra has learned firsthand how grief and guilt can bring out the worst in a person.

"Cornelius—my wife's twin—wasn't to blame. Vitiate was behind it all, pulling the strings. But things got bad . . . very bad between him and his father. In a fit of rage, Cornelius ended up killing him."

"Wait. Hold up. Your wife's brother killed his own father?" Yikes.

"It happens more often than you might think among the leading families. All that Darkness needs to express itself from time to time. Cornelius is almost as overpowered as his sister was. It's why he's still alive two hundred years later and doesn't look a day over forty."

"Like you," she murmurs.

"Except Cornelius is no zombie. You won't catch him sporting an eye patch. He has no health issues from his longevity."

"This Cornelius is the guy you want to support for Dark Lord, right?"

"Yes. He's the best man I know."

"Even though he killed his own father?" Meetra's not impressed by that résumé.

"His father had it coming. He was a petty, cruel, nasty character. Very old school and reactionary. Even back then, he was something of an anachronism."

Meetra doesn't know enough facts to evaluate that answer. But she now asks a question she's been curious about. "Why would the Emperor order a hit on your wife and family?"

Tony sighs and sort of deflates. His voice gets the flat tone it always does when he speaks of his sad past. "It was never about me or Cornelia. It was always about her brother. I think Vitiate was trying to bait him into a feud to get him killed. Cornelius must have been judged a potential threat. My brother-in-law is very powerful, extremely capable, and well liked. He would make an excellent Emperor."

"Would he do it?"

"I don't know. The issue has never been ripe until now."

"But you're saying your family died for the mere threat your brother-in-law posed back over two hundred years ago . . . "

Tony nods. "That's what I believe. But I have no proof."

Her eyes narrow. "Could the Emperor have foreseen him as a future challenger?"

"I don't know. But Darth Vitiate needs no provocation to act on a perceived threat. He kills newborn infants who he considers too promising. His paranoia cannot be underestimated."

The topic has made Tony upset, and it shows. He stalks away, runs a hand down his face, and lashes out with a ferociousness much at odds with his typical calm detachment. "Marrying me was supposed to protect Cornelia from that sort of thing! She married a low-count nobody like myself so her children would not be sacrificed to Vitiate's paranoia! But in the end, they died and she died . . . horribly too . . . all of them . . ."

"I'm so sorry."

"Me too."

Meetra doesn't need the dyad bond to perceive how heavy Tony's survivor guilt feels. She knows from her own experience how crippling it can be. Watching him pace on the far side of the room, her heart goes out to him.

"So . . . you're supporting your brother-in-law as a contender to the throne for revenge?" she probes, still trying to understand Tony's multiple motivations. His animus towards his Emperor seems to be a mix of political differences, religious disagreements, and personal revenge. "You want to make good on the threat that was why Vitiate killed your family?"

"No!" The question annoys Tony. He is indignant. "Cornelius Caesar is the best man I know, and he's perfectly positioned to gain widespread support. I've known him since I was a fourteen-year-old Academy freshman. He was my best friend and roommate long before he became my brother. Trust me, he's the best Lord for the job. No one else comes close."

"He killed his own father. He sounds like a hothead."

"He's not. He's smart and sly but with a big heart and a patient nature. No one loves the Empire more than Cornelius does. But he's not so beholden to tradition or to Vitiate that he worships the status quo. Even as a young man, he was very forward thinking."

"He thinks like you do?"

"On politics? More or less. He's become more conservative through the years and I've grown more progressive. I guess you could say we've sort of traded places. But we agree on most things. I trust his judgement."

"Well then, I hope he accepts the challenge of leadership," Meetra responds, hoping rattled Tony will relax some so she can resume healing.

But he's too worked up. The bond tells her just how much. "Revenge . . . " Tony makes a ugly face that conveys all his bitterness. "Revenge is a false promise for me. Killing Vitiate won't bring my wife or children back. Nothing will! I ruined my body—I became the Lord of Pain—for a lie, Meetra! I know that now. It's a big part of why I don't support the revenge of the Sith. It gains us nothing to avenge our forefathers who were exiled thousands of years ago. I fear a full-scale war will be a pointless exercise—just like my own failed revenge! I don't want to see my people repeat my mistake. Peace with the Republic is the only sensible long-term strategy."

"But that's a lot for our people to swallow. Here in the Empire, the revenge of the Sith is our manifest destiny. We are taught that we will someday, somehow rule the galaxy. It is our birthright owed to us for the shabby treatment of our ancestors at the hands of the Jedi Republic. And it has come to encompass an entire moral code of Darkness. Grievance has become our primary motivation. Devotion to our revenge, we assume, is our absolution for the extreme acts we will do to achieve it. But I've lived revenge, so I know it is illusory in this case. It risks all and gains nothing, for even in success it is futile."

Tony shakes his head as he growls, "It worries me greatly that we are a society organized around redressing the past, not looking to the future. Vitiate didn't originate the idea of the revenge of the Sith, but he keeps doubling down on it. Meetra, invading the Republic is cultural suicide! It's just another version of Traya's evil nihilism that must be avoided at all costs!"

She agrees. It's candid moments like this when Meetra feels the gravitas of Darth Sion, when she wonders if his plight truly does have larger purpose. Could this man be the next Dark Lord? Should he be the visionary to supplant Vitiate? And is their dyad the means the Force provides to heal him for that destiny?

Meetra is a woman who is less attracted by a man's body than she is attracted by his mind and his character. And the more she gets to know her pretend husband, the more impressed she is. It's not by his title, his wealth, or his position. It's for his personal journey. Darth Sion might not see it, but she does. He's little by little clawing his way out of Darkness, breaking free from the mindset of the Sith, and starting to entertain all sorts of religious heresy and political upheaval as he accidentally on purpose becomes a bona fide Dark iconoclast. It's very intriguing for her. And it has her pondering whether Darth Sion is the answer to her own existential crisis. One thing is clear—for all his goofy jokes, Tony has plenty of thoughtfulness and charisma. For the more she's around him, the more she wants to be around him and the more she wants to help him.

But just now, the man is discouraged. "Quos vis vult perdere prius dementat," he says in the Old Sith language of Kittat. Then, recalling that she's ignorant of the Dark Side's mother tongue, he translates. "Those whom the Force wishes to destroy, it first drives mad."

She nods. She gets it. Regret is like having a rancor on your back. Frustration can eat you alive. But she feels compelled to point out, "The Force doesn't want to destroy you. Tony, it's been keeping you alive for centuries."

He meets her eyes and answers solemnly. "I think I've been waiting for you all this time."

She smiles and makes light of his heavy comment. "Then come back over here and let me heal you some more."

He obliges, and Meetra impulsively gives him a quick squeeze before she resumes her work. And here again is a spontaneous intimate moment with a veneer of chumminess. She's pretending he's in the friend zone, and Tony seems to be accepting it for now. And wait—has she succeeded in scaring him off? Is he never going to make another move? Meetra isn't sure how to feel about that. But as the days slip by and she settles more into her role as the fake wife/private Force healer to Darth Sion, she starts to wonder if maybe this marriage ruse should be permanent. If maybe it should be real. If perhaps Tony truly is the fresh start she has been searching for.

But just when Meetra finds herself entertaining serious thoughts about laying aside her Jedi allegiance once and for all, she ends up back at the Temple again. This place makes Meetra's skin crawl. Just being here feels wrong. She dutifully stands by Tony's side, listening to the priest, the cantor, and the choir, feeling grateful that she has no idea what any of them is saying in Kittat. They might as well be speaking wookiee to her ignorant ears. And that's good because she's certain that if she knew what all the fervent prayers were about, she'd be doubly as uncomfortable as she is now. But Meetra gamely suffers through services several times a week. Public Dark Side worship is part of pretending to be Lady Sion.

Tonight at vespers the priest, Tony's former Apprentice, Darth Cohors is especially longwinded. He's droning on when Tony's comlink starts vibrating in his pocket. He surprises Meetra by deciding to answer it.

"What is it?" Tony is annoyed to be disturbed while at Temple. And that tells Meetra this must be important news.

Yes, whatever he's being told, it's urgent. Tony starts issuing rapid fire questions to the helper on the other end of the comlink. It's the zombie Sith in his hyper-focused, professional capacity giving orders. "How far out is he? Is he in a shuttle? Is he alone?"

Tony waits for the answers and then issues his instructions. "Skip the fighter escort. We don't need anyone at the garrison asking questions about this. Allow him to land here at the Fortress. And keep it off the official log. No need to record this visit."

Through the bond, Meetra senses Tony's surprise, anticipation, and even alarm at what he's learned. Leaning in, she whispers, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. This is good."

"No, it's not." The Force is telling them both that it's not. She's sensing danger and that means he must feel it too.

Under his breath, Tony now gives her some orders. "I'm going to meet him and walk him in the back way. Stay here until the service ends. Say hello, shake a few hands, act like nothing is unusual and you're in no hurry to leave, understand? Find me inside in our quarters when you're done. He'll be joining us for dinner, I hope."

Okay. Meetra is intrigued by all the secrecy. Tony has her full attention now. "Who's here?" she asks under her breath.

Tony replies to her mind through the bond. Cornelius Caesar.

Your brother-in-law.

Yes. The most dangerous man in the Empire.