The warmth of Padmé's body pressed against his, the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the scent of her hair tickling his nose. Those were the sensations that had lulled Anakin into a wonderful sleep. But dawn, relentless and unforgiving, crept through the cracks in the blinds, painting the room in soft hues of gold and rose. He knew he had to leave soon, to slip back into the confines of the Jedi Temple before his absence was noticed. With a pang of regret, he carefully began to disentangle himself from Padmé's embrace. His hand, resting on the curve of her hip, twitched involuntarily as he slid it away, the warmth of her skin lingering on his palm like a phantom sensation. A soft groan escaped Padmé's lips, her brow furrowing slightly in her sleep. "Leaving already?" she murmured, her voice a husky whisper laced with a drowsiness that tugged at his heartstrings.
"I'm sorry, Angel," he whispered back, leaning down to brush his lips against her forehead, a feather-light touch filled with tenderness and regret. "I stayed as long as I could." He had lingered until the very last moment, savoring the warmth of her embrace, the scent of wildflowers that clung to her skin, the knowledge that she was his, and he was hers.
Padmé stirred, rolling over to face him, her eyes fluttering open, a spark of playful mischief replacing the initial sleepiness. "Come back to bed," she murmured, her hand reaching out to tug him closer, her fingers entwining with his, pulling him back into the warmth of the covers.
"I'm sorry Angel. I stayed as long as I can," Anakin answered. He couldn't resist her though, not when her eyes held that mischievous glint, not when her touch sent a shiver of longing down his spine. He leaned down, capturing her lips with his own, the kiss a sweet, lingering exploration that spoke of their forbidden love, a stolen moment of bliss in a world teetering on the brink of chaos.
When she finally released him, breathless and exhilarated, a shadow of sadness crossed her features, a stark reminder of the realities that threatened to shatter their happiness. "I know," she whispered, her voice laced with a weary understanding. "It's just... hard without you." She knew it was just as difficult for him too, this constant tug-of-war between duty and desire, between the Jedi Code and the love that burned within his heart. "Go," she urged, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw, her touch a bittersweet farewell. "Before Obi-Wan sends a search party."
He smiled, a fleeting expression of gratitude and love that illuminated his face. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised, his voice a low rumble meant only for her ears. He rose from the bed, reluctantly disentangling himself from her embrace. He grabbed his Jedi robes from the nearby chair, each movement a silent torture as he forced himself to step away from her, to leave the warmth of their shared bed, to reenter the world that demanded they keep their love a secret. With a final lingering glance, a silent promise whispered in the depths of his eyes, he slipped out of the apartment, leaving Padmé alone with the echoes of their stolen night.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Padmé knew sleep would elude her grasp. The emptiness of the bed beside her, a tangible reminder of his absence, mirrored the ache in her heart. Just a year ago, the thought of Ani consuming her every thought would have seemed absurd. Now, it was her reality. He had woven himself into the fabric of her life, his presence a constant, even when he was lightyears away.
She rose from the bed, the silken sheets cool against her skin, and walked towards her dressing room. She dressed in her usual senatorial attire, the elegant robes a reminder of her responsibilities, the weight of the galaxy pressing down on her shoulders. Yet, beneath the formal attire, a warmth lingered, a secret joy that echoed the stolen moments with Anakin. At least she didn't have to worry about his safety anymore, she thought, a surge of gratitude for Count Dooku washing over her. The Sith Lord, despite his darkness, had kept his word, ensuring Anakin's safety on the perilous battlefields of Christophsis. And now, with the encrypted communicator she had gifted Anakin, they could at least whisper words of love across the vast expanse of space, a fragile thread of connection in a world that seemed determined to tear them apart. She only had to hope Anakin would have the time and privacy for her.
She walked onto the balcony, the rising sun bathing the cityscape in a fiery glow, the air crisp and cool against her skin. She began to brush her hair, the rhythmic strokes a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil of her thoughts. Her mind drifted to Anakin's concern about the clones, their plight a stark reminder of the injustices that festered within the Republic, a system she had dedicated her life to serving. She pulled out her datapad, her fingers flying across the screen as she accessed the Republic's database, searching for information about the clones' rights.
The truth, when it revealed itself, sent a wave of shock and indignation through her. The clones, despite their undeniable courage, their sacrifices on the battlefield, had virtually no rights, no legal protections, no recognition of their individuality. They were treated as expendable assets, tools to be wielded and discarded by the Republic. No payment, no education past their military training, no plan for their future once the war was over. She felt a surge of anger, a righteous fury that echoed Anakin's own outrage. She had to do something, she thought, her resolve hardening. She would rally her allies in the Senate, she would draft a bill, and she would fight for the clones' rights, just as she fought for peace. Bail Organa, she knew, would be a staunch ally in this endeavor. Their next meeting wouldn't be able to come soon enough.
The atmosphere in the Jedi Temple hangar was thick with a nervous energy as Anakin landed his speeder, its engines sighing to a halt. His heart pounded, a frantic counterpoint to the rhythmic hum of the temple itself. He had pushed his luck, spending a few extra precious hours with Padmé in the morning, savoring the warmth of their secret marriage, knowing that his extended absence from the Temple was a risk. As he disembarked, a wave of relief washed over him. Obi-Wan and Ahsoka stood by their own starfighters, their maroon and green hulls gleaming under the hangar's bright lights. Relief, however, quickly gave way to apprehension as Ahsoka, her montrals twitching with curiosity, approached him with a playful smirk. "So, Knight Skywalker," she began, her voice laced with a knowing lilt that made Anakin's stomach clench, "care to share what kept you so occupied outside the Temple? I've heard rumors that Coruscant nightlife can be quite... distracting."
Anakin forced a laugh, hoping to deflect her suspicions, but the guilt, a bitter taste on his tongue, made his smile feel strained. "Just enjoying the freedom of being a Jedi Knight, Snips," he responded, his voice deliberately casual. "A little podracing, a few visits to the entertainment district, nothing too scandalous." He hoped Obi-Wan would buy the lie, that his master wouldn't see through the carefully constructed lie.
Obi-Wan, his gaze fixed on Anakin with an intensity that made him shift uncomfortably, approached them, a subtle frown creasing his brow. "Podracing, you say?" he echoed, skepticism coloring his tone. "I trust you didn't wager any Temple funds on those races, Anakin?"
"Of course not, Master," Anakin retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Just a little harmless fun. Even though I would have won money if I had placed money." He couldn't bear the thought of Obi-Wan discovering the truth, of the Jedi forcing him to leave Padmé.
"A Jedi should be mindful of how they spend their time, Anakin," Obi-Wan admonished, his voice a gentle reminder of their responsibilities. "Especially in these turbulent times." He turned towards Ahsoka, his gaze softening, a faint smile touching his lips. "I apologize for my former Padawan's... exuberance, Ahsoka. He is still adjusting to the responsibilities of knighthood."
"It's alright, Master Kenobi," Ahsoka responded, her youthful enthusiasm momentarily dimmed by Obi-Wan's reprimand. She glanced at Anakin, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. "I'll try to keep him on the straight and narrow, Master. Though it might be a challenge."
Anakin rolled his eyes, suppressing a groan. This youngling, for all her spirit and her undeniable connection to the Force, was going to look a little to close at him and might find out about his secret, or ask even more difficult questions. He longed to change the subject, to escape the scrutiny of their gazes, but before he could speak, Ahsoka, her impatience bubbling over, interjected, "Can we please go to Teth now? I can't wait to go on this mission!"
Her words, laced with an enthusiasm, snapped him back to the present, to the mission that loomed over them, a task that promised both danger and a chance to prove his worth as a Jedi Knight. He glanced towards the sleek form of the Resolute in the sky, its gray hull a beacon amidst the bustling activity of the sky, its presence a stark reminder of the escalating war that now gripped the galaxy. He had to focus, he reminded himself, to push aside the anxieties that gnawed at his heart, to embrace the duty that called him, to be the Jedi Knight the Republic needed, and the husband Padmé deserved. "Yes, Snips, it's time to go," he said, his voice regaining its usual confidence. He gestured towards their starfighters, a subtle command that brooked no argument. "Let's not keep Admiral Yularen waiting." With a shared sense of urgency, they climbed into their respective starfighters, their engines roaring to life, the hangar filled with the familiar symphony of departing vessels. As Anakin's starfighter soared into the twilight sky, a bittersweet ache echoed within him. He was leaving Padmé behind, but he would return, he vowed silently.
The bridge of the Resolute buzzed with a focused energy as Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka joined Admiral Yularen and Captain Rex. The viewport displayed the looming shadow of Teth, a world of jagged peaks and jungles that created anticipation within Anakin's stomach. Another mission, another world on the brink of chaos, and another separation from Padmé. He pushed the thought aside, forcing his attention towards the holographic display that flickered to life, revealing a detailed image of a towering plateau, its summit crowned by a forbidding monastery. "This," Admiral Yularen announced, his voice a crisp baritone that cut through the hum of the bridge, "is our target. The B'omarr Monastery on Teth. Our intelligence suggests that Rotta the Hutt is being held captive within its ancient walls."
Anakin's gaze scanned the holographic image, his brow furrowing as he took in the sheer scale of the plateau, its sheer cliffs a formidable barrier. "Do we have any confirmation on who orchestrated the kidnapping, Admiral?" he inquired, his voice laced with a hint of suspicion. Jabba the Hutt, a notorious crime lord whose tentacles of influence stretched across the Outer Rim, had a long list of enemies, any one of whom could be responsible for this audacious abduction.
"While we lack definitive proof, General Skywalker," Yularen responded, his gaze meeting Anakin's with a mix of understanding and apprehension, "all signs point towards a group of bounty hunters operating outside the Hutt's usual circle of associates." He paused, his expression turning grim. "Their motives remain unclear, but their audacity suggests a lot of desperation."
"Those cliffs look pretty treacherous, sir," Captain Rex interjected, his voice laced with a practical concern that mirrored Anakin's own anxieties. "Can we land our gunships on the plateau, or are we going to have to scale those walls?"
"Negative, Captain," Yularen responded, shaking his head. "The plateau's summit offers limited landing space, and our intelligence suggests that the kidnappers have fortified their position with a significant number of droids. A direct assault would be… ill-advised."
"Droids?" Ahsoka exclaimed, her montrals twitching with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "Does that mean the Separatists are involved?"
"Not necessarily, young one," Obi-Wan responded, his voice a calming counterpoint to the rising tension. "Many factions, even within the Republic, utilize droids for security purposes. It's impossible to determine their allegiance based solely on their presence."
Anakin, his gaze still fixed on the holographic image, considered their options. The monastery, perched atop the plateau like a defiant sentinel, seemed almost impregnable. Scaling those sheer cliffs, under enemy fire, would be a suicidal endeavor. Then, a plan began to form in his mind, a daring, unorthodox strategy that might just give them the advantage they needed. "We could use the AT-TE walkers," he suggested, his voice laced with a newfound excitement. "Their legs are designed for traversing rugged terrain. We could modify their grappling hooks, allowing them to latch onto the cliff face. They could provide cover fire while the rest of our troops ascend using ascension cables."
"That's an excellent idea, General Skywalker," Captain Rex responded, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice. "It's unorthodox, but it just might work."
"It's reckless, Anakin," Obi-Wan countered, his tone laced with a familiar caution. "But I confess, I can't think of a better alternative."
As the others began to discuss the logistics of Anakin's plan, a sudden wave of urgency, unrelated to the mission, washed over him. He remembered Padmé's words, her plea to delve deeper into the truth of the clones' predicament, to explore whether their unwavering loyalty masked a deeper, more insidious form of control. He couldn't shake the feeling that Slick's defection, his accusations of slavery, were more than just the ramblings of a rogue element. He had to know, to see for himself, whether the clones were truly free or merely puppets dancing to the Republic's tune. He excused himself from the bridge, his gaze settling on Captain Rex. "Captain, a moment, if you please," he said, his voice a quiet command that brooked no argument.
Rex, his brow furrowing slightly, followed Anakin out of the bridge, his steps echoing against the metallic deck. Anakin led him to a small, sparsely furnished briefing room, its walls adorned with tactical maps and holographic displays. As the door hissed shut behind them, Rex, his voice tinged with a nervous anticipation, inquired, "What is it, General? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing, Rex," Anakin responded, forcing a smile that felt strained even to his own senses. "I just wanted to discuss… something about the 501st. Something that's been weighing on my mind." He paused, choosing his words carefully, seeking a way to broach the subject without betraying his own doubts about the Republic.
"It's about Slick, isn't it?" Rex asked, his gaze meeting Anakin's with a mix of understanding and a hint of accusation. "You're still worried about his betrayal. But you needn't be, General. The 501st is loyal. We would never turn against the Republic."
"I know, Rex," Anakin responded, his voice laced with a genuine respect for the clone captain's unwavering loyalty. "But Slick's words… they resonated with me. He said he felt like a slave." He paused, his gaze intense, searching for answers in the depths of Rex's eyes. "Do you ever… feel that way, Rex? Like you're just a tool to be wielded by the Republic? Do you want to fight for the Republic?"
Rex hesitated, his brow furrowing as he considered the question. "I… I've never thought about it that way, sir," he finally responded, his voice a touch hesitant. "We were created to serve the Republic. It's our purpose. It's what we're trained for."
Anakin, sensing the ingrained loyalty that permeated Rex's every word, pressed on. "But if you had a choice, Rex, would you still choose to be a soldier? If you could pursue any career, any path, what would you do?"
Rex's gaze drifted towards the viewport, his eyes fixed on the swirling chaos of space, a distant, unfocused look replacing his usual sharp attentiveness. "When I was younger… before my training began… I used to dream of being a chef," he confessed, his voice a soft murmur that echoed a longing Anakin understood all too well.
"A chef?" Anakin echoed, a flicker of surprise momentarily eclipsing his apprehension.
"Yes, sir," Rex confirmed, a wistful smile touching his lips. "I used to imagine myself creating culinary masterpieces, experimenting with flavors, bringing joy to people through my creations." He paused, his gaze returning to Anakin, a shadow crossing his features. "But then I realized… this is where I'm needed. The Republic needs soldiers, needs men like me to fight for freedom, to protect the galaxy from those who would enslave it."
"So, you would rather be a chef?" Anakin pressed, a glimmer of fear flickering within him. If Rex, a clone captain, the epitome of loyalty, harbored such dreams, then perhaps Slick wasn't alone. Perhaps there were others who yearned for something more than a life of servitude, for a chance to pursue their own passions, to carve their own paths through the galaxy. That would mean the clones were truly enslaved.
"It's not that simple, General," Rex responded, his voice regaining its usual firmness. "I'm proud to serve the Republic. I believe in what we're fighting for, and besides," he added, his gaze hardening with a fierce determination, "I couldn't abandon my brothers. They need me. I'm their captain."
Anakin nodded, respect and a growing understanding filling his heart. Rex, despite his hidden dreams, his yearning for a different life, had chosen duty over desire, had embraced the responsibility that had been thrust upon him. And in a way, Anakin thought, didn't that mirror his own predicament? He had to choose between duty, the jedi, and desire, to marry Padmé a love forbidden by the Jedi Code, but he had also chosen to remain a Jedi, to fight for the Republic, to uphold the ideals that had guided him since his childhood. Sacrificing time with Padmé for the Republic. "Thank you, Rex," Anakin said, his voice laced with a newfound gratitude. He had gained valuable insight, a glimpse into the complex heart of a clone. Rex seemed truly to want to fight for the Republic. He didn't have a choice though, Anakin thought, but most Jedi don't either, he rationalized. He would need to check if other clones were more like Rex or Slick. He placed a hand on Rex's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, "Now, let's go rescue that Huttlet."
Padmé paced restlessly in her office, the weight of the galaxy pressing down on her shoulders. The gleaming towers of Coruscant, visible through the expansive windows, seemed to mock her with their silent indifference to the turmoil that raged across the stars. Anakin, her beloved, was once again on a perilous mission, this time to rescue Jabba the Hutt's son, a task that filled her with a mix of apprehension and a resigned acceptance. She had learned, through painful experience, that she could not shield him from the dangers of war, from the duty that called him, from the fate that seemed to pull him relentlessly towards the heart of the conflict. Two pressing matters demanded her attention: peace and the plight of the clones. Bail Organa, her trusted ally in the Senate, would share her concern for the clones' lack of rights, their status as expendable assets, mere tools to be wielded and discarded by the Republic. She had promised Anakin that she would fight for their rights, but the urgency of securing peace, of ending the bloodshed that threatened to consume the galaxy, now took precedence. Regrettably, the fate of the clones had to wait. In a way peace would help the clones anyway.
She had to contact Count Dooku, to see if his promises of peace held any weight, to explore the possibility of a dialogue, a bridge across the chasm that now divided the galaxy. It was a dangerous gamble, she knew, a treacherous path fraught with suspicion and mistrust. But she had seen a glimmer of hope in Dooku, a sincerity in his words that contradicted the Jedi's portrayal of him as a ruthless, power-hungry Sith Lord. She had to try. With a deep breath, she activated the secret communicator, the sleek silver device a tangible link to the Separatist leader. Her fingers trembled slightly as she initiated the connection, a wave of apprehension washing over her. Dooku's image, his regal presence both alluring and unsettling, materialized before her, his gaze seemingly piercing through the holographic display.
"Senator Amidala," he greeted her, his voice a calm baritone that echoed her own anxieties. "It is a pleasure to see you again. I trust your journey back from Rodia was uneventful?"
Padmé forced a smile, a carefully constructed mask that concealed the turmoil swirling within her. "It was, thank you, Count," she responded, her voice steady and resolute. She decided to be direct, to cut through the pleasantries and delve straight into the heart of the matter. "You assured me that the Separatists were interested in peace. I need to see tangible proof of that commitment. Words alone are not sufficient."
Dooku's expression softened, a hint of understanding flickering in his eyes. "I understand your skepticism, Senator," he responded, his tone a measured blend of empathy and a subtle challenge. "But peace is a delicate dance, one that requires both parties to move with grace and sincerity." He paused, his gaze meeting hers full of intensity. "I regret that I cannot personally engage in negotiations with the Republic. My presence would only inflame tensions, and worsen the mistrust that already exists."
Padmé frowned, disappointment momentarily eclipsing her apprehension. "But why?" she pressed, her voice laced with a hint of frustration. "Surely, as the leader of the Separatists, you hold the key to peace. Without your involvement, any negotiations will be meaningless."
"On the contrary, Senator," Dooku countered, a subtle smile touching his lips. "My absence will be far more beneficial to your cause." He paused, his gaze softening, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "I understand that you are acquainted with Senator Mina Bonteri of Onderon. She is a staunch advocate for peace, and I will trust her judgment. I will grant her the authority to represent the Separatists in negotiations with you. She will contact you soon."
"Why not you, Count?" Padmé pressed, her skepticism resurfacing. While she respected Senator Bonteri, she knew that the Senate, swayed by fear and the relentless propaganda of the warmongers, would demand a substantial representative, a figure of authority who could speak for the entire Separatist movement. "Your involvement would lend legitimacy to the negotiations, would demonstrate your commitment to peace."
Dooku sighed, a hint of weariness crossing his features. "I assure you, Senator, my intentions are pure," he responded, his voice laced with a sincerity that tugged at her heartstrings. "But I know that certain members of the Senate, who thrive on conflict and division, will see my presence as a provocation. I would only hinder your efforts." He paused, his gaze meeting hers once more, a subtle plea for understanding flickering in his eyes. "Trust me, Senator. Senator Bonteri will be a far more effective advocate for peace than I could ever be."
Padmé hesitated, wrestling with her own uncertainties. Could she trust him? The weight of responsibility pressed down on her, a tangible burden that made her breath catch in her throat. Then, she thought of Anakin, his face etched with a weary determination, his heart torn between duty and desire. She had to try, for him, for the Republic, for the future they both yearned for. "Very well, Count," she responded, her voice regaining its strength. "I will await Senator Bonteri's contact. But know this: the Senate, though swayed by fear, still yearns for peace. We need to see a genuine commitment from the Separatists, actions that demonstrate your willingness to end this conflict. Words alone are not sufficient with all the battles happening."
"I understand, Senator," Dooku replied, his voice a soothing balm to her anxieties. "Senator Bonteri will present you with a proposal that demonstrates our commitment to peace. A proposal that, I believe, will address the core grievances that fueled the flames of secession. Trust me, Senator, the Separatists want peace. But it requires the Republic to have a willingness to see beyond the shadows of fear and mistrust."
"Thank you, Count," Padmé whispered, her voice filled with a desperate hope that echoed the galaxy's own yearning for an end to the bloodshed. She ended the transmission, her heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.
A sigh escaped Dooku's lips as he leaned back in his chair, the velvet cushions a luxurious contrast to the icy grip of apprehension that tightened around his heart. Padmé Amidala, her voice echoing with a desperate yearning for peace, had just ended their communication. Her idealism, her unwavering faith in the Republic's potential for good, was both admirable and deeply concerning. If only she knew how deeply the roots of corruption had burrowed into the Republic's foundation, how completely the insidious tendrils of Darth Sidious had ensnared the very soul of the Senate. The peace dialogue she sought was a hopeless endeavor, a futile attempt to bridge a chasm that had been deliberately widened by the Sith Lord's machinations. He had watched her impassioned speech in the Senate, a poignant plea for reason amidst the escalating hysteria of war. It had resonated, even with some of the most hardened warmongers, planting a seed of doubt that could blossom into a genuine desire for peace. Dooku knew she would have been successfull if it weren't for Sidious. Amidala, he realized, was a force to be reckoned with, her influence far surpassing her senatorial position. He had initially focused on Anakin Skywalker, the young Jedi with the raw power and simmering disillusionment that Dooku needed to challenge Sidious. But Amidala, with her eloquence, her ability to sway hearts and minds, was equally crucial. Anakin would provide the raw power needed to topple Sidious, while Padmé would lend legitimacy to his cause, a voice of reason that could rally support for the Separatists.
He had concealed his fear, masking his anxieties with a carefully constructed facade of calm composure. Amidala's request for peace negotiations had been a dangerous proposition. To refuse outright would alienate her, solidify her belief that the Separatists were nothing more than power-hungry warmongers. But to agree, to engage in a charade he knew was doomed to fail, would surely incur Sidious's wrath. It was a delicate balancing act, a tightrope walk above an abyss of uncertainty. He had chosen Mina Bonteri as his emissary, a senator whose genuine desire for peace would shield him from suspicion. She was the perfect pawn, a figure of sincerity whose involvement would deflect Sidious's anger, allowing Dooku to maintain a facade of compliance while subtly manipulating events to his advantage.
He activated his comlink, contacting Senator Bonteri. Her image, a graceful blend of strength and compassion, flickered into existence, her brow furrowed with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Count Dooku," she greeted him, her voice a melodious counterpoint to his own anxieties. "You wished to speak with me?"
"Indeed, Senator," Dooku responded, his voice a reassuring baritone that masked the turmoil within. "I know you have been a tireless advocate for peace amidst the escalating chaos. I have some intel for you."
A flicker of apprehension crossed her features, a momentary shadow that revealed the ever-present fear that shadowed even the bravest hearts in these turbulent times. "I am loyal to the Separatists, Count," she stated firmly, her voice laced with a hint of defensiveness. "But yes, I yearn for an end to this senseless war."
"Your loyalty was never in question, Senator," Dooku reassured her, his tone softening, a subtle smile touching his lips. He hadn't intended to frighten her, but he had to ensure that she understood the gravity of the task he was about to assign. "I have been informed that Senator Amidala, a friend of yours from the Republic, is seeking a path towards peace. She seems to want a dialogue with the Separatists."
A radiant smile illuminated Bonteri's face, transforming her expression from apprehension to a hopeful eagerness that mirrored Dooku's own carefully concealed manipulations. "That is wonderful news, Count," she exclaimed, her voice filled with a genuine delight that eased Dooku's anxieties.
"You will contact her, Senator," Dooku instructed, his voice regaining its authoritative tone. "You will gauge the sincerity of her request, explore the possibilities for negotiation." He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that Amidala's plea was genuine, that her desire for peace stemmed from a place of deep compassion. But he couldn't allow anyone, not even Bonteri, to suspect that he was trying to gain Amidala as an ally.
"I will do my best, Count," Bonteri responded, her voice laced with a determination that both pleased and alarmed Dooku. He had chosen her well, a woman of conviction whose sincerity would mask the futility of their endeavor and shield him from Sidious's wrath.
"I trust your judgment, Senator," Dooku said, his gaze meeting hers, his voice a blend of encouragement and a subtle warning. "The Separatists have fought hard for their independence, and we will not compromise our hard-won autonomy. You will ensure that any negotiations uphold our sovereignty."
"I understand, Count," Bonteri replied, her voice firm and resolute. "I would not betray the ideals that led us to secession, the principles we have fought so hard to uphold."
"Excellent," Dooku responded, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. He had set the wheels in motion, a carefully crafted deception designed to achieve his own objectives while seeming to fulfill the will of his treacherous master. He ended the transmission, a wave of weary relief washing over him. The success of these negotiations was irrelevant to Dooku. What mattered was that Amidala would witness his willingness to pursue peace, his apparent commitment to dialogue. And in that perception, in that carefully crafted illusion, lay the seeds of her disillusionment with the Republic, and her potential allegiance to the Separatists.