Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.
A/N：English is not my first language, I apologize if there are any problems with grammar or expression. I'd appreciate it if you'd leave a comment, share your thoughts. Anyway, the fic is finished, I just need time to translate the original into English.
The night wind of Galactic City swept in with a chill as Padmé stood before the open floor-to-ceiling window of her bedroom, shivering slightly. Barefoot, she clad only in a sheer silk nightgown, its delicate beaded ties draped from her bare neck to her arms. The gown was almost too light, too transparent. Her thick, curly hair cascaded in waves down her back, and around her neck hung a wooden pendant—a keepsake from a boy who had made it for her years ago, hoping it would bring her good fortune.
She didn't need good fortune; she wished it for him. The battles on the frontlines raged with growing ferocity, while the Senate's partisan strife and corruption spiraled out of control. Parliament was mired in endless, heated debates over scarce funding, the overwhelming number of refugees, and successive energy crises, with no end in sight. Hysterical exchanges and attacks continued unabated, with no prospects for a peace agreement on the horizon. Soldiers and civilians continued to die, in catastrophic numbers, now so commonplace that they no longer made headlines on the Holonet News.
Surely Anakin wouldn't become one of them, would he? No one could say for sure. He fought at the forefront of this relentless, merciless war, constantly locked in a desperate struggle with death, injury, chaos, and hunger. At any moment, a stray bullet could strike him, or artillery could rain down on his position. The thought chilled her more than the night wind. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, shivering uncontrollably.
A cold, steely hand reached out from behind, encircling her slender waist and pulling her into the warmth of his embrace, instantly banishing the chill. Her back pressed against his bare chest, her face nestled in the crook of his neck, exhaling warm breaths onto his skin.
A breath of relief and release.
He was alive. He was safe.
"I thought you were asleep," she said.
"I can't stay asleep when you're not here," he murmured, his lips brushing her forehead as a soft, tender moan escaped him.
"Is this the secret to being the hero with no fear?" she asked, her voice muffled against his neck as her nose brushed against the curls at his nape, tickling her. " Never sleeping on cruisers or starships?"
"I thought you weren't interested in Holonet news." Now both his hands held her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. She loved it; they belonged together as one.
"Who hasn't heard of the Republic's hero, an unbeatable pilot, an unstoppable warrior—ouch!"
Suddenly, He dipped his head, his teeth playfully nipping at her earlobe, eliciting a tingling, sending an electric tingle from her head to her toes. "You dare—" he whispered, his tongue tracing the delicate whorls of her ear before finding that tender spot beneath her jaw to press a gentle kiss, "Do you have any idea how overwhelming those press conferences and meet-and-greets can be?"
"But the flowers and the fans' enthusiasm make it worth it, don't they?" she managed between breaths.
His hands, which had been resting on her waist, began to explore, gliding over every inch of her skin through the thin fabric of her nightgown. She trembled under his touch, her toes curling in response. "Indeed, and let's not forget the affectionate notes from the female fans," he muttered.
She let out a soft hum, purely because the sensation of his teeth grazing her chin felt so good.
"Oh, and who was it that threw away the gifts from my ship?"
She broke free from his hold and playfully slap his chest. He quickly wrapped her in his arms, refusing to let her slip away again. They teased and pushed each other, laughing uncontrollably until their breathing became heavy. She finally yielded, worn out from laughter and his overwhelming strength. Rising on tiptoe, she clutched the collar of his open robe and, catching him off guard, gently bit his lower lip, drawing a drop of blood.
"Hey—"
"Just a little reminder." She licked the blood from her lips. "You are mine, Anakin Skywalker."
"As you wish, my lady." He buried his head in the crook of her neck, whispering against her skin, " Always."
He was undoubtedly hers, just as she was his.
The realization filled her with an unprecedented sense of fulfillment. After a moment, he began tracing his tongue lightly along her throat, sending shivers of sensation through her. A subtle shiver coursed through her as her damp palms pressed into his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath and savoring each quickened heartbeat. With effortless grace, he lifted her onto the chaise by the window, where he pressed soft, lingering kisses along her collarbone and chest. He teased open her nightgown with his teeth, capturing her peak with gentle, unwavering devotion. Her fingers threaded through his silky hair as a warm tide of joy swelled within her, pooling between her thighs...
Padmé jolted awake, drenched in sweat, her hands clutching the damp silk sheets as she gasped for breath in the dark.
What was that?
Honestly, for a single woman who was both physically and emotionally mature, it was normal to have healthy romantic fantasies. She had been on dates, been pursued, shared a few kisses—nothing special. She never let herself get too involved in casual relationships; once she sensed they might disrupt her work, even slightly, she ended them without hesitation, their faces quickly fading from memory afterward. But Anakin was different; their chemistry was undeniable, and what she felt for him went beyond the physical—it was emotional. From their first kiss by the lake to their final parting in the office, everything had happened so quickly that she hadn't truly reflected on what Anakin had brought into her life.
The passionate waves of love, undoubtedly, come with inevitable heartbreak. When she decided to let go, she imagined every possible way to cope with the pain: leaving Coruscant, devouring a tub of ice cream, binge-watching sappy romantic comedies, crying her heart out, even drinking herself into oblivion. She had thought of everything—except this.
That day, as soon as Anakin left, she buried herself in a mountain of work. Not long after, Dormé arrived and noticed that a corner of a keepsake on her desk had been chipped. When questioned, Padmé gave an evasive response, but luckily, Dormé didn't press the issue. She continued working through the aid bills for the water crisis. Later, Bail Organa and Tyel Tanniv visited, expressing their concerns about the war, and together they quickly agreed to draft a plan to address the looming refugee crisis. They joined a holographic meeting to discuss military spending; she neither spoke nor really listened—the meeting was loud, mostly filled with grievances. She attended two events: a charity fundraiser and a private dinner... Three days passed in a blur, filled with endless tasks. Her mind, however, felt hazy and unfocused, like components on a droid assembly line, moving one by one along the conveyor belt toward an inevitable destination.
Only at night, in dreams unlike any she'd had before, did she truly come alive. In these dreams, though she was worried and sad, his presence effortlessly changed everything. She laughed freely, and with just a glance or a joke from him, she would laugh until she lost all composure. Never had she imagined finding happiness on Coruscant.
Even now, as she stood beneath the cold water, her skin prickling with goosebumps, every place his mouth and hands had touched seemed to catch fire at the slightest touch. Her thoughts drifted back to those dreams. For three nights in a row, the same dream had haunted her—a vision so vivid she couldn't tell if it was mere fantasy or a glimpse of the future. Their intimacy had shattered the walls of her desire, cracks spreading quickly as an unfamiliar pleasure burrowed deep within her, burning intensely and refusing to fade.
She tilted her face upward, eyes tightly shut, letting the cold water cascade down, rinsing every inch of her skin. In that moment, she came to a profound realization: in the dream, it wasn't just the awakening of desire. The intense sparks of their love, weighed down by immense pressure, had erupted violently, consuming both body and soul. Every kiss, every caress was a desperate claim of each other, and even after waking, it continued to haunt her heart, relentlessly.
"I'm haunted by the kiss you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that kiss will not become a scar..." Anakin's poetic yet exaggerated confession by the fireplace echoed in her ears, now perfectly mirroring her own emotional turmoil. How ironic.
Standing before the Chancellor's office, Padmé gathered all her strength to stay focused, though her head throbbed with the sensation of a sea urchin growing inside it. For the past three days, she had barely eaten or slept; her skin was dry, and her eyes were bloodshot. Yet the mirror reflected a composed, dignified figure. Her makeup was heavier than usual, and the bronze headpiece pulled her hair into a high, tight bun, stretching her scalp taut, keeping her alert.
She took a deep breath, pushing her anxiety and inner turmoil beneath a composed exterior. The last thing she wanted was to show any emotion in front of the Chancellor, whose sharp observations often sent a chill down her spine. More than once, his seemingly kind gaze had felt like a probe into her mind. She was probably just being paranoid, but the feeling lingered, leaving her uneasy. And with Jedi Masters in the room, she certainly didn't want any of them reading her emotions through the Force.
Anakin wasn't just any Jedi.
The moment she saw him, it was as if she'd missed a step on a staircase, an invisible feather brushed her ear, like one of his kisses.
She actually let her entire world pause for just a second—right there, in front of everyone!
In that moment, she saw no one but Anakin. Yoda, Windu, and even Obi-Wan stood in more prominent positions, chatting with Palpatine and his advisors. But a second later, Palpatine offered her an overly doting, fatherly smile, and she returned it with practiced professionalism.
The impromptu meeting once again circled back to the familiar war topics, with no consensus on a solution. The only agreement was that the unstoppable flames of war demanded preparation for the inevitable aftermath. She couldn't help but recall the endless sorrow from her dream, where the war seemed never-ending. Her headache worsened, and her chest grew heavier. Though her face remained composed, her fragile concentration was beginning to crack—when could she leave? And how had she not anticipated Anakin's appearance?
Once again, with him nearby, it took all her mental strength just to stay focused, and the sleepless nights had eroded her resolve. By the time Chancellor Palpatine suggested that the Jedi continue escorting her back to Naboo, her mind felt as though it had been cast into weightlessness, her reactions slowing, as if time itself had stretched.
"A Jedi to escort Senator Amidala home, we will arrange," Yoda said.
"Chancellor, Master Yoda," Padmé's voice carried the last vestiges of her rationality, "Thank you for your concern, but I believe the threat has passed. I no longer require Jedi protection."
"Padmé, the situation is still serious," Palpatine sighed, his face filled with concern. "Several neutral planets are now plotting to side with the Separatists. Danger could be lurking in the dark reaches of space. We can't risk losing you."
"I agree with the Chancellor," Bail Organa added, recalling his earlier miscalculation. "Padmé, please reconsider. You were nearly executed by Dooku. The danger isn't gone."
"But—"
"Padmé, my dear, please don't refuse again," Palpatine's tone softened, his expression shifting to one of fatherly concern. "It's merely an escort home, nothing more. It won't inconvenience you in the slightest." He paused, as if the idea had just occurred to him, then turned to Windu and Yoda. "Perhaps Knight Skywalker? They're old friends, after all. I'm sure it would put her at ease."
Both Yoda and Windu nodded in agreement.
Refuse, Padmé!
The situation was no worse than the assassination attempt—she had every reason, every motive, to say no. What was she thinking? Why didn't she refuse? Was it the Chancellor's excessive concern? The political ties she couldn't ignore? Or maybe, when she looked into the young Jedi's eyes, that brief glimpse of hope silenced her refusal.
She didn't refuse, and neither did he.