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Title: Dark Angel: Dangerous Games
Author: Ivy
Rating: NC-17 overall
Characters: Vader, OFC, Sidious, various supporting players
Category: Sex, Seduction, Drama, Angst, Humor

Warnings: BDSM, rough sex, violence, torture, sexy outfits...you know, family stuff

Disclaimer: Don't own it, Lucas does, don't make money off it, don't sue me.

Summary: Part IV In the "Dark Angel" series. Lylla makes her first official public appearance.

Rumors are fascinating things. Little oddments of information, whether false or true, that come alive. Rumors can fly like whispered locusts through the aristocratic fields of cultured boredom and political intrigue, and can grow more heads than an Ibanjii mire snake with every passing murmur. And, if wielded correctly, a rumor can be a weapon more devastating than ten Death Stars combined.

This particular rumor could not have hit at a better—or worse—time, depending on one’s own point of view. Just days before the Coronation Day Ball and the Throneworld’s anniversary, when hundreds of thousands of the Empire’s sycophantic privileged were already descending upon the city-planet of Coruscant, the hushed gossip had begun to broaden. Where it began, no one was entirely certain, but after a few days of circulation, why should that matter anyway?

Which was exactly what Prince Xizor had hoped for.

“So, have you heard, Lord Xizor?”

The Falleen prince lazily lifted his attention from the mouthpiece of his harga pipe and turned it to the fatuous Bimm lady lounging at the other side of the pillowed pit. “Heard what, Lady Umba?”

The stumpy, velvet-swathed furred alien tittered, as did the rest of the group sprawled around the towering waterpipe. “Oh come now, Xizor, if there is anyone who has his finger on the pulse of Coruscant’s elite, it's you,” she said as she brought her end to her lips.

“Why,” piped a lanky human female with an impossible hairdo, “I heard it weeks ago already, on Corellia.”

“Weeks ago, you say?” Xizor asked. “Simply amazing.” Considering Guri just leaked it four days ago. “Well, don’t I feel out of the loop?” He took a long, slow drag of harga smoke through his mouthpiece, blowing it out in intricate rings, watching them break against the sumptuous tapestries hovering above. He raised an eyebrow. “Well, do tell—or are you ladies just teasing me…again?”

The silly duo both chirped titters and turned over their shoulders to make sure no one—or everyone—in the private member-only drug den would hear before they whispered in unison, “Darth Vader has taken a MISTRESS!”

“No!” Xizor whispered with believable disbelief.

“Yes!” they both replied.

“No!”

“YES!”

“Well, pull my ears and call me a Twi’lek!” Xizor chuckled. The inebriated pair howled with laughter. Bringing his drink of potent mandragori to his lips, he glanced about the drug den to make POSITIVELY sure they were being heard before he continued. “Are you quite sure?”

“Well,” huffed the bony human, patting the tower that was her hair, “can you explain where he was for three months after the Battle of Yavin? Rumor has it he found solace the arms of a lower Hapian princess!”

“No!” Xizor whispered.

“Yes!”

“No!” exclaimed another female, a feline-like Jazbanin, whose head popped up from a neighboring pit, “She’s a Dathomir witch!”

“What?” shrieked the females with uproarious laughter.

A twisted smile spread across Xizor’s face. “And where did you get THAT information, Contessa? It seems a bit far fetched.”

“It only makes sense,” the lanky Contessa purred, “Lord Vader would choose a woman as close to his kind as possible, wouldn’t he?”

“No, no, no!” corrected the fuzzy Bimm, “she’s an Enforcer! With His Majesty’s Inquisition!”

Xizor grinned a slow smile. “And you know this how, Lady Umba?”

“I saw it on the holonet, on the Society channel. Ingor Riann’s show! He actually parked outside what he thought was her complex, and broadcasted live! So it must be true! He even reported that she would be at the Coronation ball tonight! He said that the Emperor himself sent her an invitation!”

“No!” shrieked the women.

“Yes!” Lady Umba shrieked back.

Xizor’s smile grew even wider. Excellent work, my dearest Guri, he thought to himself as the drugged and drunken society women cackled and yelped at each other. The information his android spy had discovered and leaked had actually made it to the holonet—and the Society channel no less. Oh, this was turning out better than he had planned.

However, his smirk melted as his thoughts turned to the Dark Lord. Assassination attempts had proven useless—that blasted sorcerer somehow always managed to thwart his efforts, whether through his magic, his own personal army, or just sheer luck. Everything around him was armored—his transport, his castle, his troops, even himself. The security he surrounded himself with was impervious. Vader had proven himself untouchable. Or had he?

Vader was a jealous man; he could feel it in his bones. And, judging by the wild dishevelment of his mistress as she left his fortress, Xizor surmised that he was a possessive one as well. Also, the Dark Lord’s unpredictability was that of legend, judging from the treaties with planetary governments habitually broke and the contracts with various galactic industries that he conveniently ignored. It was certainly impossible that he implicitly trusted this mistress, or that he would remain loyal to her. And the odds that she would remain faithful to him were remote at best.

Fidelity was a disadvantage to any ambitious whore.

Distrust, possessiveness, capriciousness—Xizor could smell blood in the water. Vader’s weaknesses could be turned against him, and easily at that. The target of assassination this time would be the Dark Lord’s reputation.

Vader’s public humiliation would undoubtedly diminish his power within the Empire as well as his favor with the Emperor. If the Dark Lord could not control his woman, how could he possibly hold the galaxy within his grip? It was a beginning, the chink in the armor he had longed for. And through that chink his real assassins would slip, exacting the revenge Xizor had coveted for years. Revenge for the deaths of a quarter million of his fellow Falleens, including his own family, that Vader had ordered years before.

Xizor could hear it now—Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, Planet Killer, Scourge of the Galaxy—

Cuckold.

He turned his slit eyes back to the drug pit’s other occupants. The women still babbled, but the subject had morphed into speculation of the lovely beast’s looks. On and on they chattered about possible hair color, race, height, eyes, origins, and so on. None of them were correct.

His thoughts drifted. She was exquisite, wasn’t she? Her face was a bit too angular and her nose a bit too narrow for perfect beauty. But that wild scarlet hair that snaked about her sharp features, and those eyes, like hot Arisand crystals…and there was something else about her, something animalistic, almost reptilian. Yes, beast was a suitable description. Ah yes, he would enjoy this one. Perhaps even keep her for a while, further adding to Vader’s humiliation—that is, if Dark Lord didn’t kill her in a fit of jealous rage. He imagined those long pale legs spread, her slick sex laid before him, and those silver eyes gleaming with lust. He envisioned her on her knees, her wide mouth sucking him off, and then on all fours, screaming his name as he pounded her zealously from behind…

His cock twitched.

The ladies suddenly stopped their chatter, and their heads slowly turned in the way to the Prince. With all of his musings and the arousal that came with it, his Falleen pheromones had kicked in hyperdrive, filling the air around him. The women’s breathing suddenly became slow and deep, as carnal desire threatened to overtake them. Xizor had to decide quickly between them, and the decision was not a difficult one. “Contessa…” he crooned softly, huskily, “would you care to join me for a…” He raised his glass. “Private drink?”

The Jazbanin drew a shuddering breath as the other simpletons groaned in defeat. She stepped through the pillowed floor to the Prince and sank to her knees, running a paw-like hand up Xizor’s inner thigh. “I’d be honorrrrrrred,” she purred.

Xizor looked up, and his smile instantly disintegrated as he looked upon the remaining two. “Good day, ladies, ” he snarled.

As the ladies sulked away, he leaned back into the pillows, allowing the Contessa better access to the front slit of his silk trousers. As she lowered her lips unto his hard shaft, Xizor murmured to no one in particular, “Let the games begin.”

Despite the Emperor’s decree that the city-planet’s artificial chronometer be kept at constant night for the length of his Coronation celebrations, Coruscant’s skies were bleached as day over the Imperial Palace. Illumination drones, some forty meters wide, floated above the palace, setting alight the nighttime heavens halfway around the globe with their synched holographic light shows. Adding further to the haze was the glow generated by the repulsor engines of thousands of speeders glutting the airways to the Palace for miles, each waiting for their opportunity to pull into the red-carpeted palace port so that its occupants, human and alien, bejeweled and dressed in outrageous finery, could emerge to the snaps and pops of hundreds of holocameras lining the stretch leading inside. Grand stanzas of choral opera blared from immense speakers, bouncing off the neighboring starscrapers, resounding in a harmonious cacophony.

Perhaps the only thing that could have drowned out the thunderous music was the earsplitting chatter and squeals of the Emperor’s guests. The highest ranks of royalty, nobility, aristocracy, and military in the Imperial elite swarmed over the red carpet, posing for the holocams, slapping each other’s backs and kissing each other’s cheeks as they slowly made their way through the Palace doors.

It was a night of pomp and music, of color and light, of splendor and frivolity.

Lord Vader hated every second of it.

He stood looking over the display from the balcony of his private chamber within the Palace. The only movement that betrayed his perfect stillness was the slow, deliberate tap of his finger on the balcony rail. He had been there for hours, watching the horde inch over the red carpet like maggots over rotted flesh. Sycophants and bootlickers, all of them, he mused in disgust.

He heard the doors hiss open. He didn’t turn around. “You have an irritating habit of entering unannounced, Jixton.”

“Well,” Wrenga Jixton began, leaning on the door jamb and sliding a small vibro-blade from his belt, “I figured since you like to crawl around in people’s heads uninvited, you’d already know I was coming, Uncle D.” He began to pick under his nails with the tip of his blade. “Don’t you believe in lights? It’s like a tomb in here.”

Under his mask, Vader blew a slight sigh of exasperation. He had surmised long ago that all Corellians, especially this Corellian, were as obnoxious as they were capable. If Wrenga Jixton weren’t the best agent that had ever served him and didn’t amuse him somewhat, he would have thrown this upstart out of an airlock years ago. “Is it done?” he asked, a trifle impatiently.

“Done, and done.” Jixton grinned, a smile smeared with lax menace. “The reporter Ingor Riann has been arrested and executed. He won’t be bothering you again.”

“He was warned numerous times that any intrusion upon my solitude was tantamount to high treason,” Vader rumbled. “I’m sure his surviving colleagues on the holonet will not make the same error in judgment.” He turned slightly over his shoulder. “Has the leak been located?”

“Unfortunately, no, not yet. But I have word from Intel that the officers are, I quote, ‘working diligently’ on the matter—“

“Abort the search,” Vader ordered quietly.

Jix’s brows rose almost to his hairline. “Abort?”

“They are better used elsewhere. Ingor Riann will serve as an example. The matter is closed.” With that, he turned back to the crowd below, resuming his search.

Jix pursed his lips, observing Vader carefully, before deciding to break the silence. “Ballroom’s filling up. Everyone’s getting juiced. And you are the talk of the town. Everyone is wondering where you are.”

“I’m sure they are,” Vader replied dryly.

“And, of course, your lady. It’s all anyone is talking about.” His boots clicked casually as he sauntered toward the Dark Lord. “You have to admit, Uncle D, that this is definitely a scale-peeler. Admirals and nobles with mistresses are a credit a dozen, but you?” Slowly and a tad menacingly, the Dark Lord turned to face him. Jix nervously cleared his throat. “Uh…what I meant was—“

“Do you believe, as does the rest of the galaxy, that I am not entitled?” Vader asked.

Jix’s mouth opened and closed several times as his brain scrambled to shove words into it. “Well…no…um…it’s just that…well, you are a busy man. I just figured you didn’t have the time. You never seemed all that interested in the opposite sex.”

“You mean the opposite sex was never interested in me.” He turned back to the crowd.

“Now that’s not true, Uncle D. You’re…well, you’re tall, rich, powerful and…utterly frightening. Girls dig that.”

“If you are attempting to either humor or compliment me, you are failing miserably at both.” At that moment, Vader’s attention riveted to the glossy black speeder escorted by four Imperial Black Hole Stormtroopers on speeder bikes that pulled up to the red carpet platform. He watched the hordes of guests turn their heads to the newest arrival, and part to the edges of the carpet. A footman extended his hand, grasping that of a tall, willowy figure that stepped from the speeder. Shrouded from head to foot in a shimmering deep scarlet cloak that trailed several meters behind, the figure’s face was featureless behind a long hood. The four black-armored troopers fell into their positions on each side of the tall stranger.

The figure held herself proud and tall, facing forward, her pace slow and deliberate, as if she were fully aware of the hundreds of eyes staring. The holorazzi went berserk, rushing the carpet just to get a glimpse of the guest. Vader watched the crowd of elite gawk and gasp as the troopers pushed the reporters back with the butts of their blasters. But the scarlet-draped Amazon showed no concern in her posture or gait, continuing unhurriedly down the carpet.

Jixton actually dared to join the Dark Lord on the balcony, and leaned down. “That’s her?” He blew a soft whistle. “A tall cool drink of aquabliss, isn’t she? And shrouded in mystery. Literally.” He stood up, adjusted his jacket and straightened his collar. “So, when do I get to meet her?”

Vader drew himself up, and hooked his thumbs into his belt in the usual manner. He glared down at Jixton and growled, “You don’t,” before he strode off the balcony through his expansive chamber and out the door.

Jixton heaved a defeated sigh. He quickened his pace to catch up to the Dark Lord walking fiercely down the hall. “She must be something, Uncle D. She’s even been to your fortress. Why haven’t you ever invited me?”

“Because you irritate me.”

“Well, yes, I have that effect on people, I guess.” He let out a light amused snort. “But then again, although I have many talents, there’s one or two that I definitely can’t provide for you, huh, Uncle—“

Wrenga Jixton never saw Vader’s huge black hand bolt out of his robes and clutch him by the throat. Before he realized it, he was slammed into the wall, his feet dangling a meter off the floor. He could still breathe, but not terribly well. Oh yes, it was official: He had crossed the line this time.

“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Vader said, never raising his voice. “The subject is closed. And in the future, I advise that you keep your opinions to yourself regarding situations that you could not possibly understand.” He tightened his grip just slightly to drive his point home. “Am I understood?”

Jix attempted a hard swallow. “Absolutely, Uncle—er, Lord Vader.” Vader opened his hand. Jix slid down the wall until he landed hard on his feet and gulped deep long breaths.

“Keep yourself sober tonight, Jixton. I am going to need your ‘special talents’ before the evening is over.” He turned away and resumed his pounding stride to the ballroom.

Jix straightened up as he watched the Dark Lord. “Note to self,” he muttered, rubbing his throat, “Vader’s lady is strictly off limits.” He cocked an eyebrow at the thought that this could be more than just a carnal arrangement. “Lady Vader…?”

“Lord Vader,” Palpatine crooned. “Come, my friend, you have been missed.”

“Forgive my absence, Your Majesty,” Vader said as he came from the shadows behind the Emperor’s onyx throne. He took his place at the Emperor’s right hand and bowed slightly before continuing. “There were reports of Rebel activity in the ruins of the Acherin system. I authorized the Imprimatur to investigate.”

“Excellent, Lord Vader. I wonder, however, how long it actually takes to authorize a reconnaissance mission? You were gone so long, I was beginning to think you were avoiding us.” He chuckled thickly, then gestured before him. “I hardly need to introduce you, do I, gentlemen? You remember our good friend Prince Xizor?”

Vader straightened and turned his mask toward the opulently dressed Falleen prince. Gathered on the stairs behind him was a flock of young, attractive concubines varying in humanoid race. Some were courtesans, the others daughters or sisters rebelling against their titled patriarchs, all of whom had shared Xizor’s bed for an invitation.

Force, how he despised this man. “Your Highness.”

“Lord Vader,” Xizor replied from deep in his chest, bowing from his waist. “It has been too long since last we met.” He rose, and when his gaze penetrated Vader’s opaque eyescreens, a slick smile appeared. “I cannot tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this evening. His Majesty’s festivities are never short of amusement and delight.” He lifted his glass of frothing wine. “And one can always expect a…surprise to be part of the night’s enchantment.” He brought it to his lips.

Vader could not read Xizor’s thoughts or emotions: Like the Hutts, the Falleen were one of few races in the galaxy whose biochemical makeup could block the Force from their minds. But he did catch the shrewd smile, and the quick fleeting glance he gave the Emperor from over the rim of his glass. Suspicion glimmered in the back of the Dark Lord’s mind. “I am sure you will enjoy all this evening has to offer, Prince Xizor,” he answered, blending a lilt of menace in the courtesy. “And more.”

Palpatine’s croaking voice cut the moment. “Prince Xizor, you and your lovely companions, as always, bring beauty and grace to our presence. Please,” he offered with a sweeping gesture, even as his face cracked with its wicked grin, “partake.”

Xizor bowed again. He turned to his bevy of beauties and led them down the stairs to meld into the crowd. Vader watched him for a brief second, then scanned the floor for the face of Wrenga Jixton. Jixton caught the Dark Lord’s brusque nod toward the Falleen prince, and immediately set upon following him through the throng.

Vader’s attention was once more drawn by the Emperor’s coagulated chortle. “Although this is a celebration of MY reign, it seems our distinguished guests are far more interested in YOU, my friend.”

Vader viewed the rest of the ballroom. Below from the ballroom floor and above from the repulsor balconies, they gawked. They ignored the lilting chorale music, and the introduction of the guests called as they entered the grand ballroom and strode the long carpet to greet the Emperor. Ten thousand nobles, aristocrats, admirals, generals, male and female, reptilian and mammalian, all their eyes fixed on him, all leaning into each other, and all whispering. He glared back at them, pulling his expressionless gaze slowly across the assembly before he spoke again. “Certain information was leaked to the media.”

“Obviously.”

“The reporter who broadcast it has been dealt with.”

“Now was that entirely necessary?”

“My private affairs are to remain as such, my Emperor,” Vader answered tersely. “What I do in my solitude is of no concern to these people.”

Palpatine chuckled again “Powerful men have mistresses, my friend, it is no secret or shame. Most men in your position would have alerted the media of their trysts even before the bed sheets had turned cold.” The Emperor raised himself slightly in his seat, looking off toward the entrance, a gleaming onyx staircase that descended to the ballroom floor. “Still she has not arrived? It seems your little slave girl has already learned the aggravating feminine practice of being ‘fashionably late’.”

“I granted Enforcer Sa’thraxxx full galactic citizenship when I dissolved her indenture to the Empire, therefore she is no longer a slave.” Vader stated evenly. He turned his helm slightly toward the Emperor. “Nor is she a girl. She is thirty-one.”

“So, trying a younger woman nowadays? It wasn’t always so.” Sidious cackled softly, but stopped when he saw his second physically stiffen and felt his anger simmer. His tone was still that of amusement as he waved a wrinkled hand. “I jest with you, Lord Vader. Come, this is a night of celebration and mirth. You are being far too serious, even for you.”

“Your Majesty is in high spirits tonight,” Vader noted.

“And why shouldn’t I be, as I am about to meet your lovely companion in the flesh.” He paused before deliberately adding, “The actual flesh?” Again, that sour laugh.

The suspicion that sparked earlier grew more intense. “I was under the impression that you were not pleased with my… arrangement.”

“I was not pleased that you hid her from me, Lord Vader,” Palpatine corrected. “However, after experiencing her…” His voice trailed off, as if in deep thought.

“She is an interesting woman—“

“She is a savage,” Palpatine spit softly through rotting teeth. But his snarl slowly morphed into a smile when Vader turned to meet his eyes. “I mean that as no insult, my friend. Her mind is sharp and ruthless, and her soul as dark as your own. I would say that, so far, you have chosen wisely.” His tone darkened. “But I will reserve my full approval upon meeting her.”

Vader tensed within his armor. Although he could not read his Master through his psychic shields, his own natural intuition told him that his Master had a plan in motion. Quietly, he replied, “As you wish, my Master.”

That insipid prince from the Hapes Cluster, Isolder, had just been introduced and was now making his way down the carpet. Simpering to the crowd, he was halfway down when Vader felt a smooth, deep undercurrent in the Force. He turned his mask to the gleaming black staircase far across the ballroom. Lylla, he sent. He was not answered with words, but with a low ripple of consciousness that emulated throaty laughter.

He turned back to the Emperor, noticing the Emperor’s glare focus on the major domo announcing the guests. He saw the major domo nod quickly to him, and the Emperor gesture lightly. The domo then gestured to the orchestra and choir high aloft the ballroom. The orchestra abruptly halted momentarily. The chorus started again, a cappella this time, raising their voices to the vaulted ceilings in announcement.

Vader’s fists curled, and the question that the Emperor had some sort of plan in motion was answered. He looked down at his Master, who merely sat relaxed and smirking. He closed his eyes, and set upon an old Jedi meditation kata to keep himself from snapping the Emperor’s neck right there.

The people noticed the change in music as well, and turned in unison toward the arch of the entrance dais. They watched the major domo step forward and heard him clear his throat before bellowing, “From His Majesty’s Illustrious Inquest Corps, Madame Enforcer Lylla Sa’thraxxx.”

The hordes of guests communally yelped as they pressed forward toward the entrance dais. The hours of patience and excitement were about to pay off, for the moment had finally come when they would be the very first in the galaxy to be introduced to the Lord Darth Vader’s rumored mistress. They shushed their heated whispers, locked their eyes to the entrance, and waited.

And waited.

Palpatine stiffened in his seat, rising up a bit, scowling at the major domo. The domo nervously stole a quick glance behind him before repeating, “Madame Enforcer Lylla Sa’thraxxx!”

The calm Vader had sought came, but not from his meditation. The galaxy awaits you, he pathed to her.

Let them wait, came her silent response.

No one could see the darkly amused smile that spread Vader’s lips. She was purposely playing upon their rapacious curiosity and pompous impatience, making all of them wait, even the Emperor himself.

The major domo was visibly embarrassed at this point. The music had begun to swell dramatically, and just as the domo began for the third time, “Madame Enforcer Lylla—“, it climaxed into a brilliant crescendo.

And Lylla finally showed herself.

She stepped into the wide expanse of the arch with the deliberate elegance of a serpent stalking a kill. When she reached the center of the dais she stopped, and collected herself into a tall, regal pose, chin high, shoulders squared, allowing every single elitist eye to drink her in. Her white eyes, slicked with black kohl, passed over the dumbstruck horde.

The degradation Vader had been feeling instantly evaporated at the sight of her. Lylla had promised him she would make him proud, and she did not disappoint. She truly looked like a queen.

Her gown inarguably surpassed any other in the room in the realm of taste and expense. The fabric was a dense gleaming satin, and the color a red so dark it almost appeared black in the folds of the heavy voluminous skirt. A corseted bodice, formed low on the hip, sleekly cinched her waistline while gently lifting her bosom into a tempting décolletage. Stiff fingerless gloves of the same fabric traveled the length of her arms to her bare shoulders, and her wrists were adorned with a wealth of red-jeweled bracelets. She had obviously let her scarlet-black hair grow for the last day, for it was plaited and twirled around a diamond-studded half-moon hairpin. Loose curls spilled down to her waist. But the crowning touch was a massive jeweled collar encrusted with rubies and black opals that started high at her chin and sloped to the tops of her shoulders.

She passed her gaze over the crowd to the Dark Lord across the ballroom. When she met his gaze, her expression softened, and a strange half smile curled her ruby-painted lips. Despite the distance, he could feel her hopeful desire that she had pleased him. For the briefest moment, the thousands of guests vanished as they stood there, motionless. Then she slowly descended.

Vader stepped off the dais and down the stairs, unapologetically brushing past the dull Hapian prince, who sputtered and pouted that his introduction had been so rudely interrupted. He stepped unto the carpet and matched Lylla’s pace as he strode toward her. Lylla’s skirt caught the breeze of her stride just enough to subtly billow its three-meter train behind her. She did not waiver, she did not stumble, she never averted her eyes, but held them steady upon her lover and lord. Vader caught some of the excited whispers of the crowd:

“Why, she’s beautiful! She looks nothing like I thought she would—“

“To think Lord Vader could capture a creature like her…”

“But look at her! Those EYES!”

“She looks like a witch!”

“Is she even human?”

“Sorceress.”

“Dragoness.”

They finally came upon each other at the carpet’s center, and held their gaze for a moment. Then Lylla slowly dipped to the floor in a deep curtsey. A collective gasp swept the horde. Such a display of deference was reserved for the Emperor alone.

The Emperor took note of it, his lids sinking into a seething scowl. The display did not escape Prince Xizor’s notice either. Tucked within the circle of his lovely entourage, he traced a slender jeweled finger over the rim of his glass as he drank the sight of Lylla in. The thought of snaring this serpent heated his cold blood a few degrees. He smiled hungrily.

Lylla lifted her eyes back to the Dark Lord. She took Vader’s outstretched hand, and he lifted her to her feet. Pivoting to her side, he placed her hand atop his and escorted her to the awaiting Emperor. The image they struck as they walked would be forever etched into the minds of the guests: The Dark Lord, impervious and ominous in his black robes; and she, almost as tall as he, so alluring but yet just as unsettling and, yes, intimidating as he. Although his polished helm gleamed and her gems glittered, there was a sinister influence about the two of them, as though they enticed all the light around them into their aura, and then held it mercilessly captive.

They walked silently for a moment until Vader said, “I am satisfied to see my million credits were well spent. Your appearance pleases me.”

She glanced at him, a subtle smirk played across her lip. She had hoped for “dazzling” or “gorgeous” or “beautiful”, but she knew that Vader wasn’t exactly liberal with his compliments. She would take what she could get. “Thank you, my lord.” She turned back, keeping her eyes forward. “I did not expect you to do that.”

“You did not expect me to acknowledge you in front of the galaxy elite, is that it?”

“Precisely.”

“Our arrangement has become public knowledge. It was only fitting that I acknowledge you.”

He felt her tense. “It wasn’t me. You know that, don’t you?”

“Despite your indiscretion within the inquest corps, I believe you.” He paused, taking in her state. “Are you prepared for this?” he asked.

“Fourteen hours a day with that damned protocol droid, learning every manner, every name of every diplomat for the last two weeks? Stumbling over my feet learning these impossible dances? Yes, I think I’m more than prepared.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Vader clarified He turned to her. “Are you prepared for him?”

She took a long breath as she tried to seem indifferent. “What should I expect?”

“He will test you. He will look into your mind without you realizing. He will feed on your fears, your pain, your darkest secrets. Because you are Force-blind, there is nothing you can do to stop him. I cannot interfere. You must do this alone.” He reached out through the Force to gauge her reaction. “You are afraid?”

She let out a small, unconvincing laugh. “Should I be?” she replied with false bravado.

“Yes.”

Lylla shot an edgy glance at the Dark Lord before averting her eyes back to the throne platform’s staircase. As they ascended, the air around her chilled her. It was then she noticed the deafening silence that had fallen upon the crowd; the music had stopped, and she could almost feel the weight of ten thousand eyes upon her shoulders. A streak of unexplainable dread shot up her spine, which grew more intense with every step. She was completely cut off from Vader’s mind, and seeking any answers from his expressionless mask brought, of course, nothing. She kept her chin high and her focus rigid as they reached the top.

“Your Majesty,” Vader said, bowing his helm slightly, “I present to you Madame Enforcer Lylla Sa’thraxxx.”

Lylla looked long and hard at the man seated before her. So this was he: The almighty Emperor, supreme ruler of the galaxy, conqueror of a thousand worlds. He seemed nothing more than the rotted husk of an old man drowning in his black robes. Her eyes shifted briefly to the walking stick to his side, an unremarkable knotted piece of wood, before shifting back. This was the maker of nightmares, the master of terror, the one who had her—and her beloved Dark Lord—under his thumb for the rest of their lives? She suppressed the sneer that threatened to spread across her face.

She dipped once again into the low curtsey, bending at the waist until she was practically on the floor. She winced slightly at the weight forced upon her neck by the heaviness of her hair. “Your Majesty,” she said softly.

“Ah, at last,” Palpatine crooned thickly, “the little slave girl who caught the eye of the indomitable Darth Vader.” He chuckled as Lylla gave him a blistering look from under her brows before forcing them back to the floor. “Come closer, my dear, kneel before me.” He imitated a fatherly tone. “My eyes are not what they used to be.”

She rose and came forward, the rustling of her skirts the only sound in the oppressive hush of the ballroom. She knelt in front of him, keeping her eyes down and her arms stiff at her side. The Emperor impatiently clucked his tongue. “Look up, girl. There is no reason to hide that beautiful face, especially from me.” Lylla raised her chin, and looked directly into the Emperor’s diseased eyes.

Palpatine’s hood cocked to one side ever so slightly as he took her in. Leaning over, he lifted a bony hand from his robes and touched high arch of her cheek, slowly sliding a fingernail down the curve of her jaw to rest under her chin. “Exquisite,” he rasped through his teeth, savoring every syllable as he lifted finger to trace her perfectly arched eyebrow. Lylla swallowed hard to keep from gagging from the stench that crept from his mouth. “A woman is never more beautiful than when she has been kissed by the Dark Side of the Force.” He slid a finger into her hair, careful not to disturb it. “You are unusual indeed, my dear. Most Force-blind women cannot endure such intense exposure to the power of the Dark Side.” He smiled again. “They usually die.”

Lylla’s lip curled subtly. “Is that why you have no wife, Majesty?”

Palpatine’s grin fell briefly before he recovered it. “Clever girl, aren’t you? You have a tongue as sharp as your mind.” He leaned even closer. “Is that why you were Baron Malifino’s favorite?”

Liquid frost rushed through Lylla’s veins, her breathing stopping in her chest. Her hardened stare collapsed into a gape of shock.

He will feed on your fears, Vader had said.

The Emperor chuckled, and pinched her chin. “The pain, Lylla, it was unbearable, yes? Your bones broken, your face swollen and bruised, your silken flesh bleeding as he ravaged you, again and again? All those hours in the bacta tank, all those nights in the infirmary you lay there, sleepless and terrified… and all the opiates in the galaxy couldn’t wash away the knowledge that it would happen again the next night…and the next…and the next.” He tightened his grip as he sensed her pulling away. “You can still feel his blows in your nightmares, can’t you? Still hear him grunting in your ear, still smell his sweat mixed with your blood.” He brought his other hand forward to cup her face. “But you never begged for death, for the relief it would bring. Why? What meaning did your life have, what purpose did you serve in this world, other than being a worthless plaything to anyone who would have you? What drove you,” he sighed, tenderly caressing her cheek, “to become a killer?”

You must do this alone.

A slow intense anger crept over Lylla’s terror, an anger the Emperor and Vader immediately sensed. She forcibly calmed her ragged breathing and her racing heart. She slit her frosted eyes. “He deserved to die.”

“And who are you to make such a judgment?”

She defiantly lifted her chin. “Is a being of flesh and bone better than another made of the same stuff? His hands caused me suffering—why should I not have the same privilege? Who am I to make that judgment?” She leaned forward, her white eyes flashing. “Who better than I?”

The Emperor paused, and cocked an eyebrow. “And did you enjoy killing him?”

Despites the Emperor’s rank breath, she brought her face to his until her lips were only a breath from his. She chuckled. “I watched his life bleed away before my eyes. With his last rattling breath, he begged me for mercy. And the last thing he heard was my laughter.” She pressed her cheek into the Emperor’s palm, gazed, almost tenderly, into his eyes and whispered, “Oh, yes. I enjoyed it.”

Palpatine said nothing for a time. Eventually, he let his hands slip from Lylla’s face. He leaned back into his throne to acknowledge Vader, who had not moved nor belied any of his thoughts throughout the entire encounter. Another chuckle. “It seems you have been rewarded for your years of patience, Lord Vader. A true mortal acolyte to the Dark Side is a rare treasure.” He touched her face again. “A rough gem, cut by a life of hatred and misery and polished into a dark fire.” His smile grew faintly. “Who can guess what other…passions lie within her black heart?”

Lylla frowned slightly at the comment, unsure of what he meant. Vader stepped forward. “I am honored that your Eminence finds my choice acceptable.” Lylla bristled at the word “acceptable”. Vader continued. “She has served the Empire well these last months.”

“And I am sure she will continue to do so, “ the Emperor said. “Particularly when she has produced a Force-strong child, no?”

Lylla flinched as though she’d been struck, then quickly averted her eyes down. The Emperor, easily masking his delight at her reaction, again feigned a parental tone. “Well, that is a subject to discuss another day, is it not?” He leaned back, and outstretched his hand. “Partake, Madame Enforcer, in all that is offered to you this evening.” He gestured to the major domo, who in turn gestured again to the orchestra above. Music once again swelled through the ballroom.

Vader came forward, and offered his hand to Lylla, who took it. Despite the numbness in her legs she rose with grace, and bowed her head. “I humbly thank you. You do me great honor, your Majesty.” However, she shot him one more heated glance before turning with Vader and descending the staircase.

Despite her outward poise, Vader felt her hand shaking in his. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“Fine.” She donned a false smirk. “So, is that all he’s got?”

“No.” He felt her brief self-assurance disintegrate. “You did well, Lylla. You controlled your fear, and used your hatred rather than succumb to it. I am impressed. I believe he is also.”

“And that means what to me?” she whispered tightly.

“It means that you may still enjoy all that has been granted you. Including your life.”

Lylla ground her teeth and kept her tongue as they reached the carpet below. Collecting herself, she asked, “Now what?”

“Now,” Vader muttered, “we endure hours of wretchedness.”

Lylla looked out upon the mass of nobles, officers, and aristocracy as they crept toward them. They were all wary and even frightened, but their intimidation was easily overcome by their sheer curiosity as well as their ravenous ambition. All of Lylla’s unease dissolved as she truly began to realize the power she held. They would undoubtedly pander to her in order to gain the Dark Lord’s favor. She smiled as she turned to her lord. “Then let the games begin,” she purred.

Hour after hour of countless greetings, of inane conversation, of thinly veiled appeals for favors and offers of fealty, servitude, and downright bribery, and Lylla rose to all of it. The last two weeks of relentless preparation had paid off; Lylla’s rough edges were smoothed, she kept her precariousness in check, and she had even honed her Outer Rim dialect into that of the Core worlds. In fact, she far surpassed Vader’s expectations; she knew every dignitary by name, title, and rank; she knew their spouses by name, and she even spoke to several in their native tongues. She kept her conversation clipped and aloof, deftly skirting any questions about her past and origin, and graciously dispensed courteous insults as expertly as any seasoned courtier. She never left his side, and the guests took considerable note when she waved away all food and drink offered by the roving bands of servants; since her lord could not imbibe, she wouldn’t either. Vader actually found himself having to say little to nothing at all, which suited him immensely. He was relieved that Lylla took the burden off him, for then he could keep his eye on his agent Jixton, the Emperor, and Prince Xizor. Especially Prince Xizor.

Vader had watched Xizor circle them for hours, attempting to hide himself within his band of females. The only time he took his eyes off Lylla was to throw glances up to the Emperor, who in turn would return signals back to the Falleen in the form of light gestures and nods. It was a form of communication he knew well, for that was what he had been doing with Jixton for the last few hours.

As Lylla was tolerating the oozing flattery of Admiral Ozzel, he noted that Xizor suddenly turned away and lowered his head. A curt nod told Jix to investigate. Jix casually sauntered to stand a meter shy of the Falleen prince, pretending to evaluate the wine in his glass. He watched the Falleen lift his hand to his nose, snap a jewel open on one of his rings, and deeply inhale the contents inside. Flipping the ring closed, Xizor pulled a silk handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbed his nose, dismissed his concubines with a sharp wave, then turned and sauntered straight toward the Dark Lord and his captivating mistress. Jix kept close behind.

As Ozzel finally made his exit, Lylla turned back to the crowd. Her eyes caught a green-skinned man as he cut through the crowd toward them. Although the only hair he had was a long black topknot that grew from the top of his bald head, the man was extraordinarily handsome. High arched eyebrows framed his face, and shadows carved the jut of his sharp cheekbones and chin. The rich purple of his impeccably tailored brocade coat contrasted sharply with the deep green of his skin in the glow of the ballroom’s chandeliers. Each of his sleek clawed fingers was adorned with a fortune of jeweled rings, and a massive diamond was pinned to the cravat at his throat. But what struck her were his eyes—almond shaped like hers, but reptilian, and a yellow so intense they almost glowed. And they were locked on her, as was his devilish smile.

She leaned into Vader and whispered, “Who is that man?”

“That is Xizor,” he answered.

She noted the contempt in his voice. “You’re not friends, I’m guessing?”

“That is a story for another day,” he replied. “I take it he wasn’t mentioned during your protocol sessions.” He didn’t reveal that he had purposely left Xizor out of her lessons.

“Apparently not,” she answered, her eyes still glued to him.

“That doesn’t surprise me, as he is the Supreme Vigo of Black Sun.”

“The crime syndicate?” Lylla gasped.

“You know of them?”

“Of course I know about Black Sun. I was a pleasure slave, their most profitable cargo.” She turned back, narrowing her eyes. “He’s looking at me like he’d order me off a menu.”

“Unsurprising,” the Dark Lord said. “His appetites are notorious amongst the elite. He thinks himself the master of seduction.”

“Reeeeally,” she crooned. She laughed. “Are you worried, my lord?” Her laughter subsided, however, when the he did not respond.

“Lord Vader,” Xizor announced, his arms open wide, before stopping and bowing low. The whispers of shock and anticipation had already begun by the time he rose. “May I have permission to formally meet your…” He slid his gaze to Lylla. “Consort?”

Vader rested his hands on his belt in his usual manner. “Madame Enforcer, Prince Xizor of Falleen. Your Highness, Madame Enforcer Lylla Sa’thraxxx.”

Xizor’s grin grew. “Madame Sa’thraxxx, it is an immeasurable joy to meet you.” He held his hand forward.

Lylla eyed it hesitantly. No one else had dared take her hand thus far. She glanced to Vader for some counsel. He gave her nothing, standing silently with his hands at his belt. Finally, she relied on her protocol training, and lifted her hand to his. Xizor cradled it delicately before bringing a soft kiss to her bare fingers. He looked at her from under his brow, and smiled.

Despite her immediate contempt for the Prince, Lylla felt her flesh warm at the touch of his lips. She fluttered her lashes. “Your Highness, the pleasure is all mine,” she replied absently.

Xizor stood up straight, and held her hand a moment too long before releasing it. He looked to Vader. “My lord, I am not a jealous man—a trait for which I take substantial pride. But as I bask in the presence of such… loveliness, I must admit that I am a tad envious.”

The crowd tittered around them. Vader tilted his helm forward. “You flatter me, your Highness. Judging by the number in your entourage, your appreciation for beauty is unparalleled.” A pause. “One might even say, ‘excessive’.”

Venom sparked in Xizor’s eyes before he quickly donned his charming grin. “Lord Vader jests with me. A sense of humor—who would have thought?” The crowd chuckled anxiously around them, nervous of insulting either one of these men who could easily have them killed for laughing…or not.

The first chords of a new orchestral piece broke the moment’s tension. Xizor glanced up at the orchestra. “Ah, they are playing my request. I asked for a sprinital, and they delivered quickly. Lord Vader,” he said, stepping toward Lylla, “I certainly hope I am not overstepping my bounds by asking for a dance with Madame Sa’thraxxx?”

Lylla’s eyes slit thin as blades at the audacity of this man. “Forgive me, but I couldn’t—“

“By all means, your Highness,” Vader said. Lylla’s head snapped to the Dark Lord, her face stiff with shock. He ignored her. “There is no reason why Madame Sa’thraxxx shouldn’t dance tonight, even if I do not.”

“Then it is settled. Madame Sa’thraxxx, would do me the honor?” Xizor offered his arm. Lylla still scowled at Vader until he gestured to the dance floor. Cautiously, she drew her hand from Vader’s wrist and placed it upon Xizor’s. But once their hands touched, Lylla’s scowl lessened. Still smiling, Xizor led her away. Several members of the crowd followed them, whispering fervently in each other’s ears.

Vader drew his hand back and ran a finger over the top left button on his breastplate. Immediately, Jixton recognized the signal, dribbled some wine over his lips, and began to stumble through the remaining guests. Just as he reached Vader, he tripped over his own feet and fell into him, spilling his wine all over Vader’s cape. “Oh, Force and Heaven!” he shrieked. He frantically wiped at the cape with his sleeve. “My Lord Vader, please forgive me! I—aagh!“

The courtiers surrounding Lylla and Xizor shot their attention toward the screaming man, and all the wagging tongues silenced. They watched and gasped as Vader, composed and silent, grabbed the front of the man’s jacket with one hand and wrenched him off the floor. They heard the poor man bawl in terror as Vader carried him several paces to throw him up against a pillar and pin him there.

Vader shoved his mask into the Jix’s face. “Report,” he murmured.

“He snorted something out of his ring,” Jix whispered, “a powder of some kind. I’m assuming it’s a drug.”

“Tarigash, undoubtedly,” he snarled. He noted Jix’s questioning look. “A narcotic native to Falleen. It has no effect whatsoever on the host, only on those around him. It mixes with his pheromones, causing an intense state of sensory arousal and leaving the prey extremely vulnerable to suggestion.” He gave Jix a good rough shake for appearances, and Jix sniveled accordingly. Glancing at the Emperor seated high on his throne, he whispered, “I need a distraction.”

“How big?” Jix asked enthusiastically.

“Big enough to distract the entire place.”

An impish grin lit up Jix’s face. “I only aim to serve, Uncle D.”

Vader hurled Jix through the air, alarming the guests around them to scurry away. Jix shrieked again as he fell sprawling on the cold marble floor. Vader took a menacing step toward him. “Consider that a warning, imbecile! Now get out of my sight!”

“Yes, yes, oh yes, my Lord!” Jix sniveled as he scrambled to his feet. He backed away, bowing over and over. “A thousand thanks for your mercy, Lord Vader! Oh, thank you! Thank you…” And with one or two more grovels, Jixton disappeared into the thick of the crowd.

Vader lifted his cape to inspect the stain, then acknowledged the guests. “I must attend to this.” With no further courtesy, he snapped his cape and strode fiercely away toward one of the arched exits. The guests gasped and the whispers increased ten fold as the Dark Lord strode away. How could Lord Vader leave his consort? Isn’t he aware of the Prince Xizor’s disreputable reputation? Doesn’t he realize everyone was watching them on the dance floor?

Out of the corner of his eye Xizor caught the tower of leather and black robes make his exit. In mid-turn, he glanced at the Emperor again, who answered him with a self-satisfied smirk and a nod that told Xizor to proceed to the next step.

Once out of sight, Vader softened his harsh boot steps as he made his way down the dark corridor until he came upon the far wall. Passing his hand over it, the panel slid open. He ascended the staircase inside to a tiny hidden antechamber. Installed there was a two-way mirror that overlooked the dance floor, and Vader looked down on Lylla and Xizor.

They were in the thick of the sprinital, an intricate courtly dance of precision and pattern. Although Lylla kept herself straight and serene, she missed a turn here or stumbled over her foot there. He could see she was struggling to stay collected.

Circle four steps, dip, turn, circle back four steps. Step in, curtsey or bow, step out. Gods and hells, I HATE this, Lylla cursed silently as she barely managed to keep up. It didn’t help matters that she felt woozy and befuddled. Colors and intensity, the smells of perfumes and foods, the onslaught of laughter and conversation and music all battled in her mind. She didn’t feel sick, more like intoxicated…

“You’re counting.”

Lylla snapped her eyes up, her thoughts dissipating. “What?”

“You’re counting the beats,” Xizor clarified, smiling. They had come to face each other. He held her hand aloft, their elbows touching, as they circled each other. “You just learned this dance, didn’t you?”

Her lids fluttered as she fought for an answer. Finally, she said, “I’m not much of a dancer. Never was.” Beat. “Much to my father’s disappointment.” She held back a laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret,” he whispered. He twirled her under his arm, then pulled her to his side and encircled her back to rest his hand on her hip. As he led her in a slow promenade, she could feel the air warm between them. She pinned her eyes straight ahead and forced herself to focus. Xizor spoke again. “You mentioned your father? And he is…?”

“No longer with us,” said Lylla, hoping it was true.

“My condolences.”

“None needed.”

Now they faced each other. A step to one side, step to the other, touch arms, circle again. “Forgive my curiosity, my lady,” Xizor said, “but I detect the slightest hint of an Outer Rim dialect. I thought perhaps your family was within the echelon of the Corporate Sector. A mining magnate, or perhaps—“

“I don’t feel well,” she blurted softly. She wasn’t lying.

His moment had arrived. “Madame, do you need some air?”

Her eyes darted, scanning a sea of heads and headdresses. “Where…where is he…?” Her mask of composure was starting to slip.

Xizor stopped the dance, and held her shoulders. “You’re overheated, Madame Sa’thraxxx. And you’re nervous from all the attention, yes?”

His voice wrapped itself around her shoulders. “Yes.”

“Perhaps you would like to continue this dance elsewhere, where it is cool and fragrant, away from all these prying eyes?” With a comforting hand on her back, he began to lead her off the floor toward an arched exit.

“No,” Lylla protested softly. He gripped her wrist. She tried to pull away from him. Her eyes rolled. “I can’t leave.”

“It will only be for a few moments, Madame.”

The smell of him, of cologne and maleness, flooded her head. Her gaze lifted to the hundreds of thousands of lights that dazzled her eyes. She cried out within her own head, Vader…

A sudden scream seized Xizor’s attention. He turned to the repulsor balcony across the ballroom, where a woman was screaming and two men were arguing loudly while throwing plates at one another. The crowd below wailed and dispersed as bits of glassine and food and an occasional chair rained down.

Then more screams, this time toward the entrance. All eyes turned again to see a huge floral display burning. The major domo remained calm. “Nothing to fear. It’s taken care of.” The mass backed away, and murmured anxiously. Fire droids dropped from their housings and sped through the ballroom to hover over the display and cover it with a fine mist of flame retardant.

The guests were calming, but still shaken, babbling amongst themselves. Not one of them was looking at them.

Xizor turned back to Lylla, who hadn’t seemed to notice the commotion. His grin was that of restrained triumph. Unhurriedly and still holding her wrist, he began backing toward the archway, gently pulling her with him.

Lylla’s voice was thin as she half stated, half pleaded, “I can’t do this…”

“Ssssshhh,” he hushed. “Of course you can…”

Vader watched Xizor and Lylla disappear beneath him as he led her to the exit. “Jixton, now.”

The order crackled through his earlink. “On my way.”

He swept out of the antechamber and down the stairs, but halted abruptly at the bottom. Reaching for his breastplate, he drew and held his breath as he switched off his breather. Through a crack in the secret door, he saw Xizor enter the darkened corridor, pulling Lylla with him. He heard Xizor soothing her; “Come, I know a place. It’s very private, no one staring or talking…” Xizor pulled her to his side and placed a hand round her cinched waist, leading her down the hall.

“No,” Lylla protested weakly, bringing a hand to her forehead. “I can’t…Lord Vader will be angry…”

“If Lord Vader was concerned about you, he’d be here caring for you, wouldn’t he?”

Vader curled his black fist. But no, he must let this continue, he must wait until the time was right.

Just as Xizor and Lylla turned the far corner, Jixton appeared in the archway. Vader came out and turned his breather back on. He took several long breaths, and motioned for Jix to come forward. “The fire was a bit excessive,” he said.

Jix put his hands on his hips. “You wanted a big distraction, and I delivered. Be happy I didn’t use a thermal detonator, cuz I thought about it.”

“And the argument?”

“Oh, that. Seems the ambassador from Zorbia II insulted the wife of Count Inderell of Hicripia. I wish I could take credit for that, but that was just gravy.” He grinned. “You have to admit, the timing was outstanding, wasn’t it?”

Vader didn’t let Jix to bask in his accomplishment. “Follow them, and keep the link open.”

“There’s something you should know.”

“What?”

“The Emperor isn’t on his throne. He’s gone.”

Vader straightened, then nodded once. “Good work. Now go.” He watched Jix move down the hall, falling into the shadows with the casual stealth that made him so good at his job. He backed into the secret door again, then went up the stairs and took his seat. Looking through the mirror, he turned to the empty throne upon the dais.

Do not fail me, Lylla, he sent.

“I won’t,” Lylla murmured, barely audible.

“Pardon, Madame?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You just said something.”

“I did?”

Xizor laughed softly. Lylla, in her haze, laughed with him, and even leaned her cheek into his shoulder for a brief moment. But before he could take full advantage of the gesture, she immediately straightened up and stepped away until, once again, a breeze could pass between them.

He raised an eyebrow as he regarded her. Her tolerance to tarigash was considerable, and certainly impressive. By this time most women would have had him up against the nearest wall, skirts bunched around their waists, legs wrapped around his torso as he vigorously gave them what they had voraciously begged for. But not this one—in fact, the drug seemed to affect her no differently than a few glasses of spicewine would. She was intoxicated, yes, and even a tad flirtatious, but hardly what he would call wanton. Even in her induced bliss, she kept her manners—and her distance. Xizor found himself even more intrigued than before and even pleased that, for the first time in a very, very long time, a challenge had finally presented herself.

He slipped his hand from her waist and came in front of her, taking her hand. “We’re almost there. Close your eyes.” Lylla complied with a soft giggle. As they walked, a warm breeze blew a curtain of sweet fragrance over her. She felt the floor beneath her boots change from marble to clay tile. Xizor pulled her a little further before stopping. “Open them.”

Lylla raised her lids and gasped. She found herself surrounded by the most spectacular garden she had ever seen. Flora of every imaginable color bloomed from ornate pots or twisted around thick deep-veined marble pillars. Statues and benches carved from precious rock were meticulously set and displayed throughout the expansive terrace. A lofty trestle had been erected up and over the garden to allow the lights of the city-planet to softly illuminate its beauty, and its struts were entwined with flowering ivy all the way to the top. Coruscant’s magnificent skyline loomed over the balcony at the edge of the terrace, and the softened music from the ballroom floated over the open balcony on the palace side.

“You like?” Xizor asked. He dropped her hand and backed away, his arms spread wide in a sweeping gesture. “Every precious flowering plant from the Core Worlds is displayed here, and the sculptures are all priceless works of art. I had this garden built for the Emperor. It was my gift, in celebration of his coronation.”

Lylla turned in a slow circle, her mouth agape, as she took it all in. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. She turned to him over her shoulder. Her voice was low, throaty. “You’re a generous one, aren’t you?”

It seemed the taringash had finally kicked in; there was no denying that smooth, sensuous smile. Xizor returned it. “Only to those I am fond of.”

“Or to those you fear?” She saw his smile lessen and his eyes narrow. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that, I…” She began to giggle. Then she grasped her full skirt and sent it billowing around her as she twirled across the terrace, stumbling just a tad, her peals of laughter mingling with the music from inside. She spun until she came upon a pillar. She lifted her arms and lazed against it with a soft moan, then looked at him over her shoulder. The smile had returned. “Didn’t you promise me a dance?”

“Why, I believe I did.” His slender hands went to the top fasteners of his elegant frockcoat. “Allow me a moment, dear lady.” He backed a few steps, his eyes and smooth smile fixed upon her, before turning and walking to one of the benches, peeling the jacket off his arms. As he neatly folded the jacket and placed it carefully on the bench, he glanced quickly to the ballroom balcony. When he saw a gnarled hand gesture from behind the drapery, he was assured that the Emperor had taken his place there, ready to observe the imminent outcome.

And unbeknownst to all of them, another pair of eyes intently watched from the deep shadows of the arched walkway, with his finger positioned on his comlink

With his back turned, Xizor couldn’t see Lylla’s face change. He didn’t see her eyes slit with raw contempt, or her smile smear into a snarl. He was completely unaware that she was using every bit of the control she had left not to bolt at him and scratch out his eyes.

He had drugged her; of that she had no doubt. But as to how, she couldn’t guess. She hadn’t drunk or eaten anything all night, so the drug had to be on his person somewhere. His cologne, perhaps? The method was irrelevant, really. All she knew was that she, for a brief time, had been unable to resist his lures or his charm. This lecherous prince, however, hadn’t taken into account her high levels of tolerance. She had smoked her first death stick at the age of eight, had her first taste of glimmerspice at ten, and by the time she was sixteen, she had mastered the method of cutting Black Razor into her skin without leaving a scar: and although this drug was interesting, its effect wasn’t nearly what the prince had been hoping for.

But it was enough to render her muddled and vulnerable. She cursed herself for letting that remark slip, but was relieved she had been able to recover. Hold your tongue, she told herself, until the time is right. She had to remain focused, solid.

Lylla was angry. Vader had made it quite clear that Xizor and he were not friendly, so she could only guess that all this was some sort of retaliation on Xizor’s part. Then why did Vader just hand her off to him, in front of all to see? And then leave her alone with him? Anger seethed in her gut as she began to suspect that this was some sort of courtly practice not covered in her protocol lessons. Maybe it was some twisted custom for a noble to hand his woman to another for the night. This custom seems to be universal, she thought bitterly. Wouldn’t be the first time I was handed off to someone. But she never suspected that Vader would do this to her. She knew she was not his equal, but she thought that she had at least gained his respect, if nothing else.

She watched Xizor remove the enormous diamond pin from his throat and unwrap the cravat from his neck. She ground her teeth under her painted lips. She would be no man’s plaything, not anymore, no matter who that man was. She had just escaped a life of degradation and ownership, and she would die before going back. She would show all of them—Xizor, the Emperor, even Vader—that she would never be toyed with again.

As she eyed the Falleen prince across the garden, she smirked through her scowl. So Xizor fancied himself the master of seduction.

The master was about to meet his match.

Lylla instantly wiped the glare from her face as Xizor turned around and stepped back toward her. The dim light of the garden softened the sharp angles of his features, and his skin appeared aqua. Although he was tall like Vader, his build was quite different. Gods damn it, he is attractive, isn't he, Lylla thought. Bastard. His body was long and, unlike Vader's powerful physique, slimly sculpted. Having removed his coat and cravat, he wore a sleeveless cream silk shirt, open just far enough to show the lean strength of his chest. His shoulders were broad but not bulky, and slender muscles elegantly flowed under the smooth skin of his arms. A royal purple sash tied around his sleek waist further accentuated the V-shape of his torso, and his legs were long and strapping under his close-fitting trousers.

He stopped in the center of the garden and, with an inviting smile, lifted his hand, beckoning her. "Shall we dance?"

She returned his smile, lightly pushing herself off the pillar. He could see the cadence in her hips as she sauntered toward him, even through the full satin bell of her skirt. When she reached him, she gave him her hand. He drew her close, but not too close, leaving just a breath of air between them.

"Here," he said, "you put this here." He placed her hand on his shoulder. "And I put mine…here." His hand settled in the curve of her waist.

"This isn't the same dance," she noted.

"It isn't the same song," he replied. Starting at her shoulder, he traced a lacquered fingernail down the inside of her arm, enjoying the slick feel of her satin glove. She suppressed a shudder. He said, "This is a dance from my homeworld of Falleen, a much simpler dance than a spritinal. No confusing steps, no athletics, and far more… "He reached her hand and laced his long fingers into hers, "informal."

"One might even say `intimate'," she added, huskily.

He raised a brow. "One might." He pulled her a little closer. "Just follow me." He began lightly swaying side to side, shifting his weight from foot to foot to the unhurried, sensual strings of the music coming from the ballroom. She moved with him. "That's it, just like that. Now…" With his hand on her waist, he stepped back and began to turn her in a circle, never breaking the rhythm. She mirrored his movements perfectly. His sinning smile returned. "My lady is far too hard on herself. You are an exceptional dancer."

Her vision sharpened and expanded, as the narcotic coming off him once again affected her. She tried to fight it, concentrating on the music and her own willpower. But it was difficult; she could feel the music undulate through his lean body, even through the layers of her gown. The way he moved was so unlike Vader—where Vader could make the ground quake under his foot, Xizor seemed to glide above it. The feel of his large hand on her waist sent currents through her flesh. She could feel his breath on her cheek. Her loins tightened in response.

Xizor silently studied her as well. This was no nobleman's daughter or sister of an industry czar as he had first guessed. Society women often attempted to imitate the magnetism of a brazen woman, but rarely succeeded: There was no imitation here. He knew from the moment she entered the ball that she was wholly aware of her effect on men, and even on women. Underneath the sophisticated dress and cool manner, a practiced sexuality smoldered—she virtually prowled as they danced, moving her body more like a courtesan than a countess. She had picked up on every signal he had given her, and responded with equal skill. Her reaction to him was more than just a tarigash influence. She had done this before. Many times.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Lylla's eyes flickered. She recovered quickly. "I thought that had already been established. I am Lylla Sa'thraxxx, Enforcer for—"

"That's not what I meant." His face turned serious. "No one has ever seen or heard of you before. And suddenly, you appear out of nowhere, astounding all who lay eyes on you—a Minarian blood rose that grows from the compost of this," he rolled his eyes toward the ballroom's balcony, "obsequious rabble." She laughed, Xizor thought, a little uneasily. "And on the arm of none other than the most feared and powerful man in the galaxy. Well, besides me." Lylla laughed again, and Xizor noted that she bashfully cast her eyes down. "Tell me, where did you and Lord Vader meet? How did you—"

"Ssssshhhh," she hushed. She leaned in closer, and smiled. "Here we are, in this magnificent garden, with this exquisite music and your arms around me…and all you want to talk about is Lord Vader?"

"You're avoiding the question. Who are you?"

Lylla looked into his eyes. She traced a long fingernail from his shoulder to his neck, running it up and down in whisper-light strokes and asked, "Who do you want me to be?"

Xizor stopped momentarily and smiled, slowly. "You intend to stay a mystery. That is quite all right, dear lady. I'll play."

He started to move again, and she followed. The hand that had been at her waist slid to the small of her back and pressed her against him. Soon, it traveled upwards, underneath her cascade of curls, until his fingers reached the bare skin between her shoulders. With his talon, he began to lightly trace little circles. He drew their hands in and rested them on his chest. Despite her effort to squelch her response, a quiver traveled through her body. She was disgusted with herself, because she couldn't entirely blame the narcotic coming off him; truth be told, she hadn't realized until that moment how much she had missed the feel of a hand made of skin and bone on her flesh. Although Xizor was cold-blooded, his body was smooth and taut against her and radiated her heat back into her skin. Attempting to maintain control, she dug her nails into the meat of her hand. Hang on, woman. Just a little more time, she urged herself, just a few minutes more, and I'll have him exactly where I want him…

"I wish you could see my skyhook," Xizor whispered, his breath puffing against her cheek. "My palace in the sky, my sanctuary in the heavens. The view of Coruscant from my balcony is unlike anything you have ever seen. My collection of exotic wines and libations is unsurpassed, I have chosen the finest art from all over the galaxy to adorn my treasured home and…" He stopped, and chuckled. "I'm bragging, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Lylla murmured.

Xizor's expression became earnest. His tone deepened. "Lylla—may I call you Lylla?" Batting her lashes, she nodded. He sighed. "Even your name is a song."

Damn you Xizor, Lylla growled in her mind as she felt her nipples stiffen against her corset.

"I have very few weaknesses, Lylla. In fact, I have only one; and that is …" He gingerly pulled his talon over her bare shoulder, "…for beauty in all of its forms. I apologize for my curiosity concerning your arrangement with Lord Vader but, you see, I…" He snared her eyes within his, "I cannot fathom how a creature such as you could have ever escaped my notice for so long." He squeezed her hand. "I take back what I said in the ballroom. I am a jealous man after all."

In this proximity to him, the drug was stronger than ever. Her charade was in danger of becoming very real. His voice resounded as a soft hymn of passion in her ear. She felt drunk by the scent of him, her legs were weak beneath her, and her heart was beating hard and fast. Her breathing became ragged as she came nearer and nearer to succumbing to him…

"If you were my woman, I would show you off as the priceless jewel you are, and not hide you in some darkened fortress, having you scurry away under the cover of night—"

His words slapped Lylla out of her carnal trance. She stopped the dance and took a step back.

"And what makes you say that?" she asked, looking him directly in the eye.

Xizor was speechless for the briefest moment, but it was long enough for Lylla to see trepidation spark in his golden eyes before he once again donned that broad, smooth smile. "I can only guess, dear lady, seeing as Lord Vader has hidden you away for so long until tonight."

Lylla's thoughts kicked into hyperdrive. He had mentioned his palace, called it a skyhook—and she suddenly remembered the unusual and decadently opulent palace off in the distance from Vader's fortress, the only other structure that shared its altitude. How could he have possibly known about her escapes in the night, unless…?

He's been spying on us.

And whatever effect that damned drug had on her instantly evaporated into the breeze.

She leaned back into him, resting her hands on his chest, and let out a coquettish giggle before looking into his eyes.

"I'm feeling a bit woozy, your Highness. Could we end this dance and just…talk?" She fluttered her thick lashes. "Perhaps share the view with me?"

"By all means, my lovely one," Xizor murmured, snaking an arm around her waist and leading her to the balcony rail.

Lylla wanted nothing more than to smack that smug air of victory off his face. But she merely returned his self-satisfied smirk.

The unseen eyes watching them also shifted positions. The Emperor pulled the heavy drape hiding him slightly aside, allowing him a better view. From his hiding place behind a meter-thick marble pillar, Wrenga Jixton crouched even deeper under his cover of darkness.

He raised the comlink to his lips and whispered, "I think you should come down here. Now."

Lylla placed her hands upon the rail, stretching her long neck up and breathing in the cool night air. She opened her eyes to gaze at the electric wonder of Coruscant spread before her.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" she breathed.

Xizor leaned on the rail. "Yes, it is." He stared at her neck, caged as it was in that gem-studded collar, before lifting his eyes to her face. "And it could all be yours, Lylla."

She didn't face him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean come home with me tonight."

"Xizor," she whimpered with well-played anguish, "I belong to Vader. I can't—"

"Yes, you can," he corrected, a tad sternly. He gripped her by the shoulders and slowly turned her to face him. He pulled her close. "The Emperor may control the galaxy, but I control Coruscant. And this…" He gestured to the soaring skyline, "could beckon to your every whim." She gasped against him. "You could have everything you ever desired. I would dress you in gowns designed for a queen. I will take you to the most exclusive restaurants and resorts, have you adored and pampered in the galaxy's most luxurious spas, and lavish you with the finest jewels money can buy. You would be the toast of Coruscant society, and the envy of every woman in the galaxy. And pleasure? Ah, Lylla…" He caressed her cheek with his long fingers and ran his thumb over her full lips. "My skills as a lover are unmatched. I could bring you to heights of ecstasy you've never even imagined." He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, "I can give you anything, Lylla, anything you want."

She slid her hands up his arms and grasped his shoulders. "Anything, Xizor?" she whispered excitedly.

He caressed her cheek with his own, sliding to lightly trace her lips with his. "Anything, my pet." He laced his long fingers into her hair and pulled her to him, greedily intent on ravishing her lips and sealing her fate—

"Can you make me Empress?"

For the briefest moment, it seemed the entire night had stopped motion. Xizor froze, not entirely sure he had heard her right. Slowly, he pulled back, and dropped his hands to his sides. And as he watched Lylla's face harden from breathless surrender to cold contempt, he was assured his ears had not failed him. She chuckled mockingly.

"I didn't think so." She patted his chest. "Oh, Xizor. You're good, I'll give you that. But you're not that good."

Xizor stood stock-still, his expression that of livid confusion. "What is this? Some kind of joke?"

"Yes, it is, Xizor. Rather like the one you just tried to play on me." She began to stroll a slow circle around him, glaring daggers into his skull. "Did you honestly believe you could seduce me into betraying Darth Vader, my lord and lover, the most powerful man in the galaxy, the NEXT Emperor? And with what? Some pretty dresses, a few trinkets, and the possibility of a good fuck?" Her smile grew when his scowl deepened. "You think I'd settle for a nice meal, a manicure…" She raised her arm and pointed at the heavens, "When I could have THAT, the GALAXY, ALL of it!" She lowered her arm and, when she turned back to him, her husky contralto grew hard and cold. "I am not about to throw everything away for the likes of you. My days of being just another mare in someone's stable are long over."

"I knew it," Xizor snarled. "From the first moment I met you, with your Outer Rim accent and your clumsiness, I knew you for what you really are. Vader can spend all the wealth of the galaxy to dress you up like a princess, but it doesn't hide the fact that you are nothing more than a common SLUT."

"I prefer to think I'm not all that common," she retorted calmly. She lazily sauntered toward him. "And besides, I may be a slut, but I'm a slut you couldn't seduce." She placed her hands on her hips. "What does that say about you, Xizor?"

He roughly grabbed her arm. "So, the little whore intends to fuck her way to the galactic throne. That is rich, my dear. I wonder what Lord Vader, not to mention the Emperor, would have to say about your little plan—"

"And I wonder what Lord Vader will say when I tell him you spied on his woman, then drugged her and tried to bed her right under his nose. I wonder what he'll do when he discovers it was YOU who told the media about me."

Xizor loosened his vicious grip on her arm, even as wrath simmered under his expression. "You can't prove it."

"Can you disprove it?"

Xizor angrily jerked away, then sneered when he turned back. "Not only are you a second-rate slut, but a perverted one as well. To think you actually spread your legs for that abomination—"

"He is more man than you will EVER be," she growled.

"The Emperor—"

"Is old, sick, and can't live forever."

He stepped toward her. "You really are a stupid slut, aren't you? The Emperor would never leave his realm to a clanking tin soldier, a mutilated little errand boy who bends and sues at his every whim!" Cruel amusement seeped into his tone. "But perhaps that is your lot in life, hmm? You are obviously not getting any younger, my sweet—not as easy to turn the trick as it was?" He laughed. "You cannot even attract a whole man! Just a shambling mound of wires and bolts—"

Lylla viciously slapped him across the face; the crack actually bounced off the pillars of the garden, and the blow even threw Xizor off kilter. Grabbing the rail, he brought his other hand to his throbbing cheek. He raised his yellow eyes, now roiling pits of acid.

"You dare strike me, you BITCH!"

He lunged at her, grabbing her by the back of her neck, brutally shaking her. Lylla screamed, and curled her hands into claws, her nails driving right for Xizor's eyes—

"Remove your hands, Falleen."

Xizor and Lylla both froze. She heard the deep, labored hiss of Vader's breather behind her, and she saw the viciousness leach from Xizor's face into a hard stare of defeat. She turned around to see the Dark Lord materialize from the darkness. He stopped several meters away. "Come here, Enforcer Sa'thraxxx." Lylla yanked herself out of Xizor's grip and rushed to the Dark Lord. Vader motioned to her to stay where she was and then, with measured grace and menace, he strolled over to the Falleen prince. Stopping just a hand's width from him, he allowed Xizor a few moments to bask in the wheeze of his breather before he spoke.

"Prince Xizor," he addressed him calmly, "if I ever see you touch, or even LOOK at anything of mine again…I promise you, you will not share the same merciful fate your family did by dying quickly. Your death will be slow. And extremely painful. And public."

Xizor let out a scathing chuckle. "You will never truly understand who you are dealing with, will you? You regard me as some philandering fop, a fool that should tremble in the presence of the all mighty Darth Vader." He stepped forward until his nose was just shy of Vader's mask. All mirth had vanished from his face. "I own this planet, Vader—nay, all of the Core Worlds. I am an Emperor in my own right. Granted, my forces may not be as vast as yours, but neither are they the docile half-wit drones you call soldiers. My men are quick, cunning…and you will never see them coming."

"Then I'll make it a point not to look, your Highness," Vader flatly replied.

Xizor shot a glare at Lylla before twisting his face into a disgusted scowl. "Take your slattern, Vader. I have no use for her."

"Of course you don't. Few men of your caliber have use for a woman who can outwit them." With that, he casually turned and walked back toward Lylla.

"Mark my words, Darth Vader!" Xizor hissed. "I WILL have my revenge!"

"And I will have mine." Vader turned slightly over his shoulder as he added, "And it will be much sooner than you think."

With that, he took Lylla's arm and escorted her into the shadowed walkway. Wrenga Jixton also stepped out of the darkness, tossing Xizor a wicked grin and salute as he followed.

Xizor stood for moment before pushing himself off the rail. Calmly, he walked to one of the priceless sculptures where, with typical Falleen strength and fury, he lifted it off its pedestal and hurled it to the ground, smashing it into a dozen jagged chunks. He looked up to the palace balcony.

Palpatine came forward out of his hiding place to stand at the rail. He closed his gnarled hands over the top of his walking stick and glared down at the defeated Falleen. Xizor opened his mouth as if to speak, but then fell silent again as he cast his eyes to the ground.

The Emperor stared into the darkness after his apprentice and his woman, and murmured to no one in particular, "It seems I have vastly underestimated Vader's little bed-warmer."

"You came just in time," Lylla murmured to the Dark Lord as they walked through the darkened corridor. "Another moment and he may have— AAH! Vader, you're hurting me—!"

Vader cut her off by throwing her up against the wall. Before she could scream, he clamped his massive hand over her mouth.

"I did not give you permission to speak," he hissed into her face.

With a jerk of his head, he ordered Jix to continue walking. Jix gave Lylla a sympathetic shrug before obliging his employer and hurrying back to the ballroom. Vader dropped his hand, grabbed her arm once again and forcibly pulled her back to the ballroom. Lylla's breaths came in terrified bursts.

Once they approached the ballroom's arched entrance, Vader slowed his fierce gait. He jerked her to his side.

"You will keep my pace, you will acknowledge the guests, and you will NOT make a scene. Am I understood?"

Gaping at him with huge frightened eyes, Lylla nodded. Grabbing her hand, he placed it atop of his and led her out into the ballroom. As they entered, the surrounding guests gasped at their sudden appearance. Vader acknowledged them with a reserved nod as they elegantly strolled across the floor. Lylla smiled at them, despite the weight of the terror crushing against her chest.

But once they had reached the other side and disappeared through the exit, Vader's fury had returned stronger than ever. He broke into an unyielding march, gripping her wrist so hard she feared he would break it. Trying to keep up, Lylla's foot caught in her skirts and she fell, but Vader did not stop—he charged ahead and dragged her on the floor behind him.

"Vader, please, stop!" she pleaded, grabbing at his cape, struggling to get to her feet. "Please, nothing happened, I swear it! I did nothing wrong!"

He ignored her pleas and maintained his furious pace, even hauling her up the flight of stairs and down the corridor that led to his private chamber.

He swiped the doors open with a sharp wave of his hand, then grabbed the back of her neck and savagely threw her into the dark room. Lylla slid across the floor, stopping only when her bare shoulder painfully caught on the hard marble beneath her. Fighting to hold her sobs in, she pushed herself up.

"Vader," she implored, "you don't understand—"

"You will speak when I tell you to speak," he said with a tone devoid of any emotion. "Turn around and face me." She moved to obey, pushing herself off the ground until the Dark Lord added, "On your knees."

Lylla swallowed her humiliation and terror back down into her gut. Slowly, she sank to her knees and bowed her head.

"Remove your collar." Lylla lifted her hands to the back of her neck, unlatched the lock, and pulled the heavy jeweled collar off her long neck. Vader stepped toward her. "Give me your throat."

Shivering, Lylla tipped her head back, tears like acid in her eyes. A strangled sob escaped her throat when she heard the crackle of energy ignite the air, followed by a low electronic hum. She opened her eyes and looked up at Vader standing above her, his armor and mask illuminated electric red by the lightsaber he held across his chest. He pointed the blade's tip between her breasts. Lylla could feel the current from the energy vibrate against her skin. She tried to control her violent shaking, fearing that any movement would bring her closer to her death…

"You wanted him," Vader finally said.

"No," Lylla rasped.

"Do not lie to me, woman." He leisurely drew the tip of the lightsaber up to the hollow of her throat. "You enjoyed being in his arms—"

"Vader—"

"His body, whole and intact, against yours."

"Please stop—"

"You wanted to bed him—"

"No!"

"Another lie?"

"HE DRUGGED ME!'

"DID YOU WANT HIM?"

"YES!" she screamed. No longer capable of any restraint, Lylla threw back her head and wept.

"But you resisted him."

She swallowed her sobs. "Yes."

"How?"

She raised her right hand and opened it. There were four bloody half-moons gouged into her palm.

"Why did you resist him?"

"How can you ask me that?" she whispered.

"What did he offer you, Lylla?" He circled her, still holding her at bay with his lightsaber. She could smell the burn of stray hairs singed by the blade's tip. "Riches? Jewels? Fame?" He paused. "Pleasure?" Vader came around to face her. "A proposal for which many women would give up everything. But it wasn't enough for you, Lylla. As tempting as it was, it's hardly comparable to becoming Empress, is it?"

Oh gods, she gasped silently. "Please let me explain—"

"Is this what we are, Lylla?" he asked. "Is that why you came to me that night on the Death Star, why you gave me your body?"

"No! I didn't mean it the way it sounded—

"That is what you told Xizor."

"Yes!" she snapped, even as the lightsaber hummed at her throat. "That is what I told Xizor. And the Emperor." His helm tilted. She let out a bitter huff. "Do you all think me so dense not to believe he was there watching the entire time?"

"You wanted him to hear? Why?"

"Because if the Emperor believes that I feel NOTHING for you, that I am only using you, he will not try to tear us apart!" She saw Vader straighten in response, and he lowered the saber slightly. "I don't have to be Force-sensitive to see that he despises me." She looked at him unflinchingly. "As long as he thinks that I am nothing more than a silly, ambitious slut, he'll become convinced that you'll get rid of me. And until then, he'll leave us alone."

"He has already heard you pledge your devotion to me," he reminded her.

"I could have been lying."

"Were you?"

She sighed through clenched teeth. "You can believe what you want, Vader, and you can even kill me for it. But I know the truth."

"And what is the truth, Lylla?"

Her eyes glittered in the glow of the lightsaber, but her voice was firm. "I love you."

Nothing was said for a fleeting eternity, the hum of his lightsaber and the breathing of his mask the only sounds in the room. Eventually, the red beam shrank back into its hilt. He clipped it back onto his belt and turned, walking a few steps away.

"You may stand."

She did, ignoring the weakness in her legs, pushing the strands loosened from her hairstyle off her damp brow. Vader stood motionless for several moments before turning over his shoulder.

"The Emperor is correct in one thing. You are clever."

Lylla exhaled. "Thank you, my lord."

He turned fully around. "Your trial is now complete."

"Trial?" She lifted her head and squinted at him. "What trial? What are you talking about?"

"This night would prove to me whether or not you were truly loyal,’ he said bluntly. "You used your talents and cunning to show me the full range of your capabilities, and you remained faithful under the most pressing of circumstances. You have exceeded my expectations. You have demonstrated yourself worthy as my consort."

Her jaw slacked as she stared at him. "Are you saying that this was all…a test? The entire night, the Emperor?" She bit the name through her teeth. "Xizor?"

"Yes," he replied.

"And this," she pointed to where she was just kneeling, "What just happened here…this was part of the `trial'?"

"Yes."

A tremor started deep in Lylla's core. "And if I had failed, what would you have done? Would you have killed me?"

"No. If you had failed, I would have sent you back to where I found you."

The tremor ignited into an explosion throughout her entire frame.

"You BASTARD!"

She hurled her weight at him, madly swinging her fists, actually striking him twice and just missing the sensitive control panel in his breastplate before Vader caught her wrists and viciously pinned them behind her.

Lylla still thrashed and screamed, "How could you do this to me? How could you put me through that! What am I to you, a GAME?"

"Control yourself, woman!"

"Or what! You'll run a lightsaber through my neck? Or sell me back into slavery? Maybe just throw me to your stormtroopers like a piece of meat to a pack of dogs?" She howled with rage as she struggled in his grip. "Let go of me, you son of a WHORE!"

Her screams turned into a pained yelp when Vader grabbed the back of her hair and yanked back her head. He pressed her face into the grid of his breather.

"If you want to live to see another day," he growled in a voice entrenched in the Dark Side, "you will NEVER call me that again."

"That's right, Vader," she hissed into his mask, "threaten me into submission, terrorize me into obedience like you do those sniveling rats you call `officers' that cower at the very sight of you—"

"If you didn't conduct yourself like a bitch in heat by wandering off with some lecherous reptile for the whole galaxy to see—"

"You MADE me dance with him! You set me up!"

He clamped his hand around her throat before he spoke again.

"Let me make this perfectly clear to you, Madame Sa'thraxxx. Your words, your deeds, your very existence are no longer your own. You are nothing more than a symbol of my rank, as are my troops, my ships, or anything that is mine! Everything you are belongs to me! I OWN you!"

Lylla stopped struggling and wilted in his grasp. The white fire in her eyes was snuffed out, and her expression disintegrated from rage to anguish.

"Nothing's changed, has it?" she whispered. "I am, and always will be, nothing more than a slave." She clenched her eyes shut. "Please let me go."

Vader slowly released his hold on her, and she slid from his grip. He watched her stumble to his desk and lean on the edge, cradling her head in her hand as she quietly wept. He felt his ire simmer again.

"I see we still have much work ahead of us. If you are to prove yourself capable—"

He was cut off when Lylla suddenly howled at the ceiling and spun off the desk.

"Prove myself, prove myself, PROVE MYSELF!" she shrieked. "What more do I have to do, Vader? I have given you everything—my body, my heart, my LIFE—and STILL it is not enough!" She beat her fists into the desktop. "Why do you treat me like this!? Why can't you trust me!?"

"Because I will NOT be betrayed by ANOTHER WOMAN!" Vader roared.

"I AM NOT HER!" she exploded back at him. She watched her words hit him like a cannon blast. "You think you're the only one living with her ghost? She hangs over my head every fucking minute of every fucking day! I have had enough, Vader! I will NOT be punished for the deeds of Padme FOOLBERRIE anymore!"

"NABERRIE!" Vader harshly and involuntarily corrected.

Lylla shrieked like an animal and hurled her arms across the desktop, sending datapads and flimsies flying in all directions. She staggered out onto the balcony and collapsed on the rail. Her body quaked with loud, brutal sobbing.

Vader broke into a furious pace, stalking back and forth across the chamber like a caged animal. He clenched and unclenched his fists, battling to control the fury that threatened to engulf the entire palace.

"Stop crying!" he barked at her. "Learn to control your emotions! If you are to be my consort, then you will have to—"

He was again cut off by her screaming in savage frustration. She heaved herself off the rail and stormed across the chamber toward the door.

"Where do you think you are going?" he demanded.

"Home!"

He captured her arm. "You do not have my permission to leave!"

"Then GRANT it!" she spat.

Their eyes locked in a steadfast glare for many long moments. Some of Lylla's hair had come undone from her headdress, and her painted face was smeared from crying. But her eyes flashed dangerously and she showed no signs of cowering. Abruptly, Vader dragged her to the doors. They slid open to reveal Wrenga Jixton jumping away from the spot where he had been listening the entire time.

Vader shoved her into the hall.

"Fetch Madame Sa'thraxxx's cloak and take her back to her apartments," he ordered Jix. "Leave by the loading docks on the omega level and use a fully enclosed service speeder. And make absolutely certain you are not followed."

"Yes sir, Uncle D." Jix turned to Lylla and flashed her a grin. "A pleasure, Madame."

Lylla pulled herself together, standing tall and proud. "You are Lord Vader's man, the one who was spying on me in the garden?"

He gave a slight shrug. "Just following orders, ma'am."

Lylla nodded, pursed her lips…and slapped him across the face. She then turned on her heel and marched down the corridor. Jix brought a hand to his stinging cheek.

"Nice to meet you, too." He turned to Vader. "You'd think her hand would hurt by now."

Vader said nothing. He merely watched her as she disappeared down the stairs. Eventually, he turned around and returned into his dark chamber, the doors hissing quietly behind him.

Lylla hadn't moved in her seat since they had left the palace. She sat perfectly still, her cheek in her hand, staring blankly out the dark tinted window at the frenzy of Coruscant's traffic. Jix glanced at the enigmatic scarlet-haired woman sitting next to him as he drove. He debated whether he should try to engage her in conversation, figured that it was probably unwise, and then decided to do it anyway.

"You did very well out there this evening."

"Did I ask for your opinion?" She sounded exhausted.

"No," he sighed. "Just thought you might want some cheering up."

"I don't."

Jix drew his lips into a thin line and shrugged. He let a moment pass before he spoke again.

"I've worked for Lord Vader for a while now and, I can tell you, I've never heard him raise his voice like that before."

"Like what? Like a rabid Cammendon?"

"Exactly." Lylla slid her eyes from the window to look sidelong at Jix. He continued. "I've heard him bark orders, but I've never heard him sound so…passionate." He looked at her. "You are special to him, Madame. He needs you."

She scoffed through her nose. "Oh yes, he needs me. That's why he threatened to kill me tonight."

"Puh-leeze," Jix said. "Uncle D threatens to kill me at least once a week. If he didn't, THEN I'd be worried. Trust me, if he wanted you dead, he wouldn't give you any warning. You'd just be dead."

"Then what does he want?" she asked wearily.

"Let me tell you something," said Jix. "Vader is the most feared man in the galaxy, second only to Emperor Skinbags back there." He grinned when Lylla, in spite of herself, cracked a small smile. "All those women there at the ball, the princesses, the aristocrats, the noblewomen and heiresses? He could have ordered any one of those women into his bed at any time, and no one would have dared defy him. Hell, he could have a harem that would make Xizor's girls look like a credit a dance with a half-a-credit change. But he doesn't. And do you know why?" She shook her head. "Because he's been waiting for the woman who could see beyond the mask." He glanced at her. "He's been waiting for you for twenty years, Madame."

Lylla eyed him cautiously. "He told you that?"

"Of course not. But the risks he took with you tonight told me everything."

"You seem very loyal to Lord Vader."

Jix shrugged. "He saved my life."

Her thoughts drifted to her last few hours on the Death Star. "He saved mine too."

She said nothing more.

He fixed his eyes back on the throughway.

"By the way, in case you were wondering, my name is Jixton."

"Do me a favor."

"What?"

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window.

"Don't talk anymore, Jixton."

The enormous halogen drones that had lit the night skies had been extinguished, blanketing Imperial City once again in night, signaling the end of all Coronation Day festivities. Out of the dark, a black speeder tank and its bike escort pulled silently into the port of the top floor of Lylla’s luxury complex. Two Black Hole troopers climbed out of the midsection, flanking each side of the door as Lord Vader rose from his seat and stepped out. “Form a perimeter around the port.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the commander. He signaled two troops on speeder bikes to hover above the port, and another two to guard the other side of the building as Vader walked to the large glassine doors.

He waved his hand across the doors, using the Force to unlock the codes. Just as he stepped into the unlit living area, Lylla’s servant girl, Palissa, was coming from the galley with a steaming cup and saucer in her hand. She was about to cross to the set of stairs leading to her mistress’ bedroom when she saw the towering Dark Lord standing in the doors. She inhaled to scream, but fell silent when Vader passed his hand again. The cup and saucer tipped out of her hand as she crumpled onto the divan behind her, asleep.

He moved through the dark and ascended the stairs. A small antechamber led him to an arched doorway. He stood in the entrance, perusing Lylla’s bedchamber.

It was enormous, with a platform that circumvented the entire room with her huge bed sunk into the basin. With thick rugs and stuffed pillows covering the floor and exotic tapestries adorning the walls, the room was sumptuous, sensual, and inviting. The glow of the city-planet outside sifted softly through glassine doors that led to the balcony. He looked to his left. Lylla’s ball gown lay in a satin pool on the fur rug, her high heels and undergarments tossed on top of it, and her jewelry thrown across the vanity. He turned his attention to the bed.

Lylla lay on her side, her back to him. A satin sheet draped over her hip, leaving the rest of her nude. With the slender line of her body carved by the filtered light, he noted the dip in her waist before it rounded into the curve of her hip, the dimples set in the small of her back, and her long legs entwined in the black silk sheets. Her black and scarlet mane had been cut for the night into loose curls around her neck. He took another step closer, and listened to her breathing. “You’re awake,” he murmured.

She didn’t move. “Yes.”

“You were expecting me?”

Her voice was small and tired. “I don’t know what to expect anymore.”

He moved to the two steps that led to her bed and stepped down. Bending slightly, he took her wrist and lifted her arm. Finger-shaped bruises marred her ivory skin. “I’ve hurt you.”

“I’ve had worse.” She drew her arm away and turned into the pillow.

Vader clasped his hands behind his back as he moved away from the bed to the windows. He planted himself there and looked out the doors before he spoke again. “In three days, I will be leaving on a mission to seek out the Rebel’s fleet,” he stated. “The final modifications are being made on my flagship, the Executor. Those modifications include the completion of your quarters.” He waited for a response, and received none. He continued. “I have made arrangements for you to accompany me. You will find your quarters to be much larger than this, and you may arrange for any ornamentation you wish.” He turned over his shoulder. “Is this satisfactory to you?”

She chuckled sadly. “Do I have a choice?”

A pause. “Yes.” She peered over her shoulder at him. “You may remain here, on Coruscant, in your current position, with no fear of repercussion. However, before you make any decision, I strongly advise you consider the consequences if you stay here.”

“I thought you just said there would be no repercussions—“

“Not from me,” he said. “But there are several factors you must take into account. First of all, your face has been broadcast to the galaxy, therefore everyone now knows who you are. You will have no privacy. You will have reporters following you everywhere or posting themselves outside your door. I can’t execute every reporter in the galaxy, no matter how appealing the idea. And since I will be gone for over a year…” He felt her tense, “you may find your residency here less than favorable. Secondly, there is Xizor.”

Lylla lifted herself onto her elbow. “What about Xizor?”

“You have insulted and humiliated him, actions he does not take lightly. I can furnish you an armed escort, but even under guard I fear you will prove a far less elusive target than I have been to him.”

She stiff