Work Text:
It was supposed to be the uneventful part of his mission: a return flight to Coruscant, with a not-quite-illicit stopover on Alderaan.
Supposed to.
“Senator Organa,” the ship’s PA system crackled to life, “we have received broadcast from an automatic rescue beacon.”
Bail looked up from his datapad. He clicked the comm on his desk. “Have you tried to hail them?”
“Yes, but there has been no response.”
That did not sound good. “Keep trying. I’ll be there right away.”
He put down the datapad and hurried to the cockpit. Isaru caught up with him half-way. “Sir, I’d advise against seeking out the source of the broadcast.”
Bail glanced at him. “Why?”
“It’s probably a trap.”
“Pirates?”
“Most likely.”
Yes, that was possible. As was the chance that it truly was someone in danger. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
Isaru made a face. They walked into the cockpit, shoulder to shoulder. “Senator Organa?” the captain asked.
“Set the course for the beacon.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Isaru did not get a chance for an “I told you so”. No pirates had been waiting for them. Just a detached freighter container, floating dead in space.
Or, not so dead. Isaru’s people returned with two Zabraks, almost frozen to death. The container was a ruin, they reported, with massive signs of a battle.
“Not just a regular shootout, either,” Isaru said, face grim. He lifted a metal cylinder.
Oh. “Are they Jedi?” Bail asked.
Isaru shook his head. He gestured to Bail to stand back, carefully angled the hilt, and powered it on. They both stared at the deep red blade between them. “Not any more, sir.”
Isaru and the rest of Bail’s retinue were very good at their jobs. By the time Bail’s ship landed in Aldera, he knew everything there was to know about the two rescues.
Savage and Maul Opress. Wanted men. Murderers. Former Sith apprentices.
Also, at the moment, both bedridden and in need of intensive medical treatment.
“Should we contact the Jedi?” Isaru asked.
“I will discuss it with the Queen.”
It was a stalling tactic. Bail knew what the safe choice was, and he knew what the right choice was.
“We do not extradite,” Breha said. Her expression was hard to read in the shimmery blue of the holo. Her tone, on the other hand, offered no quarter.
“They are dangerous men,” Bail said, because it had to be said. “We might not be able to contain them if they become violent.”
“We do not extradite,” Breha repeated.
“Yes, my queen. Shall I bring them to the palace medical center? They both need medical attention.”
Breha smiled. “And here they will be under the watchful eye of the Royal Guard. Very well. See you soon, my love.”
Bail observed the landing in Aldera from the cockpit, as he always did. It wasn’t easy to keep his thoughts on the sights this time. He sighed wistfully. This was supposed to be his homecoming. Instead, here he was, playing a gaoler.
He trailed after the palace medics all the way to the medical center. As he passed, he nodded at the Royal Guards newly posted throughout the space.
“Bail.”
He spun on his heel, and here she was: his queen, his wife, his love. He smiled. “Breha.”
She grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck, and then there was nothing else to do but to pull her in and kiss her until they were both out of breath.
“I’m sorry for bringing you trouble,” he murmured into her temple.
He felt the warm puff of her breath on his neck. She leaned back to look at him. “Do you expect me to be cross with you for being brave and kind?” She tugged on his beard and brushed another kiss against his lips.
Bail grinned. Very few people got to see Breha Organa playful.
“Sir? How do you feel?” The voice from the other room shattered the moment. They exchanged a look, and walked over to peer inside through the open door.
Maul Opress had woken up. “Savage…?” he asked weakly.
The medic raised the back rest and helped Maul to a more upright position. “Over here,” he pointed. “He should soon wake as well.”
Maul slumped back on the bed. “Where are we?”
“Alderaan,” Bail spoke up.
Maul Opress turned to them. Even weak as he was, the focus of his yellow eyes made Bail shiver. He made himself move under the weight of that stare, crossed the empty space between the door and the beds. “You are guests of Her Majesty Queen Breha Organa of Alderaan,” he said.
“Alderaan,” Maul repeated thoughtfully. He smiled at Bail. It was a sickly look, more a baring of lips. “My name is Maul, my brother is Savage,” he said. “We are refugees. Alderaan accepts refugees, yes?”
“Yes,” Breha spoke up. “We can even find you help with the application process, if you need it.” She countered his smile with her own. “Do not feel that you need to rush, though. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”
Maul’s focus slid from Bail to Breha. Bail wavered between relief and concern.
Breha’s smile did not change. She folded her arms and bowed her head in a pose he’d seen her strike a thousand times. “I appologize,” she said. “I am Breha Organa, born and chosen ruler of the people of Alderaan. This is my consort and the Republic Senate representative of Alderaan, Senator Bail Organa.”
Was it the exhaustion that made Maul Opress so easy to read? Surprise showed clearly on his face, then a look of hunger and malice that made Bail’s hands ball into fists. “Thank you for your hospitality,” Maul said.
Still Breha held her smile. “You are welcome.” She nodded to the medic. “I apologize for the interruption. We will let you continue your work.”
Bail was glad to leave the room. “What now?” he asked when they crossed from the medical center to the private areas of the palace.
“They are welcome to stay,” Breha repeated her earlier words.
“Even being who they are?”
Breha touched her chest. “Two hurt men in need of help?”
Bail’s heart grew heavy. He should have considered that. Of course she would feel kinship with them. “My queen…”
“I am not stupid, Bail,” Breha cut him off. “I am aware of the risk.” Fire flickered in her eyes, and a small smile curved on her lips.
Now, Bail sighed. He should have considered that, also. He’d fallen in love with woman who flew thrantas and climbed mountains, after all. He bent down and kissed her cheek. “Please, be careful.”
She turned and pulled him into a proper kiss. “I will.”
Alderaan, Maul mused. The jewel of the Republic, at his fingertips. He would make it the tool of his revenge. He would crush that queen of theirs and take the throne…
No. Patience, he reminded himself. Better to bide his time first, get the lay of the land before he struck.
And time he clearly would have. The doctors did not rush to be done with them, more the opposite. They gave him a full-body scan and came up with a litany of ailments so long he had a hard time following. They tutted at the old, badly-healed fractures from his early training. They hummed at his lungs, at his liver, his kidneys.
They outlined a complicated treatment regimen for him and he agreed to everything short of full bacta immersion. Waste not, want not. Their efforts made him sneer, though. Such a waste of resources, and all that spent on two strangers? This planet was spoiled soft by its riches.
They also offered to replace his legs with something more humanoid. He accepted that as well, albeit grudgingly. They were his, but he’d gain nothing by looking monstrous here.
Both the specialist and her droid frowned at the legs’ strange wiring, but made the upgrades with practiced ease. The process was oddly underwhelming. He’d expected pain, or at least discomfort. Instead, he got quiet commentary and a thousand decisions to make: did he want to keep his height or adjust it? What kind of environment did he expect to most often reside in? Did he plan to do any strenuous activities?
He gritted his teeth through the process. The endless questioning irritated him for no reason he could put a finger on. Why should he be responsible for all these minutiae? They were the experts!
“Why does the palace medical center have a resident prosthetic specialist?” he asked, more to vent his frustration than from genuine interest.
“Her Majesty needs one,” the specialist said. “During her Challenge of the Body, she had been gravely injured, and her heart and lungs had to be replaced. The implants are the best modern medicine has to offer, but they still require regular maintenance. Between her adjustments, I work on other patients - many of them refugees like you.”
He hadn’t noticed any prosthetics, Maul thought, chagrined. All he saw was a Human woman with a round face and intent, rust-colored eyes. A harmless oversight, perhaps, but still something to avoid in the future.
He endured the specialist’s questioning. Adjust height to proportion; cities and spacecraft, but they should be able to withstand any environment, including desert and water; yes, the legs needed to be both flexible and durable. He refused synthetic skin covering. The idea of having to paint his marks, with only his memory as a guide, was repelling.
At last, they were done. The reward for his suffering: a pair of almost-normal legs, with brushed durasteel plating and sturdy joints. The sensation in them was much more natural as well. When he closed his eyes, he almost felt whole again.
Almost.
Back alone in his hospital bed, with only sleeping Savage for company, he picked up a datapad and searched the holonet for the queen. Her Majesty Breha Organa was a popular ruler, her public image nearly spotless. Much has been made from her focus on education and mentorship, the drama of her injury during the traditional challenges was retold with nearly religious fervor, and the few of her unpopular acts were treated with tolerance most politicians could only dream of.
Maul readjusted his plans. Killing the queen outright would immediately turn the entire planet against him. Take her hostage, perhaps? Or better yet, an accident, and a carefully selected replacement.
He watched the queen make speeches, smile at babies, welcome politicians. She did remind him of the Naboo child queen somehow. Perhaps it was her features; in everything else - her voice, her gestures, her words - she was nothing alike. Young Amidala had been a walking puppet. Breha Organa was alive.
She wouldn’t be much longer.
When they were finally released from the medical center, an attendant led them to a set of rooms in the guest wing and left them to their devices. When Maul set out to explore, Savage at his side, he discovered that they were allowed to roam almost the entire palace. No shields, no control pads, no locks. Maul found a way into the cellars, then up onto a gallery that ran the perimeter of the huge ceremonial throne room.
“Unbelievable!” he murmured to Savage. How stupid were these people? There were guards, true, but they weren’t prepared for two Sith. Even Kenobi and the viper Ventress ran from them - what could a handful of mere humans do?
The only area they were not permitted into were the Queen’s private rooms. “Her Majesty is not present at the moment. Would you like me to leave a message?” the attendant droid asked pleasantly.
“No.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” the droid trilled.
Unbelievable.
They returned to the guest wing, to one of the common rooms. A library of some sort, with plush chairs and shelves of holobooks - but more importantly, a single entrance and a balcony at the opposite end.
Maul used the opportunity to teach Savage to scan for recording devices. The only thing he found was the blatantly obvious holotable, and as far as he could tell, it didn’t actively record.
Savage settled into an armchair with a suppressed groan. Maul would not feel guilty - a day of walking was hardly a punishing exercise. “These people are pathetic. No security, no oversight! If this is how the queen chooses to rule, she deserves nothing else but for that rule to be taken from her.” He paced the length of the room. “We will need allies. I intend to go out into the city - even this place must have an underworld of some sort.”
A heavy sigh, and a groan of furniture. Maul turned, and found Savage already half-way out of his chair. “…not tonight, of course,” Maul said quickly.
Savage sank back into the chair. Maul pretended he did not notice his relief.
The rest of the evening was spent in awkward idleness. Maul skimmed the bookshelves and plotted; Savage had, to Maul’s horror, fallen asleep in the armchair. This was unacceptable. They needed to return to Savage’s training as soon as possible. Maul stared at him for a long moment, frozen with indecision. Finally, he returned to his own room and left Savage sleep.
For next morning, the Queen invited them to join her during breakfast.
“Your Majesty,” Maul bowed.
The queen’s lips turned up in a small smile. “Good morning.” She gestured at the two places set up opposite her. “And please, call me Breha. I am not just my crown - certainly not at this table.”
It was a small table, Maul noted. He took a seat. “Thank you… Breha.”
She took a spoonful of her meal. “How are you settling in? Are the rooms to your liking?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The queen turned to Savage expectantly. Savage stilled, hand half-way to a plate of pastry. “Yes,” he said finally. Maul suppressed a sigh.
The queen smiled though, and nodded at Savage. “I’m glad to hear that.” She turned to Maul again. “How are you finding the palace?”
Hm. Not so ignorant, after all. “It is..… large,” Maul tried. He suppressed a wince. Maul the refugee did not have to be a poet.
Another one of those small smiles. She smiled a lot, this woman. They were sincere smiles, too; was she really so easily amused? “It is certainly that. Although it is no Jedi Temple of course.”
Maul fought to keep the distaste off his face. He turned to his plate instead. Eggs and meat, with very little starch. A carnivore’s diet, yet the queen was eating the same. Such a barefaced attempt at engendering sympathy. What would she have done if his species ate live maggots?
He glanced at her quickly. She noticed, and sent him yet another smile. Oh yes, he thought glumly. Breha Organa would have certainly eaten maggots to make a guest feel welcome.
“Would you like me to give you a tour?”
Maul startled from his musings. “Hmm?”
“Usually, when I welcome guests here in Aldera, I try to find some time to show them around the palace and the city,” the queen said. “Only if you are interested, of course.”
Maul hesitated. He had his own plans, but this was surely too early to stop playing along. “Ah. Yes, that sounds… nice.”
“Wonderful. We can start today, if you’d like. I have...hmmm… maybe an hour before my first meeting starts. Not enough time to leave for the city, but…” She tapped her lips. “The palace gardens, perhaps?”
The gardens. Maul smiled through gritted teeth. “Very well.”
And so, Maul and Savage spent an hour trailing after the queen as she prattled about native plant species, community gardens, and rare cultivars. Maul had been trained out of feeling boredom at an early age, but if he hadn’t been, he would be dying of it now. He tried to steer the discussion to more valuable topics - guards, perimeter defenses - but somehow, they always ended up back at plants.
“This is the garden of friendship,” Breha said.
“Oh?” Maul felt very little friendship at the moment.
The aide that had trailed behind them all this time coughed delicately. “Ma’am? It’s ten minutes until the public appeal session.”
“Already? I am sorry,” Breha told Maul, “it seems we’re out of time.”
Finally.
“But perhaps you would like to join me? The public appeal sessions are, as the name says, public. They’re one of the mechanisms we have in place so I, as the ruler, do not loose track of what my subjects need.”
“Interesting. Yes, thank you.” Perhaps he would finally see something relevant.
Over the following days, Maul had accompanied Breha to an array of places and events. The many parks of Aldera. A policy meeting of the Ministry of Education. Three different historical museums. A school recital.
Useless. Every single one.
Even in situations that ought to have been an opportunity to make connections - a Parliament session, a nobleman’s soirée - the chances always seemed to slip through Maul’s fingers. How? He couldn’t understand it.
Yet, he found himself strangely unaffected. Was it the comfort of the palace? Did he get weak, unwilling to push both himself and Savage, who abandoned him after the second outing to spend his days holed up in the library?
“What did you think of the play, Maul?”
He looked down into Breha’s smiling face. “It was… entertaining.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry. It was a bit much. I wouldn’t have invited you if I knew it would be so experimental.”
“It’s no matter.” The words fell from his lips without much thinking. Playing along was what he needed, was it not?
In the end, the only thing he and Savage managed was to become citizens of Alderaan.
“Full name?” the attendant droid had asked when they filled in their paperwork.
He felt Savage’s eyes on his back. “Maul… Opress.” It was just a name. He’d lived under many aliases when working for his Master. Perhaps it was his brother’s silent happiness what made this one feel different. When, after the shockingly short time it took the authorities to approve their request, Maul activated his new ident card, it felt…
No. He clicked the holo off. He wasn’t about to settle down as a good Alderaanian citizen. This was a ruse, a tool. He wanted revenge, to destroy Kenobi, make him suffer for everything he did to him. For that, he needed power. For power, he needed—
“Welcome to Alderaan,” Breha said softly.
Alderaan. This place was… distracting.
No, not the place: its queen.
She was… Maul was at loss for proper similes. He could not find one that didn’t feel too restrictive. She was calm and composed, yet ready with a smile; she was gentle, but able to wield her voice like a blade against her opponents.
He had to admit it: he had been wrong. He thought her a figurehead, someone whose role was merely to exist, not much more. Nothing could be further from truth. Despite her affable behavior, she was anything but powerless. Her control was subtle, but undeniable. To watch her, it was…
He had been meant to stand by his Master’s side as he ruled the galaxy. He wondered if it would have felt this way.
He shook his head. He had to focus. He’d never find out, because Kenobi had robbed him of that chance. Revenge, that was the goal. Alderaan was simply a means to an end.
“Maul, will you join me for the Coreward Economic Cooperation committee holocall?”
“Yes.”
Perhaps, Maul thought. Perhaps the queen would not need to die.
The door of the library slid open. Savage jerked and clutched his holobook. Its frame creaked ominously, and he released his grip in haste. He straightened, expecting Maul, but his eyes were met by the Queen’s, equally startled.
“I’m sorry,” Breha said. “I did not mean to surprise you. I did knock.”
Savage winced. He looked at his holobook with regret. “Are you looking for my brother?” he hazarded.
Breha laughed. “I see that I am easy to read. I hope I have not offended you by my preference.”
Savage shook his head. “It’s better that way.”
Breha’s sharp gaze made him want to curl in on himself. “Should I wait somewhere else?” she asked quietly. “I do not want to bother you.”
“No.” He sighed. How was he supposed to explain the two-edged guilt that cut him more and more the longer they stayed? He wanted to follow his brother. These people though… they were so kind to them. And Savage was tired.
Breha shook her head. “No, it’s alright. You do not have to explain.” The sympathy in her eyes made his heart sink even lower. “Let me just say this: you will always be welcome here, no matter how your brother’s plans will fall out.”
He froze. “You know.”
She smiled impishly. “He’s hardly subtle.” She shook her head. “I have been born to rule. I have prepared for it my whole life, and I have been doing it for a decade now. I would not be worthy of my throne if I could not recognize Maul’s plotting.”
“Yet you let us stay here.”
Breha turned to the library. “Perhaps it’s hubris,” she said lightly. “I trust myself and my people to withstand whatever Maul will do. Or…” she pulled out a holobook. One of the travelogues, Savage thought, and Breha proved him right when she projected an image of a mountain range above it. She turned the image under her hands. “Perhaps, it is the thrill,” she said softly. She sent Savage a brief smile. “You were told, I think, about my accident? I am no longer allowed to put strain on my body. Maybe if the durability of my pulmonodes improves in the future… but right now, most things I used to enjoy are forbidden to me.”
She smiled at the image. It was the mountains outside of Aldera, Savage realized. “Will you tell him?” she asked.
“He’s my brother.”
Her smile turned sad. “Of course.”
Behind her, the door opened.
The wall looked unfamiliar.
Blurry as well; Maul blinked, but it did not help much. He tried to rub his eyes, but his arm refused to move. Every nerve in his body felt like a red-hot wire strung through his flesh, even the ones in his lower half that weren’t there anymore.
…ah. A stun bolt. More than one, probably, given his state.
With a burst of effort, he flopped on his back. The events were coming back to him now, and the humiliation burned almost as badly as the stun. Him, a Sith, to be brought down this easily!
He’d opened the door, expecting his brother. He found him and the Queen; from their matching guilty looks he expected— well, certainly not Savage’s words.
“Brother. She knows.”
“She knows what.” Wasn’t it clear, though? He sneered. The time for deliberation was over.
He reached out - with his arm, with his mind - and grabbed. Across the room, Breha lifted off the ground, hands uselessly scrabbling at her neck. His palm tingled with the phantom sensation. The Queen’s life, in his hand…
The Force burned with fear and fury. He stepped aside; a barrage of blaster bolts passed him harmlessly.
No warning call? Not so genteel after all! He spun on his heel, and with a flick of his hand he tossed the guards across the hallway. They slammed into the wall and slid down to the ground. He stepped toward them. He had no lightsaber, but—
A burst of electric agony pierced his side. Every muscle in his body spasmed at once. He stumbled and crashed to the ground. The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was Breha half-collapsed against a bookcase with a blaster still in in her hand; her face disappointed, but unsurprised.
And now, this. A cell - although on second thought, it hardly looked as one. The bed he lay on was narrow but comfortable, the walls and the ceiling were the same plaster and paneling as the guest rooms. There was even a small table with two chairs in the corner opposite the door.
A stun bolt paralysis couldn’t hold him down for long. Soon, Maul was able to sit up, then stand. He tried the door, but found no easy way to open it, not even with the Force.
He lowered himself on a chair. Just as he did, a blue light in the middle of the table started blinking. He examined it, and found a button embedded beside it. “Very well,” he muttered to himself, and pushed it.
A blue figure appeared opposite him, as if sitting on the second chair. “Good evening Mr. Opress,” the Human woman spoke, “my name is Erenah. I would like to ask you a few questions.”
Maul considered his options. He could refuse and demand a release, but he had very little leverage at the moment. He could simply ignore her, but the benefit of that was nil. He curled his lips and tapped the table. Irritating as it was, cooperating was in his best interest. He waved a hand. “Well, do go on.”
“How are you doing?”
He blinked at the holo. What kind of a question was that?
After a pause, she continued. “How are you feeling, physically and mentally?” She paused again. When he still didn’t reply: “You have been shot with a stun bolt. I’m told the aftereffects are unpleasant…”
“I am well.”
His compliance was rewarded by a smile and a nod. “Good. Now,” she smoothed her expression back into her previous seriousness, “You have been detained after a violent altercation. Do you remember what happened?”
“Yes.”
“Could you sum it up for me?”
Really. “I was shot by a stun bolt.”
She nodded. “What happened before?”
“The Royal Guard tried to shoot me.”
“Why?”
Did she really expect him to just say it? “I don’t know.”
“I have been told you have attempted to kill her Majesty Breha Organa. Is that true?”
“No.”
She regarded him quietly. “Very well,” she said. “That will be all, thank you. Your assigned lawyer will contact you when your case is processed - tomorrow afternoon at the latest. I wish you a restful evening.”
As further evidence of the terrifying speed of Alderaanian bureaucracy, his lawyer had indeed contacted him the next morning, again through holo.
“Hello, my name is Daveen Ettyk and I am your assigned lawyer. I am here to make sure that you get a fair trial under Alderaanian law. First, let me explain what is going to happen in next few days…”
Maul listened to the man’s monologue and felt irritation crawl up his spine. Again the calm, again the patience. He had no idea what they really felt when he only saw them through a holo, but hadn’t he tried to kill their queen? He would expect at least some signs of distaste. If he were Breha, he would find their lack of emotion offensive.
“You have told the triage officer that you have not attacked her Majesty,” the lawyer said. “Unfortunately, both the witnesses and the evidence very clearly says otherwise.”
He pushed some invisible buttons and a projection appeared above the table between them. It showed a neck with prominent bruises in the shape of fingers.
Maul suppressed a wince. So much for that direction. He didn’t know that would happen. He had never bruised when his Master had used the technique on him, and when he himself did it, he never stayed long enough to see the outcome. Of course, in most cases there would be no outcome - dead bodies did not bruise, after all.
“I would recommend you do not continue denying what happened,” the lawyer said. “There is really no benefit to it. With this evidence, you will be pronounced guilty no matter what. You can only lose: without acknowledging the harm done, your sentence will be longer, the conditions stricter.” He folded his hands on the table. “So. Would you tell me what happened?”
Maul considered his situation. Continue denying? However it itched, the man was right - he’d get nothing out of that. For Maul’s own purposes, the faster he got through the whole process, the better. The punishment he risked if he was found guilty was not worthy of the title. Alderaan did not believe in death penalty, or corporal punishment, or prisons.
No. His best bet was to play along. Claim that he’d panicked, perhaps.
The lawyer tapped his fingers on the table. “I am here to help you, Mr. Opress. “he said. “For that, I need to know as much as possible about the incident.”
“I am a Sith,” Maul sneered at the oh-so-reasonable Human. “I am the former apprentice of a man named Darth Sidious. I have killed—“
“Is any of this relevant to the current situation?”
Maul hissed.
“I want you to really think about this,” the lawyer continued. “Alderaanian legislature is built on a very specific feature: that a person’s past is only relevant if it influences their present. You can see this in our open immigration policy, and our judicial system as well.” He gestured at Maul. “You are being prosecuted here as Maul Opress, a citizen of Alderaan. This man had only come to exist three weeks ago. Whomever you have been before, whatever you have done, does not have to influence you or the court… unless you chose it to.”
He steepled his fingers and looked Maul in the eye. “So, Mr. Opress. Who do you want to be?”
The next figure to appear at his table was his brother.
Maul felt his lip curl in distaste. “Savage. How kind of you to contact me. Your concern for my wellbeing warms my heart.”
Savage frowned. “Are you not treated well? Breha said you would not be harmed.”
He ought to let him stew. “I am well. I have simply expected you to visit me sooner. Or at all.” He waved a hand to encompass Savage’s holo projection.
“You are not permitted visitors,” Savage said.
“Is that so.” Maul crossed his arms. “Will you help me, brother?”
Savage did not meet his eyes.
“Oh, so that’s how it is.”
Now Savage looked at him, a plea in his eyes. “This place is good for us, Maul. We can start again here.”
“Can we.” Savage, perhaps. But him… “And what would you become?”
“I don’t know,” Savage said quietly. “But I would like to find out.”
Finally, the date of Maul’s hearing came. Even though the lawyer had explained the process to him, he could hardly contain his disbelief when instead of a court room, he sat down at a table with Breha on the other end and a judge in the middle.
“Do you acknowledge what you have done?” the judge asked.
“Yes. I have attempted to take the queen hostage and harmed her in the process; I have defended myself from an attack by the Royal Guard, and presumably harmed them as well.”
The judge and Breha nodded. This was not a new information for them; his lawyer had informed them of his confession already.
“What was your goal?”
“To protect myself and my brother.” Again, no surprise to anybody. Maul gritted his teeth. He wished for his lightsaber, to burn the calm, reasonable expressions off their faces and end this farce. He drew a deep breath. He was capable of strategy, no matter what his former master had sneered at him. A few minutes of recitation, and he’d be free to continue his plans.
The hearing ground on. The judge suggested that perhaps, the sentence could be modified “as the victim of the attack is Her Majesty, the Queen of Alderaan”. The queen refused. “I am here as a citizen of Alderaan.”
Maul met Breha’s eyes across the table. Even with the Force at his disposal, he couldn’t guess what she was thinking.
Ettyk pushed for “usual conditions”: community service, therapy, regular reports to an oversight body.
“In that case,” Breha said, “I would like to petition for patronage. Unless you would consider it a dangerous power imbalance?” she asked Ettyk.
The lawyer exchanged a glance with his counterpart and the judge. “No. Patronage by the victim party is a common solution.”
“The Royal Guard would be registered as the oversight body,” Breha added.
“Ah.” Ettyk smiled slightly. “That sounds reasonable.” He turned to Maul. “Will you agree for Her Majesty Breha Organa to be your patron, Mr. Opress?”
He couldn’t care less. “Yes.”
“Very well.”
And that seemed to be all. They gave him files to sign, more files detailing the conditions of his sentence. Breha stood up from the table and offered Maul a hand, as if they were about to leave for one of their outings. “Shall we?”
Maul took it.
Bail wished he could have been there for the incident. He would have been useless, he knew, but it surely would have felt less horrid than hearing about it second-hand.
“I should never have brought them to Alderaan.”
Breha shook her head. “No, Bail, this is precisely why you should have.”
“He tried to kill you.”
“Yet he didn’t.”
“Breha—“
“He didn’t have time to,” she conceded. “Still, have you noticed? He hasn’t been violent. He hasn’t even tried to escape. I feel that’s a significant detail, don’t you think?” She lifted her chin, every inch a queen, “He deserves the same chance to change as any other citizen of Alderaan.”
Of course he did. Bail believed in Alderaanian legal system as much as Breha did. It expected goodwill on the side of the felon, though - and that, Bail found hard to believe.
He was to be surprised, though.
“Are you telling me he goes to therapy? That he’s serving out his community service?”
Breha smirked at him, the lothcat that got the bird. “Yes, to both.”
“You’re joking.” He wasn’t sure what he found more unlikely: the Sith confiding to a therapist, or working with his hands. “What work is he doing?”
“Gardening, if you’ll believe that. Thayne is living out all her remodeling dreams, or so I hear.”
“I cannot imagine.”
“He does not care for it,” Breha laughed.
But he did it. At every call, Breha had more stories to tell: Maul, covered in pond scum; Maul, retiling a path over and over until the head gardener was satisfied; Maul, replanting hundred-year-old trees.
Bail watched Breha’s smiles and the spark in her eyes, and felt… not as bad as he’d thought he would. He was a reasonable man; he knew this was a possibility. He did not expect a Sith, true, but he knew his answer would be the same.
“Should I be jealous?” he asked, after an anecdote about a gallery opening and a disgruntled Maul playing escort.
Breha tapped a finger to her lips. “Perhaps. He does have a distaste for shirts.”
“I’m serious.”
Breha sobered. “Would you be? We have never talked about something like this.”
“I won’t lie,” he said, “I would. I want you to be happy, though. If that means I have to share you, so be it.”
The gentle smile she gave him made him feel as if they were teens again, freshly in love and sneaking kisses behind the rose bushes.
“I don’t deserve you,” she said softly.
He smiled back. “Yes, you do.”
“Thank you.”
“He is a handsome man,” Bail offered.
Breha’s eyes sparked. “Oh?”
“Well…”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she laughed.
Bail shook his head with a rueful grin. “I appreciate that.”
Ever since his return to the palace, everything felt like an odd dream to Maul. His sentence was a joke: an hour every other day to answer asinine questions about his feelings, and a menial job. He even got a choice in that - as if he cared whether he would sweep floors or weed flowerbeds!
Most of the time, it was as if nothing had happened. He was free to roam the palace; he was allowed at Breha’s side. He could just take up where he’d left off - looking for contacts, plotting a coup right under everyone’s noses.
He should have been glad. Instead, he realized one day, elbow-deep in pond water, he was furious. These people were impossible. Impossible! A planet of suicidal fools! How could Alderaan have stood for centuries?! It was in decline, that was the only explanation - no matter how hard it was to believe with Breha on the throne.
“What do you feel about this?” his therapist asked.
“Rage,” Maul gritted out.
“Where in your body do you feel it?”
“Everywhere.“
He needed to remain in control. He needed to plot, to build connections, to stage a coup… revenge…
None of his training was any help. Contradictory, useless snippets of his former Master’s teachings flitted through his head: feel your rage… control yourself… let them feel your wrath…
Useless! He might as well follow the therapist’s nattering about thanking his emotions and all the other rubbish.
It was honestly a miracle that it took him so long before he boiled over. Another public appeal session; he had no idea what the petitioners came with, all he could hear was the buzzing in his ears. He stood in a shadowed corner of the room, a few steps behind the throne. Visible to everyone in the room, clear line of sight to the Queen. In three steps he could be on her and snap her neck, even without the Force.
“Maul?”
He turned to her. The room was empty, save Breha, the guards at the doors, and the omnipresent aide. He hadn’t even noticed that the session ended.
He breathed in. The rage flooded him like raising groundwater, and the Force answered. In three steps he jumped from his corner into the middle of the room.
“Fools!” He raised his hand and closed it into a fist; the curtain rod on one of the windows tore off the wall, and the length of heavy fabric fluttered across the room as if borne by a gale. “You are — all — fools!!!” He punctuated his words by tearing off the rest of the curtains, one by one. “Everyone here can see me stand behind their Queen - me, a Sith, a murderer - and yet, nobody acts! I could snap all your necks, and what do you do? Smile at me!!!”
Finally, finally the guards stepped up. He spun on them — finally, a fight —
“Leave us.”
They went. He watched in disbelief as they turned and walked out of the room. He turned at Breha. He worked his jaw, unable to form words. “What…?! I can taste your fear! I—“ he stopped, mouth agape. “Why are you smiling?”
She touched her fingers to her lips, as if she was surprised to find the smile there. “You are striking,” she murmured.
His world tilted. Fear? Maybe, but more than that: Exhilaration. Fondness. Desire.
All his rage ran out of him like water through a sieve. He stared at Breha, lost in her rust-colored eyes. She rose from the throne and slowly walked toward him. He felt bolted to the floor. He could make no sense of the conflicting pull of his instincts: Run. Freeze.
Come closer.
She reached him now. Lifted her hand and ran it over his cheek. The touch burned; it was the only thing he could feel. She slid her hand to his neck, and held. She was a Human, so frail - she had no chance holding him down even just against his natural strength. Yet it was a yoke he could not escape. Worse: he did not want to. It felt… right. The correct state of the universe.
No. No! He bared his teeth at her, a helpless snarl.
She leaned in and kissed him.
Yes. That’s all he could think: yes.
Long seconds of nothing. Their lips parted, the reality—
Maul ran.
He found himself in the garden, crouching behind the ornamental Shili grasses. His metal legs were ruining the layer of mulch, he thought idly, Thayne would have his head for this.
He needed— he—
He ran his fingers into the bark chips. He had no idea.
Well, what did he feel about it, he thought with a sneer.
Anger. Shock. Fear... joy.
A whine escaped his lips. No! He bolted upright, startling a flock of insects. He would not sit there and think, he had to act.
A hard thing to do, though, when he didn’t know how. His legs led him to the door of the room where Breha held her closed-door meetings - not even through the Force, just the sheer familiarity with her schedule.
He leaned against the wall a few paces away and ignored the glares of the guards. He could see it now: he’d been following her for weeks, like an asteroid pulled into a planetary orbit.
Oh, he had excuses: he needed to know more about Alderaan, he needed to make contacts. Ha! What use was it to stand in the corner and watch Breha talk to children who wanted their local park renovated?
He bared his teeth at the guards halfheartedly. Their mistrust was almost reassuring. At least someone wasn’t completely reckless on this planet.
Breha’s meeting ended. Maul trailed after her and her gaggle of assistants as they moved to her office. This, too: normally he would walk by her side, or even arm in arm with her if Breha was especially cheerful.
How could he have missed it all?
He waited until she was done with her private calls, followed her to the large room where she held holo meetings that required more space, and waited again.
This time, when Breha walked out of the door, she turned toward him. Maul looked down the corridor. How cowardly would it be to run now?
She stopped in front of him, hands neatly folded. He resisted the urge to step back and plaster himself against the wall.
“What do you want, Maul?” she asked softly.
Power? Revenge? Your hand, on my face. You, to kiss me like you had before. You. He lowered his eyes, and kept his mouth closed. She waited a bit longer, then walked away.
She had one of those awful outings that night - a gallery, a museum, a performance, how could there be so much useless events that required the Queen’s presence?
She did not ask him to come this time. He hoped her absence would clear his thoughts. It didn’t. He paced through the palace, then the garden, then the palace again; he hesitated in front of Savage’s library, but turned away to pace some more.
He ended up in Breha’s parlor. Her attendant droid let him in; Maul thanked it distractedly, too tired to seethe at the lack of security anymore.
It was late when she returned. They faced each other wordlessly. In the light from the hallway, Maul could see the silhouettes of her guards.
Breha let the door close behind her. She crossed the room and sat on the sofa, patted the cushion next to her. “Sit with me?”
He eyed the empty space by her side. It felt… wrong. He walked over and stopped by the other side of the seat. He crossed his arms and stared down at her.
She turned her face up to him. “You are looming,” she teased.
He gritted his teeth. Then… oh.
Yes.
He fell to his knees. A sigh escaped his lips. Something had unspooled in his chest by that movement: as if a rope had been tied around his lungs, and now loosened.
Their eyes met. He’d startled her, he could tell. He rested his cheek on her knee and closed his eyes.
She laid her palm on the side of his head, carefully avoiding his horns. “Is this what you want?” she murmured.
He did not answer. Did not know how, or what. He leaned against her leg, bowed his head, and hoped she’d understand anyway.
It was remarkable, Bail mused, how much their guests changed while Bail was away. Savage certainly, the quiet man he’d met yesterday was nothing like the snarling beast from the holos, but… Maul.
Bail was no Jedi, but he had made a career out of reading people. The hunger, the malice he’d seen in Maul’s eyes that first day in Aldera, it was gone.
…almost gone. He met Maul’s stare across the breakfast table. Maul did not drop his gaze, but neither did he bare his teeth at Bail as he clearly wanted to. Bail would take it. “Breha told me you work in the gardens now. Are you enjoying it?”
Breha sighed.
Maul stood up. “Forgive me,” addressed solely to Breha, “I have an appointment.”
It might have been Bail’s imagination, but he thought the door slid closed faster than it was programmed to.
“You did tell him I will not compete with him,” Bail spoke into the silence.
Breha sighed at him. “He is not very good at listening. Taking orders, yes,” she continued in response to his raised eyebrow, “but—“
“Oh?”
A rare blush pained the tops of Breha’s cheeks. “Not like that. Not yet.”
That, Bail had not expected. “Do you not want to?”
“I do! But he,” Breha paused, the entire weight of her frustration in that single word, “is terrible at talking.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, ah.“
“Should I slip him a pamphlet on consent?”
“You think you are so funny.” Breha raised from her seat and walked around the table. She slipped onto his lap and laid her arms around his neck. “Do you not get enough opportunity to sharpen your wit in the Senate?”
Bail pulled her closer. “No. No humor permitted on the Senate floor. Too many cultural differences.” He ran his hands over Breha’s sides, reveling in the fact that he could touch her, not just see a faded ghost of her through a holo. “I just want to give my wife what she wants. And if what she wants is a dubiously reformed Sith—“
Breha stole the rest of his words from his lips.
Unfortunately for Bail, his visit to Alderaan could not be spent dealing with his suddenly complicated love life. His morning meetings consumed his attention well enough that he startled when he walked into the private wing of the palace and ran into Maul, mud-smeared and in nothing but a pair of ratty pants.
He would blame his surprise on the long moment he spent staring at Maul’s chest. It wasn’t even that impressive a chest, he thought ruefully.
Maul crossed his arms. “Bail,” he sneered.
Bail dragged his eyes up. “Hello, Maul.”
Maul walked up to Bail, closer than was strictly polite. He leaned his head back slightly and glared at Bail. He was trying to loom, Bail realized. Hard to do, when he was shorter than him.
“You are not afraid of me,” Maul said.
Bail titled his head. “I’m not,” he agreed. “I know I won’t loose her because of you. And I know you would loose her if you harmed me.”
Maul glared for a bit longer. Then he sneered, stepped away, and left without a word.
When Bail came to join Breha for lunch, Maul was there. He noticed Bail, rolled back his teeth and… growled, there was no better word for it.
Breha breathed sharply through her nose. “Excuse us for a minute,” she told her aides, turned to Bail and Maul, and gestured toward the empty meeting room.
They walked in. When the door closed, she turned on them, eyes blazing. “Enough. I am not a bone to be fought over.”
He wasn’t the one growling, Bail thought. “Of course not,” he said aloud.
“Maul?”
Maul turned his head away, down and towards his shoulder. Breha took his chin and made him meet her eyes. “Do you understand?”
Maul made a face. “Yes, my queen,” he muttered.
Breha sighed loudly. She caressed Maul’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Maul closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.
Bail watched the exchange, transfixed. He’d expected to feel jealous, or perhaps frustrated. He felt neither. When he watched Breha and Maul, he couldn’t imagine himself as either of them. Yet, he could not look away.
The lunch was not as awkward as it could have been, probably due to the presence of the aides. Bail pulled out all his diplomatic skills and slowly, carefully chipped away at Maul’s distrust. It was like working with a skittish akk dog, he thought ruefully: he had to give him space, but at the same time, show that he was welcome.
He was putting quite a show for the aides, he suspected, but needs must. For their part, they did their best to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. He was impressed by their restraint, to be perfectly honest. Would a gift basket be too tacky? He’d ask Breha; it was just the kind of nonsense she pretended to glare at him for, but secretly loved.
They stretched the lunch a bit, then headed straight to the Parliament session scheduled for the afternoon. Bail gave his usual report. He felt grim as he stood there in front of his people and talked about the state of the Republic: any “non-essential” matters shunted to the side to keep the war machine turning, the democracy eroding away day by blood-drenched day.
He thought he’d stay for the whole session, but he found he couldn’t stomach the parliamentary squabbles today. He was heading for the garage when Maul appeared by his side. “Are you headed back to the palace?” he asked.
Bail glanced at him. “Yes.”
“I am as well. May I join you?”
Huh. “Of course.”
The ride was silent. So was the walk through the palace to the door of his and Breha’s rooms. Bail, with no better ideas, decided to be bold. “I plan to do some physical exercise in the garden. Would you like to join me?”
Maul blinked at him. “No,” he said belatedly.
Bail nodded. “See you at dinner, then.”
He was unsurprised when, some thirty minutes later, he looked up from a stretch and found Maul standing at the edge of the clearing he’d chosen for his exercise.
The glare was also unsurprising. “Those are Jedi kata,” Maul growled.
“Yes,” Bail said, keeping his voice light, for Maul and his form both. “A friend taught them to me. They make a good exercise even for us normal beings.”
“Hm.”
When no other comment followed, Bail focused on his movements. Tried to, at least. He could feel Maul’s look on his skin, like the light of a particularly bright sun. His breath grew short, and not just from the exercise. Today was a day for revelations about his sexual preferences, wasn’t it, Bail thought ruefully.
And all because of one man. He glanced at Maul quickly. He knew that some Jedi could sense one’s emotions. Could Maul tell what he was feeling?
He completed one movement and continued with the next, as fluidly as he could manage. Better question: did he mind? No, he answered himself. Either Maul knew, or not. Either he would object, or not.
Sometimes, the correct step was to wait for the chance cube to fall. Until then… well. The ambiguity had its own charm.
So.
Senator Bail Organa.
Maul watched the man perform his kata - surprisingly well, for someone with no Force - and examined his own feelings. Frustration, that was certainly the main one. Confusion. Disbelief.
Maul could not fathom why Bail wasn’t jealous of him.
Breha had told him Bail knew about them. She’d said Bail approved. Maul had not believed her. He could not imagine it. He felt jealous, if he had to be honest with himself; slept badly last night, lying awake in his bed and imagining Bail and Breha…
He hissed. No. He buried the thought and focused on the man in front of him. Bail Organa did not feel jealous. He did not feel threatened, either. He felt…
Ah.
Maul blinked. Bail’s desire sparked in the Force, like electricity over skin. The taste of it fouled his senses, both unknown and familiar at the same time.
Familiar? How? Maul did not remember what his own desire felt like.
Ten years of madness were one thing, but even before… all he recalled was pain, and shame. Rage, hate, even fear were all encouraged during his training. Desire was not.
Now, though.
He felt his lips curl. He was lost. He had no plan, no pattern to follow, no way to interpret the hunger pangs of a mind in a mutilated body not equipped for these things. Although it could have been: the prosthetic specialist had asked. Maul had never redirected a discussion faster in his life. He’s found himself thinking about it lately, in a sort of shameful, horrified way.
Now and then in a fit of madness he considered asking his therapist. The man had heard worse from him by now.
Bail’s desire was a straightforward thing. Bail saw. Bail wanted. Bail could have. Probably not Maul, but…
He shook the thought away. When he was distracted, Bail had finished his exercises. He nodded at Maul with a polite smile. “See you in the evening.” Then he walked away, trailing his guards and leaving Maul standing there like a piece of decorative topiary.
Maul gritted his teeth and followed.
It was embarrassingly easy to stage an ambush. Too easy? He waited, hidden by a clump of barabel bushes; he pounced, pushed Bail through the drooping branches of a Galatian weeping willow, and slammed him against the tree trunk.
Bail gave a startled gasp. “Hello, Maul,” he wheezed.
Maul loosened the arm across Bail’s neck. Suddenly he wasn’t sure what he was doing.
“Senator?” The guard sounded worried, if not quite alarmed yet.
“A minute please!” Bail called. “Everything is alright!”
Maul scowled at him. “Is it.”
Bail raised an eyebrow. “Is it not?”
Maul pushed against Bail. Bail gasped. His desire was a hungry thing; it took over Maul’s mind and made him as breathless as Bail was. He felt every centimeter of his body pressed against Bail’s.
He breathed in. The smell of Bail’s sweat was everywhere.
“Well?” Bail asked.
“I suggest a truce.” The words made no sense to Maul. He just needed to say something, anything at all.
Bail tapped one finger against the arm pressed across his neck. “Is this a truce?”
Maul kissed him.
It was artless, a hard press of lips as hungry as they both were. Bail’s hands snaked under Maul’s coat and twisted in the fabric of his shirt. He pulled - as if Maul could get any closer.
He tore himself away. “What about this?” he croaked.
Bail stared at him for long seconds, before his eyes refocused. “Better,” he coughed out. He ran his lips over Maul’s cheek. “I accept.” He kissed the edge of his jaw.
Maul’s mind went blank. “I won’t kneel for you,” he gasped out.
Bail laughed breathlessly. Maul pushed against his mind. His master could twist people’s thoughts as he wished, but Maul did not need that; all he wanted was to know, to see, to feel more…
Images. Touch and movement and sensation and oh—
His knees hit the ground before he could process it. Shame burned over his skin. He clenched his teeth; he would not look up, would not see Bail’s mockery… but even as he thought it he knew he was wrong. His mind was still buried in Bail’s and he sensed, he knew, there was no mockery there.
He raised his head. Bail gazed down on him, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and parted. Desire. Awe. He put a palm on Maul’s cheek, tangled his fingers into his horns. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
Maul swallowed. He ran his hands up Bail’s thighs, drank in Bail’s sharp spike of want.
Perhaps he did not mind kneeling after all.
Breha did not start to worry when Maul’s therapist informed her that Maul called off his session today. That came when she looked over at Bail and saw him wince.
“Did something happen?” she asked.
Bail pursed his lips. “You could say that.”
He explained. Breha had to appreciate the oddness of it all. Did she feel awkward, talking with her husband about sex she hadn’t been part of? Aroused? Jealous?
Or worried?
“He stalked off and left me have a very awkward talk with my guards, but he didn’t seem upset.” Bail shook his head. “Not then, anyway.”
They exchanged a look.
“TooVee? I would like to make a call to Maul.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
They waited for Maul to answer. He didn’t. “Would you like to leave a message instead?” TooVee asked.
Breha nodded. She left the missive short. “Hello, Maul. Will be joining me and Bail for dinner as planned? You do not have to of course, but we would be glad to have you. Let me know as soon as you can.”
Bail walked around the table and sat beside her. He caressed her cheek and smiled at her. “How was the Parliament session?” he asked.
Breha mustered a smile for him and accepted the distraction gladly.
“[I will be there],” Maul’s message had read when it arrived. Breha pushed her worries away and dedicated the rest of her afternoon to work. She’d known this visit would be tense. This was nowhere close to her worst scenario.
The dinner was to be a private affair, with no servants or droids and the guards behind a closed door. A rare treat, but familiar to all of them: Bail and her, her and Maul. Just… never the three of them together.
Bail wrapped an arm around her. “So, how long have you had this meal planned?” he asked, gesturing at the dishes laid out on the table.
She frowned at him, rolled her eyes when he pushed a kiss to her temple. “A few weeks,” she admitted. It was a professional deformation. That, and it distracted her from the frankly off-putting talks she had to have with the head of the Royal Guard, the Prime Minister, and her publicist.
Courting someone like Maul was hard work, in more ways than one.
The door slid open, and a small sliver of tension slipped off her shoulders. Maul stopped just a few steps in, looked at Breha and Bail with a grim expression.
Breha rounded the table and crossed the room. “Hello, Maul.” She touched his cheek and kissed him, their usual welcome. She felt him sigh into it. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Are you alright?” she asked quietly.
His brows furrowed. “Why?” He glanced over her shoulder. “If you do not approve…”
“I do.” She smiled, relieved. Not too upset, after all. “I’m just surprised. Here I was, tiptoeing over eggshells,” she joked.
His disgruntled expression failed to clear away. Breha sighed at herself. Communication. She was getting as bad as him. “I want you, Maul,” she said slowly, with force behind each word. “You must know that by now.”
Hurt flashed over his face. “Than why don’t you ask?” he practically whined. He stepped back, looked away. “Of course, what use can I be to you?” he said bitterly.
“Maul! You are not a tool to be used!”
“Unless you want to be.”
“Bail,“ she hissed at her fool of a husband.
He grimaced. “Sorry.”
When Breha turned back to Maul, he was looking between them with an expression that made her heart clench. She ran a thumb along his cheekbone. “What do you want, Maul?” she asked, for what felt like a hundredth time.
He avoided her eyes and said nothing. He never did. “We will wait as long as you need,” she told him.
That got her a reaction. He stepped into her space, close enough that their bodies almost touched. “I am not interested in waiting,” he growled.
She chuckled breathlessly. “Very well, then.” She thought of the dinner, but… oh, it would keep. She’d waited long enough. She slid her hands under the lapels of the wide-sleeved coat he wore. “Is this alright?”
He blinked at her. “Yes.”
She grabbed at his belt and pulled him into a kiss. Hardly the first one, yet somehow, it felt new. Deeper, deep enough to get lost in.
What was she…?
Oh, yes. She pulled herself away with not a little regret. She slid her hands to Maul’s belt buckle. “May I?”
It was gratifying, to see the daze in Maul eyes. “What?”
“Maul, may I take your belt off?” she asked.
He shook the confusion off. “Yes.”
No kissing, she told herself, and broke the promise a second later. At least the shirt had no buttons to fight with. She stopped herself when she already had it half-way down his shoulders. “Alright?”
He grabbed her wrists, almost no pressure at all. “What game is this?” he whined, frustration in every syllable.
She pulled the shirt back up. “This is no game, Maul. It’s important that neither of us does anything the other would not want.”
“I would never,” he hissed, half offense, half horror.
“I believe you.” She did, and more every day. “This isn’t about me.” She let go of the shirt and took his hands in hers. “Maul. Whenever I ask you what you want, you freeze. You let me push you around, let me do anything I want. And…” she felt her face heat. “I like it,” she admitted. “I won’t lie; I really do. But I won’t push you into something you’re not ready for.”
He bowed his head, looked at her through his lashes. “What if I want you to?”
“Maul!”
He knelt in front of her. He kissed her palms, slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I am sorry, my queen,” he murmured.
She choked on air. “Up,” she pulled at his hands. “Bedroom.”
“Am I invited?”
She turned to Bail. “Sorry,” she grimaced. “Yes please. Unless…?”
Maul rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he enunciated carefully. He raised an eyebrow at Bail. “Do you also require me to ask before I do anything?”
Bail chuckled and shook his head. “Just respect my no, that is enough. And I will respect yours, of course.”
“I could throw you across the room,” Maul drawled.
Bail smiled smirked. “That’s rather the point. I’d prefer the no, if you would.”
Maul narrowed his eyes at him. He left Breha’s side, rounded the table, and pulled Bail into a rough kiss that made her own knees go weak. He cut the kiss, stepped back, and held Bail at arms length as he swayed toward him. “Yes,” he said, smug.
Breha laughed out. They both turned to her as one: wide eyes, red lips. They both smiled.
She grinned back. Yes. Yes.
When Bail left them, unable to stay away from Coruscant any longer, he was supposed to be gone for weeks. Instead, he commed Breha almost immediately upon his arrival. Obi-Wan had sought him out, brought up Maul, and asked for Breha to file an official invite of a Jedi representative.
“I assume he would be the one to come.”
Bail nodded. “Yes.”
And here it was: the end of the fuse they’ve been playing with. “Tell him I will do it.”
She called off her next appointment, notified her guards and led Maul to an empty meeting room. She could hear the crisis mode in her voice: short sentences, clear meaning.
She saw the tension run through him, like a rope pulled taut. He paced the length of the room, back, forth. She clenched her jaw around her next words, but she knew they had to be spoken. “If you attack Obi-Wan, our relationship is over.” His eyes jumped to her. She stopped herself from trying to interpret his expression. “You are free to make that choice,” she said, “but you will live with the consequences.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Please, excuse me.”
She made her invitation. Directly to the Jedi Council - not as proper as going through the Senate would have been, but she did not want the entire Republic to play a witness to her relationship drama.
She spoke with Master Yoda himself. He accepted graciously, looking at her with kindness and concern. She wanted to tell him he had no reason for it. She wanted to believe it herself.
Maul reappeared at dinner. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“No.”
And so, they didn’t. Breha made her preparations: talked to the guard, arranged for a welcome audience official enough for a Jedi representative but small enough to limit potential casualties. They did not speak about that, either.
During the day, Maul followed her whenever she went. At night, he kissed her like a man drowning. She tried not to see it as a goodbye.
Finally, the wait was over.
She sat on the throne in the ceremonial throne room, on a dais two steps above the floor. It was uncommonly empty; her staff, a handful of journalists with their seeker droids, three full squads of Royal Guard.
She could see Maul from the corner of her eye, a smudge red, grey, and blue. He wore the trousers from a formal Alderaanian dress, one of the pieces Bail helped him pick. It was in their colors; she desperately wanted it to be a good sign.
He was shirtless. She had no idea what kind of sign that was.
The ornate door at the end of the room swung open. “Senator Bail Organa,” the Master of Ceremony announced, “Royal Consort of the Queen of Alderaan. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Knight of the Jedi Order.”
Bail and Obi-Wan walked in, side by side. They stopped at the required distance from the throne, not a step closer. Of course, this was not Obi-Wan’s first visit here.
Obi-Wan bowed. “Your Majesty, thank you for your invitation.”
His face was politely blank. It broke her heart a little. She’d considered him a friend, once. “Alderaan welcomes you, Master Jedi,” she said, loud enough to carry. “We always welcome the wisdom and helping hand of the Order.” Then, more quietly: “It’s good to see you, Obi-Wan.”
He did not look as if he believed her. Even though his eyes were on her, she knew who he really watched.
She felt a brush of fingers on her shoulder. Maul stepped off the dais and walked— no. Sauntered. Every eye in the room was on him at that moment, and not just because he was a threat. Bare-handed, bare-chested, walking like nothing bothered him: he was beautiful, and he knew it. A seed of hope took root in Breha’s chest.
Maul crossed the room. He ostentatiously ignored Obi-Wan, walked up to Bail, and… oh. Breha quickly raised a hand to hide her grin. That was a very thorough welcome kiss.
Someone behind her giggled.
Maul walked back to the dais. Instead of returning to her side, he sprawled at her feet like a courtesan in a bad holonovella.
“Maul,” she chided, though her tone was too fond to do any good.
“I’m making my choice, my queen,” Maul said. His voice was light and tinged with laughter.
He leaned back against her legs. She felt him exhale: a surrender, and a victory.