Ruwee met her in the living room, and she reached out to brush the last of the sawdust from his clothes. She wrinkled her nose as a fine cloud filled the air, not because she didn’t like it, but because it always made her want to sneeze. Her husband leaned over and kissed her.
“Stop that,” she said.
“It’s a holiday!” he said. He had decided not to sulk about it, she guessed, and she appreciated that.
“You can celebrate later.” She held out his hat and steered him into the foyer after he took hold of it.
She sat down to fasten her shoes and made sure he was putting on something other than his gardening clogs.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“For our daughter to be Queen of Naboo?” he said.
He was quiet for a long moment, one hand resting on the door without opening it.
“You know, I think I am,” he said. “I wasn’t until right now, but she’s worked so hard and I respect that.”
“I wonder who she got her work ethic from,” Jobal said, rhetorically for the most part, but Ruwee never let anything slide.
“Are you saying it’s our fault?” he asked.
“We had her offworld working on aid missions when she was seven,” Jobal pointed out. “I just feel that might have contributed to her calling.”
“I suppose you’re right, my love,” he said.
He offered his arm, and she took it. Together, they stepped out into the courtyard and joined their neighbors on the way to the polls.
Sheev Palpatine read over the taxation bill for the last time. Officially, it was the first time he’d seen it, and so he took care to make it look like he was reading deeply into the document. The truth was that he was preoccupied with several other things and was only checking the bill to make sure none of the details he required had been left out.
He would vote against it, of course. The bill would be a disaster for Naboo and for several other Mid Rim systems. And this time, at least, the bill wouldn’t pass. He’d added enough matters of substance that the Trade Federation wouldn’t be able to swallow to ensure that their allies would vote it down. But it would be another step closer. And he had the next three bills written, in any case.
“Senator, it’s time,” said one of his aides.
Palpatine let them herd him toward the Senate chambers, nodding at all the right people as they crossed paths in the corridors on the way to their pods. His face was bland, politely interested in what was being said around him. It was not an uncommon expression in the Senate hallways, but Palpatine had perfected it a long time ago. Soon enough, he would step into the spotlight and his colleagues would see that blandness drop away, but that would also be an act. No one ever saw his true face, the pure anger that burned in him.
But they might, someday.
Padmé Naberrie had done the last thing she could. She had voted for herself when the candidates cast their ballots. She was sure each of them had, but for her, at least, it was the final step in proving to herself that she was ready. She trusted herself enough to be queen. The arrogance of it—thinking she was that much better than her fellows—rankled her a little bit, but Naboo had a failsafe in place for that.
She wouldn’t rule as Padmé if she won. No one would even know who Padmé was, if everything went to plan. She would bear the robes and responsibilities of Naboo’s crown, and she would give herself to that entirely, even to the extent of forsaking her own name for the duration of her reign. It was tradition, but it was a comfort, too—a reminder that her part was bigger than herself, that she would be acting in service, not selfishly for her own gain.
She hadn’t really understood it until that morning, when her ballot-chip slid into the box. She thought the anonymity was for her protection, and in a way it was, but it was also to protect someone else. And it was time. Her time.
Amidala.
The newly appointed Royal Guard gathered to hear the election results in the barracks. They came from all ranks and placements within the Security Forces and had been chosen to protect the new monarch, whoever she might be, because of their particular loyalty and dedication. Most of them knew each other already since the force wasn’t very large, but this was the first time they had ever all been assembled in the same place, and these were their last few moments to relax before their new task began.
Panaka did not relax.
Just down the hall, the candidates were waiting for the results as well. They had been sequestered since that morning, each given their own small room in which to spend the day reflecting, and soon it would be Panaka’s job to fetch the new queen. He knew which door he hoped to open, and was doing his best to pretend that he was still neutral, even though he was well past that point.
At last, the holonews switched over from the same prerecorded election filler they had been running for the past hour and showed Governor Bibble. The silver-bearded governor was dressed in his usual purple, with a wide-sleeved overtunic that followed his every gesticulation with considerable vigor. A hush fell over the guards as Bibble cleared his throat and began the announcements.
“Citizens of Naboo,” he began. Bibble always spoke as though performing for an audience, which made sense given his background in argumentative philosophy, and which he usually was, so it didn’t seem too pompous. “I am pleased to inform you that after a well-fought race on the part of everyone, you have elected Candidate Amidala as your queen.”
Bibble continued to speak as images of the candidate, now queen, flashed up, reminding anyone who might have forgotten about Amidala’s age and campaign goals, but the guards were no longer listening. Every face in the room swiveled to Panaka, whose tightly clenched fists were the only outward sign of his emotions.
“Ready yourselves for inspection,” he said, and then turned smartly on his heel to stride down the corridor to where the candidates were waiting.
It was traditional for the new queen to be greeted by her guard captain, a relic of Naboo’s past, when candidates couldn’t even be housed near one another or trust the legislature. Those days were long over, of course, but the Naboo encouraged remembrance over reenactment, and this was one of many steps taken to remind them how far they had come—and how far they had to go. She would meet Bibble as queen once she had inspected her personal guard.
Panaka paused for a moment outside Amidala’s door, aware that everything was about to change. No longer was he just a guard captain, any more than she was just a candidate. He had liked her well enough during the campaign, but now their names would be linked forever in Naboo’s history. It was worth taking a moment to reflect. Panaka waited a few moments longer while the election proctors readied themselves to tell the unsuccessful candidates, and then he opened the door.
“Your Highness,” he said, standing on the threshold. “The election is over. Your work has begun.”
Across the room, a slight figure rose to greet him. She was wearing a white dress that made her seem even younger than he knew she was, but he couldn’t for a moment doubt the conviction in her stance. On the campaign trail, she had always been heavily made up, her face painted with cosmetics that reminded people of the weight of her promises. Now her face was bare, but with her hair down, it still wasn’t easy to get a good look at her.
“Thank you, Captain,” she said. “I am ready.”
She gave nothing away, though Panaka imagined she must be at least a little bit nervous. He looked over his shoulder and saw the last of the proctors disappearing from the hall.
“If you will come with me?” he said, gesturing out of the room. The droid floated off. “Your security team is ready for their inspection. A formality, as you know, but it’s expected before Governor Bibble gets here to brief you officially.”
“Of course, Captain,” she said. Her voice was light and impersonal, but he was not offended. She barely knew him.
“Later we’ll talk about how to personalize your security,” Panaka said. “I have set up a few measures, but I didn’t
want to get too far ahead of you. It will take us a few days to get settled in, but I am very pleased with the team that has been assembled for you.”
She didn’t reply, but allowed him to lead her down the hall to where her guards were waiting. They stood in two lines and straightened to attention with no word from him as soon as he and the Queen came into the room. This was the Queen’s personal guard, comprising sixteen guards who would protect her on a four-person rotation. The other palace guards could then concern themselves with operations and coordinate with the Queen as necessary. Panaka had wanted more personnel but had been overruled.
The Queen looked each guard in the face as they were introduced to her, committing names to memory. It should have been difficult to think of her as powerful just then, surrounded by people who were all so much bigger than she was, but she might have been three meters tall for how she carried herself. Once she was fully done up in the royal wardrobe, she would be exceptional.
When they reached the end of the line, Panaka dismissed all the guards except for the three who were on duty with him. The governor was shown in shortly after that. The early meetings did not take place in the throne room, and Panaka split his focus between watching the Queen and watching everyone else watch her. Bibble spoke mostly of procedure and rules, not of policy and substance, so it wasn’t a particularly interesting conversation, but the Queen gave him her full attention.
“And that’s really all we can cover today, I believe,” Bibble wound up. It had been several hours, but the Queen showed no sign of exhaustion or boredom. “Unless you have any questions?”
“No, thank you, Governor Bibble,” Queen Amidala said. Her inflection made it clear that it was a dismissal, even though technically Bibble still outranked her. Panaka smiled. “Though I would appreciate it if you could arrange for someone to send me any relevant political documents. I can read them tonight and be prepared for tomorrow’s meetings.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Bibble said, getting to his feet. He nodded to an aide, who made a note. “I shall send you the files as soon as I have finished the rest of my duties for today. It’s a busy one for all of us.”
The Queen nodded graciously to him, and the governor and his aides retired. Amidala got to her feet. Only now, with just the guards for company, did her bearing change. She stretched and rolled her neck, shaking her head like she was trying to resettle all the information she’d just acquired.
The transfer of power wouldn’t happen for a few more days, and her first public appearances would follow shortly after. Despite the formal nature of the Queen’s role and the relative rigidity of the protocols surrounding her, Naboo elections were not overly publicized. Once the candidates were sequestered for the voting, they didn’t speak to the public until their full royal persona was ready.
“Captain?” she said, and the moment was over.
“Yes, Your Highness?” He came to stand in front of her.
“Would it be appropriate to discuss security over dinner?” she asked.
“There are supposed to be four of us on duty, Your Highness,” Panaka said. “That means no eating for us, but I can still talk to you while you eat.”
She sighed, but accepted the restriction. Panaka commed the kitchen and requested that a droid be sent up with dinner for one. Eventually, when they moved into the palace quarters, the Queen would be surrounded by people, but right now it was safer and easier to use droids.
“I’m not really used to eating by myself,” she admitted as she sat down at the table. “My father knew we were all busy, but he liked it when we were together at meals.”
She was being deliberately vague, he knew, even though he was aware of her real identity. Panaka took that as a good sign. Some monarchs had played fast and loose with the anonymity their role required of them, and it was always a headache for their guards when they did. He hadn’t been in the personal guard of the current queen, Sanandrassa, but he’d heard enough barracks gossip to know that her guards were looking forward to the day when she returned to having only one identity. It had always been something of a fight to separate her from her private persona. Panaka got the impression that his charge picked her battles much more carefully.
“That’s one of the things I was hoping to speak to you about, Your Highness,” Panaka said. If he felt awkward talking to her while she ate, he gave no indication.
“Oh?” she said, tearing her bread into small pieces.
“A queen traditionally has at least one handmaiden, as you know,” he said. “I wondered if you had given any thought to yours.”
“My sister has informed me she has no wish to serve in my government,” the Queen said. “Which didn’t surprise me at all. I have a few other friends I could request, I suppose, but I was very focused on the election. I didn’t let myself imagine the practicalities that could follow.”
“There’s a girl at the Theed Conservatory,” Panaka said. “She’s your age and a decent musician. She’s also very intelligent, and her instructors say she is levelheaded. I interviewed her a few weeks ago, just in case, and she seemed approachable.”
The Queen raised an eyebrow, but did him the courtesy of not asking if he’d interviewed handmaidens on behalf of the other candidates, too.
“More importantly,” he continued, “she bears a striking resemblance to you. If she was your handmaiden, and if she was interested, she could train as a bodyguard who would be closer to you than anyone else.”
The Queen chewed thoughtfully and then took a drink of water.
“Is there a need for so much security?” she asked.
Queen Sanandrassa had focused on Naboo politics to the extreme of ignoring the rest of the sector, which made the other planets uncomfortable. Having two single-term queens in a row made Panaka uncomfortable. There were wider implications, too. Naboo had been dedicated to the election for the past month, but reports about Mid-Rim trade disputes had still made it to the front of the news.
“I believe in being prepared, Your Highness,” Panaka said. “In an emergency, she could even switch places with you.”
“I don’t want to put another person in danger,” the Queen said.
Before Panaka could give the obvious answer, her expression shifted, and he changed his mind. It was good that he could already understand her so well.
“It’s unavoidable,” she said. “That is who I am now.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Panaka said. “We call it the burden of command, and nobody really likes it.”
She paused again, turning the matter over while he watched. He saw her accept his premise, and then her expression immediately clouded again as she found another fault.
“What good would having one body double do?” the Queen said.
“Well, people would think she was you,” Panaka explained. He thought they had cleared that.
“But if there are just two of us, and we switch, everyone will know,” the Queen pointed out. “And if ‘the Queen’ is suddenly alone, people might be suspicious.”
It hung there for a moment between them. Panaka was smart enough to realize that this was his first test. She had shown him up, and his response would influence how they interacted from this point forward. He swallowed his pride.
“That is a valid point, Your Highness,” he said. “Do you have a suggestion?”
“If there are more than two of us, it will be much harder to tell,” she said. “Not to mention, it will give you a way to ensure I have more than four guards on duty.”
Oh, she was good.
“I will see what I can do,” Panaka said. “It may take me a while to find suitable girls.”
“Thank you, Captain,” the Queen said. “I would like to meet the girl you’ve already spoken to as soon as possible, if you can make the arrangements.”
The Queen’s personal comm device, which she had placed on the table while she ate, chimed.
“That’s the governor,” she said, che cking it quickly. “I think that wil
l be all for tonight, Captain.”
“Your Highness,” he said. “The guards will be stationed outside your door for the night.”
The Queen took her plate and utensils to the droid that had delivered her dinner, then turned to go into the room where she would sleep the next few nights. Panaka moved to direct the guards into position.
“Oh,” she said. “Captain, before I start reading, is there a secure way to contact my parents?”
“Your personal comm is completely secure, Your Highness,” Panaka said. “It can be used to contact anyone on Naboo without a trace.”
“Good night, Captain,” the Queen said, and shut the door.
Panaka could tell the other guards were itching to gossip, but that would wait until they were off duty. He respected their job too much to let them cackle about it in the hallways. The others followed his example and stood quietly. They had only a bit of time before the new shift began, in any case.
Through the door, Panaka could hear the Queen speaking, presumably to her parents. Her voice was too low to make out any of the words, but he could hear the rise and fall of her tone as she spoke to them. She was a challenge to read. Most fourteen-year-olds, even the brilliant ones, showed some emotions when they spoke, but the Queen had hardly done that all afternoon. Even her response to her election had been cold.
The replacement guards showed up on schedule, and Panaka headed back to the rooms he shared with Mariek. He looked forward to sharing his impressions of their new monarch, and asking for his wife’s input after she had met her as well. About halfway home, he realized that while he had no idea what was going on in Amidala’s head, he hadn’t once, in the entire course of the afternoon, forgotten she was the Queen.
For the first time since Captain Panaka had opened the door to tell her the election results, Padmé let herself relax. It had been a long afternoon—the first of many, she was sure—and though she wasn’t exactly tired, she was tired of holding her face so still. She had decided early on in the campaign that she was going to present herself as the stoic, measured option. Her actions would be enough to show her compassion without having to write it all over her face. Though it got easier every day, such control did not yet come naturally to her, and sometimes she just wanted to smile.
Queen's Peril Page 2
