Star Wars: Dark Angel, Dangerous Games

"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.