The next night, Leia walked into the Imperial Palace on Kier’s arm, wearing a white-and-silver gown that had fulfilled all 2V’s wildest dreams. Her hair had been braided into a tall coil atop her head, and jewelry sparked at her throat. Kier wore a dark blue suit of Alderaanian make, slightly out of step with the uniformed and stylish men around them yet, to her, far more handsome. When she heard the music, she longed to sweep Kier onto the dance floor—
No. She longed to long for that, to fulfill her mother’s command to dance while she could. Instead, the tumult inside her seemed to have intensified. Every time she looked at one of her friends, or at Kier, or at the happy throng celebrating with no idea of what was to come, a pang pierced her heart. The emotion that ached within her wasn’t fear. Instead she felt the intense sadness that came from recognizing the beauty of her reality while newly, sharply aware of how fragile it was. How quickly it would all vanish.
Will everyone be so carefree ten years from now? Five years? Five months? Leia couldn’t yet tell how fast it was slipping away, but the stability of the existence she’d known was already beginning to give. As dedicated as she was to fighting Palpatine—as willing as she was to pay whatever price that fight would demand—she still found it hard to accept the fragility of everything and everyone she loved.
“Are you all right?” Kier squeezed her hand, pressure that sent a small thrill through her, despite everything. “You seem—far from here.”
She blinked hard, forcing herself back into the moment. “I guess I am. Could you get me a glass of the glowwine? That should help.” Glowwine wasn’t intoxicating, exactly, but it sparked a rush of endorphins that could turn the dull into the delightful. Younger people on Coruscant and many other worlds drank it regularly; even some adults preferred it to true wine.
Kier’s lips brushed her cheek. “As you command, Your Highness.”
The way he said it—low and soft—did as much to distract her as the glowwine ever could. She let go of his arm with some reluctance, already missing his warmth by her side.
Someone else found her almost immediately. “Were you in awful trouble?” Amilyn Holdo asked in the monotone Leia no longer thought of as being so odd. “At least you could tell your parents what you were really doing. I had to pretend I honestly thought stowing away on a cargo vessel would be fun.”
“Did they believe you?”
Beaming, Amilyn nodded. “They know how I get about my enthusiasms.”
Leia imagined what toddler Amilyn must have been like and couldn’t suppress a smile. “No doubt.”
“Your dress is beautiful.” Holding out her arms in a pose, Amilyn said. “What do you think?”
It took most of Leia’s royal training to keep that smile on her face. Amilyn wore possibly the most Amilyn thing ever: a flowing caftan of a dress in a swirling, multicolored pattern that reminded Leia of the storms on gas giants. Tiny bells jingled at the ends of the wide bell sleeves, and metallic, sparkly fringe trimmed the hem and the high neck. Amilyn had even managed to dye her hair the same combination of colors as the dress, which made her look like a psychedelic blur broken only by her smiling face. Leia ventured, “It’s very bright. Very original and daring.”
“Leia.” Amilyn’s face took on an unaccustomed seriousness. “On Gatalenta, we honor kindness and courtesy, but we also honor honesty.”
True courtesy meant treating people the way they wished to be treated. “Well, then, I think the dress is too busy. I can see why you like it, but for this gathering, it’s a bit much.”
“I knew it.” When Amilyn slumped, she appeared even ganglier than usual—like a marionette when the puppeteer let go of the strings. “On Gatalenta, you get tired of everyone wearing the same scarlet cloaks, and everybody’s clothing is pale gray or white, and it’s supposed to be soothing and tranquil—I guess it is—but that’s just not who I am.”
“You’re expressing your individuality,” Leia said, and as she spoke she found that, somehow, she’d gotten to like most of Amilyn’s bizarre clothing. Maybe it was garish and strange, but the brilliant colors and constant variety reflected something of the person within.
“Exactly.” Amilyn picked forlornly at the fringed trim of her sleeve. “I want to be the precise opposite of Gatalenta.”
Leia shook her head. “Don’t do that. If you’re only trying to be the opposite of a thing, you’re still letting that thing define you.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
The insight was new to Leia, too, but she recognized the truth in it. “Dress how you really want to dress. Be who you want to be. Not whatever they are on Gatalenta, or whatever they aren’t.”
She brightened as Kier wove his way through the crowd back to them. He must’ve seen Amilyn standing by Leia’s side, because he returned with three glasses of glowwine and, somewhat clumsily, managed to give Amilyn the first one. “Good to see you.”
“You too, Kier.” Amilyn promptly gulped the glowwine down with abandon; maybe this was what happened when someone from Gatalenta let loose.
Now he could present Leia with her glass properly and clink his rim against hers, but then he took as deep a draught as Amilyn had. When Leia raised her eyebrows questioningly, he grinned. “The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can dance.”
“When you put it that way—” She lifted the glowwine to her lips and went for it.
Within minutes, her worries had vanished—as if the tension within her had been a balloon swelling tighter until it popped with a spray of glitter. Leia’s courtly training meant she could swirl around the dance floor without even thinking, her feet and arms naturally finding the steps. The other dancers moved around them with fluid grace, everyone finding the patterns as if they were shards of color in a kaleidoscope being turned on the beat.
Kier danced with nearly as much ease as she did. Twirling beneath his arm, she said, “You’re good at this.”
“I am now.” His hands found her waist at that exact moment, and she helped him lift and spin her, a dizzying whirl that exhilarated her. “After I spent most of the past month practicing with a Beedee droid.”
Leia laughed so loudly that a few heads turned around them. “You didn’t.”
“It was awful,” Kier confessed. “Nothing like this.”
The song drew to a close, and they finished the dance perfectly, with him pulling her to his side, arm around her waist. They’d been this close before—many times—but tonight everything felt sharper, realer, more urgent.
Dance now.
Probably this wasn’t exactly what her mother had meant, but—
“Let’s get out of here,” Leia said.
A slow smile spread across Kier’s face, even as he said, “Aren’t we supposed to stay?”
They were. They ought to be dancing with the other apprentice legislators and with the graduating academy cadets.
But to hell with “ought to.”
Leia pulled Kier closer and whispered, “I don’t care.”