The marble floor gleamed like water beneath their feet, the stone polished so smooth it mirrored the chandeliers burning above. Golden light fractured in crystal droplets, scattering across the dancers, catching in Bastila’s hair, reflecting in the embroidery of her gown, sparkling in the faint gleam of Aurelian’s crownless brow. The orchestra’s swell filled the chamber, strings rising and falling like a tide that carried them forward. Around them, the court kept its distance; not by command, but by the very instinct they were all bred to have. All the whispers coiled in their wake, but none dared intrude upon the orbit they cut through the hall.
Bastila moved with him almost against her will. At first, her steps were deliberate, the kind of precise grace expected of her training, more duty than surrender. Yet Aurelian’s hand at her back was sure, guiding but never forcing, and his lead carried a confidence that invited rather than compelled. In spite of herself, she matched it, and her body attuned to the rhythm before her mind could argue.
The dance became something alive. The music wound through her blood, the fabric of her gown swirled at every turn, and the murmur of nobles receded until it felt, for the span of a song, that the world had contracted to only this: the steps, the music, and the man who moved with her.
Then he spoke. And in a moment of uncharacteristic silence, she listened.
Aurelian’s voice slipped between the notes, pitched for her ears, and though she told herself to expect mischief, the words held none of the careless cruelty she braced for and Bastila found her gaze lifted to meet his, searching his amber eyes for the trick, for the sly curve of mockery. But what she found was rarer: conviction…He believed what he said. That she could have borne the crown. That she still might shape something greater than the margins she had accepted.
The thought unsettled her more than any taunt.
Her silence stretched across a long measure of the song, carried through a turn that spun her gown in a ripple of violet silk. She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself.
“You sound like you are attempting to make a companion out of me Aurelian,” she admitted at last, her voice low but even.
“You are right though. The Jedi is a chain. But it is only because I chose. My father ensured that my siblings were forbidden, yet I was permitted. That, surely, must mean something. That I must see it through. Otherwise… Why me at all?”
Her gaze flicked toward the nobles circling at the edge of the floor; taking in the glisten of their jewels, the sly wind of their whispering mouths, and their smiles too sharp to be sincere. She returned her eyes to him, violet and unflinching.
“It anchors me. Keeps me from being swept away by all this. Keeps me from being consumed by ambition. So yes; it is a chain. But perhaps a necessary one. If that makes it heavier than any crown. Well so be it.”
They swept beneath the chandeliers again, the crystals scattering fire across her face. Bastila’s hand shifted in his; not to resist, but to match his grip, steadier than before. For the first time that evening, her lips curved faintly, betraying a spark of warmth. She let herself feel the exhilaration of the dance, the rare freedom of body and will moving in harmony. It was a relief, almost, to be caught in something so vivid and alive, after months of shadows and restraints.
Yet his words lingered, burrowing deeper than she wanted to admit. Could she be more? Could she shape more? Were the Jedi truly the best path for her? Memories of Jakku would say otherwise.
The thought glimmered in the back of her mind, bright and dangerous, like a star glimpsed through stormclouds. She told herself it was impossible, that her path had been chosen, that the Jedi was the anchor keeping her steady. And yet…
…The music swelled, lifting them into another sweeping arc across the floor, and Bastila realized she was smiling still, her defiance intact but softened by something new. Something she had not expected to feel here, in his arms, in this court: the quiet, unsettling stir of ambition she thought she had buried.
She let the silence stretch, a delicate veil between them, before finally breaking it. Her voice was quiet, meant only for him, shaped with that same measured precision she carried into every battle, spoken or fought.
"You are not what they whisper you are," she said, eyes steady on his.
"Not just charm and danger and appetite. You see people, Aurelian. You see me. Few in this hall could claim the same." Her lips curved, faint and fleeting, but the sincerity in it was unmistakable.
"And for that… You have my respect. More than I thought I would." She gave a pause, her gaze holding his as the music carried them into another turn.
"I do truly look forward to your reign King Veruna."
