Terminus Est

The hours that followed the initial escape were tense, and tedious in every sense of the word. Commissioning the assistance of a local pilot to help him off world was... difficult. There was some reticence revolving around the death of the Viceroy Apparent, and turmoil rising around an attack and endangerment of several persons of importance. He heard the words "mandatory lockdown" and "blockade" several times before he finally made the point clear.
"We fly, or you die." The use of force to get ones way was barbaric. It left a taste in his mouth that fouled even the notion of fine wine, and as they made rendezvous with the Agents of Chaos' ships just outside the system he dropped a handful of golden coins in the pilot's hands.
The man sighed, resigned. He could not return now, not after he'd aided in the escape of a fugitive from sovereign law. The King understood his predicament. But, he felt something else foremost. The man had been liberated from his former way of life, and now, he could seek something better and more fulfilling elsewhere.
Now, he was aboard a ship that received news of his arrival and requested his presence immediately. One

No justice would be served by playing into a lie. When liars win at their games, only despair follows for the righteous. He stepped from the bay of the large ship and into one of the hallways, where he was greeted by a Protocol Droid. "This way, please," it gestured as it hobbled down the metallic walkway ahead of him.
The King wondered as they walked whether this ship were present in the conflict at Ryloth, the location where all of the Confederate delegation lost their attention. He wondered how true the statements of terrorist activity were, or how much of a war actually broke out. What could he trust of what they said, after they threw their lot in with the man who betrayed the trust of the very people he swore to protect?
What had the Galaxy become while he slept, dreamless and without comfort?