Private Veruna Rising

[Aurelian Veruna]

From: Total Eclipse of the Heart | Objective 1​

The descent into Theed was as smooth and quiet as a royal funeral. The vessel touched down at the Senatorial Starport, that elegant little slab of marble and durasteel perched on the lake's edge. Normally, it was a place of celebration and pageantry, a golden runway for royal comings and goings. Today, it felt more like a morgue.

Inside, the delegation barely stirred. Their eyes sunken and clothes scorched, their bones hummed with aftershocks of smoke, violence, and betrayal. CorpSec had done their job, they'd salvaged what they could. But now they were home. And there were cameras waiting.

Aurelian sat slumped in the jumpseat, bandaged but still bleeding beneath the silk. His ribs ached, his hearing rang from the slug that had kissed past his ear. His coat was torn, his hair matted. And yet, when the ship's ramp hissed open and the warm Naboo air flooded in, he didn't flinch.

He sat up slowly, regally. And he smiled. "Showtime," his voice hoarse but smooth.

His personal guards moved first, stepping out into the flashes of light, the shouts of reporters, the thrum of droids hovering overhead with glowing lenses. A tight perimeter was already forming around the port: Royal Security, Republic attachés, and even some Assembly delegates had come to see what the hell had happened to their golden son.

Aurelian let one of his aides pull him to his feet. He barely breathed through the pain. Blood spotted his shirt, dirt clung to the hem of his overcoat. He looked like a man who had fought for his planet and lived. Let the people see it. He descended the ramp with that dangerous, lopsided smile. He moved with no limp, no cane, just pure defiance.

Reporters surged. "Senator Veruna, are the rumors true? Did the Bank of Nar Shaddaa attempt an assassination?"

"What happened to Senator Abrantes?"

"Is Naboo declaring war?"

He raised a single, bandaged hand. The crowd quieted. He didn't need a mic. His voice rang out clean, cutting through the air like crystal. "We went to Wielu to speak peace, but instead met crime lords, bounty hunters, and a Sith. I have never in my life met with such defiance, until today. Defiance for our Republic! Defiance for our way of life!"

A pause held the air. Eyes, recorders, and flashes were everywhere. "I bled for Naboo today. For the Republic. And I would do it again. Because we do not kneel to syndicates. We do not negotiate with war criminals. This had not been a negotiation. it was an invasion. It was their declaration!"

He stepped closer to the crowd. Every camera turned. His eyes, bloodshot and burning, never looked more regal.

"The Assembly will convene within the next few hours. And when they do, I will call for a State of Emergency. I will propose the formal recognition of Black Sun and the Sith Empire as an enemy of the Republic. I will propose war."

He let that hang in the air. War. Spoken like poetry. Then the smile again, bloody, tired, and defiant. "Long live Naboo. Long live the Republic."

He didn't wait for applause. He turned and walked into the building. The Assembly Halls of Naboo were as pristine as ever. The twin suns warmed the rotunda's marble with an almost smug kind of indifference, as if the galaxy hadn't just started hemorrhaging. Aurelian's office was a jewel box carved behind his designated pod, elegant and dark, decorated in stone and velvet, with a chaise longue beneath an arched stained-glass window. He collapsed onto it, breathing hard, one arm flung over his eyes.

A bottle of Corellian Reserve, a whisky older than he was, rested open on the nearby table. Half a glass already gone. He reached for the other half, downed it, and exhaled.

His aide, Tona, thin, sharp, and mercilessly efficient, stood beside the desk, datapad in hand, whispering with all the gentleness of an executioner.

"The State of Emergency bill is nearly finished, your grace. The clause for extrajudicial interdiction of Black Sun vessels will need to pass committee. I suggest inserting language around provisional mutual-defense articles under the Republic charter."

Aurelian waved a hand vaguely. "Make it sound legal."

The medics came in behind her, one scanned his vitals, another checking the wound along his ribs. He let them work. He was too tired to resist. But not too tired to think.

His body might have been shredded, but his mind raced forward, already planning the next move, the next image, the next speech, the next step. He had shown the public his blood. Now he would show the Assembly his spine.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

The first thing Sibylla noticed once they landed wasn't the dried blood.

It was the way Aurelian moved.

It was as if Aurelian Veruna had slipped into another skin entirely, the bruised man from the shuttle vanishing in favor of something grander, sharper, far more dangerous. She saw the exact moment he decided to wear his pain like a crown, every ounce of charisma and drive honing into a blade meant to slice through the Assembly floor and echo in Naboo's marble halls for decades.

He was a wreck. Dried blood clung near his ear like it belonged there, his coat hung in tattered folds, and every breath tightened his ribs. But none of it mattered. The holocameras didn't see weakness. They saw defiance. They saw a man who would bleed for Naboo and the Republic -- and stand taller for it.

Sibylla followed him down the ramp, one step behind, letting herself watch the performance unfold. The holocams hovered like carrion birds, feeding on every angle. The crowd rippled under his voice, smooth despite the hoarseness, unyielding despite the pain. He spoke of betrayal as if it were a personal wound to every citizen, as if it were a blaster or a lightsaber aimed at the heart of the Republic itself.

And the words caught fire. They leapt from him into the crowd, snapping toward every waiting holofeed, ready to be dissected before the suns set. Whether this would be a controlled burn or a wildfire, Sibylla didn't yet know...but she intended to find out.

Then the attention swung to her.

Flashes, shouts, and questions layered over one another until they blurred. The pain stim dulled the ache in her collarbone, but it didn't touch the pull of gravity in this moment. She straightened her spine and let her voice carry, steady and resolute, a Daughter of Naboo bleeding legacy in every syllable.

"I am well. And while the events on Wielu were grievous, our focus now must be on safeguarding the Wielu Council, our own Assembly, and above all, the citizens of Naboo and the Republic. Every measure taken will be deliberate and enacted for the defense of our people. That is our duty, and it will be done."

Aurelian was the strike. She would be the anchor. The people could see it, the force and the steadiness, two parts of the same vow.

As they'd agreed before, Sibylla would stand beside him, support him where needed. But that didn't mean following blindly. She needed to hear what was in his head... and he needed to listen to what was in hers.

Another Representative drew the attention, allowing Sibylla to step aside, the crush of questions fading as Cassian peeled away to give his after-action report. The Assembly was already calling for an emergency meeting. She was expected to be there, but instead of turning toward the direction of her own pod, she brushed past the approaching Deputy Ambassador, Corde.

"I'm alright," Sibylla said, briefly waving her hand up to dismiss before Corde could speak. "I just need a few minutes."

"Senator Sarn will want to know--"

"I know. I'll debrief him shortly. Have a change of clothing ready, and I'll head there in due time."

Corde's lips pressed into a thin line, but she inclined her head.

Each step would bring another dull ache along her collarbone, the bandage set there revealing its own singed and charred remnants of where the thermal slug had struck her. The mottled purple black bruise already spread up to curl around her neck and sternum, but despite that, her mind was sharp and clear. The Veruna guards blended with Assembly security as the archway to Aurelian's suite came into view.

"Lady Abrantes, you should seek medical--"

Her hand lifted, cutting off the words with the grace of someone used to being obeyed. "I've already been looked after."

The door hissed open. Shadows pooled beneath the stained-glass arch, velvet and stone wrapping the room in quiet opulence. And there he was. Not the man on the steps, defiant and untouchable, but the one beneath. Pale. Breathing unevenly. That fire banked to embers as he waved off his aide.

Her gaze found the scorched weave at his ribs, the one she'd insisted he wear for protection despite his laughing protests at her paranoia, and then at the angry wound beneath. In her mind, she returned back to what he had told her before. I bleed. You rebuild.

Her lips tightened.

"Ambassador Abrantes," Tona started, but Sibylla's eyes cut to her, the younger woman's seemingly composed expression belying the focused fire that sparked in her eyes and the surge of emotions and what-ifs had one thing gone terribly wrong.

"Leave us," Sibylla replied, quietly, her voice seemingly calm, but firm.

The room stilled.

"All of you, save the medical droid. I need to speak with Senator Veruna privately."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Tona's voice, as sharp and efficient as always, faded into the background as Aurelian's gaze fixed on the datapad in her hands. A new glint caught his eye: the unmistakable PGEM insignia. He leaned forward, wincing as his ribs protested.

"Priddy General Engineering and Manufacturing?" he murmured. A flicker of satisfaction, unbidden, touched his eyes. "Niki works fast."

"Faster than Republic procurement law will ever be comfortable with," Tona replied, a thin smirk playing on her lips. "It's a complete bid. They've included everything: personnel, armament specifications, manufacturing timelines. They could start increasing our defense within the month, if we move now."

That was all he needed to hear. In moments, he was dictating phrasing for an emergency bill, seamlessly integrating PGEM's proposal. He focused on key points: mutual defense, civilian protection, and boosting interdiction capacity.

They worked in tandem, Tona adjusting clauses while Aurelian shaped the narrative. Soon, the sound of measured footsteps approached. It wasn't Assembly staff. It wasn't security. He recognized the stride even before the door hissed open.

Sibylla.

Her voice was quiet, but it left no room for argument. "Leave us. All of you, except the medical droid. I need to speak with Senator Veruna privately."

Silence. Even Tona glanced at him for confirmation. He looked Sibylla over, truly taking her in: the bandaged collarbone, the spreading bruise that swirled like storm clouds toward her throat. A cold, unwelcome feeling coiled in his chest.

Then he gave the smallest of nods. The aides filed out. The door whispered shut. The room seemed to shrink.

For a moment, he simply watched her, his usual composure now burdened by a new, heavy concern. His breathing was uneven, the pain making his usual mask harder to maintain. Finally, he exhaled, the sound half sigh, half surrender.

"Droid," he said, without looking away from her, "see to Lady Abrantes' wounds."

He leaned back against the velvet cushions, his eyes fixed on her, seeking understanding. "Now, tell me, Sibylla, what could possibly be so important that you'd clear my office to say it?"

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

The moment the door closed, the memory of the Duchess hit her like an uninvited tide; the low hum of the engines, the sharp scent of smoke clinging to her hair, Aurelian's voice in the wake of Wielu's chaos. Words spoken in that narrow space between survival and collapse. She'd held onto them because they mattered. Because they shaped how she'd chosen to stand beside him.

But seeing him here, pale beneath the velvet's shadow, the weight of those hours crashed into her all over again. The shouts in that corridor. The sick, hollow drop in her chest when she thought he wouldn't get back up. The dead left behind. And then Cassian's voice afterward, her brother demanding that she promise she wouldn't try such a reckless thing again, and what that would have meant for everyone and and their House.

They stared at each other, the space between them thick with the aftereffects of Wielu. Her own cordial mask cracked under the weight of it, frustration leaking through like light under a door.

And then, as if to make her point for her, he told the medical droid to tend to her.

A sharp breath hissed from her lungs, her nostrils flaring.

"Aurelian, for Shiraya's sake, I am fine," she bit out, each word a clean, slicing edge. "You're the one who almost died out there."

When the droid pivoted toward her, she didn't even blink.

"As Lord Veruna's injuries are more severe, continue as you were." The droid's head swiveled in confusion, caught in a ridiculous back-and-forth that would've been comical if the air wasn't vibrating with tension.

Sibylla didn't wait for it to decide. She closed the distance, every line of her slim frame drawn tight with emotion.

"Value your own life more, Aurelian!" The words tumbled out, raw and too loud in the velvet room.

"Do you have any idea how close you were to being killed? If you hadn't humored me and worn --" Her words tangled, and she raked a hand through her hair, the dark waves falling loose from where the engine wash had ripped her hairnet away.

She paced once, twice, her collarbone throbbed with every turn, but she let the pain feed her, the way he always did with his own wounds.

"You talk about our plan, but you keep testing it against your own survival. This plan -- " she spun back to face him, eyes lit with that sharp, relentless spark " -- means nothing if you're dead."

Another step brought her close enough to see the edge of his breath, the flicker of his uneven breathing due to the pain in his ribs.

"I chose this, to stand beside you, because of one thing. Because it was you." Her lashes dipped once, a rapid blink to hold back the emotion pressing hot against her ribs. She had to breathe, had to keep her focus where it belonged.

"I am not some idealized symbol for you to hang your perfect vision of Naboo upon," she said, quieter now, but with a steel that didn't bend. "And I do not want to be treated as such."

Her eyes snapped back up at his, hazel gaze latching onto his own, for once dropping the mask of a perfectly composed Daughter of Abrantes and instead that of Sibylla herself.

"See me instead for who I am...someone who will fight for you, not just beside you."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian rolled his eyes so hard it pulled a sharp jab from his ribs.

Shiraya, she was infuriating. Standing there, collarbone strapped and bruised to the bone, she barked at the droid to ignore her own injuries and fuss over his. He wanted to call her a walking contradiction, utterly impossible, but the words snagged in his throat as she continued speaking.

Something in her voice, so raw and unguarded, pierced the armor he wore so well. His smirk died, his eyes narrowing with a quiet, heavy emotion instead of his usual calculation.

"You're so damned frustrating," he muttered, but there was no heat in it, only a thin edge of something else. He listened. The more she spoke, the less room there was for his usual masks.

When she finished, meeting his gaze with that unflinching hazel stripped of all daughter-of-Abrantes perfection, he exhaled slowly. For a moment, he didn't know whether to laugh or shout.

"I value my life," he said finally, his voice low and devoid of its usual velvet and charm. "But for some reason, Sibylla, I value yours more."

He shifted forward, ignoring the droid's hiss of protest and the sharp flare in his abdomen. "You think I don't know how close I was to dying? I know exactly how close. I could feel the edge of it." His eyes hardened. "Do you know what I was thinking about? Not Naboo, or the Republic, or even this precious plan of ours."

He braced a hand against the couch, pushing himself to his feet with a half-snarl of pain. "All I could think was how I'd let you down. How you'd be next. And I..." He cut himself off, chest heaving, the admission too big to shove through all at once.

Her brows furrowed, her mouth set to argue, and it broke something in him. His voice rose, shifting the conversation away, trying to build that mask up again. "This plan means nothing if you're dead!"

The shout cracked in the still air, startling even the droid.

"You think I'm the linchpin here? I'm merely a pawn, Sibylla, a placeholder the Assembly tolerates because someone has to take the blade, someone has to ignite the fuse and set the course. Naboo doesn't need me to carry the flame forward."

His voice shook, trembling with the sheer force of him holding himself together. "It needs you. You're the one who can make them believe in what comes after."

He saw her open her mouth to possibly bite back, but he pushed on, the words like sparks off steel.

"And don't talk to me about your 'idealized version' of Naboo." He stepped toward her, pain lancing through his ribs with every movement, but he didn't care. "I see you. Not the symbol, not the perfect daughter. I see you. The one who fights in the corridors, who won't back down, who'd rather take a hit herself than watch someone else fall."

He stopped in front of her, so close that the tension between them hummed like a live wire. His voice dropped, fierce and final.

"I won't lose you."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. For a moment it felt like the whole of Theed had stilled outside that door, waiting to see which one of them would break first.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

He was so utterly maddening.

Sibylla's breath caught in sharp alarm when Aurelian pushed himself upright, the pain flashing across his face like a warning flare. It was sheer, infuriating idiocy for him to be standing at all in his condition and yet, there he was.

Her first instinct was to tell him to sit the hell down before he tore something worse. But whatever protest she was about to make died in her throat when she met his gaze, watching the hardened slits of his amber eyes bore into hers with what he uttered next, leaving her roote din place. His voice was rougher, stripped bare of that usual polish, cast in that half snarl of pain that only laced her with concern. But before she could interject, his sudden, punctuated shout cut through the air, throwing back her own words she cast at him earlier with the force of a blaster bolt.

"This plan means nothing if you're dead!"

The sound cracked through the room, startling her, heat rushing to her cheeks as confusion tangled with the sting of being caught off guard. Yet before she could even interject, Aurelian was doing it again, carving and seemingly demeaning himself to be a fiery punctuation mark of change in history. It only frustrated her more. How he saw himself in such little light. Always ready to bleed, always ready to take the lightning strike for everyone else like his life was just… expendable.

And then, as if he hadn't already knocked her off balance, he reiterated again that Naboo needed her to make people believe in what came after. Always that. Always the symbol. Cassian saw her that way. Her House and family. Half the Assembly. She was so tired of being the banner everyone wanted to wave.

Sibylla's lips pursed into a thin line, irritation coiling tight in her chest, her mouth was already shaping a retort when he moved. Aurelian came at her with deliberate, pain driven steps, closing the space with punctuated words. She froze, her pulse tripping over itself as amber lit in his eyes, and for the first time, she realized he wasn't speaking to the politician or the noblewoman.

I see you.

Three words. But they cut through everything.

Not the symbol. Not the perfect daughter. You.

And then - -

"I won't lose you."

It hit her like a drop into freefall. Speechless, Sibylla stared up at him, taking in the fire in his eyes, the tousled matted hair that framed the sheen of sweat and cake of dried blood on his face, to the stubborn way he stayed on his feet when any sane man would have sat. It was almost as if he was daring her to contradict him.

It confused her, Shiraya, it confused her, in a way that rattled the ground under her boots. After Wielu. After Cassian. After Lysander. It was too much, too fast, emotions the teenager never learned how to carry all piling up until her hands trembled and her breath shook.

And that was the problem. Truths like that left marks. They settled deep, in places she'd fought hard to keep locked, and Sibylla hated that they found their mark. Because once words like that took root, they grew into things you couldn't control; things that made her vulnerable, that hurt. They left scars, carved by words and silence, thrusting her into memories that only evoked a painful longing for the closest person she had allowed inside, only to lose.

Sibylla's throat worked, but no words came. She had spent months trying to read Aurelian through the masks, and now she wasn't sure she was ready for how much she could see beneath them.

Tense seconds ticked by and her chest rose and fell as she forced air into her lungs. At a loss, she fell to her default, grasping at her composure like it was the only thing she could hold on to.

"Then let's ensure we don't lose each other," Sibylla said finally, her voice quieter, but telling as she did her best to appear steadier than she felt. "Prepare so this will not happen again. Contingencies."

It was safer to steer it back to strategy. Strategy she could handle. This… whatever this was, she wasn't sure.

Sibylla bit her lower lip, blinking rapidly as her mind raced, only to take another deep breath, inhaling the scent of lavender and citrus edged with the tang of blood, blastersmoke, and sweat. Her eyes fell to the burnt, raw wound at his side, and once again, her expression softened into one of concern. She reached out to him, intending to help him sit back down.

"And please, stop acting like you're disposable," she finally uttered, her voice vibrating with an intensity that came from somewhere deeper than frustration.

"Because you are more than just a pawn, Aurelian. I see that. I wish you would too."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian's jaw flexed, a muscle ticking in irritation as her words settled between them. She could be so infuriating. She stood there with bruises blooming across her collarbone, speaking to him as if he didn't understand what had just happened, like he was just a child.

But no matter how much he wanted to argue, the echo of Wielu clung to him like smoke. The memory wouldn't leave him: her figure disappearing into the chaos, the icy clutch in his gut when he thought she wouldn't make it back. That moment had carved itself into him, deep and jagged. Now, with her standing in front of him, alive but battered, the feeling twisted tighter.

It had to be the pheromones lingering from that cursed Zeltron. But no, that was too easy an excuse, and he didn't believe it even as the thought formed.

His gaze moved over her: sharp hazel eyes alight with stubborn fire, the loose waves of her hair slipping from their pins, the defiant tilt of her chin. The curve of her lips were set in that stubborn line that made him want to both argue and taste the words she held back.

For a heartbeat, he let his eyes dip to her mouth, the air between them charged enough to spark. His breath hitched, the pull toward her as unwelcome as it was undeniable. And then she did it. She shifted the conversation, bringing it back to contingencies and strategy. The distance between them widened without either of them moving.

He felt a stutter catch in his throat, a thing that never happened to him. Not in the Assembly, nor in backrooms, not even with a lightsaber hilt at his ribs. Yet he did now, just barely, and the faint slip was almost worse than the disappointment that followed.

The mask slid back into place with practiced ease, smoothing over the rough edges in his tone. "Yes. Fine. We'll prepare every contingency," he said, his voice cooling, every syllable neat and precise. "I'll value my life. And yours. And everyone else's. And so on."

He eased back onto the couch, his movements slow, careful. The cushions gave beneath him, and for a moment, the present slipped away. Stone walls, cold, damp, and reeking of mildew, surrounded him. The iron bars of the cell gleamed faintly in the torchlight.

On the other side sat his father, hair matted, clothes once fine now torn and stained. Remus Veruna was reduced to a shadow of himself, pacing the same two worn steps until he stopped to lean in close. His voice was hoarse, the smell of stale wine heavy on his breath.

"Worthless," the old man rasped. "A waste of an heir. You'll die as nothing, Aurelian. A pawn to be swept off the board when it suits them."

He remembered gripping the cold bars so hard it hurt, swallowing the urge to shout back. His father's eyes had been glassy, half-lost to whatever madness the dungeon bred. But those words had lodged themselves deep, where no amount of charm or cunning could quite dislodge them.

The cell dissolved. The couch returned beneath him, the velvet warm under his palms. Aurelian's lips curved just faintly, the barest shadow of a smile. "You're right," he said, tone unreadable. "I'm not a pawn." His gaze had gone distant, though, the amber of his eyes muted, a thin glaze dulling their usual fire.

"Do you need anything else, Sibylla?" he asked, watching her with that same distant look. "There's much to prepare for." The formality in the words didn't quite match the current that still lingered from moments before, but it was all he offered.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna

​

Sibylla wasn't sure what unsettled her more: the intensity of Aurelian's words, or the moment just before she'd changed the subject, when his gaze had moved over her with deliberate weight, one that hadn't been one of calculated amusement, theatrical edge, or maddening charm.

His eyes had lingered on her face in that sharp and assessing way of his, yes, but softer at the edges, the way heat distorts air, and then they dipped. It was so quick she might have imagined it. Maybe she had. She'd spent enough time around Aurelian Veruna to know he wielded his attention like a scapel for his machinations.

Either way, it left her uncertain, caught somewhere between confusion, frustration, and a pulse she couldn't quite steady.

Now, he stood there, the mask sliding back into place with such practiced ease that the slip from moments before made it seem as if she'd imagined it. He had once again donned that maddening, neat precision he wrapped around himself when he wanted to keep others out.

It shouldn't have stung. Shiraya knew she'd been the one to steer them back to strategy instead of whatever she felt in tension cracking between them. But there was a difference between choosing distance and seeing him build the wall himself.

Her fingers curled loosely at her sides.

"Yes," Sibylla replied after a moment, the word softer than she intended. Right. The Emergency Session. What came next, and how she could leverage who she knew or layer her own moves to complement him. She moved with him until he sank back into the couch.

"What's your plan for the Assembly meeting?" Her voice did its best to stay level even as the muted amber in his eyes made her wonder where his mind had gone. It wasn't just that. It was the way his voice had gone distant earlier, the drag in his movements, the flicker she'd almost missed when he'd said I'm not a pawn.

Her brows pulled together, but she let it pass. If she pressed, he'd only draw the mask tighter.

"And how can I support you?" They had to plan this right. What came next would change the path of the Republic. It would be a line of demarcation. Hazel eyes caught on the damage along his ear, fresh concern pushing forward through the haze of everything else. Her hand rose as if to check the damage, fingers moving to carefully land along the line of his jaw to try and tilt his head to inspect it, bringing with it the scent of water lilies, blaster fire, and the tang of blood.

She swallowed hard. They had been lucky. Others had not. Senator Tephrin of Kalinda was murdered on stage by snipers as he was about to give his speech on Sepan Eight. There were reports on coordinated attacks by the Rip resistance, and the new Republic Embassy was attacked at the same time they were on Wielu.

This was more than just a coincidence. It had been a trap.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian leaned back into the couch, exhaling slowly through his nose, grounding himself before he spoke.

"I plan to do what I do best," he said, voice low and deliberate. "Shock and awe. Give the Assembly exactly what makes them move the quickest: panic and pressure. The moment they feel the walls closing in, they'll start clawing for action, and that's when we'll drive the motion through." His gaze sharpened, locking on hers.

"You can support me by having Sarn keep the conversation anchored. When the corporate interests start their endless babbling over numbers, trade clauses, and committee jurisdiction, I want him cutting through it, dragging the focus back to what truly matters: our survival."

He paused, a faint smirk touching his lips, knowing what was coming next. "And you," he tilted his head slightly, "could be of real use by reassuring Senator Vexx." His tone made it sound simple, but he knew she'd bristle. "She won't like the company I'll be putting forward to supply us with a fleet and equipment. But this Republic needs Naboo-based manufacturing. We need something we can control, something no one can pull out from under us when the credits dry up. I already have a bid from Priddy General Engineering and Manufacturing. They're ready to move."

He let the words hang for a beat. "Dominique will hate that I'm dismissing Denon. She'll make noise. I'll have to find something else to keep her entertained, possibly a contract for her CorpSec to train our army. Give her a bone worth chewing while we take the meat." His eyes narrowed faintly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I just hope," he said, almost to himself, "that for once the Assembly puts their egos and bank accounts away long enough to see what's best for the Republic."

He talked on, rambling really. Words spilled forth, each topic an anchor to keep his mind from circling the biggest distraction in the room: her. He spoke of fleet projections, vote counts, choke points in supply, and war game simulations, all while telling himself he was firmly in control.

And then she moved. Her hand rose, fingers brushing along the sharp line of his jaw, tilting his head so she could see the damage along his ear. The contact made his thoughts stop dead. They didn't slow or falter, they simply stopped. He didn't breathe at first, his eyes shifting just enough to avoid hers. He could feel the heat of her so close, the faint scent of her hair cutting through the copper tang of his own blood.

He hated how easily she could disarm him. He hated the quiet, yielding part of himself that let her do this, the vulnerability of sitting here, letting someone see him stripped of performance and control. And yet he didn't move away. Everyone else either turned from him or tried to match him blow for blow. She did neither. She cut straight through his defenses as if they were made of paper, leaving nothing but what was underneath.

Aurelian closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a breath through his teeth, before he caught her hand. His fingers wrapped around hers firmly, not harshly, and then he turned his head just enough to meet her gaze. Amber eyes met hazel, and for a moment, neither moved.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice quieter but edged with something taut. "You can't come in here, demand everyone leave, demand that I see you for who you really are... and I do, Sibylla, I truly do. And strip every wall I put up bare, demand professionalism, and then," his eyes flicked down, just for a heartbeat, before locking back on hers, "toy with me like this."

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

Sibylla absorbed his instructions carefully. She would have to press Senator Sarn, impressing upon him the importance of cutting through the corporate fog and keeping the Assembly fixed on survival.

She could intercept Dominique, join her Assembly Pod before the start of the session, inquire where she stood, what her priorities were, and how to complement a proposal that would be mutually beneficial not only for Denon but also for ensuring Aurelian's course was supported by her. It was a delicate balance, but Sibylla understood the part she was expected to play.

Yet she should have known things were never so simple.

The moment Aurelian's fingers closed around hers, Sibylla blinked at him, her mind scrambling to decide what game they were even playing now. And while her fingers shifted slightly under his, she didn't pull away, not when she'd seen the damage and extent of the blood caking along his ear. Had his head been mere millimeters to the left...that Tenloss slug would have gone through his head.

So when he levied her such a question on what she was doing, she couldn’t help the vexation thrum through her.

Really? Her nerves were already shot in the traumatic wake of everything, and he was asking that? As if she hadn't made it clear she'd been concerned about his injuries. That she'd wanted to make sure he was okay. He'd almost been killed in front of her eyes. House Veruna soldiers shot in front of her, their lives lost along with the CorpSec officers that had come to save them, leaving a literal pools of blood and dead bodies in their wake.

A fine trembling shook her again, the mere thought alone prompting the flash of the ghastly memory to race through her mind. The snap-hiss of the saber, how her stomach sank, the crushing waves of grief from Mauve, and Sibylla’s desperation to try and protect Aurelian from further injury.

"You really can be so maddening at times." Her jaw flexed, a cocktail of emotions sparking in her eyes again to the point that they began to sting.

Blast it.

"Toy with you?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, her tone caught between incredulity and frustration. "Shiraya's sake, Aurelian, when have I ever toyed with you?"

The delicate arch of her brows furrowed, that mask of pleasant attentiveness breaking apart once more as her face flushed in dismay.

"If anything, you're the one who is incessant in toying with me, breaching propriety whenever it pleases you just to provoke or test me." By now, in the wake of everything, her filter and her patience were failing, the young woman more apt to spout out what came to mind.

I bleed. You rebuild. Those words once again rose to frustrate her. A faint breath escaped her, half exasperation, half something she could not name.

"I was checking the extent of your injuries because I care. About your life. About you." The words left her before she could second guess them, and once spoken, they hung between them heavier than she intended. She meant them, of course, she did, but the slip he had made earlier lingered in her mind, muddying the clarity of what she felt. She had thought, by now, they might be something more than mere allies. A friendship at the very least, to justify the worry that knotted in her chest when his life was put at risk. Especially when he insisted on seeing himself as nothing more than a tool for change for the Republic. He was more than that.

At least, he was to the version of Aurelian she thought she knew.

And that was the trouble. She was still figuring him out, constantly trying to decide which parts of him were genuine and which were expertly crafted masks and sometimes she wasn't certain if she wanted the answer.

"If I ordered everyone out," she continued, her voice attempting, but failing to be steady, a frustrated tremble taking over her, "it was because I needed to see you. Alone. Without the pointed eyes and ears of others listening in as we speak. "

Her gaze held his without flinching, her hand still in his, even as the silence between them thickened. "If such concern offends you, then tell me…what would you have me do instead?"

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian pushed himself upright from the couch, his breath escaping in a sharp grunt as pain lanced through his side. The room swayed for a moment, but he forced himself to rise, clutching at her arm to steady himself. His grip was firm, a touch heavier than he meant it to be, as though he needed the anchor she offered against the pull of his own faltering body.

"You are toying with me," he said again, low and insistent, needing her to admit it. His jaw tightened, eyes cutting over her face, searching for a tell. "Don't think I don't know what I do to you. I toy with you constantly. I admit it. I like to provoke you, pulling you out of that neat little bubble of duty you hide inside." His mouth curved, not quite a smile, but something sharper and more frayed. "I like it. I like seeing the fire in your eyes when you're furious. I like the way your face flushes when I push too far. I enjoy every flicker of it because it's real, in a world full of people who smile with knives behind their teeth."

He leaned heavier on her arm as he shifted closer, his breath brushing against her cheek.

"But don't stand there and tell me you don't do the same." His voice dropped, steadier now, carrying steel. "You can't order out the only people I trust with my work in the galaxy, dismiss them as pawns, and then look at me like that. With care. Saying you needed to see me alone." His lips curled into something bitter, almost self-mocking. "No one looks at me like that, or ever has. And if this is pity," his words caught, his gaze cutting away for a heartbeat before snapping back to her, "then shame on me for wanting to believe it was anything else."

He drew closer still, eyes locked on hers, refusing to release. "Don't lie to me, Sibylla. Don't pretend you don't feel the charge in this room. I can see it, and I know you feel it too. You look at me a certain way, but the moment I try to meet that connection, you retreat to professionalism. Yet, you still put your hands on me, tilting my head, inspecting me, sparking something you pretend you don't want. That is toying with me."

His hand slid down her arm slowly, deliberately, until his fingers brushed against hers, not quite taking her hand but lingering there. His voice softened, though the edge remained. "Maybe I'm a fool where you're concerned. Maybe I need to get a better grip on my mask before you cut straight through it again. But don't stand there and tell me this is one-way."

For a long moment, silence pressed heavy between them, thick enough that even the hum of the city outside seemed distant. His gaze flicked over her face: the fire in her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the curve of her mouth.

"If this is just politics," he murmured, quieter now, almost weary, "if all we are is allies who bicker and build our plans, then let's call it that. Let's put the walls back up, neat and unshakable, and never speak of it again."

But his hand still lingered near hers, and his eyes refused to look away. "Tell me i'm a fool."

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

Sibylla gave a grimace in pain, as her chest tightened against the pull of her bandaged collarbone, breath shallow as she adjusted under Aurelian's weight. The heady tang of blood clung to him, thick and inescapable.

"For Shiraya's sake, Aurelian, stop acting so recklessly!" she burst out, exasperation fraying her voice as he swayed against her, the waves of her hair floating about them in the act, a single jeweled hairpin slipping to the floor. His grip was heavier than she expected, but it was his words that cut deeper, unraveling the fragile balance she fought to hold.

Her heart pounded, tangled in the storm of everything clawing at her: Lysander's distance, Aurelian's accusations, Cassian's overbearing care, the attempts on her life, the endless demands of her House, and the Assembly. Every name, every expectation pressed down until she felt less a person than a vessel, a banner to be wielded, never simply allowed to be.

And now this, all of his accusations, his insistence that she toyed with him, that she turned his people into pawns. That she pitied him?! It was too much. All she had wanted was a moment of stillness, alone with him, without eyes and whispers, without the endless weight of others deciding who she was supposed to be.

Just a moment to breathe before they went out there to convince a Republic to go to war. Before having to don her perfect composure again.

Sibylla's nostrils flared, and her lips parted, but the words faltered before they even formed. Then her voice came raw, unsteady, the words spilling faster than she ever meant them to.

"Do you truly believe I have the strength for games after everything? I almost died today, Aurelian. You almost died. I watched other people die. I can still hear it, still feel it, and I am stretched so thin I can hardly breathe. And you..." Her hazel eyes flashed fire,"...you take every attempt I make to see you as more than your damn reputation and twist it into cruelty."

Her throat burned. The words scraped raw, dragged out by something she could no longer hold back. How could he dare say she dismissed his staff as pawns? That she pitied him?!

"You think I enjoy this? That I'm playing some clever game while everything I care about burns around me?" Her voice came too sharp, cracking, but once she started, she couldn't stop.

"I don't even know what I want anymore, Aurelian. I don't know if I want this because it's mine, or because it's what everyone expects of me. I don't even know if I'm standing here as myself...or just the daughter of House Abrantes." Her chin lifted, thoughts racing too fast, chasing each other until they knotted. Did she even want the crown, or had it been forced into her hands since childhood? Was she only saying the words she thought her father would, her mother would, the Assembly would? The more she tried to answer herself, the more hollow she felt.

Was she sacrificing her life and love for duty? Those she cared about? And if so, how cruel had that been to Lysander? She had made him wait in silence, retreating into herself, keeping her distance. Only then, at the edge of losing him, had she admitted what she felt. And now... now all of it was...

Heartache crushed her. She drew a breath, eyes shut, then snapped them back to Aurelian, to the man who pushed and prodded for sport, just to see her flinch. Just to see her bleed. The tension was there, but not what he claimed. How did one answer a man who wore the playboy mask so tightly you could never tell if he meant a word of it?

Lysander had never made her doubt. He told her what he felt. Made it plain. He never made her search for it like a fool, never forced her to guess if he meant it. And when she opened herself to that, when she finally let him in, where did that leave her now?

With only that little bubble of duty of defense to hold the ache at bay.

"I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I can't do this anymore." She began to shake her head from side to side, as if already drawing herself emotionally back from the conversation as if it was her only defensive measure left. Her breath hitched, her jaw trembling, eyes blinking rapidly at their sting as she cursed herself internally for letting Aurelian get her to this point.

I hope you are entertained.

"Fine. I retreat. I retreat because I don't know what's left if I stop. I don't know who I am when I'm not doing what's expected. So if you want neat walls, then fine...let's build them." The words faltered, a whisper slipping through clenched teeth as she mentally slammed those walls shut.

"At least I know where I stand behind them."

And for the first time, she felt it, the sickening thought that maybe she would rather be caged behind those walls than face the terrifying emptiness of not knowing who she was without them.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian's head bowed, the sharp words she'd flung at him still cutting deep. For once, he had no quick reply, no crooked smile to deflect the blow. Her exhaustion, her trembling jaw, that crack in her voice... None of it was a game. This wasn't the kind of sparring he secretly craved from her. This was her laid bare.

And it was his fault.

He wanted to curse himself, spit at his own reflection for being exactly what they all thought: a mask of charm and arrogance, a playboy prince with knives tucked behind every smile. He knew how to pull people close, but never how to let them stay. He was always pushing and testing, prodding until the people he wanted closest either left or broke. It was easier that way. If they left first, he didn't have to reckon with the mess of himself they'd inevitably find beneath the performance.

But Sibylla wasn't leaving. She was breaking right in front of him. And he was the one breaking her.

He swayed, his grip on her tightening. Not to steady himself this time, but to ground him in what little certainty he had left. "Sibylla…" His voice came rough, hoarse, almost unfamiliar in his own ears. He hated how weak it sounded.

Before he could think better of it, he pulled her into him. The movement was clumsy, his body aching, but his arms closed around her nonetheless, drawing her against his bloodied frame. He held her as though holding her was the only thing keeping him upright. His breath shuddered into her hair, his lips near her temple as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

The words tasted foreign, jagged. He never said them to anyone. But they spilled now.

His forehead touched hers, his voice fracturing as he breathed, "I've pushed you too far. Shiraya forgive me, Sibylla, I hate myself for it."

He held her there for a long beat, and then, with a painful exhale, eased his grip, guiding her gently back to the couch. His hand lingered at her arm until she sat, as though afraid she'd collapse without it. Then, limping heavily, he crossed the room to his desk, each step a grimace, each breath another reminder of the blood still drying on his skin.

He poured whisky with shaking hands, one glass, then another, before limping back and pressing one into hers. He sat beside her, shoulders slumping, no longer the dangerous prince who entered every room with fire in his eyes, but a man stripped down to raw edges.

"I'm sorry for who I am," he said finally, voice low. His thumb traced the rim of his glass as if the act kept him from unraveling further. "I never meant to push you here. Not to this breaking point. That was never the game, never the point."

He turned his head slightly, amber eyes catching the dim light, holding hers. There was no smirk now, no shield. Just weariness and regret carved deep into him. "It's been a long day. Too long. Everyone's at their wits' end. You, me. All of us. I shouldn't have made you bleed like this. Not you."

He raised his glass faintly in her direction, a wordless olive branch. His voice cracked low when he added, "Let's forget this ever happened. It was probably just the pheromones at work still."

Then he drank deep, shoulders hunched, as though bracing for her answer.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

For a long moment, Sibylla only stared at the glass in her hands, the whiskey's amber surface catching the lamplight. She could still feel the echo of his arms around her, his whispered apology brushing her temple, the warm press of his forehead against hers. The air between them felt fragile, strung too tight, as though a single word might shatter it.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Sibylla raised the glass. The first swallow hit like fire, searing down her throat until she coughed, nearly choking on its strength. A grimace twisted her features as she sucked in a sharp breath, chest heaving against the ache of her bandaged collarbone.

"You like this?" She rasped out hoarsely as she turned toward him, eyes watering, her nose wrinkling as if she couldn't quite believe anyone would.

"Never mind." she muttered out under her breath as she drank again, smaller sips this time, but she didn't stop. The burn steadied her in a way composure never could. Each swallow anchored her, gave her something tangible against the chaos clawing inside.

I'm sorry for who I am.

She had never heard him like this before. Not with the sharp edges of arrogance sanded down, not behind a smirk or some gilded mask of mischief. Just a man bleeding before her, stripped down to marrow and regret.

Her jaw tightened as she looked at him again, really looked at him. The slump of his shoulders, the lines carved deep by exhaustion, the blood drying across his skin. Not the prince. Not the mask. Just him.

And it terrified her how much, despite all of it, she still felt the pull, the thread of wanting to reach across the space between them, to take his shaking hand and remind them both that neither had to stand alone.

But she didn't. Not when things were already so confusing and overwhelming. Her mind all over the place and not even certain where she stood. Not when he told her to forget it ever happened. Pheromones, he'd said.

Sibylla let out a short, worn exhale of weary amusement. She knew she was sensitive to them, yes, but it still vexed her how easily he could reduce everything into some chemical trick of the air. As if his pushing and his testing that confounded her could be waved away as nothing more.

And yet she was too tired to argue. He was right about one thing, they were both at their wits end.

She swallowed hard, steadied her breath then gave a nod. Forget it, then.

"Alright."

The glass lifted again. Another sip, another grimace as the alcohol burned her tongue but spread warmth through her chest. Another breath and then she continued.

"I don't need apologies for who you are, Aurelian," she murmured at last with a sigh. "I know your charm is just as much a mask as my composure." She cradled the lowball between her palms, then tipped her head back against the couch, closing her eyes in a long, steadying breath. She needed a minute. Just a minute. Just to piece herself back together.

Then she added quietly.

"Nor do I care if you're perfect. I only care if you're real with me. Because out there, I'm already drowning in pretense. Don't make me drown here too."

She let that settle for a moment before her eyes opened again, hazel finding amber across the low light. A long silence hung there, filled only with the soft ringing in her ear and the weight of it all bearing upon them.

"But thank you," she said finally, voice faint but sure. "For the apology."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian watched Sibylla struggle with the whiskey. Her nose wrinkled, her throat worked against the burn, until a low chuckle tore out of him. It was half-rasped from the day's pain, but still genuine. His smile tilted, the dangerous edge softened for once into something warmer, gentler.

"You'll find what you like eventually," he murmured, leaning back against the couch with his own glass balanced in his hand. "Whiskey just might not be it." He lifted his glass, letting the amber liquid catch the lamplight, then took a measured swallow that seemed to go down smoother than it had any right to. His lips curved faintly as he lowered it. "Though, I'll admit, it grows on you when you've needed it enough."

The silence stretched between them again, softer this time. It wasn't the heavy kind from before, but something almost companionable, as both breathed in the quiet after the storm. His gaze lingered on Sibylla, on the tilt of her head back against the couch, her eyes closed, and the faint tremor still riding her chest with every controlled inhale. He had to force himself to look away before he unraveled that thread again.

"I'll try," he said at last, words feeling clumsy in his mouth. He rarely made promises, not genuine ones. But the way she had asked, quiet, exhausted, stripped down to bone and truth, demanded something from him. "To be real with you. As much as I can manage. That mask you hate so much is carved deep, Sibylla. It's habit, armor. I don't always know how to take it off without cutting myself open." He swirled the whiskey in his glass, the amber liquid catching his reflection in jagged pieces. "But I'll try. And for me, that's no small thing."

He drank again, slower this time, then exhaled a long breath, letting some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders. The Assembly still loomed ahead, but for a precious sliver of time, he allowed himself to sit in the quiet with her, bruised and bloodied, masks set aside.

It couldn't last, of course. It never did. Aurelian's mind was already moving, calculating the next angle, the next necessity. His voice shifted, still softer than his usual sharp edge, but steadier now, business creeping back in.

"There's something you might also be able to help me with," he said, turning his head slightly toward her. "With your ambassadorship, I need you to secure me a meeting. A dinner, preferably." His smirk flickered faintly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "With this Mandalor."

He leaned back further into the couch, letting the whiskey rest on his knee as he continued. "The planet Roon will do for a venue, meet them on their turf. I need to know why they've set up so close to our borders, and what exactly they intend to offer the Republic in the months ahead. Their presence can be an opportunity or a threat. I'd rather not be blindsided."

His eyes slid back to her, glinting amber through the low light. "Think you can manage that, Sibylla?" And though the dangerous smile hovered at the edges, there was no jest in his tone this time, only intent and the faintest trace of trust.

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

Aurelian Veruna ​

I'll try.

That meant more than Aurelian might believe. It was enough to let Sibylla release the last of her tension with a soft sigh and a subtle nod of gratefulness.

"I'll take that," she replied quietly, lifting the glass again. The whiskey went down easier this time. Its taste was still fire compared to the berry sweet wines she preferred, but Aurelian was right, she would find what she liked eventually. It only required stepping outside her comfort zone. That was difficult enough on its own. But if she was already here, drinking whiskey, perhaps it wasn't so impossible.

She swallowed, drew in a steadying breath, and glanced at Aurelian again as he shifted the conversation toward her Ambassadorship with the Mandalorians.

It didn't take her long to see where he was going with it.

Her expression smoothed into calm, contemplative furrow. She wasn't struggling to regain composure so much as running through scenarios, approaches, and methods in her mind. It was the same expression she had worn on long nights with him drafting the Sundari Treaty that had earned her the Ambassadorship in the first place.

"I can. Roon is perfect. I've already laid groundwork with Manda'lor Verd for a dinner or banquet. I can frame it as a more intimate venue, especially with the election so near and you all but crowned King."

Her words carried no bitterness, only observation. A fact to be weighed and leveraged.

"Though it would behoove you to speak more tactfully with the Manda'lor. He prefers candor to theatrics. He is also deeply spiritual, especially as he works to reclaim Mandalore's lost worlds and reconnect with its holy sites and heritage. That is why his people have settled around Roon and its neighboring systems."

Her tone made it clear that her dealings with the Mandalorian Empire had left an impression. They had. It was through them that Sibylla had realized just how ill prepared Naboo -- and the Republic -- truly were.

She tipped back the last of the whiskey, grimacing as she forced down the burn, a shudder running through her as the higher proof bit at her throat. Well least she didn't cough this time.

"But for now… you should let that medical droid finish its work. I'd rather not see you collapse in front of the Assembly when you're meant to be calling for war." Her attempt at humor was dry, but deliberate.

Slowly, Sibylla rose to her feet. She drew in a long, steadying breath, pulling her shell of composure back into place. Her shoulders straightened, her spine lifted, and once more she looked every inch the Abrantes daughter despite the way her hair was a thick tousled mess about her shoudlers and her dress frayed from the earlier Wielu assault.

Turning to look over at him, she gave an incline of her head, and while the composure was there, the genuine concern in her eyes and gratefulness just for that brief respite despite their heated argument earlier, shone.

"I'll leave you to return to your staff."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian's brow arched as she gave her counsel, the faintest glimmer of mischief tugging at his battered features.

"Tactful," he echoed, his voice low and dry. "So, this Manda'lor won't much appreciate my personality then. How fitting." A hoarse, but real, chuckle followed, and he tipped his glass to her in wry salute before finishing the last of its burn. "Perhaps I'll shock him by behaving. Or at least let you lecture me on etiquette on the way over. Shiraya knows you'd enjoy the chance."

His dangerous smile, crooked and teasing, softened quickly into something rarer. "Still, if you're arranging this, Sibylla, I want you at the table. Mandalorians might call it candor, but politics remains politics. They'll test, prod, and circle like wolves. I need someone there who knows which bones to throw them and which to keep close." His eyes lingered on her, more serious now. "Not that I think I need a chaperone, of course. But if anyone's earned the right to remind me when to hold my tongue, it's you."

As she shifted the conversation toward leaving, Aurelian exhaled slowly, watching how she pieced her composure back together, step by deliberate step. It struck him again how much strength that quiet poise carried. She could be frayed at the edges yet still stand like marble when it mattered. His gaze followed her as the medical droid resumed its fussing at his side, antiseptics stinging as it worked on his battered skin.

He leaned back, wincing faintly as the droid prodded a tender rib, but his voice came steadier than before. "Thank you."

The words hung in the air between them as she paused at the door. He didn't explain or tie the gratitude to any one moment, leaving it open to interpretation. For him, though, it was all-encompassing: for her care, her honesty, for seeing past the masks he wore. They were for reminding him that beneath the prince of knives and legacy, he was a man with someone willing to stand beside him.

He gave her a faint nod, eyes lingering as she stepped out. Then, with the door whispering shut, Aurelian let his head fall back against the couch, letting the droid fuss in silence as the faint warmth of whiskey and her presence lingered longer than he would admit.

Sibylla Abrantes​