The text on my data pad blurs slightly and I look up for the first time in too long. Neck creaking, I turn instead to gaze out the vast window of my chambers. Bustling Coruscant. A far cry from the waterfalls of Naboo, but home in its own way. Speeders queue across the skyline, lights flashing with collective impatience. Breathe, Padmé. Take a break.

Dormé would scold me for reading way beyond work hours. But Dormé has a night off, and she deserves it. I often feel guilty that my handmaidens devote so much of themselves to me. Their time, their faces, sometimes their lives. Bail once joked that I am the Senator with nine lives. Few of my colleagues have received quite so many death threats.

My eyes flick back to the data pad. A draft bill to deploy the clones in neutral territory, not just systems where Separatist forces openly oppose us. Allegedly a precautionary measure, to stop the violence before it starts.

The Chancellor has not written this bill, but the ghost of his hand is here. I am learning how little I know of Palpatine. Once he was a trusted friend and advisor, an ally in the work of peace. These days he dotes on the Grand Army a bit too much. It is only a feeling, but an uneasy one.

A knock at the door. "Come in." I slide the data pad closed as Esmé enters, velvet hood slung over her shoulders.

"Good evening, Milady."

"Good evening, Esmé. How are you?"

She bobs her head, dark curls mirroring my own. "Well, Milady. And you?"

A deep sigh escapes my lips. "I could probably do with some sleep."

"Dormé did make me promise to check on you." A shy smile creeps across Esmé's mouth. "The bill can wait until morning."

"I suppose it can," I concede. "I am tired to my bones."

Taking a moment to check in with my body, I realise it is not only my bones that ache. My stomach has been upset for much of the past week, and this evening my breasts feel more tender than usual. My heart rate increases suddenly.

"Esmé, do you remember when my last period was? I really should keep better track."

She laughs. "You have documents for everything else, Milady. But I do remember your last period coinciding with the ambassador's visit; we had to make sure you took cramp medication before that delicate meeting."

"The ambassador…" I cast my mind back two months and my stomach drops. "Yes, I think that's right." An irregular cycle is not uncommon for me; Dormé blames the stress of politics. But this could mean something else.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and try to clear my mind. "Thank you for checking on me, Esmé. I promise I am packing away all my reading for this evening and that I will get some rest. You had better sleep too; you're off the hook for the rest of the night."

"As you wish, Milady." She bobs her curls again and leaves the way she came.

I switch off the data pad after typing a few last notes for the morning, then heave myself into the shower. Something makes me cup my stomach with both hands. I dare not contemplate the possibility that a life might be forming in this womb. There are too many things on my plate already, not to mention the ramifications for Anakin. I shove those unnecessary anxieties aside. Clean and dry, I don soft sleeping clothes and prepare myself for bed.

I am interrupted by another knock at the door. Esmé again? It cannot be anyone else. "Come in."

Suddenly, Anakin. All black leather and straggly brown mane and wide grin. "Milady," he teases.

"Ani!" My feet spring forward with newfound energy, and he meets me in the middle of the room. "You weren't due for a few more days."

He wraps his arms around me, and I feel the tension leave my body. Aching shoulders soften into his embrace. I nestle my head against his chest as if it was always meant to be there. He brushes gentle lips across the top of my head.

"I am here, my love. Obi-Wan managed to take out a bunch of droids quicker than we expected, and I thought I'd surprise you."

I twist to look up at him, reaching on the tips of my toes to touch my lips to his. "I hate that they have made you a soldier," I murmur. "Jedi are meant for nobler things."

"We are," he admits, "but I'm pretty good at it."

"How long do we have?" I ask, taking his hand – the one crafted from dark metal and complex wires – and lead him toward the bed.

"I'm yours until the morning," he says. "And I might be able to stop by once or twice in the coming days. But I won't be on Coruscant long."

We seat ourselves amid abundant blankets and cushions. "What takes you away so soon?"

His eyes flit away from mine. "Well, it isn't official business. I will not get the council's blessing, but I have to go." Those dark eyes return to meet my gaze. "I keep dreaming of my mother. She is in terrible, terrible pain and I fear for her. I'm going to Tatooine, war be damned."

An image comes to mind of Shmi. A woman handed a tough life who dared to make some good of it. Always kind and gentle despite the roughness of a desert planet infested with slavery. I remember her smile as she watched a nine-year-old Anakin win a podrace against the odds. So full of pride, yet coloured by fear.

"Tell me about your dreams."

I can see the echo of them in his eyes, haunted. For a long moment he is not here with me but somewhere else. Somewhere full of pain.

"They're always confusing and there's never much detail. Sometimes I see her face badly scarred. Sometimes I hear her wailing in agony. But no context at all." He gives me a look that makes me catch my breath. There is fire in it, the fire that drew me to him but that sometimes threatens to engulf him. "I must go to her. Even if that means less time with you."

"I understand, Ani. She's your mother. You love her. If you can help her, you should. Neither of us are strangers to breaking Jedi rules, but make sure the breaking of this one does not lead to the discovery of another."

He plants a kiss on my forehead. "Of course, Milady."