NIGHTTIME HAD FALLEN. A coal-black blanket was draped over the skies while stars glistened, diamond-bright, like splatters of white paint on an inky canvas. The moon shone, milky pale, slathering its light over the still-busy streets and passing speeders that streaked gray ash upon the ether.

Illyria had busied herself after visiting Laeto, attempting to scrub off the remnants of his face in her mind, spectre-like as it haunted her. She spent the time supervising the preparations for the grand opening of her charity foundation ( it would be a gala to attract donors, and Illyria could not afford anything going wrong with it ) and hosting foreign dignitaries from Selonia who were trying far too hard to strike up an industrial deal. Suffice to say, Illyria was exhausted.

Her bones were deadweight, ready to pull her down and anchor her to her bed. It was only after she'd slid underneath her covers, burrowing herself in its warmth, that the most grating, irritating noise echoed over her room: a knock on her door.

With great effort, she managed to stifle a groan. "Aleta, pray tell who dares disturb my time of rest?"

Swiftly, her gold-plated droid wobbled over from her place by the auburgine curtains to the surveillance screen that allowed them to peek at their guests. "It is your brother, milady, the Lord Daeron."

Ah, of course it was Daeron. Who else had the audacity to visit her at such a time? A ghost of a smile flowered over Illyria's rosy lips. "Send him away, then. Anything he wishes to say can be relayed tomorrow morning."

A spell of hesitation from Aleta was all it took. One moment, Daeron was patiently waiting outside her chambers, and the next, the double doors had parted open, and in he came, gallivanting and strutting about, too lackadaisical for someone who had interrupted her rest.

Illyria glared at the intrusion, her eyes almost beaming with red-lasered mists. She had forgotten that he knew the code to her room. Oh, he should start sleeping with one eye open.

"How impertinent of you, Illyria, denying your brother entry." He clicked his tongue, brows knotted together, the crevices of his face moulded into a chastise. His azure eyes, however, betrayed the jest in his actions. "Youngsters these days, they have no respect for their elders."

"Ah." Her tone was caustic, dry-humoured. He'd definitely taken a page or two out of grandfather's vocabulary. The mimicry was far too spot on. "So, you admit you're old?"

He gasped, faux hurt, dragging a hand tucked in his pocket to clutch at his chest. "How rude, Miss Andali."

"Says the man barging into my chambers in the middle of the night," she retorted, accusation glass-clear in her words, the annoyance dripping like amber-shaded honey.

"What was I supposed to do?" He stepped closer, a pout marring his face, stopping right at the foot of her bed. "You were gone all day, Sister, being the busy little thing you are. And, a little bird even told me that you made time for our dearest brother, Laeto." Their brother's name was searing acid upon Daeron's tongue, bitter and foul as he spat it out.

She chuckled, amusement ebbing in-between its tunes. "And?"

"You made time for Laeto, but not for me." He uttered the words so precisely, as if he was speaking to a brainless child. Daeron was rarely ever childish, but when he did something, he did so wholeheartedly. And today, he was being rather petulant and pesky.

Illyria's lips wobbled, uselessly attempting to hide her mirth. Her older brother was a hoarder, ever the possessive, wishing to keep his people to himself, tether them to his red-wired veins, making them extensions of him, three limbs of the same body.

"I would have gladly made time for you tomorrow morning, Daeron," she placated with a pointed tone, wafting her fingers through the stream of onyx curls gliding over her shoulders.

"Well, it's too late for that now." He shrugged, nonchalance oozing from his pores. "Besides, Elladan's coming over with a bottle of Whyrren's Reserve as we speak."

Illyria billowed a scoff, then resignedly laid her head once more on the plush, maroon-shaded cushions, sewn with trills and laces on its side—courtesy of her father, of course. Nothing but the best for my daughter, he'd said. "Was he not nursing a severe hangover just this morning?"

"For the record,"—Illyria heard the whir of her double doors as they slid open once more, Elladan's words rankled with offense as he spoke—"my eyes were just particularly sensitive to the light today. And the headache was clearly brought on by our dear grandfather's voice."

"He's your namesake," Illyria reprimanded half-heartedly, the twig-thin smile dangling off the edge of her lips betraying her gaiety at the jab being thrown towards the fearsome Elion Andali.

"Well, my name's clearly the better one," Elladan returned smugly, before dashing towards her bed and hopping on it, occupying the space to Illyria's right, his hands securely holding the bottle of whiskey to his chest.

Daeron quickly followed suit, lifting her blanket and settling himself over the silken sheets, filling out the gaping space on her left. "So, little sister," he croaked carefully, dragging out each syllable. "What were you and Laeto discussing?"

Illyria's sinews froze, as if blue-cut icicles had replaced her bones and she was now rendered immobile, stone-still. "Is this an interrogation?"

"I think Daeron is merely curious," Elladan interjected, acting all lackadaisical, refusing to meet her gaze.

"I cannot believe this. You're both teaming up against me!" Her accusation rang loud and clear against the silence of the room, and Illyria briefly thought she could hear a faint 'oh dear' coming from Aleta's voice modulator.

"You could say we're both curious," Elladan offered sheepishly, uncorking the bottle of whiskey and finally taking a swig.

She huffed, but soon relented. Who was Illyria fooling? She'd been giddy all day, waiting for the right opportunity to overflow her brothers with these newfound ideas she'd found to save them from the council's stupidity.

"Very well, then. I had a meeting with a Selonian dignitary earlier. You see, the king wanted to expand their state-owned business, build some more factories there—something about furthering the planetary economy—but one of the lands there was infested with pirates. A moment of genius struck me, then."

"A rare occasion, really," Elladan piped up, mischief scribbled all over his visage. "Have you considered going to the doctor to discuss this newfound spike in intelligence?"

"Do shut up, you prat." Her palm found its way to the back of his head, smacking him.

"Be quiet, Elladan," Daeron intervened. Illyria turned her gaze towards him, satisfaction crawling up her spine. "The adults are talking."

"Illyria and I are twins!" Elladan was utterly incensed, incredulity blazing from his eyes. "Mind you, we are both aged twenty summers."

"How odd. Your maturity says otherwise," Illyria retorted. "Now, as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted,"—at that, she levelled a venomous glare towards Elladan—"her pathetic tale about the pirates gave me an idea. What if I agreed to her petition of building factories here, and the pirates were to come here and stake claim on the profits? It would start a conflict, no doubt, but it would take the heat off father. With the council's meddlesome . . . contribution in the Invasion of Naboo, the Senate will surely think that father is an accomplice to it. It will be a stain to his reputation, even if proven otherwise. But if another dispute starts here, perhaps they'd focus on that instead."

"You believe they'll think that we couldn't possibly instigate another dissension if we're already neck-deep in one." Daeron ruminated for three heartbeats, before he nodded in compliance. "If we had our hands full with the pirates, the Senate might believe we had nothing to do with it. However, doing so will clear the Council's name as well. Do you not want to punish them for their indiscretion?"

"Oh, I do," Illyria affirmed through gritted teeth, red-hot fury blinding her vision. "But, it wouldn't bode well for us if the Senate were to discover it. Their actions reflect our father's reign. After all, the Council is the Diktat's ear and voice of reason. Even if father is proven innocent, wouldn't it undermine his authority, having his own councilmen plotting successfully behind his back?"

"I suppose you're right," Daeron acquiesced, pride brimming to the hilt at his sister's wit. "Grandfather has taught you well."

"I suppose he has," she said, recalling all her private lessons with Elion Kreldin, their austere, age-worn grandfather, with his graying hair and frost-blue eyes. Her maker. "The councilmen, we can punish with our own means. Besides, the Selonian king will inevitably feel remorse and be indebted to us for handling their pests."

"How are you so sure that the pirates will come here and cause a conflict?" Elladan questioned, ever critical. "Perhaps, they won't bother."

"They will if I call them and strike up a deal." Something brilliant dazzled in her eyes. Knife-lethal, dangerous, beautiful. "Give them gold in exchange for wreaking havoc."

"Ah, so this is how plans for intergalactic domination are made." Elladan clapped his hand against the bottle of whiskey he was holding, its contents sloshing with his movements. "By a half-mad woman and her half-drunk brothers."

"I am not mad," she huffed, nearly sulking at his words.

"Could've fooled me," he scoffed. "Only a madwoman would risk a conflict with pirates. You're lucky I'm intoxicated enough to go along with this."

"I never asked for your approval, Elladan."

"And yet, you need it all the same, Sis," he slurred, offering the bottle to Daeron.

It was true. Elladan was the other half of her, the perfect match to her puzzle piece, every single atom in his body attuned to hers, moulded to be the lock cylinder that her key unlocked. They surfed through the world as one. A singularity. Elladan and Illyria. Illyria and Elladan.

All her life, Illyria had never done anything without his support. Knowing she had it now eased her a great deal, though she'd rather die than admit to it.

"And you trusted Laeto with all this?" The crevices of Daeron's face had morphed to incredulity as he indulged in another sip of the golden liquor, and perhaps a bit of veiled hurt had slithered in through the cracks of his facade, like bitter venom leaking from a wound — if one looked close enough.

For all the scepticism etched on their faces, her brothers curbed all their questions and did not throw a single undermining word, which Illyria greatly appreciated. Their mother could disappear from their lives forever for Illyria cared, ghost-like in her absence, and Illyria would not mourn her—because she had them: her brothers, in blood and spirit twice over.

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, waving his words away, amusement furling like a rose underneath her skin at the immediate ease that encased her brother's shoulders. "I wouldn't even trust him with the fact that Elladan peed his bed when he was five—"

Daeron barked out a laugh. "He what?"

"Illyria!" her twin whined, fingers nimbly rubbing his temples. "That was supposed to remain a secret."

"Well, it's our secret now," she whispered conspiratorially, giggling, carefree laughter peeling out of her, moon-bright while caged between her brothers. Amongst rust-boned politicians, Illyria fashioned herself into a crater, dark-edged, bearer of ocean-vast secrets, unseen when she wanted to be yet integral all the same.

With Daeron and Elladan, however, she was luminous, sky-piercingly radiant, akin to the slow light that trickled into a starless space. A rosebud nourished with fountains of love and care, never wilting.

It was not long after—three drained, discarded bottles and five drunkenly unearthed secrets later, to be precise—that they'd fallen into heavy slumber.

Illyria knew what this felt like: bliss.

────୨ৎ .✦────

The sun had risen, smudging the sky with a blazing splatter of orange amidst a sea of clear blue, flittering past the gaps of the curtained windows in Illyria's chambers, its rays softly caressing the porcelain planes of her cheeks. The honey-yellow gleam roused her awake, and her lids fluttered open, slowly, gently, like the blooming petals of a moonflower, uncurling as morning came.

Attempting to move her frozen, rock-heavy limbs, she found that she could not, apparently still trapped inbetween Daeron and Elladan.

Customarily, once a new diktat came to power, his wife would be charged with the task of redecorating Coronet House—the diktatorial residence where the diktat and his family would then reside. Her father had broken tradition, the first step in fracturing Corellia's cemented beliefs; a mild rebellion, so to speak.

Lucius Andali, instead of adhering to customs, decided to reconstruct the entire manor. He reasoned that the previous diktat was so corrupt he wanted to break everything associated with him, which of course, garnered more of the people's love.

( Illyria sometimes wondered if he simply did it because her mother had left him, leaving her father bereft of a First Lady ).

Anyhow, her father meticulously planned everything, ensuring nothing was remiss. He perfectly laid out and placed every room, every nook and cranny, every single brick and pillar.

For his beloved only daughter, Lucius had bestowed her a chamber in the east wing. He knew of her fondness for the sunrise, how it drifted over the horizon, the tender warmth of its golden rays bathing life-green trees, encompassing the universe in its glow, turning the dull gray granite walls of the manor alive. Similarly, Illyria enjoyed the night skies, how the stars twinkled like diamonds, so infinite, endless, easy to grasp and pluck with her fingers.

"Good morning, milady," Aleta's voice greeted somewhere in the corner, somehow sounding chirpy even with her robotic voice modulator. Illyria adjusted her eyes to the darkness, brightened by the slits of the sun slanted over the ceiling. "Earlier, I took the initiative to inform Sir Ayzek of your impending hangover. He's brewed a special tea with anti-veisalgia for you, Lord Elladan, and Lord Daeron. Would you like to take yours now?"

"Ayzek is the chef, Aleta. I hardly think brewing tea is part of his duties," she reminded her with a chuckle. "Besides, I don't get drunk; ergo, I do not suffer from hangovers. You should know that by now. It's Elladan who faints at a single sip of wine."

"Yes, my apologies, milady."

"Never mind," she brushed aside.

With a sigh, Illyria carefully arose, taking care not to disturb her brothers. They were so glacial in sleep, soundless and unmoving, like perfectly carved statues. Perfect Andali sons. Polished Corellian men. And yet, when Illyria closed her eyes, she still saw them as the young, bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked boys, playing pretend swords while they ran around the Kreldin Estate—their childhood home.

If she dug deeper in the caverns of her mind, she would recall a blurry imagining of all three of them, huddled on the same bed, just like this, during a thunderstorm.

The instant something dropped from her shoulders to her lap, the fuschia-tinged reverie shattered. Illyria looked down, then proceeded to furrow her brows. A duvet? She didn't remember pulling the quilt, and Daeron had never needed any covering at night to keep himself warm. She highly doubted Elladan was coherent enough to do this.

Smoothing the wisps of her hair, she noticed that the blanket was laid out over all of them. Looking up at Aleta, with her silver-plated parts on the right, Illyria allowed a sugar-sweet smile to flower. "Thank you for the blanket, Aleta. That was thoughtful of you."

"Oh, no, milady. It wasn't my doing," she quickly denied. "Your father came by this morning in search of you. He was in disbelief when I told him that you were still asleep and went in to see for himself."

"What?" Panic clambered up her nerves, boiling like raw magma. "And you simply let me sleep?"

"His Excellency ordered me not to wake you. That's why he placed the blanket; he thought you looked cold and wished for you to be comfortable, milady," Aleta explained, soothing Illyria's worries. "So you could lie in a little longer."

"Oh." A monosyllabic word, hardly adequate to describe the myriad of sensations ambushing her chest. And yet, in that moment, for all of her practiced eloquence, all the words her mind had consumed from the holo-dictionaries she'd spent pouring over as a child, Illyria Haemera Andali simply could not say anything else.

Oh, her father had done this. Oh, he hadn't woken her, Oh, he cared.

"I'll place your tea right here, milady." Aleta ambled towards the nightstand, placing the tray over the smooth ivory surface of the table, its edges carved with intricate patterns, a Corellian trademark. The tray held three glasses, still steaming. "I'll go and ready your bath. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me."

Everything else passed by in a blur as Illyria remained in a daze. By the time she'd managed to kick her brothers out, bathed, eaten, and gotten dressed, clad in a gown of rich carmine silk, Illyria had never been surer of anything in her life.

She would save her father, no matter what it took.

────୨ৎ .✦────

"GOOD MORNING, FATHER." Illyria approached Lucius Andali's seated form, placing her hands on his shoulders, and bending down to kiss both sides of his scruff-roughened cheeks.

His study was the same as it always was, spacious ivory-lined walls with aureate ornaments, and his desk, neatly arranged with a computer, holopad, and work light. Behind him were light panels, surrounded by windows that overlooked nearly all of Coronet City.

"It's nearing noon, my love," he corrected jovially, gripping her forearms, fondness brimming from the cauldron of his eyes. "I trust you slept well?"

"Like a child, though I'm sure you knew that when you entered my chamber this morning. Don't tease." Walking to the other side of the gray, oval desk, she gracefully lowered herself into the cushioned hoverchair. "You wished to speak with me?"

"I did, yes." In a lightning-second, the light in her father's features dimmed, like a closed shutter no longer letting the solar rays filter in. His gaze turned pensive. "It's official. The Senate has issued an investigation towards us. They're sending men to look into the matter in a count of days."

"I'd predicted that might happen." Tapping her fingers against the soot-coloured marble of her father's desk, she billowed a sigh. "Chancellor Palpatine proves himself braver than his predecessor. He's not afraid of crossing others; an admirable trait, though it does put us at a disadvantage."

She considered telling him of her plans—of the fact that she'd called the Selonian diplomat, agreeing to the deal, or that she'd contacted the pirates, bargaining with them to ransack her own planet just this morning—the words dancing on the tip of her tongue, but eventually refrained. Her brothers were her confidants, no one else. Illyria wouldn't turn him into another accomplice of her crime.

Just to be certain, she asked, "How would you like to proceed, father?"

"We'll play safe, for now. In any case, they have no sound evidence of the Council's involvement, we might get away with it," Lucius divulged his plans, settling his chin over the back of his hand. "And though there's no love lost between us and the people of Corellia, I reckon they would sooner die in our defense than to believe the Senate's allegations."

"The public opinion of us has never been better." Illyria attempted to appease him. "They adore us, father. They will favour us over the Senate, or any representative they send, I'm sure of it."

Her father stood, trudging towards the mammoth-wide window, connected to the floor and the ceiling. Somehow, with his fingers knotted behind his back, his figure managed to block out the light, imposing, casting a warm shadow over the room. "Who do you think the people adore, Illyria. Us, or our publicity stunts?"

"They love whatever benefits them," she replied instantly, silently observing the stiffness in his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip he had over his own hands. So stern and yet so frail, in his own way. How long had her father gone without sleep? "As long as we keep them happy and sated, they will love us."

"You're right." He nodded. "By the time everything has settled, let us hope we haven't worn out their favour just yet."

"We won't," Illyria spoke, vehemence riddling her voice. Then, she stood, ruby-red dress pooling around her feet as she traced her father's footsteps. "Besides, I've just acquired an excellent idea. What if we were to welcome our investigators with a parade?"

He turned to her, then, contemplative and curious all at once. Arching an arrow-sharp brow, he hummed. "Proceed."

"Imagine a procession through Coronet City," she gesticulated with her hands, stretching them towards the smoke-lined city, buzzing with yellow-painted speeders, the people ant-small from above. Power, heady and thunderous. rushed through her at seeing them all like this. "It'd show the Senate that we intend to hide nothing, that we welcome their investigation with open arms. But, truly, we're steering the narrative. The Corellians will not see them as the Senate's detectives, but as another mindless emissary, treated with Andali hospitality. Besides, these people love a show, and they certainly love a good party."

Silence. The tick of the clock placed high on the wall resounded so clearly, every beat enunciated, every millisecond stretching between them, a pulled rubber band waiting to be snapped back in place.

"Someday, Illyria, you will make for a very fine queen of a planet lucky enough to have you— or, I daresay, a very fine chancellor, even." His hands gripped at her shoulders, certainty permeating the air, mingling his words, leaf-thin lips set in a straight, unbent line, so sure of himself. "But, until then, I am blessed for your presence and for your counsel. In any case, I'm not ready to let go of you just yet."

"They would have to drag me kicking and screaming to take me away from your side, father." She patted his hands, before conjuring an excuse to leave. But, right at the edge of the parting doors, she remembered she'd neglected to ask a particular question and halted.

"Father," — somehow her throat was congested, as if mountains had lodged in them, and Illyria could not truly fathom why — "who will the Senate send?"

He scrolled through his holopad for the data. "Two Jedis, I believe. The ones who previously handled the Invasion of Naboo: Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his former padawan, the Jedi Knight—"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi." She'd said his name in a single exhale, a single breath, and yet it was enough to wrench the air out from her lungs. The static beat in her chest rose, spiked, scarlet-red heart battering against its alabaster ribcage, as if stallions had begun kicking at her chest. The skin over her hands turned damp, and she fought the urge to smooth them down the outline of her dress.

Her father paused, scrutinising her reaction. Illyria was suddenly grateful she'd turned her back on him. "Why do you ask, my love?"

Blanching, she mumbled a half-crafted reason and all but ran from her father's study, immediately departing to the Kreldin estate, in search of funds ( probably from her grandfather, after all she hated taking from Corellia's official treasury ) and maybe a drop of advice ( this one, from her aunt by marriage ).

After all, she had a parade to plan, and Jedi guests to entertain. And, truly, she could not afford anything going wrong.

────୨ৎ .✦────

author's note !

i think it's important to note that I truly don't know how to end a chapter 🧍🏻‍♀️🧍🏻‍♀️🧍🏻‍♀️im sorry if that ending feels off bc I just CANT DO IT IM SORRY IDK. but anywayzzz more family dynamics, more politicking, blablabla, hopefully it wasn't boring and everything made sense. and I hope their family dynamics felt realistic (?) especially between illyria and her brothers bc I spent a LOTTT of time hyperfixating on their relationship and interactions, and they're truly integral for her character.

ngl i don't really like the descriptions in this chapter but I tried my best so that's okay.

NEXT CHAPTER WE GET THE PARADEEE, and ofc OBI-WAN YAY CHEERS TRUMPETS !!! also as you all can obviously see, qui-gon did Not die following the invasion of naboo, and obi is now a jedi knight, seeing as ani has become qui-gon's padawan 👀 we'll see how that plays out hehehe. 

hope you all enjoyed this chapter, bye bye, merry Christmas and happy new year!