Chapter Text
Padmé’s fingers slip under her dress to grasp the braided string around her neck. She dangles the pendant in front of the guard’s face as she stands at the front gate of Kenobi’s gladiator school. Recognition of the snippet is instant, and he opens the gate to allow her in. Padmé wonders what Anakin said about her to the guard and how many people know about their affair.
But she might not be the only one who he’s given such a gift to. Certainly, there are others he is fond of. Despite his adamancy that he cares for her, Anakin may simply be using her to stroke his ego. She is the wife of Palpatine’s son. He knows she does not give herself to just anyone. Actually, Anakin is the only man she’s ever kissed besides Rush. Her parents ensured she was a virgin in every way before marrying Rush. It was necessary for a successful union. Although she was never interested in relationships with men prior to her marriage anyway. She was so young back then.
She has made it known that she prefers Anakin over her husband which is a potential source of pride for him. Anakin’s sweet words may be nothing more than that a way to keep her coming back to please him. This is something she must accept and remember to avoid developing deep feelings for him. At the end of the day, they can never be together. He is a slave. She is of the noble class.
Padmé remembers the way to Anakin’s cell very well even though she’s only visited him there one time. She finds her way to him all alone. It is very late, and most of the gladiators are asleep in their cells.
Nearing the end of the passage, she sees Anakin’s door held partially open by a woman’s foot in a gilded sandal. The woman exits discreetly from his cell. For a moment, Padmé considers turning around.
How could he?
But this scenario hits her with the reality of things. She is not the only woman who calls for him and will probably never be. Anakin is desired by so many. It would be unrealistic for her to wish he could be only hers. As a slave, he has no choice but to submit to the demands of those belonging to a higher class.
Padmé recognizes the young noble woman. She is the wife of Senator Farr. How scandalous!
Padmé lowers her head as they pass by. She cannot risk being recognized by someone in her circles. That would be the end of her life and the end of her time with her secret lover.
She jogs to his door and slips inside to get away from the woman. When she turns around, Padmé is met with a very disturbed Anakin. He quickly wraps his lower half with the bedsheet in an attempt to cover himself. Padmé keeps her distance, back against the cell door. She’s equally horrified by the state he is in.
Anakin’s lip is bleeding. His body is marked by surface-level bruises. His hair is incredibly disheveled.
“You should have knocked,” he says firmly.
Padmé lowers her gaze to the floor. “Anakin, please forgive me. I wasn’t thinking. I was just... missing you.”
A couple weeks have passed since she’s seen him, and the distance has been killing her. She would have visited him sooner, but she has been occupied by dinner parties and wifely duties. But tomorrow, Anakin is going back to the Colosseum. She would never be able to live with herself if she did not see him before.
“I don’t want you to see me like this.” His voice sounds utterly defeated. “I have not had a chance to change the sheets or wash up.”
Hesitantly, she looks up at his face. There is shame in his eyes. “Anakin, let me help you.” Padmé steps across his room to him. She lifts her hand to stroke his jaw, but he leans away from her. The action stings.
“I’m disgusting. You shouldn’t touch me.”
Padmé’s hands fall to her side, but she remains close to him. “Don’t hide from me. I know the things that are required of you.”
He swallows hard. His eyelashes are wet. “And you still want me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I cannot judge you. Look at me. I’m a married woman who cheats on her husband.”
Anakin scoffs. “A husband who abuses you. We are not the same. I don’t understand how you can bear to be in this room with me after what I just did, Padmé.”
That is the first time he has ever called her by her name. Her name from his lips sounds like a melody. She did not know her own name could sound so beautiful.
“I fucked her. I didn’t want to, but I don’t understand how I could when I have you. I should have told her no, but I’m afraid of what might happen to me if I don’t.”
“This is not your fault,” she reasons. “You are not given a choice. The nobility are vengeful.”
He shakes his head. “It is not Rome’s nobles that I am afraid of. They do not own me.”
“What do you mean, Anakin?”
He turns away. There are small, bleeding gashes along his upper back. “You would not understand.”
“Then explain it to me,” she says curtly. She does not appreciate him insulting her intelligence.
“I... cannot. I have already said too much to be honest.”
Padmé will never understand if he does not explain his situation to her. Who could he fear if not the nobility? Do they not control much of his life in the Colosseum? Her curiosity hounds her. She could demand the information from him, but there is no guarantee he would be honest with her. And she could never lord her authority over him. He has become too precious to her.
Padmé picks up a linen garment off the floor and blots the fresh blood from his wounds. He quickly turns and tears the fabric away from her hands.
“I can take care of myself.”
Padmé is not used to him being cold toward her. She does not know how to respond or if she should. She cares for him even though she should not. That other woman should be punished for leaving him in this state the night before his fight.
“I want to help you, Anakin.”
His shoulders drop as he sighs. “You are not ashamed of me?”
“You have not done anything wrong.”
“You know, Milady, thinking of you is the only thing getting me through nights like these. I think about seeing you again, and I get so happy. You are a blessing in my life.”
“You may call me Padmé. Please. I liked it when you used my name.”
Anakin’s eyes meet hers once again. The shame he carried has faded, and the longing resurfaces again. “I must do whatever you ask, Padmé.”
“May I help you clean up, Anakin? I can leave if that is what you truly want.”
“I would never want that.”
“Then let me,” she says, reaching for the cloth. He gives it to her freely. Hand on his shoulder, she turns him around and finishes drying the blood from the scratches on his back. Some are very deep. He hisses when she touches a gash near his spine. “She was very rough with you.”
“She often is. I—I am not fond of the submissive role, but it is what pleases her.”
“What do you like?” Padmé pauses, realizing what she just asked him. She had not been thinking.
He turns his head and looks at her, eyes burning into her passionately. “You.”
“Anakin.” She pretends to be annoyed with his remark, giving him an eye roll, but that one statement excites her. Maybe this could be something more.
“Truthfully, I haven’t given it much thought. Having sex has never been about me. I have never had a true lover. Those who visit me... I try not to remember what happens.”
Padmé relates to never having a lover. Rush has never been too concerned with her pleasure. There were times that he treated her quite well, but that was a rarity. And now, his kindness is nonexistent.
“What about you, Padmé?”
The question stuns her. She has never been asked. “I—I have no idea. I guess the usual things that happen.”
“Actually, I can think of one thing I like.” He turns around to face her. He still holds up the bedsheet around his waist. “Your mouth. We should do that again sometime.”
Padmé’s face blushes hard. She covers her eyes. “I honestly do not understand what came over me. I have never wanted to do that for anyone before. You are special in that regard.” She peeks through her fingers to look at his face. “You tasted so sweet.”
Anakin’s eyes go wide. He does not seem sure of himself any longer.
“I cannot stop thinking about that night,” she says, flustered.
“Neither can I,” he whispers.
“I want more.” She is ashamed of her own desire, but there is no other way to express what she feels for him. She wants him entirely and completely. “And I know I should not. The danger I place us both in—”
“That is not for you to worry about. We are being careful enough. I will not let him hurt you.”
Padmé wipes away tears. “You would stand against the ruler of Rome... for me?”
“There is little that I would not do for you, Padmé.” With his one free hand, he reaches her hers and brings her knuckles to her lips. “I wish you were mine. I would never hurt you. I would do my best to show you the love you deserve.”
That only intensifies her need to cry. “I wish it were possible.”
“Maybe one day it will be.”
“What?” Padmé blots her tears with the cloth. “I do not understand.”
“Anything can happen, Padmé. I will never stop hoping.”
Hope can be a devastating thing. Hope deferred or denied can destroy someone. She knows better than to hope they could belong to one another, but she would not ruin a touching moment by voicing reality.
“You are so kind to me, Anakin. Thank you.” She reaches up to wipe away the blood on his lower lip with her fingertips. “Perhaps we should get you cleaned up now.”
“We have a bathhouse. No one should be using it at this hour.”
Anakin approached a chest of drawers and pulled out a tunic. He had his back to her as he dropped the sheet and changed into a tunic. She should have turned her head and looked away as a courtesy, but she watched, admiring his body, understanding how hard he must work to meet the physical expectations set upon the gladiators.
He turns around, fully clothed, and smiles at her, perhaps knowingly. “You are blushing.”
“It is a little warm in here.”
He gives her a suspicious look. “Is that what it is?”
Padmé snatches up his hand and pulls him to the door. “Let’s get you a bath, Anakin.”
He pulls her hood over her head before they leave his cell.
“We must be quiet,” he tells her, “No one can know of your identity. You must be more careful with that. You are too close to Palpatine.”
“I understand,” she says.
They quietly step down the hallway, passing by the other gladiator’s quarters. The guards stationed at different points do not stop them as they make their way across the school. It seems that Anakin has much more freedom than she assumed a slave would. His cell is never locked. He can leave the school when he wishes. How unusual.
Anakin opened the door to the bathhouse for her. Steam clouds the hot air. Kenobi must be very wealthy. To have a heated bath requires the installation of a hypocaust below to heat the water.
“It is very warm in here,” she says.
“Much warmer than my room.”
“Hilarious.”
Anakin walks up to the edge of the bath. He removes his tunic, throwing it over his head without announcing he was about to do so. Padmé had no opportunity to avert her eyes, not that she would have. He wades into the steaming water and then dips his head under.
Coming up, he smooths his hair back with his hands and gestures for her to come in.
“No, Anakin, I did not bring a change of clothes.”
He narrows his eyes. “Your clothes will remain dry if you take them off.”
Padmé looks down at her body. Undressing is normal at a public bath, so she has heard. Strangers seeing each other naked is not anything unusual. But Anakin seeing her naked makes her a nervous wreck. There is something so sensual about the atmosphere. She wants to melt into him.
“I—I am not sure if that is a good idea, Anakin. You are the one that needs a bath.”
“I thought you said you wanted to help me get clean.”
“I do not have to get into the water to do that.”
He sighs. “No, you are correct, but I want you to. You can wear my tunic.”
She eyes it for a moment. “It will be practically see-through when wet.”
“That is fine with me,” he says with a sly smile. “Please.”
Padmé rotates her index finger. “Turn around, Anakin.”
He huffs. “Really?”
“If you want me to get in.”
“Very well,” he says reluctantly. He does exactly as she asks. “Hurry up.”
Padmé cautiously undresses, looking all around her to see if anyone is watching. No one is, but Rush is the only one who has ever seen her naked. Well, besides Dormé. Her stola and cloak pool at her feet. She unties her sandals.
“Are you in the water yet?” he asks impatiently.
Padmé dips her toes in to test the temperature. It is almost too hot for her tastes, but she wades in anyway until the water conceals her body. “You can look now.”
Slowly, he turns. His expression hints at disappointment because her naked body is hidden from his gaze. She sits at the shallow side. The water hits against her clavicles. Anakin swims closer to her and sits by her. He keeps his hands to himself to her surprise.
Padmé reaches for a washcloth in the stack near the edge of the bath. The cloth soaks up the water almost instantly. She leans in to wipe the dried blood from his back and clean the scratches on his chest. He watches closely but does not move. Eventually, all the blood is gone. The wounds will heal with time as long as they do not become infected.
The towel floats away when she lets go. Her hands are drawn to his chest. He grasps at her arms and pulls her against him.
“Is this... alright?” he asks.
Padmé nods, unable to come up with words. He wraps his arms around her under the water. The water conceals where his hands roam, but she feels everything. Her pulse reverberates against the inside of her throat. The sweetness of his touch is so foreign to her. She cannot hold back her tears. They drip into the bath.
The water swishes as Anakin moves behind her. He draws her hair to one side of her shoulder. He traces the outline of her neck with his lips. His breath is warmer than the bath. He kisses her shoulder once. Twice. Three times. He squeezes her thighs. She knows what is coming next, but she did not expect the gentleness as his fingers dip inside her. Her back arches and she leans into him as a soft moan escapes her lips. A pleasure like this has never been tasted by her so potently before.
As soon as the feeling ends, she realizes she needs to feel it again and again. Padmé twists around in his arms to face him. She holds onto him and presses her lips to his, begging him to kiss her.
- -- -
As they run back inside his cell, their bodies are a little drier. Her hair still drips with water. Anakin nearly slips on the wet trail she leaves. He catches himself on the mattress.
“Are you okay?” she asks, covering her giggle with her hand.
He rolls over onto his back and laughs with her. “Yeah, I feel great actually. You made me feel better.” He winks at her. He means something dirty by that, but she ignores him.
“I can help you change the sheets.” She approaches his chest and rifles through the various fabrics. He comes up behind her and grabs her hips. She gasps right before he kisses her mouth.
In another life, he might be her husband and kiss her like this all the time. Afterwards, Anakin opens the bottom drawer and takes out woven bedding. Padmé strips off the old sheets, and together, they cover the mattress with the new. She smooths the wrinkles out of the sheet.
“You probably should be getting some rest before tomorrow,” Padmé muses.
“I would be wise to, yes,” he says.
“I should probably be leaving now so that you can sleep.”
Anakin smiles and holds her hand in his. “I will not ask you to stay. I am so thankful for each moment we have together. I know it comes at a great risk of your own life.”
“It is always worth it. Sometimes, you are the only reason I hold onto life. Being Rush’s wife is not at all the life my parents thought it would be for me. At least, it brrought them great honor before their death.”
“At the expense of your own happiness, Padmé. It is not worth it.”
“If I could do it all over again, I would have run away.” Padmé climbs onto his bed and sits, her feet dangling. “But there is no point in wishing the past could change.” She softly strokes his arm.
“We can only look to the future.”
“And you have a bright one, Anakin. With your popularity, you might become a free man one day.”
He nods. “If I survive tomorrow.”
A pang of worry hits her. She’s never seen him unconfident. Is his bravado before a fight only a part of the show? “What do you mean?”
“The stakes get higher every time. The mob must be entertained. Palpatine does whatever he wishes. Kenobi hates him for that, but there is nothing he can do to protect me from Caesar.”
“You have to live, Anakin. You must.”
He holds her as she cries in his arms. She hates how she cares for him. She was not supposed to carry any real feelings for him, but how can she not?
He kisses her forehead. “Oh, Padmé, I will do everything I can to return to you.”
Before she really knew him, she never dreaded the fights in the Colosseum. She had always been excited for them because that was her only opportunity to see Anakin, but now, it is different. Now, he is real to her. And the fights now are just another way for her happiness to be stripped away. She will not beg him to hide. Anakin is not hers to control.
He kisses her lips deeply. He probably meant that to be their last kiss of the night, but Padmé has other ideas. Guilt might eat away at her for cheating on Clovis, but if she lets Anakin go without loving him completely and he... dies... that is something that she knows she will regret for the rest of her life.
She reaches up to grasp at his hair. “I want you, Anakin.” She pulls him to her, and she kneels at the edge of the bed. “Do you want me?”
He looks into her eyes thoughtfully and wraps his arms around her back kissing her as they collapse into soft bed sheets. Anakin is the first to undress. He holds her under him and kisses her all over. Little time and little effort are required to ready her body for him because the man who holds her is also the one who has stolen her heart away.
“You are so... lovely,” he breathes. “Are you sure you want to go on?”
His request is silly. “I need you.” She takes his hand so that he can feel it with his fingers.
When he pushes into her for the first time, she seals her eyes shut in surrender, relishing in the closeness, his warmth. She had never known that lying with a man could feel so close to heaven. They lose themselves to each other, making love until the first glint of sunlight comes through the window of his cell.
- -- -
In the earliest hours of morning, Padmé runs across the city back to the Palace. She goes in through the servant’s passage and returns to her room. Quietly, she opens and closes the door, hoping that no one nearby hears her. Many of the servants are awake at this hour. Dormé is the only one that she trusts. All the others are not on her side. She cannot blame them. Palpatine and Rush can decide their fate in an instant.
Padmé wrongfully assumed that she would be alone in her chambers.
“My dear, where were you?”
Padmé turns around to look Palpatine in the eye. Every hair on her arms stands up straight. The air is frozen. Her hands shake. How can a voice sound so welcoming and so frightening at the same time?
“What are you doing in my chambers?” Padmé asks brazenly. While she is very much afraid of the man standing in front of her, she is angry that he would enter her most personal space without permission. Even if he is the ruler of all of Rome.
“Your tone, Padmé. Have you forgotten to whom you are speaking?”
“No. I find this intrusion insulting. While you may do whatever you wish, I am only asking for common courtesy.”
Palpatine steps closer and grabs her face with his pale, wrinkly hand. He laughs. “I own you, Padmé. I control my son. I control you. Privacy is just an illusion. The palace is mine, and I may go wherever I so desire. Do you understand?”
Blinking back tears, she nods. Rush has hurt her more physically than anyone else has, but Palpatine has an unmatched taste for violence. She does not wish to be the recipient of his wrath. Not when she has something to live for now.
“Where were you, Padmé?” Palpatine tousles her hair with his free hand. “You look a mess. I went to visit you last night and you were nowhere to be found. You are lucky because I was desiring your company.”
Padmé does not show her fear outwardly. She stares into his yellowing eyes though her insides are knotting. Palpatine has never touched her, but she knows of his longing for her. “I was with Dormé, my handmaiden. We were drinking, and I fell asleep. I hurried back this morning to see if Rush was waiting for me.”
She tells the lie with enough conviction that Palpatine seems to buy it. He releases her and backs away. Silently, she gives a relieved exhale.
“I see that my son is absent yet again.”
Padmé hugs herself. “He does as he pleases.”
“I do not blame you for his failures as a husband. I will fix things for you, my dear.”
“That would be wonderful,” she says, trying to fake gratefulness. Something tells her that his ways of fixing her marriage are not what she has in mind. There is no fixing what Rush has destroyed.
“Have no fear, Padmé. I promise you everything will work out.” Palpatine’s robes brush against her as he walks to the door to leave. “I suggest you clean up and wear proper clothing. Not the dress of a servant girl. A grand day at the Colosseum awaits us. I am sure you are quite excited.”
“Yes. I love watching the gladiator fights.” She used to. Now, she will watch for a different reason. To ensure that Anakin survives.
- -- -
Padmé stains her lips and cheeks with berries. She purposefully forgets to line her eyes with charcoal. Regardless of the outcome of Anakin’s fight, she knows tears will flow. Even considering for a moment that he might lose or worse... die—she cannot allow herself to entertain those thoughts.
Anakin must win. He must. What will she do without him?
Padmé wraps a crimson sash around her waist. It has become a dreadfully heavy color to wear. The color tells everyone who she legally belongs to, but her heart is a very different story. She has willingly given her heart to Anakin, and no one can take that away from her.
Dormé holds her hand tightly as they walk to the gallery within the Colosseum. Palpatine and her husband are already there. Palpatine observes silently from his seat. Rush leans against the railing of the balcony and screams at the preliminary fight happening down below. Padmé rolls her eyes at him. He disgusts her even more now.
Padmé sits with Dormé, and she hungrily looks below for a familiar face.
“I wonder when he will come out.”
Dormé sighs. “In due time, Milady.”
“Those three columns are new,” Padmé says, pointing. “I wonder what they have planned for him.”
“Try to stay calm. Anakin always survives.”
He does. He has only lost one fight. But he’s mine now, and everything that has ever brought me joy is always taken away from me.
Dormé rubs her back. “Have faith, my friend. I am sure he will be fighting for you. I think our gladiator is quite infatuated with you.”
Padmé shares a smile with Dormé. “I think he is. I still have not told you about what we did last night.”
Dormé’s eyes grow big. “Did you go to see him?”
“I did. Also, my cover is that I spent the night in your room.”
“What?”
“I will explain later.”
“Okay,” Dormé replies, uncertainty lingering in her voice.
Padmé pulls her necklace out from under her stola and clutches the japor snippet in her hand. This helps her feel close to him somehow. She refuses to let go until he is safe.
The preliminary fight continues for a little longer. Padmé intermittently pays attention.
She knows the moment Anakin steps out into the ring. The crowd turns wild. They chant his name with such passion. She looks up to watch her love below, expecting to see him proudly waving to those who adore him.
Padmé approaches the railing to get a closer look. Her heart drops seeing him bound in chains beside two other fighters. All three gladiators are pulled in by a chariot. Padmé recognizes the girl beside Anakin as the one he had been training when Satine was giving her a tour. Ahsoka, was it?
Palpatine’s soldiers drag Anakin and the others out of the chariot and attach their shackles to a long chain attached to each one of the columns.
So that is what those are for.
Several of Palpatine’s own fighters come out from the gates. Some ride horses. Some walk. A couple steer chariots and hold barbed whips in their hands. Padmé is helpless. There is nothing she can do for Anakin or his apprentice. This is anything but a fair fight.
She gives a silent prayer to the Gods, and then turns to Rush, who happily sneers at those below.
“This is insanity, Rush. Stop it. This will be such a pathetic win for your men.”
Rush shoves her away from him. “You are such a stupid woman. Go sit down with your friend. Why are you so concerned about the fight anyway?”
“Rush,” Palpatine calls, “be gentle with your wife. She is quite a small, delicate thing.”
Padmé wishes she could spit on them both, but that would not help her cause. Perhaps she can convince Palpatine to lessen the stakes of this fight. She kneels at his side. “Highness, if you kill him... people will be very mad with us.”
“Then they will be mad. I am simply trying to give them a good show. Our favorite gladiator can handle it.”
“He is starting out with a severe disadvantage. And putting such a young girl in—”
“That was Kenobi’s insistence. He was not very happy when he found out about my plans for this fight. I allowed him to pick who goes out with Anakin. He is the one everyone is here to see, no doubt.”
“I just do not think this is fair,” Padmé says, realizing that Palpatine will never change his mind.
“Entertainment does not require fairness.” He strokes her cheek. She wants to move away but remains still. “Why such a concern for them, my dear?”
“It is nothing. It is concern for you.”
“My dear, I do appreciate that you care, but I promise I can handle anything that comes my way.”
Wordlessly, she returns to her seat next to Dormé. Padmé clutches her necklace as she fights back the tears.