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Her touch unclenched his heart.

He half fell into a chair and pressed the edge of his flesh hand against his eyes.

When he could overcome his embarrassment enough to speak, he said softly, “I’m sorry, Padmé. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been … difficult to deal with. I just—I feel like I’m in free fall. Free fall in the dark. I don’t know which way is up. I don’t know where I’ll be when I land. Or crash.”

He frowned against his fingers, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut to make sure no tears leaked out. “I think it’s going to be a crash.”

She sat on the wide-rolled arm of his chair and laid her slim arm along his shoulders. “What has happened, my love? You’ve always been so sure of yourself. What’s changed?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Everything. I don’t know. It’s all so screwed up, I can’t even tell you. The Council doesn’t trust me, Palpatine doesn’t trust the Council. They’re plotting against each other and both sides are pressuring me, and—”

“Surely that’s only your imagination, Anakin. The Jedi Council is the bedrock of the Republic.”

“The bedrock of the Republic is democracy, Padmé—something the Council doesn’t much like when votes don’t go their way. All those who gain power are afraid to lose it—that’s something you should remember.” He looked up at her. “You and your friends in the Senate.”

She took this without a blink. “But Obi-Wan is on the Council; he’d never participate in anything the least bit underhanded—”

“You think so?”

Because it’s not for the record, Anakin. You must be able to understand why.

He shook the memory away. “It doesn’t matter. Obi-Wan’s on his way to Utapau.”

“What is this really about?”

“I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is, I’m not the Jedi I should be. I’m not the man I should be.”

“You’re the man for me,” she said, leaning toward him to kiss his cheek, but he pulled away.

“You don’t understand. Nobody understands. I’m one of the most powerful Jedi alive, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, not until—”

His voice trailed away, and his eyes went distant, and his memory burned with an alien birthing table, and blood, and screams.

“Until what, my love?”

“Until I can save you,” he murmured.

“Save me?”

“From my nightmares.”

She smiled sadly. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“I won’t lose you, Padmé. I can’t.” He sat forward and twisted to take both of her hands, small and soft and deceptively strong and beyond precious, between his own. “I am still learning, Padmé—I have found a key to truths deeper than the Jedi could ever teach me. I will become so powerful that I will keep you safe. Forever. I will.”

“You don’t need more power, Anakin.” She gently extricated one of her hands and used it to draw him close. “I believe you can save me from anything, just as you are.”

She pulled him to her and their lips met, and Anakin gave himself to the kiss, and while it lasted, he believed it, too.

A shroud of twilight lowered upon Galactic City.

Anakin stood at what a clone trooper would have called parade rest—a wide, balanced stance, feet parallel, hands clasped behind his back. He stood one pace behind and to the left of the chair where Palpatine sat, behind his broad desk in the small private office attached to his large public one.

On the other side of the desk stood the Senate delegation.

The way they had looked at him, when they had entered the office—the way their eyes still, even now, flicked to his, then away again before he could fully meet their gaze—the way none of them, not even Padmé, dared to ask why the Supreme Chancellor had a Jedi at his shoulder during what was supposed to be a private meeting … it seemed to him that they already guessed why he was here.

They were simply afraid to bring it up.

Now they couldn’t be sure where the Jedi stood. The only thing that was clear was where Anakin stood—

Respectfully in attendance upon Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.

Anakin studied the Senators.

Fang Zar: face creased with old laugh lines, dressed in robes so