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“I haven’t seen much of her,” she said. It hadn’t escaped her notice that since their arrival, Ta’a Chume had taken more interest in Jaina than in her own royal heir. There was no jealousy in this observation, but a great deal of concern. Jaina was no fool, but she couldn’t possibly know the truth of the old woman.

A terrible thought occurred to her. Perhaps the real threat to the Hapan throne came not from the branches of the family tree, but from the root. Ni’Korish, the queen mother before Ta’a Chume, was remembered for her virulent hatred of the Jedi. But perhaps Ta’a Chume understood the potential of a dark Jedi ally, and sought to coax Jaina down this path for her own purposes. With Darth Vader’s granddaughter beside her, Ta’a Chume could easily scythe through the various plots and reclaim her throne. A woman who could order the death of her eldest son’s betrothed, and perhaps even the man himself, was capable of anything.

“You look worried,” the prince observed. “Is all well with Ta’a Chume?”

“She is as she ever was.”

“I see,” Isolder said slowly. “Then I would say that there is ample cause for worry.”

Tenel Ka gave a grim nod. For the first time, father and daughter were in complete accord.

* * *

The banquet hall in the royal palace glittered with candlelight, a charming anachronism that the Hapan diplomats seemed to take in stride. There was much about this world that reminded Jaina of her mother’s stories of Alderaan—the tradition, the formality, the emphasis on beauty and art and culture, the sense of being transported into a vital and vibrant re-creation of past times.

Musicians played softly in alcoves upon instruments Jaina had only seen in books. Fresh flowers filled the room with a heady scent, and servants moved with quiet efficiency to remove plates and refill glasses.

The use of human servants disconcerted Jaina, but there was not a droid to be found anywhere in the palace. Nor did the food have the flat, homogeneous flavor that came from a synth unit. Since this was a diplomatic dinner and Jag Fel was the son of an Imperial baron, he had been invited. He sat across from Jaina, resplendent in a formal black uniform. All things considered, she might have enjoyed the experience … had she been in a better state of mind, not to mention a more comfortable gown.

She tugged at the laces cinching her waist and looked up to see Jag Fel observing her. “I’d be happier in a flight suit,” she said ruefully.

“No doubt, but you look lovely all the same.”

It was a polite phrase, an expected response. Jaina had received similar compliments at a hundred diplomatic affairs. But none had ever set her cheeks flaming—a response that none of her Jedi training seemed able to mitigate.

She deliberately turned to watch the first dance. Prince Isolder led his daughter through the elaborate steps. Tenel Ka danced as she fought—with singular grace and fierce, absolute concentration.

“I wonder what might happen to a man who stepped on her toes,” Jag mused.

Jaina shot a startled look at him and noted the faint, wry lift to one corner of his lips. “Their heads are mounted on the trophy room wall,” she said with mock seriousness.

A slow smile spread across his face, and Jaina’s heart nearly leapt out of her low-necked gown. She glanced at the floor. Other dancers were joining in. On impulse, she nodded toward the growing crowd and said, “They’ve created a diversion. We could probably sneak out and look around for those trophies.”

Jag rose and executed a formal bow. “May I have the honor of shared evasive maneuvers?”

Chuckling, she took his offered hand. They merged into the swirling crowd, working their way toward the doors.

They emerged into the hall, hand in hand, grinning like mischievous children. This was a new side to the somber young pilot, one that intrigued Jaina. Judging from the expression on Jag’s face and the sense of wonder coming to her through the Force, this playful moment was something new to him, as well.

One of the paneled doors opened, and a slender, red-clad