Slaves Of The Empire {1}

Thirty-Six | Out of the Frying Pan

"Alynna," Lux called softly from the next room, holding his hand out for her. Managing a faint smile, Ahsoka made to follow. Her fingers had nearly touched his when Zakhan stepped between them, looking down a full foot to meet her eyes, and Ahsoka flailed to a stop half a step from walking right into him.

"Not you," he said disdainfully. "You, clearly, are not finished getting ready."

Ahsoka glanced back at her reflection. The red rimming her eyes was gone, thankfully, but with her face wet and a facecloth still clenched in her hand, Zakhan probably thought she'd splashed her makeup off to begin again. She surreptitiously hid the rag behind her back.

Lux winced. "Find me later, all right, Alynna?"

Ahsoka nodded and bowed low as his father motioned sharply to the guards. They formed up around Lux, boxing him in, and before she knew it they were gone.

Zakhan eyed Ahsoka for a long moment, as though he could break her down and quantify the very essence of her by looking at her. Just as she was about to ask if she could help him with anything – it was expected of her, and the less she appeared out of place, the more likely he was to let her go about her business in peace – he turned to leave, waving for Dakharen to fall into step with him.

They began speaking as they reached the door out of Lux's suites into the hallway beyond, their voices so low that at that distance any Human would've been hard-pressed to catch what they were saying. But Ahsoka wasn't Human.

"Do you still have that running list of potential suitors I gave you?"

"Yes, my Lord – it's all in my wrist comm." Ahsoka didn't dare leave the 'fresher to watch the two men's expressions, but it was easy to imagine the genteel old manservant's bushy grey brows rising in surprise. "I have them arrange in order of priority, as you requested, with a few less affluent candidates sprinkled in so no one can accuse the young Lord of going in with a hit list."

"Drop the pretenses, Dakharen. I don't care if he looks like a man on a mission; he is one, and now that I've announced he's officially available for courting, every noble with a brain knows it, too." Zakhan sighed. "Feed him marks to meet with. Make sure his dance card is always full. Just keep Aluxsidrian away from that girl for the rest of the night. He's far too affectionate with her, and if people get the wrong idea, she'll hurt his prospects."

"Yes, my Lord."

Then, with a rustle of rich fabrics and the swish of the door opening and closing, the pair were gone, and Ahsoka was alone.

Ahsoka tossed her makeup-streaked facecloth in the sink and leaned back against the counter, the marble cool against her palms. She'd been offered an out. Even skilled people sometimes took the better part of an hour to do their makeup, and Ahsoka would hardly call herself skilled. The servants who'd puffed and primped her had long since been called away to the quarters to style the other slaves for the long night ahead. There was no one here to hold her accountable.

But Lux had always spoken so highly of his reliable advisor who'd served under his mother before him. Dakharen might not see taking orders from the father as betraying his loyalties to the son, but Ahsoka didn't trust Zakhan for a second – not with the way he treated Lux. If they wanted to lead Lux around by the nose like a baby shaak, the least she could do was give him a heads-up.

The gala wouldn't be so bad if she could find herself something to drink and a quiet vantage point away from the sycophants and suitors who were too handsy for their own good. If this party was anything like the ones they threw on Coruscant, there were sure to be dozens of extravagant outfits to point and laugh at.