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Title: Agape’s Tale II : The Choices We Make
Author: Eritae Halcyon (eritae_halcyon@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Vader, OFC.
Category: Romance

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this, and he doesn’t belong to me. Darn.

Summary: Sequel to The Dare.

Love is not blind - it sees more, not less.
But because it sees more, it is willing to see less.

                                      - Rabbi Julius Gordon

I

You wake, in your usual position on your side, and very carefully stretch your legs. The Sith Lord was exhausted when he returned from the errand the Emperor had sent him on and is sleeping soundly next to you. From previous experience, you know waking him is not a good idea.

Suppressing a sigh, you touch the scar on your shoulder again. After your almost successful escape attempt, he had a homing transponder surgically implanted there. If you leave the area immediately around his private quarters, an alarm sounds, ensuring you can’t go anywhere undetected.

You hate that little device which is embedded in your flesh. Unless he escorts you elsewhere, it restricts your world to only a few rooms - his bedroom, office and meditation area, and your own bedroom. And sometimes, like it does now, it itches. With a light touch, you carefully rub at it.

Thankfully, you won’t have to put up with it much longer.

Tomorrow your year-long contract expires.

You will be free again.

He stirs and releases you from the tight hold he had maintained throughout the night. After a few minutes, he is back in a deep sleep, so you get out of bed and pad softly into the next room. It doesn’t matter that the lights are out - you have never needed them - and as a convict knows his cell, you know every centimetre of these rooms, every door, every wall, every single piece of furniture.

And like a prisoner resents his prison, you detest everything about this place, but strangely, to your amazement, you find that you cannot bring yourself to hate your captor.

You settle yourself on the soft rug next to his meditation pod. He had that brought in here for you so you wouldn’t have to sit on the bare, unyielding floor. The only chair in his quarters is in his office and it’s his, not yours, to sit in. There have been times when you have snuck in there and sat in it, just to be stubborn, just to needle him. He has never reprimanded you for it, but he knows - he always knows what you have been up to when he is gone.

He has spent much of the past year away, with the fleet in pursuit of the Rebels, only returning when the Emperor occasionally called him back. And now he has been ordered to stay at Imperial Center. He was angry about that, furious that he could no longer chase after his elusive prey. You overheard the heated exchange between the Sith Lord and his master.

In a way, his reluctance to be here has been a relief. He is as much a prisoner to his master’s whims as you are to his. The Sith Lord is as trapped by his choices as you were by your own.

You tip your head and listen. He is still snoring quietly, but he will notice your absence if you stay away for too long. Soon you will need to return to his bed, for you know he doesn’t like it when he wakes and you are gone from his side.

You decide to let your mind meander about for a few minutes more.

“Favourite,” he has titled you.

You are his favourite concubine, his most constant companion. The one person he keeps close to him and the only woman he has not become bored with once his sexual appetites have been satisfied. Any of the others he quickly sent away, back to the harem, back to obscurity, before he moved on to the next one.

He has not asked for any other woman since he accepted you.

And only you have ever slept at his side, through the night, when he is completely vulnerable.

It’s comforting, in an odd way, that he considers you that trustworthy.

You often wonder about that, ponder that. It had started the day he decided to keep you, but it wasn’t until the next morning that you learned he had treated you differently than the rest...

***

The Sith Lord releases your face and takes one of your hands in his own.

‘Your eyes should be repaired,’ he decides. ‘I will see that it is done immediately.’

‘My eyes are not the problem,’ you admit. ‘It’s the parts of my brain which process the images that are. There’s no cure for that.’

His grip on your hand tightens. He understands what it is to survive with a permanent, incurable handicap.

‘I have lived with it all my life,’ you softly say, feeling a need to comfort him. ‘Sorra took the proximity sensors, my earrings, which help me navigate in unfamiliar areas, but I have learned to use my hearing to compensate for it.’

‘Come to bed with me,’ he suggests. ‘I want to sleep a while longer.’

He guides you back to the bed, rolls you onto your side and wraps himself around you. You lie there in his arms, expecting him to do more than what he claimed he would, but he only strokes your face and hair for a few minutes.

‘I merely wish to rest an hour longer, and prefer your company to sleeping alone,’ he growls, sounding a bit annoyed, when you shiver a little at his touch. ‘Now, go to sleep.’

Your eyes shut immediately.

He is gone when you wake to a touch on your shoulder.

‘Agapé,’ you hear Sorra call your name.

‘Hmmm,’ you answer, still groggy.

‘Time to go to your room, clean up a bit, and rest,’ she tells you. ‘Lord Vader will want you again tonight.’

When you don’t move, she pulls the sheets off of you, exposing your naked body to the cool air in the room. It is a bit of a shock and as a result, you are now awake and alert.

‘You’ve bled a bit more than I expected you would,’ she notes, concerned. ‘He must have been quite rough with you.’

She obviously sees the evidence of your lost virginity on the sheets and on your thighs. Embarrassment burns your face. You cannot hide your discomfort or your body from her since the dress you wore last night is in tatters.

Sorra helps you up, tosses one of the sheets around your shoulders and leads you away from the bed.

She fusses, like a sabercat with one kitten, every step of the journey back to your room. You don’t protest. A bit of mothering from someone who understands what you went through is exactly what you need right now.

‘I waited outside his chambers all night,’ she admits once she has you settled in a hot, relaxing bath. ‘I thought he might have killed you for resisting him because he always sends his women out as soon as he is finished with them. You’re the first one he has kept at his side through the night.’

You tip your head, but stay silent, as you consider that.

‘Tell me exactly what happened,’ she insists.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ you refuse her request.

Sorra lets out an exasperated sigh.

‘Agapé, I know you resisted him,’ she scolds. ‘He tolerated it last night because you were inexperienced and a virgin, but he won’t put up with your defiance a second time. If you had co-operated, instead of fighting him, I am sure he would have been gentle with you.’

You turn your face away from her, but it does no good. There is no way to escape your memory of the Sith Lord looming over you, pressing you into the mattress with his weight while he held your hands above your head and deliberately tore you open in as unkind a manner as he could. It was an abject lesson in obedience to you, from him. Only when his own pleasure was at risk had he dulled your pain.

A sob sounds before you can stop it. Your first experience was nothing like what you had hoped it would be.

Sorra is unmoved and unsympathetic.

‘I warned you,’ she reminds you, ‘I told you not to resist him or make a scene. Tonight you must behave yourself. If you don’t, he will treat you the same or do worse.’

She helps you out of the water, and gives you privacy to apply a salve to numb the soreness you feel between your legs.

‘Now, I need to start teaching you what you need to know,’ Sorra decides once you have joined her in your bedroom. ‘His Lordship gets bored quickly, so the more ways you can give him pleasure, the better. We’ll start with the obvious - what positions he enjoys ...’

***

And so your sexual education had started, you ruefully think as you shift into a more comfortable position on your rug. Even though you cringed and blushed at her descriptions, and were embarrassed by what she had you do, Sorra was unflinching and most thorough in her lessons in the hours leading up to your next night with the Sith Lord.

The woman who stepped into his quarters that evening was no longer a naive innocent.

II

He meets you in the same room he did the first night, but there is no comm call to delay things today. Instead, he pulls you into the bedroom and shoves you down, to sit, on the edge of the bed.

‘I have been called away to a meeting,’ he growls, sounding a touch frustrated that tonight’s session will be delayed. ‘I only have a few minutes before I must go.’

For a moment you consider what to do. Be forward with him, let him lead the way, or wait until he gets back?

You pause, then find your hands moving of their own accord. Even if there is no time, you still want to do what he prevented last night - you want to touch him.

Reaching up and in front of yourself, your fingers brush against soft leather and unyielding hard armour. Embarrassed, you try to pull them back.

‘No, don’t,’ he offers, catching your hands. ‘Explore as you wish. There will be time later for other things.’

He releases you and patiently waits for you to continue.

A belt buckle is close to your face. You trace its contours, then move your fingers up, following the lines quilted into the leather. Another flat surface. The box controlling his life support, you guess, as you work your way around it, feeling switches and controls as your touch ghosts over its surface.

You lift your hands higher still, bump them into the sharp edge of his chest armour. Following that towards his back, you get to your feet and slide your arms around him, measuring the breadth of his ribcage. He is a large, powerful man, you note as you set your ear against him. Careful listening brings the sound of his heartbeat to your ear and a deep inhalation draws the rich smell of leather into your nose. Soft robes made of rycrit wool tickle your cheek and the mothsilk lining inside his cloak slides against your skin as he moves, wrapping his arms about you, holding you close to his chest.

You don’t resist him.

After a moment, curiosity wins out. Hesitantly, cautiously, you take your right hand from his back and set it near your face. When he doesn’t object, you raise it to where his neck is.

Your fingers slap against hard, cold, durasteel armour.

You freeze.

The Sith Lord still has his mask on.

‘Go ahead,’ he quietly urges, giving his permission.

You trace a path upwards, noting the sharp angular lines along the jaw of his mask. Using one finger, you run a trail along its cheek, then rest it against the slatted screen in front of his mouth and nose. With each regulated breath, you feel the warm air he exhales over your skin.

So this is the mask he hides behind, is imprisoned in.

Your hand falls back again.

He catches it.

‘Do you fear me?’ he asks. ‘Does my mask make you want to flee from me?’

There is no menace in his tone, only curiosity.

‘No,’ you admit.

Why should you fear what you can never see? What he wears, what he looks like does not matter to you.

‘You should,’ he warns, releasing you from his embrace before he leaves you standing there, wondering when he will be back.

It is many hours before he returns.

You shift a little on the bed, push yourself up on an elbow when you hear his breathing. An hour ago, you had given in to your fatigue, removed your dress and crawled under the covers. But waiting for him has turned you into a ball of nerves - each scenario you imagined has been worse than the last.

‘Stay there,’ he orders when you start to get up.

The sound of fabric falling to the floor reaches your ears, then the thud of heavy durasteel being dropped to join it. There is the creak of leather as he strips off his body armour, and you know you soon will have company in the bed.

Unable to stop yourself, you retreat as far away as possible from where he is and wait.

The bed moves a little under his weight as he sits behind your back. You feel his breath against your neck when he lies down, shifts onto his side and reaches an arm over you.

‘You’re trembling,’ he whispers in your ear when he rolls you over from your side onto your back. ‘Have you learned to fear me in your hours alone?’

‘No,’ you say.

You don’t fear him, only what he might do to you.

‘Liar,’ he teases.

‘I’m not...,’ you start to protest.

A mouth set on yours silences the rest of what you had planned to say.

His kiss is light, delicate, almost gentle. You return it in kind even though you suspect he expects you to do more than that. When he runs his tongue over your lower lip, you shiver a bit.

The Sith Lord is obviously a well-practiced expert at this.

Then he bites your upper lip.

Your jaw drops involuntarily and he is quick to take advantage of that. His tongue slips into your mouth and he begins to thrust in and out with it in imitation of the rhythm his love making might use. After a minute, you stifle a moan and twist your head away from him, breaking off your kiss.

That was the worst form of torture, you decide.

‘Either you liked that too much,’ he teases you again, ‘or I am losing my touch.’

You feel his fingers slide across your stomach.

‘Relax,’ he orders when you tense a little at his action, ‘as long as you behave yourself, I won’t hurt you.’

‘I can’t help it,’ you confess. ‘I am not used to being touched.’

His hand stops, rests just below your ribs. He leaves it there and traces small circles on your skin with his metal fingertips while he considers what you just said.

‘You enjoyed it last night,’ he reminds you, ‘and I expect to do as I please with you, even if it is something you do not want me to do.’

You keep your face turned away from him.

‘Still stubborn?’ he notes. ‘Sorra should have told you the consequences of continuing to resist me by now.’

‘She did,’ you admit, ‘and I don’t care.’

His fingers cease their movement.

‘But I don’t want you to hurt me, so I will do as I am told,’ you continue, ‘just don’t expect me to enjoy it.’

‘Ah, but I do expect you to enjoy it, my stubborn little one,’ he comments, amused. ‘If all I wanted was a woman who would lie there and not respond to my touch, I would not personally select my concubines with the care that I do.’

His fingers cross your stomach, caress the top of your thighs, then move back up to your chin, turning your face so he can look into it.

‘I am very careful who I choose and only a few have made it into this room,’ he admits, ‘and fewer still into this bed.’

‘Why me, then?’ you ask, curious. ‘Surely there are many other women who fit your criteria better than I do.’

His hand slides back down your body. He takes one of yours and slowly pulls it up to his face, resting it against his cheek. It is an act of trust on his part.

Realization dawns as you feel the terrible scar under your fingers.

No wonder he kept his quarters dark last night.

Those other women he spoke of could not stand the sight of his disfigurements.

Your blindness, your curse, is a blessing to him.

‘Yesterday, while you were resting in the afternoon, I had a meeting with Sorra to discuss you. She told me you were the most suitable of all the women I have picked, but she did not tell me why,‘ he reveals.

You pull your hand away from his face. Part of you feels hurt and angry, resentful even, at the Twi’lek major-domo. She knew you did not want to be the Sith Lord’s whore and yet ensured that you would be exactly that.

He easily reads your thought.

‘Sorra’s loyalty is to me, Agapé,’ he coldly states. ‘It is her job to become friendly with the women I select and to give me her unbiased evaluation. If you had failed her tests, I would have sent you away, to live in the harem for the next year, without my seeing you again.’

You flinch. A year of being locked up would have been your fate regardless.

‘But in your case,’ he decides, voice softening again, ‘she was right to bring you to me.’

There is something in the way he says that which touches a deep chord in you.

He’s lonely.

As lonely as you are, if in a different way.

His hand drops to your waist again, caresses you.

‘It’s late,’ he admits, ‘and I am tired. I want you, but I would rather not spend half the night chasing you around my bed or my quarters.’

You feel those invisible bonds on your wrists, but this time your hands are pinned at your sides, not above your head. No, you think, not again.

‘I’ll be good,’ you promise, sounding a bit desperate, ‘I won’t fight what you do.’

‘I won’t put up with being scratched at by a hellcat,’ he firmly states. ‘You almost disconnected my life support last night. Until I am sure you will behave, you will be restrained.’

His hand has slipped lower, between your thighs now. He explores you with his fingers, then slides one inside as he did last night.

You flinch when he prods at tender tissues.

‘Still small and tight,’ he tells you. ‘Until you are used to me, this will be uncomfortable for you and might hurt a bit.’

His voice is almost, almost sympathetic.

The finger inside you begins to move. In and out, slowly, carefully. Each time he brushes it along your upper surface, you moan a little. He’s found the same spot that Sorra had you locate for yourself earlier in the day. But what the Sith Lord is doing is nothing like the Twi’lek’s quick lesson in anatomy.

You begin to writhe at the sensations he is producing in you.

‘Stop, please,’ you beg of him, only to be ignored.

Close now. You are very close to experiencing an orgasm like the one he produced using his mouth last night.

‘No,’ you softly moan, ‘no, no, no.’

He pulls the finger out, leaving you unsatisfied and wanting more.

‘You’re ready for me now,’ he whispers in your ear as he bends over to give you a quick kiss.

He wastes no time positioning himself after he says that. Expecting a repeat of last night, you fight against the bonds holding you immobile, but it does no good. The Sith Lord is not going to risk you clawing him again.

You shut your eyes tight and prepare yourself for what you are sure will happen now.

There is a pressure between your legs again, but he doesn’t take you with a deep, hard thrust this time. Instead he slowly pushes his way in, stopping the odd time to wait a few seconds before repeating the process. When he is in as far as he can go, he waits, spends a minute stroking your face, before beginning a gentle, relaxing rhythm. There is some discomfort, but it is nothing like what you expected.

You let yourself relax and sink into the bed. He doesn’t intend to hurt you tonight. Quite the opposite in fact - it is almost as if he is trying to make up for the pain he caused the first time he did this.

The sensations within you build again. You feel your body twinge in time to each of his thrusts. Close now, closer.

You are on the edge - your soft moans grow louder.

‘Hold me,’ the Sith Lord orders, releasing your hands.

You wrap your arms around his back, as he commanded, changing the angle he is entering you at. Instinct takes over and you cannot control yourself any longer. Your hips move in time with his now, rising to meet his every hard thrust. When you are at the brink, you finally feel your muscles react.

So does the Sith Lord who lets himself go a second later.

That was sweet, sublime completion, you decide as he cries out before falling on top of you. Sorra was right. This is enjoyable, if you behave and let him have his way with you.

You vow not to make it as easy for him to get his own way the next time.

There is a low chuckle next to your ear.

‘Better,’ you hear him say, ‘much better.’

You wonder exactly what he means by that, but your thoughts are stopped cold by his next words.

‘If you continue to please me, I intend to keep you permanently.’

***

III

You angle your head again. He’s close to waking now. There was just the slightest catch in his even snoring.

It’s time to leave your comfortable rug and return to his side.

Silently rising to your feet, you make your way back to his bedroom and slip into the bed beside him. Despite your care, though, he feels your return, your weight moving next to his body.

‘Off musing again?’ he whispers in your ear, teasing you.

The Sith Lord knows you like to slip away and sit by yourself to think. You do not have that luxury when he is awake and working in his office. Then, he keeps you close, sitting next to him, on the floor on your rug. He prefers your company to being alone, you suspect.

‘Just for a few minutes,’ you admit.

It’s much better to tell him the truth than risk a lie, even a small one.

You learned your lesson about that the hard way.

***

Nine months.

It has been nine months since you became Darth Vader’s concubine.

His favourite concubine, to be exact.

Each and every night he has been on Imperial Center he has kept you in his quarters, in his bed, at his side. But the last few days, like he has on occasion in past months, he has avoided any intimacy with you.

‘It’s too risky,’ he had told you. ‘It’s not safe for me to get you with child.’

Then he arranged this visit to his castle’s medlab - a visit with the sole purpose of ensuring his concerns would never bear fruit.

You resent what will be done to you - the prodding, the invasive procedures, the stinging hypospray which will render you temporarily infertile. All for the remaining month left in your contract. It seems to be a purposeless exercise.

Sorra comes to your bedroom to collect you.

You ignore the warning alarms which sound when she leads you past the sensors triggered by the implant in your shoulder. Yet another indignity you have had to endure, you resentfully note.

She shuts off the noise by comming the castle’s Command Center.

‘Agapé’s with me,’ Sorra tells them. ‘I’m taking her to Medlab.’

When you arrive at your destination, you are steered into a room, made to dress in a flimsy robe and left, sitting on the edge of the examining table, to wait for whatever the Sith Lord wants done to you.

There is no point in trying to escape - the sensors outside the door will detect you the instant you try to leave.

You pull at the lightweight fabric wrapped around your body much as a child would play nervously with her party clothes.

The waiting is becoming unbearable.

The doctor finally comes in.

You know her by her voice. This is the same woman who inserted the homing transponder; the physician who looks after all the medical needs of Vader’s women.

She says little as she examines you, only what is necessary, in fact, and she sounds completely bored by it all.

‘Your ovaries are working fine - conceiving shouldn’t be difficult. And you have good childbearing hips,’ she notes at one point. ‘Plenty of room inside, too. You won’t have any trouble delivering.’

Conceiving? Delivering?

‘What?’ you blurt out.

‘Orders,’ she admits. ‘I am to evaluate you for any potential reproductive problems. His Lordship...’

She falls silent, suddenly realizing she has said far too much.

‘My contract finishes in a month,’ you coldly tell her. ‘I won’t be here long enough to worry about a pregnancy, so don’t waste your time or my time with things that don’t matter.’

The doctor ignores your attempt at sarcasm and helps you up from where you were lying on your back.

A cold cylinder is pressed to your arm and a hypospray hisses against your skin. You flinch at the sting from the drugs in it.

‘It’s a low dose - should wear off in a month,’ you are told.

Timed to wear off with your release from that cursed contract, you decide. At least he has the courtesy to respect that.

The doctor leaves immediately after that, giving you time alone to brood some more.

You debate what to do.

The Sith Lord obviously has plans for you, you think as you touch the sore spot above your elbow. But he can’t keep you past the end of your contract, not unless you choose to extend it. And you have no intentions of staying in his castle one minute longer than is required of you.

You’ll lie to him, you decide, and tell him you can’t have children. That seems to be what this exam was all about. And you know that if you can’t give him what he wants, he won’t want you around - he won’t want you.

Sorra interrupts your plotting, helps you into your clothes and escorts you back to your room.

You spend the rest of the day imagining what you will do once you are free.

***

‘You’re thinking too hard again,’ his voice teases in your ear. ‘Perhaps I should give you something else more pleasant to consider.’

‘I don’t like being examined like some prized nerf waiting to be bred,’ you admit as you turn a little on the bed to face him.

‘She was rough with you?’ he asks, his tone icy calm.

He won’t tolerate you being mistreated.

‘No,’ you reply, ‘I just hate being examined. It feels invasive.’

‘Ah,’ he quietly answers, before pulling you backwards on the bed again. ‘Then let me invade you with something more enjoyable than what the doctor had to offer.’

He rolls you over, onto your stomach and you raise your body up onto your hands and knees in response.

You don’t much care for this pose, but the Sith Lord prefers to be in control - to be in a physical position where he is dominant. Not once have you been the one on top, the one directing the proceedings.

He grabs your hips, shoves himself in.

There is no pain, no discomfort at his entrance.

You are used to his size now and the preliminaries have ensured that he can move inside you easily.

His speed picks up; the pace of his breathing increases.

Your arms brace you, preventing your head from slamming into the wall with each impact of his hips against you. He’s enjoying this, you realize, as his hands tighten around your waist.

You don’t find this pleasurable at all.

He suddenly pulls out of you, flips you over onto your back.

‘I think you prefer it this way,’ he tells you, sounding a bit amused.

A moment later, he is inside you again, pushing you closer to an orgasm with each thrust. When he knows you are close to the edge, he stops himself and waits, not beginning again until your body has relaxed a little. He repeats this several times, chuckling at your frustration when he ceases moving.

You don’t bother trying to urge him on. He will only finish this when he’s ready to - when he’s had his fun tormenting you this way.

Finally, he lets you have what you want.

Your body arches up against his. You gasp and moan, feeling every twitch of your own muscles and his spasms within you. Then you are limp underneath him, his head resting on your shoulder while he recovers his breath.

You reach a hand up to his face to trace its features. The scars have never bothered you, but you know he is sensitive about them. Your fingers stay on the side of his face which is relatively untouched, then brush through the short, sparse, spiky hair he has allowed to grow in the last two weeks. He’ll probably strip that off today. It bothers him if it grows too long - makes it too hot in his helmet.

He pulls your hand away.

‘What did the doctor tell you?’ he asks as he shifts himself off your chest.

Back to that again, you think, annoyed.

‘I can’t have children,’ you lie to him.

He stiffens beside you, tense, and you quickly realize, extremely angry. At your inability to give him what he wants, you guess.

In an instant, he is off the bed and has hauled you to your feet.

‘What are you doing?’ you say to him, puzzled by his reaction.

‘This,’ he snarls.

Your head reels from the impact of metal on flesh as he slaps you hard across the face.

He has never struck you before. Not even when you tried to escape did he do this.

Shocked, you stand there, too stunned to move.

The second blow knocks you off your feet, and you wait, sprawled across the floor, for the next one.

It doesn’t fall.

You feel the blood trickling from your nose, taste the sharp tang of it in your mouth from your split lip. The hand you raise to staunch it is shaking uncontrollably.

‘Don’t ever lie to me again, Agapé,’ he coldly states. ‘The next time I won’t be so lenient.’

Then he storms from the bedroom, leaving you in a heap on the floor.

***

IV

‘Hmmm,’ he hums a quiet reply to that. ‘You spend too much of your time thinking. And always about escape, if I am not mistaken.’

‘Not always,’ you own up, ‘just sometimes. I know it’s pointless to try to leave you.’

His hand touches your face, slides across your cheek, coming to a stop when he reaches your hair - your long hair he insists you leave loose, wild, and free for him to touch. He dictates the perfume you wear, too. Only the sweet, soft smell of millaflowers from Naboo adorns your body.

A handful of your hair is pulled to his face and you hear him override his respirator with a long, indrawn breath.

‘It smells so sweet, like a spring morning on Naboo,’ he murmurs, ‘and you are so very much like her.’

It is the same thing he said of you the first time he touched your hair, on the day you originally met almost one year ago. In recent days, he has often compared you to ‘her,’ to the woman who lied to and betrayed him so many years ago.

He will never tolerate the same from you.

‘I really should let myself forget what is long lost and done with,’ he whispers, obviously caught in the past, ‘but I need you to help me escape from my memories of her.’

His mouth seeks yours as he pushes you back against the pillows.

He wants to escape from his past.

You want freedom from your present.

***

‘The Emperor has sent his Lordship to join the fleet and to supervise the search for the Rebels for the next two weeks,’ Sorra tells you. ‘His quarters are being refitted, so I’m moving you to the harem until he returns.’

You nod in answer.

A change of accommodations will be a relief. You have spent the last month, the first month of your contract, in his quarters or your bedroom. The confinement has made you restless and bored.

This will be the first time you are taken to the area in the castle occupied by the Sith Lord’s other women.

And with his absence, it is the first real opportunity you have been given to make your escape.

You accept your earrings, the proximity sensors you navigate with, from Sorra. They don’t work in the Sith Lord’s quarters, and your bedroom is within easy reach of his, down the hall in fact, so she has kept them for you.

You know she kept them to restrict your movements, to stop you from attempting what you plan to do tonight.

This is one concubine who will be free of him by tomorrow morning, you decide as you let yourself be led along, unresisting, to the harem’s common room.

***

Your feet sink into a deep, soft carpet as Sorra leads you into what must be a large, open room. It echoes a little with the sounds of water in a fountain and the low voices of women engaged in conversation.

The voices fall silent fall at your entrance.

‘This is Agapé,’ Sorra introduces you, before warning them, ‘Lord Vader has chosen her as his Favourite. Treat her with respect because if you don’t, I will hear about it and see that his Lordship does as well.’

Harem politics, you think as Sorra takes you past the tinkling fountain and into the suite of rooms which will be yours. There must be a fair amount of fighting for position here, among the obviously bored inmates of this place.

‘You are to stay within the harem,’ she orders, ‘and if any of them say or do anything which bothers or upsets you, tell me immediately. Since they have nothing to do with their lives once he rejects them as unsuitable, other than wait for their contracts to expire, they fill their days with gossip and intrigue aimed at gaining a higher status amongst themselves. Just remember his Lordship will not tolerate any of that sort of nonsense aimed at you. You are his Favourite concubine and rank above all of them because of it.’

She settles you in a comfortable chair and calls a droid over.

‘C3-H6 is assigned to you personally,’ Sorra tells you. ‘Use him to send for your meals or fetch what garments you need. Anything you want is yours.’

Anything except what you really want, your freedom, you silently add.

‘Now, I must go,’ she admits, ‘but is there anything you need or want to know before I do?’

‘No, Sorra,’ you answer, ‘I think I can manage on my own.’

You hear her stand and her footsteps growing quieter, farther away, as she leaves.

Not one of the other women approaches you after she has gone.

They are afraid of you, you decide after a few hours, afraid of what you are to their master - afraid that any slight to you, even an unintended one, might result in some sort of punishment from him.

You are quite grateful for their avoidance. The isolation and solitude allows you to interrogate H6 about the castle’s layout and make your escape plans without being interrupted.

***

You wait, alone in your rooms, late into the night. Your keen hearing tells you when the last of the other concubines have left the common room for their own suites and finally retired for the night.

To make sure your droid can’t raise an alarm at your departure, you order H6 to shut down. Then you walk through your suite into the common room. It is empty. The only sound to be heard is the fountain.

Good.

No one will see you leave, and you know from what H6 told you that the harem is not monitored by cameras. Quietly, stealthily, you make your way to the harem’s entrance, pausing there to gather up your courage. You only have H6's descriptions for where you need to go from here. Sorra and the Sith Lord have never taken you along the route you must follow.

After a moment, you take a step out into the corridor and head for the turbolift, counting paces and meters as you go.

You stop when your count reaches twenty, reach your hand out to the wall and find the controls for the ‘lift. With a touch, you call it, and wait nervously for it to open.

The seconds tick by, each seeming to be an hour long.

You hear the ‘lift arrive and dart into it.

‘Main public level,’ you whisper your command, afraid that someone might somehow overhear you.

It obeys you instantly.

You pace around in small circles while you travel upwards to your destination, imagining every potential thing that might go wrong. Please, let there be no one on duty this late at night, you pray, hoping that the castle’s public offices and meeting areas are as deserted as the harem’s common room was.

The unexpected sound of the ‘lift door opening frightens you into starting in surprise.

You flee from its confines into the next corridor you must travel down.

Only once do you hear someone’s voice, but they are in the distance, far away from you, in another hallway. Ignoring them, you keep to your mental map, not allowing yourself to attempt a safer route. You follow H6's instructions to the letter, and eventually reach the last few meters you have to negotiate.

Freedom is just a door and a quick dash across his castle’s courtyard entrance away.

You creep closer to that door, stopping every few steps to listen.

Nothing reaches your ears.

No one is near. Brushing your hand along the wall, you locate the controls, prepare to touch the one which will open that one last door and set you free.

You hear another nearby door open and freeze in place. There is an ominous footstep behind you. Then the all too familiar sound of regulated breathing.

He’s returned from his assignment early for some reason.

Your hand falls away from the control panel.

Caught.

You turn to face him, wait silently for the punishment his anger will demand he inflict on you.

‘Where do you think you are going?’ he asks.

His voice is even, deadly calm - not a single emotion is betrayed in his tone.

‘Out,’ you admit, ‘for a walk.’

‘I think not,’ he decides.

A strong, firm hand clamps down around your wrist before he drags you down the corridor after him.

‘You forgot, my dear Agapé,’ he tells you, sounding rather amused at your plight, ’that the public areas of my castle are constantly monitored. Lieutenant Jir has been watching you for the last ten minutes and alerted me when it was apparent you intended to leave my castle. Which is what I told Sorra you would do if you thought I was away and you were given the opportunity.’

It was a set-up.

They set you up. He knew what you would do, given the chance. And you should have known anyway - your escape attempt went far too smoothly for him not to have engineered it.

‘What are you going to do to me?’ you question him, trying to find out what his plans are.

He killed the one concubine of his who was foolish enough to take a lover. Surely your infraction will result in a similar fate. Assuming the worst, you frantically pull at your arm in an attempt to free it, but he just continues down the corridor, not slowing his pace, while he increases his grip on you until it becomes painfully constricting.

‘Since I can’t trust you to stay of your own accord, I will have a homing transponder implanted in you,’ he quickly answers. ‘And you won’t be allowed out of my quarters unescorted again.’

He has you trapped, you realize, which was undoubtedly the outcome he intended to get.

There will be no further chances at escape for you.

***

V

It’s morning. The morning you have eagerly anticipated for an entire year.

Today, at midday, you will finally be free.

The arm around you twitches - the Sith Lord is dreaming once again. You don’t move from his side. Moving will wake him up, and you want to enjoy the quiet before he does so. And you suspect he will want to spend as much of the day as he can in bed with you.

For a moment you wonder if he will really let you go. In the past, he has said he intended to keep you, but your contract is as binding on him as it is on you. If he is honourable, he will abide by that.

You hope he will abide by it.

Hot breath heats your neck and ear as he shifts a little. He’s awake.

‘Agapé,’ he whispers in your ear, kissing your neck behind it when you don’t answer.

You pretend to be asleep, hoping he will leave you alone for another minute or two.

‘Agapé,’ he repeats.

This time his kiss is followed by a sharp nip.

You let out a yelp and jump at the pain. He’s done this to you before when he suspected you were awake and play acting at being sound asleep.

The Sith Lord chuckles at your reaction.

‘Awake at last?’ he teases.

‘No thanks to you,’ you grumble at him.

‘Thinking about escape again?’ he teases some more.

‘No,’ you tell him, a bit annoyed that he would bring that topic up again.

‘Tell me the truth,’ he speaks into your ear, sounding curious, ‘tell me why you want to escape.’

He’s never asked that before. You wonder why for a few seconds, then decide it would be best to answer him. The Sith Lord won’t let the subject drop until you do - he can be quite ruthlessly persistent when he wants to know something.

‘When I was a child, my mother wouldn’t let me go outside, wouldn’t let me go anywhere without her and our old protocol droid there to guide me,’ you admit. ‘In school, it was the same. I could manage well enough on my own, but everyone around me acted like I was incapable of looking after myself. They wanted to protect me, I suppose, when what I wanted to do was to learn about the world, to experience whatever I could, not be treated like a cripple. Every time someone tried to impose restrictions on me, I would run away just to spite them.’

There is not a word in response, so you add, ‘I just don’t like being told what I can and can’t do - I need to be free, to make my own choices.’

You wait for an angry reaction from him, but he still says nothing.

Then his hand turns you over and a light kiss lands on your forehead. He understands now, you realize, but it is too late for him to change the last year.

‘Kiss me, please,’ he requests.

He’s never asked that of you before, only ordered you to do it.

You hesitate, then reach up to his face and touch his cheek. This will be the last time, the final opportunity, you will have to show him what he will lose today. Your fingers trace a path behind his head, settle along the back of his neck and pull him close.

You start your light kisses on his cheek, move your lips up to his forehead, before following the terrible scar on the other side of his face from his ear to his mouth. He flinches a little when you kiss the remnants of his old injury, but you refuse to let him pull away. Today you want to feel all of him, even the parts he is reluctant to have you touch.

He needs to know you accept him as he is.

Your mouth parts; he responds in kind. For once it is your tongue, not his which leads the dance, explores inside. He has all his own teeth, you realize, and finding that thought oddly incongruous with your situation, you let out a quiet giggle, interrupting your kiss.

The Sith Lord patiently waits for you to continue.

Something different, you decide.

You start at his ear, use your mouth to follow the curve of his muscle under the skin of his neck down to his collarbones. His chest is scarred, but you know he can still feel what you do. Your mouth finds one of his nipples, so you nurse at it a moment, only stopping when he starts to moan, then attempts to push you away. He must be sensitive, there, you decide, pleased that you have evoked such a strong response from him.

Leaving his chest, you go lower still, let your fingers swirl circles on his stomach like he does to you on occasion.

He winces.

You are not the only one who is ticklish here, but you refrain from torturing him that way, tempting as it is.

What next?

He has made no move to stop you, and for the first time, the only time, has given you free rein to do as you please. You debate what to do, then decide to be bold.

You sit up beside him, then kneel at his side before leaning over to rest your arms on his midriff. With a touch of hesitation, you kiss his stomach, moving lower with your kisses until hair tickles your nose. Further down still and your mouth finds him - erect, swollen, ready for you.

His hand runs up your back, follows your spine, then grabs your hair, pulling you away.

‘Don’t,’ he orders.

‘Why not?’ you ask, lifting your head up a little to relieve the tension on your scalp.

‘Just don’t,’ he repeats. ‘I would rather you didn’t do that today.’

So, he will only give up so much control over what you do and no more.

You obey and turn yourself about to face him.

‘What would you like me to do, my Lord?’ you ask.

‘Give me the heir I need,’ he answers, teasing you a bit, ‘give me a fine, strong son to succeed me. I know you will, if you let me get you with child.’

A snort escapes before you can stop it. He’s playing with you, toying with you, trying to find out what you will say, just like he has done in the past few weeks. You opt to ignore it, refusing to give him the negative answer he expects to hear yet again.

‘How may I please you, my Lord?’ you repeat your offer, hating every subservient word of it.

His hand releases your hair and moves to your waist. The other one joins it. Then you are easily lifted up into the air above him before he lowers you down over his middle.

He wants you to be on top today. For the first time you will be the one who is dominant.

You set your hands to either side of the control panel on his chest to help balance yourself. Then you slowly move while his hands on your waist help support and guide you. He easily slides inside you as you descend downwards to sit on his pelvis.

It is a sensation like nothing else.

For a minute, you stay there, letting your body get used to this new position, learning how to balance yourself before you consider moving. Then you move - slowly, carefully, a bit unsure of yourself, you move. Your body rises and falls above his in a steady, even rhythm, in time to an unseen, unheard conductor.

Muscles clench inside you. You ride it out, refuse to let yourself go so quickly, but your body begins to betray you.

His hands tighten on your waist, and his breathing overrides his normal set pattern. He’s as close to the edge as you are. When his hips buck up to meet you, you know there is no point in trying to delay it any longer.

‘My Lord,’ you moan, then scream as your climax rips through you, completely in synch with his own.

You fall forward, onto his chest, temporarily exhausted, and mirroring his past actions when you are the one beneath him. Your heavy pants sound strange to you, but the familiar pounding of his heart under your ear provides a calming, even beat.

His fingers are in your hair now, running through it, comforting you while soothing him.

‘Sorra will help you get dressed today,’ he reveals.

Then he lifts you from his chest, brushes your cheek with his hand and is gone.

***

And now it is midday and you are here, standing inside the entrance to his castle, wrapped in a warm cloak, on the edge of freedom - the freedom you have so desperately sought this last year.

The Sith Lord releases your arm, takes a step back, and waits. You feel the soft breeze and warmth from the sun against your face, the fabric of your cloak swirling about your feet. A deep inhalation brings the usual smells of Imperial City into your nose.

It is the first time you have been outside in exactly one year.

For a moment you savour your new freedom.

He has never mentioned this moment, made no attempt to persuade you to stay. Despite his statements that he intended to keep you, despite his almost desperate need to have you near him, in the end it comes down to this: you are just another concubine, another whore to him after all, if one he preferred to the rest.

And that thought hurts.

It hurts more than you ever believed it would, more than you ever want to admit that it would.

You take a hesitant step forward.

He doesn’t move.

Then another step. And another. You are at the brink of stepping out of his castle’s boundary into the world beyond - on the verge of freedom.

Still nothing from him. No move to stop you, no order to return to his side.

He is truly willing to let you go.

You stop and turn to face him.

You cannot see him, will never see him, but every feature on his hidden face is as familiar to you as your own. For a brief second you wish that things could be different, wish that you could see him, really see him, just once, only once.

If you could be granted one thing in your life it would be the sight of his face before being eternally sentenced to darkness again.

His breathing breaks in a soft gasp.

And then, in that instant, you understand him. In one flash of insight, you know - you know what he can never say aloud, what he can only demonstrate by his actions. His willingness to let you go despite his feelings, despite his need for you, speaks to your heart when he remains silent.

‘Do you love me?’ you had asked him that first night.

He had refused to reply to you then, but you know what his silent, unspoken answer had been. And you knew, at that moment, what your own heart had decided.

One’s life is determined by the choices one makes, you realize.

His choices. Your choices.

Your choices have brought you to this point.

For a moment indecision grips you; freedom beckons, but you hesitate still.

He has given you this opportunity to choose.

You take a step, then another, and then you are running but towards him, not away. Drawing closer, two arms catch you, wrap around you, hold you tight to his chest. Your ear pressed against him hears every beat of his heart through his armour. Seven words pour from your lips.

‘I choose to stay: I choose you.’

END

‘And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation’ - Khalil Gibran

Part 3

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