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Durasteel gray. It was all that that surrounded her. How much time had passed since Lord Vader had apprehended their mission, the princess had no way of knowing. Perhaps this was the torture that had been promised to her by the smug little men who had locked her away – indefinite waiting.
The collar of her robes had begun to feel like noose. An absent white hand tugged at the fabric, liberating her throat, if only for a thumb’s width. Her breath only eased slightly.
Do not panic, Leia, she pleaded mentally, whatever you do, do not let them win like this.
It was vain, however, and she knew it. They had been clumsy in their retrieval of the Death Star plans, and now, the Empire knew more about the Alliance than ever. Possibly enough to end their efforts completely. If the waiting didn’t drive her mad, then the weight of her failure would. Whichever crushed her spirit first, the enemy had prevailed.
Leia tried to meditate these thoughts away, let them slip past her consciousness into the ether of her mind. Someone would come for her eventually, and when they did, she needed her faculties sharp. Whatever grief, whatever pain, whatever reminders of her lost cause lay ahead, she would march to the gallows with her head held high.
Rebellions are built on hope, she reflected, and spite.
Her eyelids fluttered closed as she allowed her awareness to liquify, a milky haze cast over each torturous musing. She felt herself floating, like the drifting sensation that precipitates sleep. It was almost peaceful and for a moment, she trusted it enough to relax entirely. The cold metal wall behind seemed suddenly comforting – a steady, dependable presence in the midst of unknowing.
Somewhere, she heard echoes. Something about a prisoner, 2187. She let the sounds bounce around her drifting thoughts until they were eclipsed by the steady pattern of approaching footsteps and the hissing of an opening door.
“Princess Leia,” a slightly shrill, lilting voice greeted her, “I am glad to see you taking a bit of rest. I hear you’ve had quite the ordeal.”
Jolted from her pensive state, her eyes met Grand Moff Tarkin’s. Behind him, two Stormtroopers brandished their weapons. He dismissed them with a causal wave of a hand, never breaking his gaze. A disingenuous smile grew upon his thin lips.
“Unusual,” he continued, observing her with sardonic expression, “I’m disheartened that you’ve yet to grace me with your cutting charms. You’re usually so quick on your tongue.”
Leia’s mouth felt dry and awkward, but the words found their way across her lips.
“I’m learning better than to spend my wit on you, Tarkin.”
He released a cold, unamused laugh and stepped forward. He towered over her while she still sat. He cocked his head as if he were about to scold her. Leia felt herself burning with anger and humiliation.
“I’m offended that you consider me such low hanging fruit, Your Highness,” his voice feigned disappointment. A bony index finger flicked her chin, a gesture more fitting between a master and his pet.
“I’m offended by you, generally, so I suppose we must be close to even,” she bit back quietly.
Leia didn’t know what to expect in response to this, but confusion gripped her keenly as the tall, gaunt man before her knelt, his palms resting on her knees intimately. Fear surged through her body as he leaned forward. His nose paused, inches from her face, forcing her to make contact with his dead, gray eyes.
“My darling princess,” he all but whispered, “what is it that I’ve done to cause such offense?”
There was a sinister jeer in the subtext of his words. All warmth escaped Leia’s body as she noticed a twinkle in the lifelessness of his regard.
“We’d be here all day.”
A dark chuckled resounded across the durasteel walls.
“That sounds perfectly lovely,” he responded, before standing, straightening his uniform, “However, I’m afraid we have business to attend to, you and I.”
Leia let the numbness inform her silence. Whatever ‘business’ this was, it was as inevitable as her waiting, and as her failure. There was no value in seeking more information now. This appeared to genuinely disappoint Tarkin, and she was glad of it. She had no desire to placate the despicable creature.
“You’re terribly quiet, my dear. Come, let’s go for a walk. Perhaps a change of scenery will move our conversation along.”
He offered his arm, and when she did not take it, and impatient hand gripped her elbow, and stripped her of her agency. Leia felt small and pointless at his side, and she knew that this state of docility pleased the Moff. The defiance in her flickering spirit attempted to wrestle free of his grasp, but the menacing clutch of his fingers resisted.
“Allow me to warn you,” Tarkin growled through his teeth, “I am happy to have you cuffed and shuffled along the corridors like a proper prisoner, but I am choosing to permit you some dignity. I can’t recommend bringing me to regret this decision, Princess.”
Leia retreated mildly, but not without fixing the man at her side with a deadly, hateful glare.
“Very well,” was all she replied.
Tarkin guided her through the detention hallways with few words. When they reached the turbolift, he positioned himself between her body and the door, a subtle reminder that any attempt to flee would be put to a swift end.
“You may be wondering where we are headed,” he offered, “and I’m happy to inform you that whatever utterly medieval methods were foretold are much below your station. I simply desire that we bring this little chat somewhere more…comfortable.”
Acid rose in Leia’s throat at his suggestion. He was letting her speculate. It was a cruel tactic – more anticipation.
When the lift stopped, the door revealed a grand, elegant room. A panoramic viewport filled the space with the warped blue light of hyperspace. She averted her eyes in discomfort. Tarkin steered her to a crimson velvet sofa, where he invited her to sit.
“See?” the man said, taking his own seat next to her, “much improved over that drab cell.”
“What conversation are you hoping to have, Tarkin?” Her expression was bitter and skeptical.
“You cannot continue this ruse, my dear. Your little rebellion is in possession of the plans for this battle station. We both know this.”
This is the Death Star, Leia’s shock vibrated through her muscles. She stood, almost involuntarily from it, staring into space with wild fear thundering against her ribs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tarkin’s hand wrapped about her wrist, rubbing her pulse point with gentle pressure. It was almost soothing, like the walls of her cell had been.
“You don’t need to lie to me.”
“What I say is true.”
“Princess,” the Moff interjected, “I’m weary of this act. Your youth may excuse your collusion with the rebels as a mere flirtation with rabble rousing. But, if you refuse to concede, then I may be left no choice but to punish you the same as your friends.”
His grip tightened around her wrist, constricting the blood flow, turning her fingers icy as he awaited her retort. Leia made no motion to move, frozen in indecision. He had cornered her.
“You’ll never stop, then?” Leia scoffed.
Tarkin stood again. He stepped forward to her still body, a wandering hand roaming its way to the small of her back. Around her hip it crept, gliding possessively along her side before halting its grip at her waist.
“Oh, believe me, Princess,” his mocking tone tinged with warning, “I don’t intend to stop until my name is but a breath upon your lips.”
“I’d sooner die.”
“Perhaps your last breath, then.”
His free hand stroked a long, tender line from her chin down to her collarbone. He toyed with the fabric of her collar, where it gathered and draped across her shoulders. He studied it with rapt amusement. A fresh smirk appeared on his mouth, and he continued.
“Alas, what a waste that would be.”
Thin lips met her temple. They were warm and sensual, sending alarms through Leia’s psyche. But still, she remained motionless, paralyzed by the bewilderment of her predicament. When she said nothing, he sighed.
“Well, then. I suppose we can keep this meeting between the two of us. It’s unfortunate that you’re so dedicated to your ridiculous scruples,” he said, his thumb tracing her ribcage with inappropriate pressure, “You’ll be escorted back to your cell until Lord Vader decides he’s ready for you. I can’t promise he will be as forgiving.”
He placed another kiss to her forehead before drawing a great inhale through her hair. Leia could sense his arousal…and his frustration. He lowered his mouth to her ear, nipping at her earlobe playfully before whispering, “But I assure you that you can survive it. I’ll make sure of that, my Princess.”
As Leia was pulled away from Tarkin’s grasp, she could’ve sworn that she saw Alderaan fade into view as the warbled lights of hyperspace dissipated behind him.