Leia, Princess of Alderaan Read online

  © & TM 2017 Lucasfilm Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Lucasfilm Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.

  Cover Illustration by Daniel Bolling Walsh

  Design by Leigh Zieske

  ISBN 978-1-368-01047-4

  Visit the official Star Wars website at: www.starwars.com.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  About the Author

  The Day of Demand had been announced months before. Guests had already arrived from worlds across the galaxy, and delicious aromas from the banquet being prepared wafted through the palace halls. The weather had failed to cooperate with the celebration plans—low dark clouds hung heavily over the city of Aldera, threatening a downpour—but even the impending storm felt dramatic and grand, in a way.

  It was the perfect setting for a princess to claim her right to the crown of Alderaan.

  “Ow.” Leia made a face. “That pulls.”

  “And it’s going to keep pulling,” promised WA-2V, Leia’s personal attendant droid. Her bluish metal fingers swiftly wove one final braid in the complicated traditional style. “Today of all days, you must look your best.”

  “You say that every day.” As a little girl, Leia had only ever wanted to tie her hair back in a tail. Her parents had said she was free to do as she liked. But 2V had held firm. Her programming demanded that she present the princess in grand style, and not even the princess herself could say otherwise.

  “It’s true every day,” 2V insisted, coiling the braid in a loop and pinning it in place. “Standards are even higher for special occasions!”

  Leia felt a small quiver in her belly, equal parts nerves and anticipation. This was the biggest day in her life since her first Name Day, when her parents had taken her into the throne room and declared her their daughter by adoption and by love—

  She shook off the thought. That time all she had to do was be a baby in her mother’s arms. This time she’d have to stand up for herself.

  Once the hairstyle was done, Leia gratefully slipped into the clothing she and 2V had compromised on: a simple white dress for her, bold silver jewelry for 2V. Just as she toed into her satiny slippers, the orchestral fanfare swelled from the throne room, echoing through the palace’s corridors. It felt as though her parents were personally knocking on her door.

  “One more thing!” 2V pleaded. She rolled to the cabinet on the small sphere she had for a base, then swerved back with a silver headband, which she neatly fitted into the braids so its pearl charm hung at the center of Leia’s forehead. “Yes. Yes. That’s it. You look absolutely stunning! I work miracles, I really do.”

  Leia shook her head in amusement. “Thanks a lot.”

  Oblivious, 2V shooed her charge toward the door. “Hurry! They’re all waiting.”

  “It’s not like they can start without me, TooVee.” Still, Leia picked up the tail of her gown and hurried into the corridor. She didn’t want to be late. The princes and princesses who had made their demands in ancient times had sometimes had to fight their way to the throne room. It was meant to be a moment of strength and command—in other words, not a moment to prove you couldn’t even show up on time.

  Alderaan’s royal palace had been the work of more than a millennium. Their monarchy was one that dedicated itself to serving its people, so they’d never built high spires or commanding towers to dominate the landscape. Instead, new chambers were added every few decades, creating a sprawling labyrinth where modern data centers and holochambers existed side-by-side with ancient rooms hewn from stone. Leia knew each hallway, each door by heart; as a small child she’d reveled in exploring some of the most shadowy, out-of-the-way passages. Sometimes she thought she might’ve been the only person in centuries to have found every single room in the palace.

  Fortunately she knew the shortcut through the old armory, which got her to the antechamber of the throne room in plenty of time. The royal guards smiled when they saw her, and she grinned back as she straightened the cape of her gown. To the taller guard, she whispered, “How’s the baby?”

  “Sleeping through the night already,” he replied. Leia mimed applause, and he ducked his head, almost bashfully.

  Really she didn’t know much about babies, except that parents were very proud of them even though they kept everybody up at night. But if the guard was happy to have a sleepy baby, then she was happy for him.

  “We’re lucky on Alderaan,” her father had said as they sat by the library hearth. “We are loved by our people. We have their loyalty. That’s because we love them and are loyal to them in turn. If we ever cease to appreciate those around us—from the highest lord to the humblest laborer—we’ll lose that loyalty. We’ll deserve to lose it.”

  Leia was jerked back into the moment by the rustling of the velvet curtain at the door. Swiftly she went to the wall where the Rhindon Sword hung, grabbed it by the hilt, and took it in hand. She’d practiced with it a few times, but its weight surprised her every time.

  Position: doorway center. Sword: both hands on the hilt, arms close to body, blade upright. Speech…

  I remember the speech, she told herself. I definitely remember it. I’m just blanking on it at the moment and it’ll absolutely come back to me when I’m standing in front of hundreds of people—

  The curtain was tugged to the side. Brilliant light, tinted by vast panes of stained glass, fell on her. Two hundred guests turned as one, all of them standing on either side of a blue-and-gold carpet that traced a line directly through the room to the golden thrones where Breha and Bail Organa sat.

  Leia marched forward, sword held high. A low rumble of thunder made her grateful for the candledroids projecting light through the windows; otherwise, the room would’ve been nearly pitch-black. She’d practiced this but didn’t think she could do it with her eyes closed.

  I don’t know, it might’ve been easier if I couldn’t see all the guests staring at me. Leia had spent her entire life appearing before crowds, but today was the first time they would hear her voice in an official capacity, as their future queen.

  Breha Organa wore a dress of bronze silk, her hair piled high atop her head in braids woven through with strings of beads. Next to her, Bail Organa wore the traditional long jacket of the viceroy. The crown itself had been brought back from the museum to sit atop a marble pillar, illuminated by a candledroid of its own. Her parents looked even more regal than usual—almost forbidding. Were they enjoying the charade?

  Leia thought she was, or she would be if her par
ents had invited fewer people. Usually only a handful of offworlders would be present, but this time her father had asked many of his diplomatic allies in the Imperial Senate—Tynnra Pamlo from Taris, Cinderon Malpe of Derella, and both Winmey Lenz and Mon Mothma of Chandrila. Mon Mothma smiled wider as Leia passed her. Maybe she meant to be encouraging.

  As long as she didn’t think Leia looked cute. The Day of Demand wasn’t about being an adorable little kid. It was about growing up.

  When she reached the front of the throne room, only a few meters short of her parents, Breha called out the first line of the ceremony: “Who is this, who disturbs the queen in her seat of power?”

  “It is I, Leia Organa, princess of Alderaan.” Sure enough, the speech had come back on cue. “I come before you to hear you acknowledge that on this day it is known that I have reached my sixteenth year.”

  The “it is known” was an addition to the simplest form of the ritual, one used only when the eldest child of the king or queen was adopted. Leia had turned sixteen three or four days ago; she didn’t know her birthday for sure and didn’t much care. She’d become a princess of Alderaan on her Name Day, and that was the anniversary they were marking.

  “We acknowledge that you are of age,” said Bail. Only the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes betrayed the smile he was working to hide. “Why then do you come before us armed?”

  “I come to demand my right to the crown.” Leia knelt smoothly and held the sword overhead in one hand. Distant thunder rumbled, sending a small tremor through the floor. “On this day, you will acknowledge me as heir.”

  Breha’s voice rang throughout the throne room. “The crown of Alderaan is not merely inherited. It must be earned. The heir must prove herself worthy in body, heart, and mind. Are you prepared to do so?”

  “I am, my mother and queen.” It was a relief to stand again and lower the heavy sword. “I have chosen three challenges. When I have undertaken these challenges and succeeded in them, you must invest me as crown princess of Alderaan.”

  “Reveal these challenges, and we will decide whether they are worthy,” Bail said, as though he didn’t already know each one. For a moment, she was tempted to make something up on the spot. I’m going to learn to juggle and take to the stage as a feather-fire dancer. Aren’t you proud?

  But she’d practiced her speech so many times that it poured forth almost automatically. “For my Challenge of the Body, I will climb Appenza Peak and reach its summit.” That mountain was visible from her bedroom window, spectacularly silhouetted against every sunset. “For my Challenge of the Mind, I will no longer merely assist my father in the Imperial Senate but will also represent our world in the Apprentice Legislature. And for my Challenge of the Heart, I will undertake missions of charity and mercy to planets in need, paying all costs from my share of the royal purse. Through these challenges, I will prove my right to the crown.”

  Breha inclined her head. “The challenges are worthy.” She rose from her throne, and Leia stepped up on the dais and brought the sword back into position in front of her. Breha’s hands wrapped around the sword hilt, their fingers overlapping for the instant before Leia let go. “May all those present bear witness! If my daughter fulfills these challenges, she shall be invested as crown princess, heir to the throne of Alderaan.”

  Applause and cheers filled the room. Leia curtsied to her parents, who were beaming so proudly that for a moment it felt as if everything had been put right. Like the ceremony really had made them see her again—

  —until the guests crowded closer with congratulations and her parents turned away to greet them instead of congratulating their daughter.

  Bail was in conversation with Mon Mothma and her fellow Chandrilan senator, Winmey Lenz. Breha had taken the hands of Senator Pamlo, clearly thanking her for her presence.

  Already, Leia was forgotten.

  “Leia, my dear girl!” Lord Mellowyn of Birren came to her, smiling beneath his bushy white mustache. They were cousins through intricacies of Elder House lineage nobody bothered tracing any longer. “You were wonderful.”

  “Thank you.” She returned his smile as best she could.

  It’s true. I’m not imagining it. They don’t pay attention to me anymore.

  Did I do something wrong?

  Or do they just not care?

  She didn’t think she’d made them angry. They hadn’t turned from her in one moment of displeasure. Instead they had…ebbed away these past six months.

  Leia had never had very many friends her own age. As egalitarian as the Alderaanian monarchy was, there would always be a dividing line between those within the palace and those outside its walls. She’d gamboled around on the rolling grounds with some of the cooks’ children, but for the most part, her companions had been her parents.

  Bail and Breha Organa had waited a long time for a child. They had told her that many times, often as she went to sleep, as part of the story about when her father came home from a mysterious mission to surprise her mother with the baby girl in his arms. Leia would’ve known it even if they hadn’t told her, though. No matter how many questions she asked, her parents never tired of looking up answers. When she had bad dreams in the wee hours of the night, they never left her to a human nurse or caretaker droid; one of them always came to her, sometimes both. Every time she entered a room where they were, they smiled. She felt as if she made them happy merely by existing.

  Many children would’ve become hopelessly spoiled. But Leia always wanted to be helpful, especially to those she cared about, and she loved her parents more than she could imagine ever loving anybody else. So she tried to interest herself in everything they did. Breha planted Malastarian orchids; Leia planted orchids and learned to care for them so they sent forth pale pink blooms. Bail liked dancing; Leia studied dancing and would practice with her father until her feet were sore.

  With her mother’s queenly work, she hadn’t made as much progress. Breha Organa had charge of the royal books, balancing the many accounts and personally overseeing funding of all public works on the planet. Leia had gamely tried to get the hang of basic accounting, doing well enough but hating it the entire time. Within a week her mother had released her with a hug and a laugh.

  “But don’t I need to learn, if I’m going to be queen?” Leia had protested.

  “Not if you fall in love with someone who likes bookkeeping.” Breha had winked. “Then you can make your viceroy do it.”

  Her parents had arranged their duties so her mother tended to matters on Alderaan itself while her father represented Alderaan in the Imperial Senate and handled their diplomatic efforts. In the Clone Wars, he’d been their military leader as well, and as a little girl Leia had thrilled to his stories of adventure—and as she matured, she heard some of the darker, sadder stories that formed the largest part of any great war.

  But there had been no major wars in a generation. The galaxy was unified in the worst possible way, under the tyranny of Emperor Palpatine. As a representative of one of the most influential Core Worlds, Bail Organa served as one of the few voices in the Imperial Senate that could moderate Palpatine’s autocratic rule. Politics involved its own kind of battles, and Leia discovered early on that she liked a good fight. Interning in her father’s Senate offices the past two years had meant proofreading his speeches, practice-debating with him on various issues, and unwinding after sessions as they traveled home on the royal yacht or the Tantive IV. She’d felt she wasn’t only a daughter to Bail Organa but also a partner in his work, and that had made her prouder than her crown ever could.

  She’d done her part. She’d been a good daughter. So why had they stopped caring about being parents?

  It wasn’t like they hit her or were mean to her. It was worse than that.

  They ignored her.

  Her father began having more and more private sessions in his offices, discussions with senators from Uyter or Mon Cala that Leia couldn’t take part in. There had always been confer
ences like that, but they went from a few each month to sometimes several a day. Afterward Bail would be distracted for hours. If Leia tried to sound him out about them, he’d sternly tell her to attend to her own duties. It was as though power-brokering had become more important to him than anything else, including his own daughter.

  Her mother was even worse. She’d suddenly turned into a society hostess, inviting dignitaries from around the galaxy to sumptuous banquets where the revelry lasted until nearly dawn. Sometimes Leia would even catch Breha dozing over the account books the next day. Her responsibility to her people didn’t matter anymore, not compared to throwing a fabulous party.

  Leia felt her corner of their world shrinking tighter and tighter until she could hardly breathe in their presence. Nothing she said or did seemed to affect them in the slightest. Although she was too old to call out for her parents when she had a bad dream, every once in a while she wanted to do it anyway.

  But she never called for them. She never wanted to find out for sure that they wouldn’t come.

  “Come away from that window,” 2V scolded as she rolled to Leia’s bed and spread the silk coverlet over it. “You could be struck by lightning.”

  Leia didn’t budge from her seat. The open windows let the stormy breeze blow through, stirring her long hair as it hung loose down her back. Her billowy white nightgown covered the knees she hugged to her chest as she watched the horizon flicker bright with another thunderbolt.

  2V rolled toward her, jointed arms on the stiff apron that passed for her hips. “Your Highness, please! It’s not safe.”

  “I’m not going to be struck by lightning,” Leia said. “Besides, I like the storm.”

  2V rolled ominously close. “My programming allows me to forcibly remove you from any major physical risk.”

  “All right, all right. I’m going. See?” Hopping down from the window seat, Leia went to her bed. It was one of the artifacts of a grander age, carved of priceless Glee Anselm hardwoods and inlaid with thin, curling lines of pure gold and silver. Royalty no longer wasted money on splendor like this, but Breha always said it was silly not to use a perfectly good bed, or tiara, or palace.