We dock at a small space station outside the Naboo system and swap to a nondescript civilian shuttle. The people who run the station are friends of Irdé's, and it seems to be some kind of smuggling operation. I silently thank whatever deity might be out there that I hired a handmaiden with surprisingly shady connections – and possibly a checkered past to go with them. I will never learn her whole story now.

Naboo comes into view, and I realise how deeply homesick I am. Its luscious blues and greens are a welcome sight for my tired eyes. It pains me that we are not flying to the capital, or to the lake country, or to my family home. Perhaps one day they will be safe places for me to visit, but that day is not today.

Dormé pilots the shuttle instead toward the far side of the planet. Here the landscape is populated by rolling hills, soft greens pocked with darker trees. We fly over a local village and beyond it, then land beside a creek bed trickling with the last water of the wet season. My "not-lake house" is built into the curve of a hill, its architecture hugging the natural shape of the rock. Dormé helps me disembark and sees me inside, before returning to the shuttle to retrieve our belongings.

As I cross the threshold, the enormity of what I have done, of months living in fear and anticipation and preparation, of crumbling democracy and the undoing of so much hard work, of Anakin's violent betrayal, hits me. In stark contrast, the house is peaceful, eerie quiet only interrupted by the occasional chirp of a bird and the soft sloshing of the nearby creek. It feels so empty, so isolated. Which is the point, I remind myself. I must try to be hopeful about this.

I walk slowly around the house, which has already been furnished on our previous visit, and turn on lights, familiarising myself with the layout of the place. When I reach the nursery, I plant myself on a small couch and watch the sun slowly set through the window, warm light bathing the cots where my children will soon sleep.

My mind struggles to reconcile the cognitive dissonance of this peaceful place and the alertness of my body. I cannot relax, my thoughts jumbling lists of everything and everyone I have left behind, and all the places Anakin could be right now. Most of all, I worry for the brave handmaidens who have remained on Coruscant.

Dormé finds me still sitting there almost an hour later, transfixed, as the sun dips below the horizon.

"Milady?"

I look at her, somewhat dazed.

"I have unpacked some of our supplies. I thought to prepare us a meal, and was wondering if you'd like to assist me."

Good, something to do.

I follow her to the kitchen and find that life is also simpler when chopping vegetables with Dormé. We eat the hearty soup together and she unpacks some of my personal items to decorate the place with.

"I think we can make it a home, Milady."

I nod unconvincingly. "Please, Dormé. You are a handmaiden no longer, but a friend. A dear, true friend. And I am not a Senator, as soon as the Queen receives my resignation papers. There is no more need for formality. Call me Padmé."

She smiles. "I think we can make this place a home, Padmé."

"I hope so. Perhaps it will feel that way once the twins arrive. I am incredibly grateful that you have offered to stay with me awhile. I am not sure I could have gotten through the rest of this pregnancy and the early days of motherhood alone."

"Of course."