Beta: A huge thank you to cariel for beta reading this for me and make it all pro! =D

Author's Warning: This tale contains material that suggest sexual abuse between and adult and a minor and is not suitable for all readers.


Moteé's mother was a mistress, a glorified whore. Her father was a fiend.

She had everything every child ever dreamed of and even more. Toys, pretty dresses, and candy were always at her disposal. The one thing Moteé needed most was not.

Her childhood was spent hiding in shadows as her parents played games of betrayal, violence, and drugs. Moteé was too young to understand, but was grateful that she did not have to play. Her imaginary friends had to agree. Hide and Seek was one game they never enjoyed, especially when it involved her father's fist, or worst, his belt.


Sex is power. To rule a man, you must first bring him to his knees.

It was a rare when Moteé's mother gave her any real attention, never mind offered words of wisdom. Moteé always put these rare moments to memory. What her mother did not teach her, Moteé learned from observation. Her mother had many lovers as did her father.

The lesson was never fully grasped until she turned twelve.

Years later, her skin would still crawl to the memory of sausage like fingers groping her flesh, just as her ears would ring to the muffled memory of her pleas and screams for help.

It was only the hissed curses accusing her of seduction that would always bring water to her eyes.

Her father was her first and Moteé never forgave herself for it.


Despite her pleas of innocence, Moteé's mother saw her as a threat and was quick to get rid of her.

Being a handmaiden in Senator Amidala's entourage was not about work, duty, or even pride; it was an escape.

Her father ruled the business side of Coruscant's nightlife. Moteé ruled its entertainment. Liqueur, spice, icoti, and men became her masks.

She longed to forget and so long as she remained behind the masks, she could.

It did not protect her from paralyzing fear that her father was always watching her.


Moteé stared into Dormé's young eyes and knew she was not alone.

The wariness, the unspoken doubts, and the age that held in her amber orbs mirrored her own. There was innocence too, but it was muted, dulled by experiences that no child should ever witness.

The moment her eyes settled upon the waif of a girl, Moteé knew she had to break her. Dormé was more than a threat; she was the reflection of all that Moteé had once been.

Dormé mirrored the truth and it terrified her.


Moteé was only a year older than Dormé she regarded the young woman as a child, an impressionable child. A child she could mould, control, and transform into someone else entirely.

Dormé broke without even realizing that she had been broken. She slipped into the role Moteé had carved out for her without ever asking why.

The young woman drank without pause, danced as though she were a goddess, and brought all the men to their knees with only a smile.

Moteé may have been the master of seduction, but Dormé was the goddess of passion.

Somewhere between the pulsating music, the shouts of conversation, and the oppressing crowd, Moteé could hear the sound of her mother's mocking laughter.

This time there would be no escape. She was now trapped under the shadow she had created.


"Who are you trying to impress with that awful get up?"

Moteé did not know who the officer was and in truth, she did not care. Casually taking a sip of her drink, she met his gaze and gave a perfect smile.

"Clearly, not you." His laughter startled her, but she hid it well and promptly moved on.

"If you're looking for entertainment, my dear, might I suggest the lovely Lady Jaffa? I don't think even you could resist her charm or beauty."

The man she would come to know as Maximilian Veers raised a brow and took in the petite woman who was laughing and flirting with couple Corellian pilots. He sniffed in reply and finished his whiskey in a single swallow.

"I have no interest in her innocence or your need for distraction."

It was Moteé's turn to raise a brow. He answered the question she could not say and his words haunted her for weeks after.

"She beds these men because it is all she knows. You bed them because you have nowhere left to hide."


The attackers caught her entirely off guard. Lost on spice and wine, Moteé made easy prey. Her relations to her infamous father also made her well known to those who in the underworld.

Rough hands clamped over her mouth and tore at her expensive club gear. Even years of training could not protect her from their numbers. It did not stop her from trying.

Five on one was never good odds.

Darkness swam in her eyes as their fists broke her jaw and their boots cracked her ribs. Moteé never did learn what happened after. She did not want to know.

All she needed to know was that she had been saved.


Maximilian never spoke of that night, Moteé never dared to ask. Gratitude was not something he desired. It was also not something she knew how to give. The unspoken understanding that formed between them left its mark on the young heiress.

For the first time in her life, Moteé felt safe. It both terrified and enthralled her.

Desperate now to leave her mark on the young officer, she tried to show her gratitude in the only way she knew how.

Flesh was not what Maximilian desired, but her mind. Moteé played along finding this new game—for it was always about the games, was it not?—both fascinating and infuriating.

No one she knew was anything like him. The harder she tried to let him go, the more she found herself longing to be in his presence.

Eventually even Moteé could not deny that she was crossing the one line she promised she never would.


She was the last person Moteé imagined sharing her darkest secret with. Dormé was not someone she really considered a friend, much less a confident.

Nevertheless, the young women neither mocked nor patronized her for the unexpected tears or terror that she could not hide upon receiving a message from her father, stating that she was required to return home.

Dormé only had the misfortune of walking in at the wrong time.

It was with great reluctance that Moteé spoke of the message received. It was with even greater reluctance that she spoke of the past and the reasons she never forgave herself for it.

'What he did to you Moteé was evil and wrong. You have no reason to blame yourself for it.'

She did not ask where the Dormé's wisdom came from; it was not necessary. Gripping the young woman's arms, Moteé met her gaze which was filled with compassion and mercy, and whispered her stunned gratitude.

That day Moteé learned what it meant to be forgiven, and it changed everything.


The reflection that stared back at Moteé in the mirror was not the frightened child, the broken teen or the venomous woman she used to be. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair once kept in a suffocating bun now hung well past her shoulders, and her dark eyes were filled with uncertainty and joy.

Marriage was a prospect that once terrified her. Now only hope and anticipation remained.

Her eyes fell to the slight round of her torso while her fingers nervously dance over the simple, but well crafted material that covered it.

You are not your mother and I am certainly not your father. Our baby will be loved and it will have a good life.

Her fiancé, Maximilian's words echoed in her mind, erasing away the last of her fears. With a warm smile, she faced her best friend, Dormé, and gave a simple nod. Together they departed.

Stepping out into the hall, her fiancé greeted them. The impish smile he gave her and the joy she saw in his eyes held the promise of a bright and loving future.

It was time to embrace her new life and Moteé could not have been happier.