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When he was a young boy, Wilhuff's father presented his mother a sleek black case embossed with gold lettering. He recognized the seal, a shimmering opalescent planet's magnificence reduced by the gilding. His mother gasped in delight, already knowing what was inside without having opened it.

"What is it?" Wilhuff asked.

"Pearls from Alderaan," his mother said, the reverence clear in her voice. She opened the box to reveal a string of perfectly round orbs glowing in the light of the fire. Wilhuff prickled at the way she pronounced the planet, like it was somehow more special than Eriadu. 

"Why are they so special?" he asked. He did his best to keep the petulance from his voice, but his father glanced down at him in warning. 

"Alderaan produces some of the finest pearls," his mother explained. "Their water is the purest in the galaxy, and their sands finer."

She took the pearls from the case and held them out in her hands for Wilhuff to look at. They were impossibly round, symmetrical like nothing else Wilhuff had ever seen. Their perfection was almost offensive, and Wilhuff found himself hating them.

"That's a myth of course," his father huffed, reaching for the pearls, "Most pearls are formed by parasites making a home in their hosts, not sand."

"What about Eraidu's pearls?" Wilhuff asked defensively. The love and reverence for his home planet had been well bred into him, all his uncles and distant relatives going to great pains to make sure he knew how grand their planet was. 

"They are usually misshapen," his mother explained, "lumpy and asymmetrical."

"Why is that?" 

His father clasped the pearls around his mother's neck, and kissed her cheek softly, before looking down at Wilhuff with a smirk.

"Our parasites are not so fine as their's."

Snow capped mountains and lush green forests were not enough to tempt Tarkin. The view from Alderaan's grand palace was picturesque, as if summoned from an oil painting. He had no care for idyllic scenery, but he complemented it as gracefully as one could manage when talking with a suspected traitor.

Bail Organa put on a good show, as he always did whenever Tarkin was dispatched by the Emperor to check in on the gem of Core Worlds, but relations had grown cold as the years passed. Alderaan was barely managing to hide their support of the Rebellion, and each visit brought that into sharper focus for the Moff. The staff crept around them cautiously, their mouths set into forced smiles and eyes worried for their Senator's well being. Tarkin would have laughed at the display if he was a lesser man; as if he would dare try to attack the royal family in their palace. Still, the way the halls emptied, like Tarkin was some beast to flee from, was confirmation enough of their meddling.

Throughout their terse conversation and walk in the gardens, Tarkin heard soft footfalls echoing behind them. Bail Organa did not seem to notice, preoccupied as he was with keeping Tarkin off his scent, but in the moments when Tarkin glanced behind them, he saw flashes of a white dress and brown hair dodging out of his peripheral.

Bail stopped them beneath an arching thatch of roses and looked down to the quietly beeping data-pad in his hands. His thick brows furrowed as he scrolled through the messages on the screen.

"I apologize, Grand Moff, but the Queen needs me for a moment," Bail said, distracted and worried by whatever was on the screen.

"Think nothing of it, Senator," Tarkin said smoothly. "I'll just admire the gardens while you attend to your summons."

Bail flashed his eyes up to Tarkin, clearly unimpressed by the jab but knowing better than to press. He nodded his head and walked off North, towards where Tarkin knew the Royal family's personal rooms lay. 

Left alone, Tarkin was able to glare at the opulence of the gardens, the white peaked mountains looming in the distance. It was all too clean, too pristine a place made all the more intolerable by the liars and traitors who ran it. The roses shaded Tarkin in soft greens and pinks, and their smell was cloying to the point of nausea. The sooner he could be done with this visit, the better. 

Down the path he had come, a twig snapped beneath footfall. Tarkin looked up away from the roses to see a girl in all white, staring at him wide eyed, clearly not anticipating being so openly found. Her cheeks were ruddy and hair a disaster, pieces falling out of the customary buns worn by the princesses of Alderaan for centuries. She was ill suited for the finery, a weed in this perfectly kept and manicured garden. 

"Well," he said after several moments, beckoning her over with one outstretched palm. "Come over. I don't bite."

For a moment Tarkin thought she would give into her well bred cowardice and flee, but she squared her shoulders and marched up to him. Something about the tableau was charming, and he couldn't help the small, mean smile that broke across his face. 

"Hello there," he said down to the girl.

"Hello."

"And who might you be?" 

He knew already who she was, the Queen and Senator's adopted child, picked from the legions of orphans the Clone Wars had left behind. She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly displeased with the show.

"I'm Princess Leia Organa," she said, her voice high with youth but already haughty and authoritative. 

"Is that so," he said. "Does your father know you're sneaking around the halls?"

Leia jutted her chin up, high and proud, and said to him, "No. I sneak around as I please." 

Youth was not highly regarded on Eriadu, but Tarkin knew better than to underestimate the girl. She had the airs of royalty, but something darker tinged her eyes, and there was an intelligence there that reminded him of a child queen now long dead. 

"That's a dangerous thing to do, Princess," he warned. 

"And why is that?"

She was a small thing, barely coming up to his waist, so he had to crouch down to meet her eyes and level her with his most serious look. 

"Because, young one, someone might decide to steal you away one day and use you as leverage against that pesky Rebellion your father claims not to support." 

Leia, to her credit, did not look a bit frightened or even intimidated. She held his gaze steadily and said in a nasty voice, "Sir, your threats are almost as bad as your breath."

The brazenness of it made him chuckle. "Uncouth thing," he said a bit fondly, "it's a wonder they manage to pass you off as royalty at all."

Before he could get another word in, or she could stick out her tongue and call him all manners of crude names, Bail rounded the corner with a horrified expression.

"Leia, you are supposed to be in your history lessons," Bail admonished in a voice that sounded only slightly panicked. His true meaning was clear; he wanted his child as far away from Tarkin as possible.

Tarkin straightened up and smiled at Bail as pleasantly as he could. "Your daughter is quite charming, Senator. We were just exchanging pleasantries."

This seemed to further Bail's worry. "Do forgive my daughter. She has a willful spirit and likes to do as she pleases."

"A family trait, I'm sure," Tarkin said mildly. 

While Bail wrestled with the anger he was trying so hard not to display, Tarkin reached into his pocked and fished out his knife. It was not military standard to keep one on hand, especially for someone as high ranking as Tarkin, but his father had given him the small blade as a child, telling him, "An Eriadan man is never caught without protection." He flipped it open, and the small girl flinched, her childish bravado dropped the moment she laid eyes on the glinting steel. Bail stepped between the two of them, ready to protect his daughter. 

Tarkin reached up towards the white rose above his head, overripe and petals blooming obscenely, and cut it off. He made quick work of dethorning it until all that remained was the thick stem and loosely unfurled pedals. He walked around Bail and crouched down once more to the princess's level.

"A rose for the princess," he said, tucking the bud behind her ear and falling bun. The pedals fell into her hair, littering her with dollops of withered silk. She glared at him through it all, keenly aware of how ridiculous she must look. He smirked at her and said, "There, you are properly adorned."

"Thank you, sir," Leia said, voice kindly and trained but eyes hateful. She gave him a half spirited curtsy before her father cut in and ordered her back to her lessons. Tarkin watched her sprint off, her dress getting caught beneath her steps, trailing rose petals as she fled.

Four years later, Tarkin walked into an opulent ball room for the Senator's Ball. It was an affair almost as outdated and useless as the Senate itself, where politicians and their companions, be they spouses or mistresses, drank and danced themselves into a stupor. Tarkin had found the whole thing excessive when he was a Lieutenant Governor, and watching the show of beings walk in, draped in the season's latest trends and exchanging superficial pleasantries, left the same foul taste in his mouth as before. The only difference this time around was the Imperial insignia loomed behind it all, stitched on long black banners. A fitting reminder from the Emperor of their true place in things. 

Many eyes drew to him, whether it be his height or the dress uniform he wore, but few made any attempt to speak with him. Tarkin smiled to himself behind a glass of champagne, enjoying the wide berth his reputation allowed him. He wasn't there to socialize, in any case.

He watched the room, observed the obits of Senators, guessed at their trajectories and movements, until his target stepped into the room. 

Princess Leia was in white, as she always seemed to be. He couldn't tell if it was a custom for princesses of Alderaan to be covered in so pure a color, or if the girl was making a show of her political purity among the politicians' shimmering clothes, bought with the subjugation of their constituents. The gown was modest and flowing, leaving her form ambiguous to any interested eyes, and her long hair was bound up high atop her head in intricate braids and twists. She looked beautiful in a sort of bland, girlish way that held no appeal to Tarkin.

He watched her for a while, circling around the room with obvious boredom, looking just as sullen to be there as he was. He made note of the senators she spoke to, wondering which conversations were out of duty for Alderaan and which ones for the Rebellion. Finally, she stepped away from the crowd to grab a drink, giving Tarkin his opportunity. 

"Princess Leia," Tarkin said coolly, "I'd wonder if you'd indulge me in a quick dance?"

The girl jolted before whipping around with comical speed. She looked shocked to even see him there, like he was some figment from horror rather than a man with a voice and an impatient glare. Leia narrowed her eyes, sizing him up, clearly distrusting of such a benign request. "If you insist, Grand Moff, but I do prefer going by Senator these days."

They walked into the middle of the dance floor, Leia's gowns wisping with every step. In the center he offered her his hand, and through the sheer force of her upbringing she only managed the slightest grimace as she took it and placed her own on his shoulder. With the utmost care for appearances, and because he was many horrible things but a lecher was not one, he kept his grip on her waist high and light. Then, they began to move.

"We are so unused to being graced by your presence at these functions," Leia said. Her face might have been a mask of civility, but she could not help the disdain that dripped from her voice.

"Princess, you know just as well as I do that we are both far more suited to tactical planning in lieu of conversation and dancing."

She looked up to him in question, her sharp eyes narrowed and searching his own. He turned them in elegant circles, remembering the steps from his boyhood. She followed a little less gracefully, but the swish and sway of her gown managed to hide the worst of her maneuvers.

"The reason I am here," he continued, twirling them away from any interested ears, "is because I have something to say, and if the holonet caught wind of me getting Leia Organa alone and threatening her, I'd never hear the end of it."

Leia didn't look the least bit worried or concerned, her steps suddenly gaining confidence as the song changed pace and meter. "Why Grand Moff, whatever is bothering you so much that you got dressed up so severely and braved a ball just to talk to a humble Senator as myself?"

Tarkin scowled at her. "A Humble Senator," he mumbled derisively, "who is also the Princess of a planet sympathetic to the Rebellion."

Leia cocked an eyebrow at him, the vestiges of royalty slipping from her in an instant. Suddenly she was something else, not a politician or a pampered daughter, or even a lonesome orphan to be pitied, but a girl on the verge of vengeful womanhood, a threat growing surer and surer with each day. She may have been done up to look the part of the simpering, youthful politician, with her hair stacked high and robes whiter than pearls, but Tarkin could see beyond the show, to the cretin beneath it all.

"If there's something you have to say, Governor Tarkin," and the way her lips curled around his name made him sick with hatred, "then say it."

He stopped their dancing, his grip tight on her hand and face blank with anger. "Stop letting your ships get 'stolen'," he said.

She shrugged at the threat in his voice, eyes glancing up at his mischievously. "I can't help the plans of criminals."

"Can't you?" he asked. He'd grown tired of dancing around this traitor girl and watching his threats and intimidation slip off her like oil, and with a short bow said, "Enjoy your evening, Princess."

Tarkin had eliminated many obstacles in his life, whether they be irksome Separatists or cancers to the Empire like Director Krennic, and staring out of the viewport of the Death Star, Alderaan slowly coming into view, he felt himself of the threshold of complete dominance. There remained only one last road block, the ever present thorn in his side for the last two years, and as Lord Vader ushered Leia Organa onto the bridge, he let himself smile down at her with all the viciousness of his hatred. 

She didn't give him a chance to speak first, launched right into her diatribe. For her current position- hands bound in cuffs, Lord Vader looming behind her, prisoner in the heart of the Death Star- she seemed rather unconcerned. 

"Governor Tarkin, I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash. I recognized your foul stench when I was brought on board," Leia said, airy and haughty.

It was so predictable; the sarcasm, the way her beautiful face contorted in mockery as she smirked up at him, and in the moment Tarkin could not help but feel that under any other circumstances, he would have been taken with the effortless way she seemed to dismantle the authority around her.

He returned her smirk, delighted for a moment in her brashness. "Charming, to the last." He reached out for her face, clutched her chin between his long fingers. "You don't know how hard I found it, signing the order to terminate your life."

Leia jerked her chin out of his grasp, her smile smaller but no less sarcastic. "I'm surprised you had the courage to take the responsibility yourself."

Tarkin had the keen urge to reach out and strike her, but resisted. Better, he thought, to hit her where it will hurt most.

"Before your execution, I would like you to be my guest at a ceremony that will make this battle station operational." Tarkin extended his arms out, signaling to her the grandness our the room they were standing in, the epicenter of his great weapon. "No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now."

The Princess looked up to him with hooded eyes, clearly unimpressed. "The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers."

Tarkin stopped in his tracks to stare down at her, dropping all pretenses of civility and playfulness. She was more than a foot shorter than him, made smaller by Vader's towering figure behind her. She was eclipsed by his men, by this technical monstrosity that would level her world in a moment. 

"Not after we demonstrate the power of this station," he said coldly, his anger seething out of him for a moment. Tarkin remembered himself, the show he was putting on for his men, his display of dominance, and slipped back into his cold demeanor. "In a way, you've have determined the choice of the planet that will be destroyed first." 

Leia's face fell, confusion taking hold where her bravado had been; Tarkin pushed onward, stepping into her space. "Since you are reluctant to provide us with the location of the rebel base, I have chosen to test this station's destructive power on your home planet of Alderaan."

"No!" she cried in a weak voice, and then as her fear gained momentum, "Alderaan is peaceful, we have no weapons, you can't possibly-"

Years of anger overcame him in that moment, his patience for the girl and all she stood for finally worn thin. Tarkin was through with these elite who thought they could flaunt the rule of the Empire, could stand in his way without consequence.

"You would prefer another target? A military target? Then name the system!" Tarkin stepped into her space, loomed over her, forced her back into Vader's grip. In a low voice he told her, "I grow tired of asking this," he took another step, "so it will be the last time. Where is the rebel base?"

She did not look at him, or anyone in the room. The Princess' gave was fixed out of the viewport, where Alderaan was centered and waiting. Her voice cracked, eyes downcast as she finally caved and murmured, "Dantooine. They're on Dantooine."

Tarkin allowed himself to smirk down at the girl for a fleeting moment before saying, "There, you see Lord Vader? She can be reasonable. Continue with the operation. You may fire when ready." 

"What?!" her scream echoed through the bridge like a crack of thunder. Tarkin pivoted back to her, allowing himself to smile nastily in the face of her horror.

"You're far too trusting. Dantooine is too remote to make an effective demonstration." He lifted a finger to her like one would a child, and said, "But don't worry, we will deal with your rebel friends soon enough."

"No!" There was true desperation in her voice, her confidence sapped away and replaced by real, true fear. She stepped into his space violently, and Tarkin was sure Vader’s hold on her body was the only thing keeping her from attacking him. 

“What if I give you something more?” she plead. 

“I cannot see what you could possibly have to offer me,” Tarkin said airily, but he held his hand up to halt the fire. 

“An alliance with the empire,” Leia said in a rush of words, perhaps knowing if she did not convince him quick enough it would be the sure end of Alderaan. “A true alliance.”

“Your father has undermined the alliance between the Empire and Alderaan for far too long,” Tarkin scoffed, “False words won’t sway us any longer.”

“I am not offering words!” Leia snarled.

 "Then what are you offering?"

"Myself,” she croaked. 

She slumped in Vader’s grip, face downfallen towards the floor, collecting her bravery before looking back up and into Tarkin’s eyes. “I’m offering myself, Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, for marriage. An alliance firmer than empty words, legally binding.”

For the first time in the girl’s presence, Tarkin was speechless. A brilliant tactical move on her part; if the Rebellion continued their war effort, she would surely make a great general. He looked in her eyes, wet with desperation but murkier beneath with her hatred and anger. It was an entirely becoming look on her; she was far more suited to the violent emotions of war than the restraint of royalty. Tarkin stepped in closer to her, his boots against the hem of her gown, forcing her to tilt her head back if she wished to keep his gaze. 

“And who do you propose this to? The Emperor has no need for a bride, and I doubt anyone in upper command would be foolish enough to marry someone as dangerous as you.”

Her smile was bisected down the middle, her mockery of royal coyness frayed at the edges by her vengeful smirk.The fear was still there, yes, her body was shaking with it, but she was not a creature made to stand idle in it.

“You have no wife,” she stated.

“I do not,” he confirmed.

 He reached out for her, grabbing her chin again to steady the sway of her body, to anchor her. 

“Then marry me,” she said, her breath hot and hateful where it ghosted past his fingers, “You will get Alderaan’s cooperation and our resources, and a wife to keep your bed warm.”

The offer was obscene, made even more so by the cant of her body, arching towards him with just an inch of space left between them. Her skin was searing in his palm, soft against his callouses, and for a moment he simply held them there, in the heart of the weapon poised to destroy her world, waiting on his command. Leia was a parasite in the midst of his order, but there was something suddenly beautiful about her willingness to do whatever it took, that made him want to see how her hand played out. 

“Take the prisoner to her cell,” he ordered, “I need to consider her offer of allegiance.”

Leia was marched out of his presence, but not before casting one last baleful look at Tarkin. He watched her gown sway in an anxious current, Darth Vader her shadow as she was escorted out. Then, he turned to his second in command.

"Hold the bridge," he ordered in a quiet voice, "I need a moment to contemplate the next action. Comm me if there is an emergency."

The walk to his offie took him down the opposite hallway from which Leia had been led. It was near the bridge and war room, a short walk if there was ever an emergency. His personal quarters were much further away. They contained an expansive view of the space outside, all the flickering stars and the careful maneuvers of the destroyers and Tie Fighters stationed to protect the Empire's greatest weapon. He was sure if he had gone down there and laid out on his bed, he could see Aldeeran, blue with white clouds like fogged breath crystallized in anticipation. Tarkin grimaced and opted for the office instead; he did not have all day to indulge in Princess Leia's offer. 

When he reached his office, he locked the doors with a special code that would deny any override. If anyone wanted to trespass, they would need Darth Vader's command of the Force to do so, and Tarkin was confident that Vader had no desire to see him in that moment. He sat down on the plush chair and picked up the datapad off his otherwise cleared desk, and tapped through the surveillance feed. Once he found the feed for cell 2187, he activated the holoprojection and sat back as the feed flickered to life before him.

Princess Leia was pacing around her cell, her body vibrating with anxiety. He watched the way her dress pulled and relaxed with each movement, hinting at what lay beneath her gown- a narrow waist, full hips, athletic legs that seemed indecent on a princess. Never before had he seen allure in the girl, sickened as he was by her traitorous ties and her sullied status as a lowly orphan, pitied and reared by a weak monarchy. No matter how elegantly they twisted her hair or how white her gowns were, she was nothing more than an uncouth brat meant to inconvenience him . But something changed back there on the bridge- Leia's willingness to sacrifice her livelihood and freedom, to cleave herself to Tarkin- it paired well with the flush of anger on her cheeks, the snarl of her rosebud lips, her deep eyes that pooled with all the hatred she had in her. 

The image of her as Tarkin's bride was headier than he expected. Tarkin had rejected the notion of taking a wife early on in life, content as he was with his career and the men and women he would take to bed. Maybe it was because he killed that loathsome Krennic, and with him a willing bedmate to play with and degrade when the whim struck, but once he pictured Leia in bridal gowns, her face resentful as she gave stony vows, he could not wipe it from behind his eyes where darkness should have been. He exhaled roughly through his nose, the sound harsh in the quiet room, and palmed himself through his trousers. 

Tarkin didn't know what sort of elaborate dresses they wore in Alderaan for weddings, so he pictured Leia in the gauzier, lighter gowns of Eriadu, nearly translucent and bordering on indecent. They kept Leia so bundled up, her body covered and hidden away in loose fabrics, obscuring her shape. She would be ridden of that modesty; even if she wore something traditional to Alderaan, it would only be a matter of time before he had her to himself, before they would have to consummate.

He flicked open the top button of his trousers, pulled himself free from his confines, groaning at the thought of consummation. 

Surely Leia would be a dangerous bride. He would have to sleep with one eye open, check the bedroom for daggers and blasters before laying beside her. But there was an allure to that, bedding someone so dangerous, treating each night like it could possibly be the last. Tarkin thought of the beasts he had killed on Eriadu, how slick and hot their blood had been on his palm, how the only animals worth taking down were the ones with the biggest claws. She would be a caged threat, and Tarkin wondered how long he could possibly contain her. What would their wedding night be like? Would she willingly discard her gown, display herself, her creamy arms and breasts, the full soft stomach and round thighs? Would she try to murder him first? He gripped himself and pumped his hand up once, his cock already slick with precome, and Tarkin wasn't sure which would be more alluring,the thought of her body or an attempt on his life.

Maybe she would try to stab him with a dagger she had strapped to her body in preparation. He would disarm her easily, having both height and strength on her. Tarkin would press her against him and kiss her, let her bite at his lips and claw at him. Images were mixing in together, memories diluting his fantasy; he remembered the first time he took Krennic, how the man had bit at Tarkin's bicep, leaving an angry red bruise in the shape of a crescent. The white of his uniform mixed with the white of Leia's dress behind his eyes. Would Leia be like Krennic, clawing and aggressive until Tarkin had her on her back? He had easily tamed Krennic, had pulled apart the man's thick thighs until he was licking at the tight furl of him, Krennic snarls melting into loud moans.

He would do the same to her, kiss and bite down her thighs, leave little bruises where his fingers wrapped around her and dug in. The Princess would be untrimmed, Tarkin could see it now, her hair dark and curling. He'd part her with his fingers, find her wet and glistening, before dragging his tongue across her in one long swipe. He imagined her cries, the echo of her plea to spare Alderaan twisting into something sweeter in his mind. Tarkin would lathe at her, over and over, until she came, and he would keep going, drawing out each orgasm until her body was pulled taught from over-stimulation, the pleasure surely painful. Once she was begging for him to stop, to ease up, then he would withdraw himself from her, crawl up her body, and fuck her.

Tarkin increased the speed of his strokes. The idea of taking her was arousing, but what made his blood hot, what had Tarkin choking on his grunts, was her potential. Leia was unformed and raw in her determination, her power not yet focused. Tarkin knew he could cultivate her, help her sharpen the violence and command it effortlessly. He imagined her riding him and taking her pleasure from Tarkin with greedy twists of her hips, he pictured her by his side, them calculating together and dismantling threats to their power. Interspersed with her bent over Tarkin's desk was them talking strategy. Leia's hair out of her braids, cascading down her body and falling to her hips, flesh sweat slicked and soft beneath his palms, her cruel jabs and mean smirk, her listening to his plans and showing him the flaws. He fucked up into his hand and spilled into it when he pictured her in blood red gowns, Tarkin at her side, overlooking a galaxy quivering in fear at their feet. 

For a moment, his hammering heart and the white-noise of his release was all that there was, the image of Leia adorned in crimson like an after image burned into his retina as he stared at the ceiling. Then came the clarity orgasm always seemed to afford him, his release cooling and becoming tacky in his palm. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped it off, discarding the sullied linen in the waste bin beside his desk. He slicked his hair back and felt it damp from his exertion.

"Marriage," he scoffed, chuckling to himself at the absurdness of it all. Leia would have him dead the first moment they were alone, he had no doubt about that. No alliance, or wife, was worth that kind of folly. 

Tarkin keyed open his comm and contacted his second in command. "Have the princess summoned back to the bridge," he instructed. "I've made my decision." 

He briefly thought of his mother's pearls, sitting in a vault back on Eriadu, and wondered what they'd be appraised for after the destruction of Alderaan.