Across the park, the youngest Krantian child finally slid his hungry mouth around the rycrit wrap and was already thinking of the bantha milkshake he wanted for dessert. The chancellor’s party left the garden as Bell reached the Innovator and the portmaster confirmed that no spatial anomalies had been picked up from the second scan Samera had insisted upon. Everything was running to plan, missing dignitary offspring notwithstanding. The Mon Calamari diva finished her aria, the audience applauded, food was cooked, visitors queued, demonstrations were made and children laughed, the animals in the zoo roared and squawked and chirped and chittered, and everything was how it should be.

All except for Elzar Mann, who woke with a start. For a moment nothing made sense. He wasn’t in the Temple or any of the quarters in the administration building. The sheets beneath him were soft, the mattress firm, but not as unforgiving as the slab he used back in his own chambers in the Temple Outpost. The air was sweet, the faint hint of floral incense permeating the room, masking the musk of his own sweat. He ran a hand through sleep-tousled hair and groaned as comprehension dawned, memories slipping back into his mind like the light spilling through the painted shutters.

He leapt from the bed, screwing up his face as he realized he was naked. Ashla’s Light, how could he have been so stupid?

“Samera?”

There was no reply as he scanned the room for his robes, finding most of them scattered across the carpeted floor, his tabard thrown across a tall-backed wicker chair.

He pulled the jerkin over his head, recalling the touch of her lips on the reception balcony, the sudden yearning that had enveloped him as she had pulled him closer, their bodies crushing together. He had no real memory of getting back to her apartment, crashing through the door, their hands exploring, caressing, pulling at the many layers the Order insisted its Jedi wear … for very good reason, it seemed. But peeling off belts and vests had done nothing to cool the pair’s ardor. If anything it had increased the anticipation, the thrill, and Samera’s dress hadn’t taken half as long to slip to the floor.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

He tried her name again, snatching his pants from beneath the chair and sending it crashing over onto its back.

She didn’t come running, either to her name or to the sound of the chair knocking a sideboard, which in turn sent a delicate vase toppling over the edge. Elzar threw up an arm and the ornament hovered in the air, suspended in the Force. A sweep of his hand and it was back where it belonged. If only he could so easily fix the rest of the mess he was in, and he didn’t mean the chair.