Chapter 1: The Palace Pool Surprise
The steam rising from the water was thick enough to taste, a mineral dampness that clung to the back of the throat. Crystal chandeliers high above scattered light across the deep blue surface of the palace pool, their reflection shattered into a thousand pieces by the gentle lapping of the water. It was a monument to Alderaanian elegance, all polished obsidian and silver-edged tile, and currently serving as a chaotic playground.
“Watch this one,” Leia called out, shaking water from her three-bun hairstyle. She backed up on the slick tile, her posture shifting into something approximating a dive. Regal bearing was tricky when you were in a swimsuit and your friends were watching with naked skepticism.
Merrin floated on her back nearby, her pale skin ghostly in the blue water, the red Dathomiri tattoos across her arms seeming to ripple independently. She watched Leia with an inscrutable half-smile. A single finger twitched, almost imperceptibly, under the surface.
Leia sprang forward. For a second, she was a perfect line, a arrow shot toward the water. Then, in the split-second of weightless apex, the back of her swimsuit—a modest blue one-piece—tightened with a vicious, sudden yank.
It wasn’t a physical hand. It was a knot of invisible force, a telekinetic pinch of pure mischief. The fabric cinched deep, hauling her trajectory from graceful to disastrous.
“Oof!” The sound was knocked from her as she crumpled, plummeting into the water not with a clean slice, but with a loud, ungainly slap. She vanished under a plume of spray.
Ahsoka Tano erupted in giggles, her montrals shaking. She was perched on the edge, tail dangling in the water. “Timing,” she said to Merrin, nodding in professional approval.
Merrin merely allowed her smile to widen, a faint glow fading from her fingertips.
Leia surfaced, sputtering and indignant. One hand clutched at the back of her suit, which was now wedged in a profoundly uncomfortable and embarrassing position. “Merrin! That was a royal dive!”
“It was a royal disaster,” Sabine corrected from the hot tub, not looking up from the datapad she was sketching on. Her purple hair was dark with damp. “The form was all wrong anyway.”
“I’ll show you form,” Leia grumbled, swimming clumsily toward the edge, her strokes hampered by her need to tug at the stubborn fabric.
She reached for the silver lip of the pool, ready to haul herself out. That’s when two pairs of hands seized her. Ahsoka’s, strong and sure, and Sabine’s, who had slid from the hot tub with predatory grace.
“What are you—unhand me! I am a princess of Alderaan!”
“And we’re your humble friends,” Ahsoka chirped, her grip firm under Leia’s arm. “Here to help with your… wardrobe malfunction.”
They heaved her out of the water and onto the warm, steam-kissed tiles with practiced ease. Before Leia could scramble away, Ahsoka dropped smoothly into a sitting position on a lounger, and Sabine flipped the sputtering princess face-down across her lap.
The position was absurd, undignified, and utterly familiar. Leia kicked, but Sabine pinned her legs with one arm.
“This is treason! Mutiny!”
“It’s payback for the glitter in my jetpack valves,” Sabine said calmly. “My armor smelled like a festival for a week.”
Ahsoka raised her hand, fingers spread. “The penalty for a flawed dive and a poor attitude,” she announced, her voice rich with mock solemnity. The first slap fell, not with brute force, but with a sharp, stinging accuracy that echoed off the marble with a startling crack.
Leia yelped, more from surprise than real pain. A faint pink bloom appeared on her wet skin.
Crack! Another, lower. “That’s for the whoopee cushion on the throne during the Chancellor’s holo-call.”
Crack! “And that’s for general principle.”
Each strike was measured, a theatrical performance of discipline. Leia’s protests turned into gasped laughter, her struggles weakening as the sheer ridiculousness of it all overwhelmed her. The sound echoed in the cavernous room, mingling with the steady drip of water and the low bubble of the hot tub.
From her vantage point, Leia could see the other half of the room. In the steaming hot tub, Jyn Erso was trying to maintain a look of serene detachment, pretending not to notice the scene. She failed as Oola, the Twi’lek, slid silently through the water behind her. A green hand snaked out, hooked the waistband of Jyn’s practical black swimsuit, and pulled it up with a ruthless, elastic efficiency.
Jyn’s eyes went wide. She stiffened, her knuckles white where they gripped the edge. Oola just leaned back, a serene smile on her blue lips, and gave a little extra tug, lifting Jyn an inch out of the water before letting her settle back down with a grimace.
“See?” Ahsoka said, following Leia’s gaze. “It’s a universal language.”
“I yield! I yield!” Leia laughed, breathless.
Sabine released her legs, and Ahsoka helped her upright, not without one final, light pat. Leia stood, rubbing her backside with a rueful grin, the wedgie finally relinquished. She flicked water at Ahsoka’s grinning face.
“You’re both barbarians.”
“You love it,” Sabine said, already heading back to her datapad. “Otherwise you’d have your guards in here.”
Leia’s smile softened, just for a second. In the steam and the laughter, in this room of gleaming imperial luxury, the pranks were more than games. They were a rebellion against expectation, a tactile reminder that beneath the titles—princess, Jedi, witch, warrior—they were just young women, carving out a sliver of lightheartedness in a galaxy that rarely allowed it. The shadows beyond the chandeliers felt a little less dark for it.
She dove back into the pool, cleanly this time, the sting on her skin a fading, funny badge of honor. The water closed over her head, muffling the sound of Ahsoka’s next plan already being whispered to a bemused Merrin.