Count Dooku woke before the household did. It was not habit alone. It was the lingering sensation of the previous day, a thin thread of tension that had followed him to sleep and returned the moment his eyes opened. His rooms were quiet. The manor itself was quiet. That did not mean it was at peace.
He sat up, drew a slow breath, and let the air settle in his chest. He could feel the estate in the way he always could, servants still sleeping in their quarters, the patrol routes of guards changing at set intervals, the steady hum of climate control behind the walls. Familiar, orderly. As it should be. And beneath that order, there was awareness.
Dooku rose, dressed in simple dark clothing, and fastened his cloak without calling for assistance. A Count could summon servants for every button and clasp, but he had never liked being handled like a decorative object. It had been one of the many things the Temple had taught him. He left his chambers and stepped into the hallway. The floors were clean stone, cool underfoot. The corridor lights were dimmed to early morning settings. The estate smelled faintly of polish and night air.
Halfway down the hall, a guard straightened at his approach.
"My lord."
Dooku gave a small nod. "Any changes in the night?"
"No, my lord. No activity on the perimeter. No incoming transmissions flagged urgent."
"Good."
The guard hesitated, then added, carefully, "There was a courier drone from the capital. It arrived late. It has been secured in your study." Of course it had. Dooku did not allow irritation to show. "Thank you."
He continued without another word. Serenno's noble houses did not sleep when they sensed opportunity. Neither did Coruscant. He passed the doors to the east wing, where guest suites sat empty and unused. He passed the small meditation room he no longer used, and the library where books his daughter loved to read. And then he turned, not toward his study, but toward the wing that mattered more than all of it.
Liora's rooms were guarded as a matter of routine now. Not because he expected a child to be attacked within his own home, but because he would admit he was protective of her. The guard outside her door recognized him at once and stepped aside. Dooku raised a hand and knocked once. There was movement inside. A pause, the soft shuffle of feet, then the door opened.
Liora stood there in a simple robe, hair loose and slightly mussed. Her expression was composed, but her eyes were still awake. She blinked up at him and then straightened instinctively. "Father," she said quietly.
"You are awake," he replied. "May I come in?"
"Yes."
She stepped back. He entered. Her sitting room was warm. Curtains were pulled halfway open, letting early light spill in across clean furnishings and a low table set with a pitcher of water. A small stack of holobooks sat in one corner, along with a puzzle she had been working through for days, a complicated arrangement of interlocking shapes that most adults would have abandoned halfway through.
He looked at her again. "Did you sleep?"
"I did," she said. Then, after a beat, she added, "Mostly." Dooku moved to the window and glanced out at the inner gardens. The hedges were trimmed. The path stones were clean. A couple of distant servants crossed the far walkway, quiet and efficient.
He turned back. "Yesterday was… a disruption."
Liora's mouth tightened slightly. Not a childish pout. Not a flinch. Just a small sign that she was replaying events in her head. "They were careful," she said.
"Yes."
"They didn't threaten you," she continued, watching his face. "Not directly."
"Not directly," he agreed. She held his gaze. She had learned that from him. Most children looked away first. Dooku stepped closer, not looming, simply closing the distance. "Tell me what you felt." Liora hesitated, only for a moment. Then she spoke with the same steady tone she had used when answering Jedi Masters. "I felt like they were looking past me," she said. "Like I was… a problem they hadn't decided how to solve."
Dooku's eyes narrowed slightly. "Go on."
"They asked polite questions," she continued. "But they weren't curious." She was not wrong. Dooku considered the memory: Adi Gallia's calm eyes, Ki-Adi-Mundi's clipped restraint, Plo Koon's silence that held weight. Three different approaches, all pointed in the same direction.
"They came as envoys," he said. "Not as friends." Liora nodded once. "Plo Koon was the closest to friendly." Dooku did not react immediately. That name had lingered even after the ship left Serenno's skies. Plo Koon had always been difficult to read, even in the Temple. Quiet, firm, not easily swayed by group opinion.
"What did he say to you?" Dooku asked. "He asked me if I was afraid," Liora answered. "And were you?" She paused. Dooku waited, letting her choose her words. He did not fill the silence for his own comfort.
"I was afraid of… what they could do," she said finally. "Not because I think they're monsters. But because they think they're right." A sharp, precise observation. Dooku studied her face. "You are safe here," he said. "I know," she replied quickly. Too quickly.
Dooku's voice stayed even. "Do you?" Liora's shoulders shifted a fraction, the smallest release. "Yes," she said again, more quietly. "I do."
He moved to the low table and picked up the pitcher, pouring water into a cup. He set it down within her reach. "Did any of them attempt to speak to you alone?" he asked. Liora's eyes flicked away for the first time. "Adi Gallia tried."
Of course, she had. "What did you say?"
"I said I wasn't comfortable with it," Liora replied. "I said I would only speak with you present." Dooku felt a brief, quiet surge of pride. He did not let it show too strongly. "You did well," he said. Liora looked up and smiled. He kept his tone neutral. "They will return. Perhaps not soon. Perhaps not in person. But they will not forget you."
She absorbed that without panic. Her fingers flexed once at her side. "Are you angry?" she asked. "At them?"
"At me," she clarified. "For… being noticed." Dooku's gaze hardened, not at her, but at the thought that she could carry that guilt. "No." He stepped closer. "Liora, look at me."
She did. "You do not apologize for existing," he said. "Not to me. Not to them. Not to anyone." Her eyes widened slightly. A flicker of something softer crossed her face, then was gone, tucked away behind her composure again. "Yes, Father," she said.
Dooku studied her for another moment, then shifted the conversation where it belonged. "Today is a rest day," he said. Her eyebrows lifted. "A… rest day?"
"Yes."
"No training?"
"No."
"No study?"
"No." She looked suspicious. It was almost comical. Dooku's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "You look as if you expect me to reveal a hidden lesson." "I don't," she said, and the speed of the denial gave her away. He gave her a level look. "You will eat, you will rest, you will do something that brings you peace. That is your only task."
Liora hesitated. "What if I want to read?"
"If it is for enjoyment, then so be it," he allowed. She nodded. Then, after a beat, she asked, carefully, "And you?" Dooku's eyes narrowed slightly. "What of me?"
"What will you do today?" The question was simple. The concern beneath it was not. Dooku looked past her, toward the door that led deeper into her rooms. He could hear nothing there. No droid footsteps. No servant. Just stillness. "I will speak with your aunt," he said. "And with Miss Skywalker."
Liora's face tightened slightly at Shmi's name, not from dislike, but from awareness. Shmi Skywalker was a living reminder of the galaxy's cruelty. She was also, in many ways, the only adult in the house who understood what it meant to have your life decided by someone else. "They're going to talk about… the crown," Liora said, quietly. Dooku's gaze snapped back to her.
She saw his expression and held up a hand quickly, not defensive, just honest. "I heard Auntie yesterday." Dooku exhaled once through his nose. Jenza had never been subtle when she believed something mattered. Liora watched him. "Is it bad?"
"It is complicated," he said. He placed a hand lightly on the top of her head, brief but unmistakably affectionate. He did not do it often. He did it now because she needed it. "Rest," he said again, softly. "I will handle the rest." Liora's throat moved as she swallowed. "Okay."
He withdrew his hand and stepped toward the door. "Father," she said behind him. He paused, turning just enough to show he was listening. "If they come back," she said, "and they try again… I won't go."
Dooku's gaze sharpened. "Good." He left before she could see anything else in his expression. The halls felt different after leaving her rooms. Not because the estate had changed, but because Dooku's mind had. It was one thing to predict a threat. It was another to have it stand in your home.
He walked at a measured pace. Servants he passed lowered their heads, respectful and silent. Guards remained still at their posts. Everything looked normal. And yet he could feel how the word had moved through the household. How yesterday's meeting had pressed itself into the corners like dust that would not sweep away easily.
He turned down a corridor that led toward the central wing, where the larger sitting rooms and formal parlors were. He had not planned to host anyone today, and yet, as he approached the archway, he saw exactly who he expected. Jenza stood near one of the tall windows, arms folded, posture relaxed in a way only someone who belonged could manage. Her hair was braided back, her clothing practical but elegant, the violet tones of her dress muted for the morning. She looked as if she had been waiting for him for some time, and she looked entirely unbothered by the fact.
Beside her stood Shmi Skywalker. Shmi's posture was more guarded. She wore a simple dress that fit properly now, clean, warm, nothing like the rags she had arrived in. Her hands were clasped in front of her, fingers worrying at each other slightly, but her eyes were clear. She looked tired in a way sleep did not fix. Still, she did not shrink when Dooku approached.
Jenza spotted him first. Her mouth curved, faintly. "Brother." Dooku stopped before them. "Jenza." Then he turned his gaze to Shmi. "Miss Skywalker." Shmi dipped her head. "Count."
Jenza looked between them, then sighed lightly as if she were about to begin a conversation she had already rehearsed. "We should speak," she said. Dooku's eyes narrowed slightly. "You have already decided that."
"Yes," Jenza replied easily. "And so have you. You just haven't admitted it yet."
Dooku did not indulge the comment. He looked at Shmi instead. "Are you well enough to sit for a time?" Shmi hesitated. Then she nodded. "Yes." Dooku turned. "Then come."
He led them down the corridor toward a smaller private study. The room had two chairs near a low table, a couch along the wall, and a shelf of old Serennian texts that had never been translated into Basic. A fire feature crackled softly in one corner, more aesthetic than necessary, but comforting.
Dooku waited until the door slid shut behind them before speaking. Jenza moved first, crossing the room and sitting as if the furniture belonged to her. Shmi remained standing near the door, uncertain. Dooku gestured to a chair. "Please."
Shmi sat slowly. Dooku remained standing for a moment longer, hands clasped behind his back, gaze moving between the two women. He did not like being outnumbered in a room, even by family. It was a habit he had never fully shed. Jenza did not bother with gentleness. "The Jedi came," she said.
"They did," Dooku replied. "They will report," she continued. "They already have," Dooku said, and saw Shmi's eyes flicker at that. "They were on a diplomatic mission. That means every word they gathered will be repeated."
Jenza leaned forward. "Then we need to make sure the next words people hear are ours." Dooku's eyes narrowed. "And we arrive at your favorite solution." Jenza's expression did not change. "The crown." Shmi's hands tightened in her lap. She did not speak, but she listened hard.
Dooku looked at his sister. "I have refused it for years, and our late brother did as well." "And the galaxy has changed for years," Jenza replied. "You refused it when it was a vanity. When it was symbolism. When it would have made you look like a man clinging to old titles."
Dooku's jaw tightened. "And now?"
"And now it is a shield," Jenza said. Dooku held her gaze. "Or a target." Jenza shrugged slightly. "She is already a target, brother. You know that. I know that. The Jedi know that."
Shmi finally spoke, quietly. "They talked about her like she was… an object." Dooku's gaze snapped to her. Shmi's voice was careful, but there was anger under it. "Not to her face," she added. "Not in the room. But I heard them when they thought no one was listening. I've heard that tone before. It's the same tone the Hutts used when they talked about buying a child."
Jenza's face hardened. Dooku did not move, but something in the air shifted. He kept his voice calm only because rage was useful when controlled. "What exactly did you hear?" he asked.
Shmi took a breath. "I was passing one of the corridors near the guest wing. I was bringing linens back. The door wasn't closed all the way. One of them, Master Gallia, I think, said something about how… strong she was."
Dooku's eyes narrowed. "Yes."
"And then the other one," Shmi continued, "the one with the long head, he said she could be a threat to everything they stood for." Dooku held still. He had expected that line. Hearing it repeated with Shmi's disgust attached made it sharper.
"They were wondering if they could take her," Shmi said. Silence fell. Jenza's expression went cold. "Did they use those words?"
Shmi swallowed. "Not exactly. They said 'Temple training.' They said 'supervision.' They said, 'for her safety.'" Jenza's eyes narrowed. "The same words every time." Dooku's voice remained even. "They did not attempt to take her yesterday."
Shmi's eyes lifted. "No. But they were thinking it. I can tell when people are thinking it." Dooku held her gaze for a moment, then nodded once. "Yes." Jenza leaned back, exhaling sharply. "That is why we do not wait."
Dooku's attention returned to her. "Explain." Jenza did not hesitate. She rarely did. "Right now, she is your daughter by law and declaration," she said. "That is strong, but in the Republic, it is still seen as personal. A private matter. A family matter. The Jedi can frame any future conflict as a dispute over custody, over guardianship, over what is 'best' for a child."
Dooku's mouth tightened. He did not like the accuracy of her words. Jenza continued, voice crisp. "If you accept the crown, if House Serenno is restored to sovereign standing, then she is not merely a child under your roof. She is the heir to a recognized seat of power. She becomes protected by something the Jedi cannot wave away with moral language."
"And what does that protection look like in practice?" Dooku asked. Jenza's eyes flicked to the shelf of old texts. "Treaties. Recognition. Diplomatic immunities. Serenno's regency council would be forced to formalize its position, and the great houses would bind themselves to it. If the Jedi try to move against her, it becomes a political act. It becomes something the Senate must answer for."
Dooku's jaw tightened. "The Senate answers for nothing."
"Not willingly," Jenza agreed. "But they answer when scandal threatens to change how people look at them."
Shmi's hands tightened again. "Would it stop them?" Dooku looked at her. "Nothing stops a determined institution completely." Jenza leaned forward slightly. "But it slows them. It raises the cost. It forces them to hesitate. And hesitation buys time." Dooku was silent. He walked to the window to think. The view from this room faced the inner gardens. He could see the edge of the path where Liora sometimes walked, the trimmed hedges, the distant stone benches. Everything looked peaceful.
He spoke without turning. "You are asking me to place a crown on my head." Jenza's voice softened slightly, but not enough to become sentimental. "I am asking you to accept what Serenno already sees. They already treat you like a monarch when it suits them. They already whisper about restoration. If you do not take it, someone else will."
Dooku turned back. "Who?" Jenza's mouth tightened. "House Malraux, perhaps. Vane. Lawlor. Someone with enough wealth to gather support, but not enough backbone to withstand Coruscant. They would raise a figurehead. They would put a crown on someone weak, and Serenno would become a puppet world."
Dooku's eyes narrowed. "You think they would move that quickly?"
"I think they are already moving," Jenza replied. "Yesterday's Jedi visit will not stay quiet. Even if your staff remains loyal, word has a way of escaping. The rumor will become a story. The story will become pressure." Shmi spoke again, carefully. "And if you take the crown… what happens to Liora?"
Jenza answered before Dooku could. "She becomes untouchable in ways she isn't now." Shmi's brow furrowed. "Untouchable sounds like… like she won't be allowed to be a child." Jenza's expression shifted, just a fraction. That was the part she did not like admitting. Dooku spoke instead, voice low. "It would place weight on her."
Shmi looked between them. "She already hasmore pressure on her than a child her age should." That was true. Dooku's gaze sharpened slightly. "You have not known her long enough to say that as calmly as you just did."
Shmi's chin lifted. "I have known what it is to be owned," she said. "I have known what it is to have my choices taken away. I see the way they look at her, Count. The way they look at you. Like you're… a problem. Like she's… a prize."
Dooku held her gaze, and for the first time that morning, he saw something in her that had nothing to do with fear. Resolve. Jenza watched Shmi, then nodded once, as if the woman had just confirmed something Jenza already believed.
Dooku returned to the core of it. "I did not leave the Jedi Order to become a king." Jenza's mouth curved faintly. "No. You left because you were tired of men in robes deciding what was righteous." Dooku's eyes narrowed. Jenza didn't stop. "You left because you wanted the freedom to act. To fix. To protect. To build something better than rules that only serve themselves."
Dooku's voice sharpened. "Do not romanticize my disillusionment." Jenza's tone remained steady. "Then don't romanticize your refusal." Silence snapped tight between them. Shmi sat very still, eyes moving between brother and sister, understanding enough to stay quiet.
Dooku's hands, clasped behind his back, tightened slightly. He forced himself to release the tension. Jenza's voice lowered. "Brother… yesterday you saw how close it is. You said it yourself once. You told me, no one protects what is not claimed."
Dooku turned his head slightly. "I have claimed her."
"Yes," Jenza said. "As your daughter." Dooku's gaze sharpened. Jenza finished the thought anyway. "Now claim her as your heir. As Serenno's future. Make it so that taking her is not just stealing from you, it is stealing from this world."
Shmi's breath caught softly. Dooku stood still for a long moment, eyes fixed on the garden outside, mind moving through consequences like a chessboard. If he accepted the crown, Serenno's nobles would rally. Some out of loyalty. Some out of fear. Some out of opportunism. But a rally was better than a fracture.
If he accepted the crown, Coruscant would notice. The sith he had always feared was still around would notice. The Senate would smile and pretend it respected sovereignty while searching for ways to control it.
If he accepted the crown, the Jedi would… have to rethink their stance on him. They would not storm his gates. They were not fools. However, they would begin preparing a response, and he would be compelled to do the same.
It would escalate. And yet, doing nothing was also an escalation. Dooku turned back to them. Jenza watched him, eyes steady. Shmi watched him too, hands still clasped together as if holding herself in place. Dooku spoke carefully. "If I accept it, it cannot be performative." Jenza's mouth curved slightly. "I wouldn't allow it to be."
"And the moment I do it," he added, voice low, "I will become something the Republic is not comfortable with," Shmi spoke quietly. "They're not comfortable with you now." Dooku's gaze flicked to her. Shmi held it, surprisingly steady. "They came yesterday to look into your affers Like they had the right."
Jenza's eyes narrowed. "Exactly." Dooku exhaled slowly. He had never wanted the crown. Not because he feared responsibility, he had carried responsibility his entire life, but because crowns attracted the worst kind of people. They attracted worship. They attracted hatred. They attracted those who wanted to borrow someone else's power without earning their own.
He had always believed a man could do more good without a crown. But he had not had a daughter then. And a shield was not vanity if it kept a child from being dragged into someone else's doctrine. Dooku's voice remained calm. "If we do this, we do it correctly." Jenza's expression sharpened with satisfaction, but she did not celebrate. She respected the weight of what he was agreeing to.
"What do you need from me?" she asked. Dooku's eyes narrowed slightly as he moved into planning, because planning was safer than emotion. "Begin discreet inquiries with the regency council," he said. "Not a public call. Not yet. I want to know which houses would support restoration, and which would attempt to twist it to their own gains."
Jenza nodded. "I can do that."
"Draft the legal framework," Dooku continued. "If Serenno's royal standing is recognized again, I want the protections clear. For me. For her. For this household." Jenza's gaze flicked toward Shmi. "And for her," she added. Dooku paused, then nodded once. "Yes. For her as well."
Shmi's hands unclenched slightly. She looked down as if she had not expected that to matter. Dooku's voice lowered. "And I want a plan for how we present it to Liora." Jenza's expression softened, just a fraction. "She will take it seriously."
Dooku's gaze sharpened. "That is what concerns me." Dooku looked out the window again. For a moment, he saw Liora not as the subject of Jedi discussions or noble whispers, but as she had been this morning, barefoot, hair loose, blinking sleep from her eyes, asking if he was angry at her for being noticed.
A child. His child. He turned back. "Nothing will be announced today," he said. Jenza nodded. "Of course." Shmi hesitated, then asked softly, "Will the crown really protect her? Or will it just paint a bigger mark on her back?"
Dooku held her gaze. "It will do both." Shmi's mouth tightened. Dooku's voice stayed steady. "But the mark is already there. At least this way." Shmi nodded slowly, absorbing that hard truth like someone who had lived too long without illusions.
Jenza rose from her seat. "Then I'll begin, and then she was gone, leaving the room before Dooku could answer. Shmi remained seated. Dooku looked at her. "Are you afraid?"
Shmi's hands tightened again. She did not lie. "Yes." Dooku nodded once. "Good. Fear keeps you alert." Shmi looked down. "I've lived my whole life being controlled." Dooku's voice softened slightly, not pitying, but real. "Then you understand why I will not allow it to happen to her."
Shmi lifted her eyes. In them was exhaustion, grief, and something stubborn. "She's lucky," Shmi said quietly. Dooku did not flinch from the implication. "Luck had nothing to do with it."
Shmi's mouth curved faintly, sad but sincere. "Maybe not. But she's still lucky." Dooku let the silence sit for a moment, then spoke. "Take your rest today as well, Miss Skywalker," he said. "No one will fault you for it." Shmi blinked, as if the idea was unfamiliar. Then she nodded. "Yes, Count." Dooku opened the door for her. She rose and left the room, steps quiet.
When she was gone, Dooku stood alone for a moment. He did not feel triumphant. He did not feel resolved in any clean way. He felt the weight of a decision settling into place, the kind of weight that did not crush you all at once but lived with you day after day. He stepped back into the hallway. Down the corridor, through a tall archway, he could see the edge of the inner garden path. Liora was there now, walking slowly with two guards at a careful distance. Shmi walked with her.
Dooku watched her for a long moment. Then he turned away, heading toward his study, toward messages and laws and the kind of power he had avoided for years. He had never wanted a crown. But he had never wanted a child either before. So Dooku began to prepare.