Warm Blood

Months after 'Consequences'...

Coruscant.

The Imperial Palace.

“Again.”

Sanya Tagge’s voice was a whip crack.

The young guardsman laying before her spoke between ragged breaths. “Baroness, if I may-“

“You may not,” the Baroness cut him off.

Her voice was steady, in spite of the rise and fall of her chest. Errant strands of hair clung to hair forehead and temples, damp with sweat. They had been going for over an hour now, and Tagge was showing no sign of letting up.

“We’re not done until I say we’re done, captain.”

With a glance towards the guards who were watching on from the side of the room, the guardsman pulled himself to his feet, barely suppressing a grimace. He stepped back on the training mat, putting some distance between himself and his opponent. When he lifted his fists into a boxing guard, his muscles burned.

It wasn’t normal for a member of the Imperial family to spend so much time training in self-defense but… these weren’t normal times. Nothing had been entirely normal since the Children’s Gala, the night Gallus Tagge had been assassinated. That night had changed life in the Imperial Palace in many ways, and these daily lessons with Baroness Tagge were only a small part of those changes.

Opposite the guard captain, clad only in a bodyglove, Sanya set her stance in a mirror of the guard captains. There was a cold fire in her eyes.

“Again.”

The Face of the Empire was steeled and controlled, refusing to show weakness in front of her subjects. That visage was unacceptable, lest the Empire's enemies see an opportunity to attack as the Empress grieved.

And she did during her husband's funeral with Sanya. Along with Tagge Industries, friends, family ...systems loyal mourned Gallus' loss and condemned the rogue actions of two rebels. Most notably the Galactic Alliance publicly dissolving ties with Dashiel Starborn and Charlotte Tur'enne to avoid war.

In private, she let the facade drop, welcoming anger and grief to train in secret, honing her Force abilities. Tagge and Tarkin were determined that harm would never come to their family again. Especially not one, but the two lives waiting to join the family months from now.

Miranda quietly entered the room that Sanya's lessons were taking place, immediately holding up a hand to silence any verbal recognition of her presence. They nodded their reverence and parted, allowing the Empress a better view. She stood at ease in the familiar custom uniform that only had to be let out minimally at this point in her pregnancy.

For the time being, Sanya was unaware the crowd had increased by one.

The fight went on, with additional pressure heaped on the guardsman by the latest spectator to join the crowd. Oblivious, with her back to where the Empress stood, Sanya bounced on the balls of her feet as her opponent advanced.

To begin with, Sanya’s sparring partners had humoured her, holding back, but now they knew better. She had practically demanded someone bloody her nose in her first few bouts and it was an unspoken but nonetheless understood expectation that if she didn’t finish a session with bruises, something had gone wrong. This session was no different.

They traded jabs, circling on the mat, and their shifting footwork eventually placed Miranda in Sanya’s field of vision. It wasn’t the first time Miranda had watched her fight; there had been plenty of opportunities for that during their days in the Sub-Adult Group, training together to become the next generation of Imperial leaders.

Miranda didn’t have to watch for long before the fight was over. It ended with the guard captain hitting the training mat again with a whuff of breath, and Sanya either unwilling or unable to suppress a triumphant grin as she stood over him. She offered a hand to the captain, helping him up, and turned a smile towards the Empress as he limped away.

To watch Sanya move was exhilarating, but Miranda remained a stoic spectator. The guard captain was outmatched since Sanya already deduced how he telegraphed punches due to a weary body. A few seconds longer and Sanya dropped him, victorious.

That was when she smiled and began to clap. The rest of the guard spectators new better than to join in. "Good."

When she smiled, it reached her eyes as the Empress retrieved a towel and handed it to Sanya upon approach. "You're getting quicker."

She casually watch as the guard captain's men began to examine him for injuries. "Though with how long you've been here, I'd wager this wasn't your first opponent?"

Of course it wasn't. Sanya wanted, no needed, to be challenged. They both did after what happened to Gallus. It was just the how that was different.

The towel was gratefully received and Sanya dabbed at her face and neck as she took a moment to catch her breath.

“I have a lot to learn.”

She followed Miranda’s eyeline to the guardsmen. They weren't even supposed to be on duty, but had volunteered to train the Baroness.

“They are becoming a little… predictable, however. I daresay I may soon need some opponents who weren’t educated at the Academy.”

"Miranda hummed in agreement. "True. Won't be much of a challenge then."

The Empress already had ideas on how to accommodate Sanya's training, but this was not the place to broach the subject.

She returned her attention back to Sanya after eying the wall clock. "Are you done for the day? Or do you still have a few rounds left with my guards."

Miranda's lips pursed together coyly because the answer could go either way.

Sanya’s heart rate had begun to recover from the sparring session, but something in Miranda’s expression made it flutter a little faster.

“I believe I’ve taken up enough of their time for one day.”

"Good," Miranda said, bringing hands together with approval before stepping aside so Sanya could accompany her. "Come. We can discuss your training after you freshen up."