Bridging the gap...
Eilan, the young Miraluka boy, has been deemed worthy of the effort of training. His strength is such that Lord Pavel conceives of an almost heretical idea: marrying his completely Force-blind daughter to Eilan in an effort to bring that power into his own family line. It is believed that Miraluka can breed with humans, and Eilan is put to the test (with slaves, of course) to prove it.
With that key requirement met, Eilan officially becomes a member of the Rukath household, with his betrothal to Pavel's daughter dependent on his successful completion of training at the Sith Academy on Korriban.
Eilan is 16 or so when this story occurs, and Diarwen, his adoptive sister, a year older.
Eilan was engrossed in his audiorecord—an analysis of Exar Kun’s so-called “Dark Holocron”, read out loud in a mellifluous artificial voice—but not so lost that he didn’t notice Diarwen slowly creeping up behind him. He wondered if she would ever truly understand that his Force sight encompassed everything around him, and that it was not as easily distracted as human eyes. Perhaps if he reached out and stopped her now, she’d get the idea...
But no. He’d wait to see what she wanted, first. Obviously she had some sort of mischief in mind, or she wouldn’t attempt to sneak up on him, but what?
“Still at your lessons, brother?” she asked a moment later, her lips near his ear. Her tone was clearly meant to be provocative, and from what Eilan could tell from her emotions, her intent was straightforward, no trickery involved. And so she finally makes her bid...
“Your father asked that I provide him a report on this text tomorrow,” he replied without betraying any reaction to her less than subtle approach.
“My father is away until tomorrow,” Diarwen pointed out. She backed away and stepped in front of him, where he’d see her clearly if he had eyes. Even with his Force sight, he could see her toss her head, a habitual motion that no doubt tumbled the waves of her hair in an appealing fashion. She was, he understood, a very pretty girl.
“Yes,” was all the young man said as he halted the playback of his datapad and set the device aside. He had to fight back a smile at the brief surge of frustration, followed by hopeful excitement, he felt from his foster-sister.
For years, Diarwen had treated him with disdain, but for some reason known only to her, she seemed to change her mind in the past few months. Outwardly, her behavior was much the same, but it was easy enough for the Miraluka to perceive her feelings: a tentative, conflicted attraction that she wasn’t sure how to act upon. It seemed that today, she’d finally made up her mind on what to do.
“Since you do have until tomorrow,” the girl said in her best approximation of a sultry murmur, “why don’t you take a break from your studies for a little while?” As she spoke, she moved closer, one arm resting along the back of his chair. “Surely you could find something else of interest?”
Her attempts at coquetry were laughable, but Eilan remained composed, as always. “I’m sure I could,” he agreed, his tone neither encouraging nor particularly discouraging.
Predictably, Diarwen interpreted his lack of protest as assent, and leaned in to kiss him. Before she could do so, however, he stopped her, pressing his fingers gently to her lips as if quieting a child.
“We aren’t yet betrothed, dear sister,” he admonished her lightly. He felt a spike of anger from her, but before she could speak, he continued, “and wouldn’t Theyad be jealous?”
He sensed her jolt of surprise—clearly she had thought she’d kept her dalliance discreet—but she seemed to keep her outward composure. “His jealousy is of no concern to me,” she declared in a careless tone. “He merely serves to entertain me, nothing more.”
“How cold, sister.” Now Eilan finally allowed himself to smile, and the expression drew a sudden flicker of unease from Diarwen. “Perhaps I should tell him what you really think, the next time I am graced with his company.”
“What- what are you talking about?” the girl stammered, the battle between denial and realization clear in her voice.
“Ah, you didn’t know?” He could feel her hanging on his every word now, and he savored it. “Theyad is an ambitious young man; gaining the favor of both Rukath heirs is certainly a well-calculated move, don’t you think?”
“No.” She backed away from him quickly, out of his reach, as if he would physically harm her. “No, you’re lying, he would never...”
“He would and he has, dear sister.” The Miraluka still wore a smile as he drove the verbal knives in. “Tell me, has he ever sung to you, after? He has the most remarkable voice, don’t you think?”
He was, of course, almost sure of the answer before he asked, but the wordless sound of angry, envious disbelief she made confirmed it. “You... you wretched, ill-mannered mongrel! You should have remained a slave!”
“I’m just as much of a slave as you are, dear sister,” Eilan said softly, deadly serious now. The words hit her like cold water, and her jealousy drained away, to be replaced by real fear. As a Sith with no Force sensitivity to speak of, she was all too aware of her value in Imperial society, especially as the heir of a Lord. Eilan’s words had cut her to the bone—with his abilities, was he truly her equal, despite his race? Was he, perhaps, her better?
“I hope you die on Korriban!” she said venomously before fleeing the room, her emotions in chaos. But as furious as she’d been, part of her hadn’t meant those hateful words at all, Eilan knew. That was, perhaps, what amused him most.