“Ani,” Padmé says, her expression stricken, and Anakin flinches. She wants to throw her damn title on the fire. “Ani, no, I didn’t mean–I would never take your freedom from you. And even if I would, no one can do that here. This is the Republic.”
“I don’t get it,” Anakin says uncertainly, his shoulders hunching. Padmé grits her teeth against the sight. She is wearing Queen Amidala’s face and should not let so much show on it, but she can’t help it when his face looks like that.
“I swear to you, Anakin Skywalker, no one is going to own you while I breathe,” she tells him fiercely, dropping quickly to her knees in front of him to put them on a level with each other and only resisting the urge to grab his hands because she doubts he’d find any reassurance in the grip. Especially not how tight she’s sure she’d make it, whether she meant to or not.
“But–you won’t own me either?” Anakin says, looking even more uncertain. “And Master Qui-Gon’s dead and his heir isn’t allowed to inherit me, so–so then I–”
“You’re free, Ani,” Padmé reminds him. She thought he knew what that meant. He does, doesn’t he?
“But who owns me?” Anakin asks helplessly.