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Chapter Text

As the two blades clashed, it occurred to Princess Irulan that she was watching a war of fates. Like twin flames before her, they glinted bright against the burnt orange of the Arrakis sunset. How strange, she thought to herself as the battle unwound before her, for my pulse to be so steady without the need for interference. She’d have thought she’d feel more in this moment but was as if she had sunk inside herself and was watching her future from the bottom of a well. She imagined a rippling sun above her as water breathed around her, the vision superimposed over the dueling men so that she was in two places at once – half here and half there.

“Are you prepared?” the Reverend Mother had asked.

“You’ve been preparing me my whole life.”

Indeed, Irulan’s whole life had led to this moment – all of the hours she’d spent as a girl sitting still as a rock as she learned how to manipulate her heartbeat, the countless meetings she’d observed from behind her father’s throne, her education at the hands of Reverend Mother Mohiam, Imperial Truthsayer, whose lessons even the Emperor knew little of. Learning to keep her expressions flat had been the easy part: it was calming the fire within her that took nearly a decade. No matter how well the Princess learned to control each muscle in her face, the Reverend Mother could tell with a glance when Irulan still burned from within.

It had taken the Princess years to fully accept her duty as eldest daughter of the Emperor. She’d always been capable. Had she been born a man, she would have inherited the throne from her father and then ruled as she saw fit. The days of biting her tongue when her father proved himself fallible would eventually have ended – she would have learned from his mistakes and been a stronger ruler for it when the time came for her ascension. But she had not been born a man, which meant she was to be passed from her father to the heir of one of the Great Houses, to be Empress in name only. And should her husband, too, prove to be fallible… well… it was her job to lead him from behind. Or more precisely, from her back.               

Although she’d spent her childhood studying battles that changed the course of history, this was her first time watching combat with any real stakes. As of the past hour, she was a prisoner of war, along with her father and Feyd-Rautha and their surviving men. The Baron was dead, and she guessed so was Glossu Rabban. The initial blast of light and debris before the Muad’Dib strode aboard the Heighliner where she and her father’s soldiers waited was shocking and real, but now that they stood on the balcony of the Southern temple, and she could feel wind on her face and see the rust-colored sky through the ancient stone arches, Irulan felt her courage come back to her. She hadn’t wanted to die cloistered in that windowless ship surrounded by stale, dusty air. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stepped forward to fight Paul in her father’s stead, and the rules of logic snapped back into place: should Feyd-Rautha win the battle, she and her father would be free from any immediate danger, and they’d cement their alliance with House Harkonnen through a marriage between herself and the Harkonnen heir; should the Muad’Dib prevail, she would use her hand as a bargaining chip to secure their safety. Either outcome guaranteed both her and her father’s survival, and with this certainty, Irulan felt somewhat at peace.

Would she belong to Paul Atreides, the Muad’Dib, and remain on Arrakis? Would her days be filled with wind and sweat and sand? The portrait of his face that hung in her father’s grand hall swam back to her. She allowed herself a closer observation of the fighters. He looked just like the painting she’d studied with sudden interest over the past few weeks, though perhaps a bit taller. He was still small, but he had clear power emanating from him. There was also a lightness – an ease to his step. What he lacked in bulk, he made up for in scrappiness. She’d be lying if she said he wasn’t handsome. Young, but handsome. And young was good, she told herself. Moldable. Feyd-Ratha, on the other hand, was psychotic but predictable. Controllable. Thanks to Margot Fenring, she had knowledge of what drove him. It wasn’t productive, Irulan reminded herself, to compare the two men, either of whom she’d be tasked with appeasing while delicately pulling at his strings. It made little difference to kneel before Paul or the Harkonnen: she’d be stuck on her knees either way.

The duel began to look more and more to her like an ordinary spar between soldiers. Irulan let her vision cloud. Paul was holding his own despite his obvious disadvantage in size. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to mold him. Against all odds, he had proved his formability as a military leader, and in a way, the Princess respected the small desert mouse. She observed his quick, graceful movements as though from through an undulating film. She slowed her breathing, feeling the sensation of her hair floating upwards toward the surface, a cool darkness surrounding her.

A pained gasp yanked her back into the light. The Muad’Dib fell away, leaving a boy in his place. Color drained from his face as metal sank through flesh to carve at bone. Feyd-Rautha’s eyes gleamed as he twisted the knife, and the boy jerked violently against him. A grin spread across the Harkonnen’s face, parting his lips to reveal a row of glinting black teeth, as he turned them both around to give all spectators a view. Feyd-Ratha met her father’s gaze and cocked an eyebrow before stepping backward. Paul moaned as the blade pulled free, and his hand flew to his abdomen as if to keep himself from spilling onto the sand-covered stone.

A scream, and the Princess turned to see Paul’s mother grasping for her son – blue eyes wild – as her Fremen attendants held her back.

Several people in the crowd were weeping. Irulan’s eyes wandered to “the pet” (as Feyd-Rautha had called her). The girl’s jaw tensed tightly as if anger alone could keep the tears from falling, and the Princess felt a flicker of annoyance. She was going to lose him either way, thought Irulan, before she noticed her own clenched jaw. In that moment, Irulan realized that for all her analysis, she had never envisioned a future where Paul Atreides lost the war, never truly. Why? Because for all her posturing, she couldn’t let go of the idea that it might all one day mean something. She had prepared herself indeed, prepared herself to be the wife of a champion, of a hero, of an underdog like her whom she was foolish enough to think might fall in love with her – might make her fall in love with him. A handsome face. A gentle touch. What a sacrifice I prepared myself to make, she thought bitterly. Not a sacrifice. A fantasy, like the ones her younger sisters got told at bedtime while she all she got was recitations of family trees. A girl’s tale. With a man whom she knew she would eventually grow to trust – with a man who, unlike her father, would be able to teach her something new. The Kwisatz Haderach.

Irulan looked back to see the boy stumble, confusion tugging at his brow. He was dying and he didn’t understand what had happened. Irulan shuddered when she saw the glistening ropes of viscera – smeared with blood and yellow – hanging from his outstretched fingers. Paul swayed and nearly fell backward, but his opponent caught him. “You fought well, Atreides,” rasped the Harkonnen as he pressed his forehead to Paul’s and guided him to the ground.

It was this butcher who was to be her bridegroom. This monster, who, rumor had it, slew his household servants on a whim and served them up for dinner. Despite her years of training, the Princess had yet to truly master the Voice. And even with complete control, she’d heard tell of the Baron’s use of Cones of Silence to protect himself and his men from this form of command. The Baron was dead now, but she couldn’t gamble on Feyd-Rautha’s ignorance of this tool. So what would she do if he decided to slaughter her like one of his staff? She was hopelessly unprepared. Defenseless. Breathe, she told herself, what you lack in force you make up for in resourcefulness. And then another, raspier voice spoke inside her head: Just like the Muad’Dib. And I stuck him with a knife. She shuddered as she watched them.

The boy’s eyes widened and he coughed, spattering red against Feyd-Rautha’s pale face. Unfazed, the Harkonnen brought a hand to the back of Paul’s neck, holding him steady. He was looking at the boy with such gentleness that the Princess’s lips parted in surprise. The wind was hot on her face. She felt suddenly furtive as though she had witnessed something intimate. And then it was over. Paul’s lids fluttered shut. Feyd-Rautha lay the boy on the ground, cradling his skull as one would do with an infant. And then he stood, raising his bloodstained blade in a gesture of victory.

How was this possible? What hadn’t Paul seen?

Paul’s lover stepped forward, brandishing a knife. Feyd-Rautha turned to face her, and they circled each other for a moment.

“The pet,” he grinned, bearing his sharp black teeth. “Won’t you join us, my darling.”

She swung at him, yelling, as he dodged her blade. The killer eyed her with amusement – all tenderness gone. She swung again, missing. He let her attack again and again, toying with her until she began to lose steam. She was clearly exhausted – done in by grief. She’s not really fighting, realized the Princess, she’s provoking him. She wants to die beside her love, which Irulan instantly understood was preferable to ending up as one of Feyd-Rautha’s pets. She had heard how he treated his pets. The Princess felt shame for not once considering the woman until this moment – her dreams and her pain. In another life, with a different outcome, they would have been rivals. Would the Princess have batted an eye at the other woman’s loss? We must all make sacrifices for duty, she imagined telling herself before quickly reducing her to a footnote. She felt the shame in her cheeks. The Fremen woman was panting now, but she just kept on. She was brave, determined, it seemed, to cause something, whether it be her death or his – to make it all mean something. Why was nobody stopping her? All Irulan could see of Feyd-Rautha was the back of his bald head, but she imagined him cocking an eyebrow at her like he had her father, challenging her. Moments later, he lunged forward.

“Chani!” someone gasped.

So that was her name. Irulan couldn’t tell where the blade had sliced, but she knew the Harkonnen had dealt a killing blow. Relief washed over Chani’s face as she sank to her knees. Her hand clutched her throat as she crawled toward her lover, letting the blood flow freely once she’d settled into the crook of his arm and swung a leg over him as if they were lying in bed. Irulan knew she would dream of the Fremen girl’s face.

Feyd-Rautha turned to her father now, his expression unreadable. As he stode toward them, Irulan took an instinctive step backward. Feyd-Rautha’s eyes met Irulan’s for the very first time, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. What expression would he have as he stuck her? Irulan’s skin broke out in gooseflesh. Feyd-Rautha’s smirk became a full-fledged smile, and the Princess couldn’t help but stare at his gleaming black pearls. Feyd-Rautha knelt before the Emperor, taking his hand and kissing his ring.

“My lord,” he rasped, keeping his eyes low. “Your challenger is dead. I have killed him.”

“You have done a great service. For me. And for all who owe their peace to the Great Houses,” said the Emperor.

“My lord.” The killer kept his eyes low.

“I hope that I can honor you,” her father paused as if for emphasis, “with the gift of my daughter’s hand.”

“A generous offer,” replied the Harkonnen, his gaze lifting to meet the Emperor’s. Despite the show of submission, he was clearly the more dangerous man: a coiled snake. His eyes met Irulan’s once again before drifting down to her breasts. If he wanted a reaction, and she could tell that he did, she would not give it. He didn’t wait long before losing interest. “I accept,” he said, addressing her father and sealing her fate.

“Rise, Champion,” said the Emperor to Feyd-Rautha, who got to his feet before them. She had to crane her neck to look at him. When her father joined their hands, his skin was surprisingly warm. She smelled sweat and hot metal on the wind as he stepped beside her, and realized it was the scent of Paul’s blood. And then she smelled the shit. She nearly retched. If ever there were a time to control her breathing, it was now, for the Princess had an unsettling feeling the Harkonnen could read her as well as she could read him. There would be time to plan later when he couldn’t feel her pulse through her fingers. Irulan sank back into the well as her father addressed the stunned crowd. “May all those who fought tonight disperse. You have no leader. The Muad’Dib is dead.” He continued, “Already, the Great Houses are poised to attack. You are outnumbered. You are surrounded.” Then he paused. “Yet,” he paused again and Irulan resisted the teenaged urge to roll her eyes, “I believe in mercy. Go back to the desert. Bury your dead. Go back to the desert,” he said again, “and I will hold off the Great Houses’ wrath.” With that, he turned and exited down the stairs before anyone could change their minds about the apparent stalemate they found themselves in.

Irulan looked at the Fremen soldiers who stood around them – the shock and the horror on their faces. The shame. How could one possibly describe the expression of a group of people who against all odds had found strength in the power of faith, only to watch the object of all their prayers slain unceremoniously before them like an animal? In the end, we’re all just meat, thought Irulan, even The One Who Was Promised. They wouldn’t fight, thought Irulan. Not tonight. The Fremen were a people of honor who respected the rules of war. They would shuffle off, demoralized, most likely to spend another several decades licking their wounds in the desert.

She had nearly managed to forget about Feyd-Rautha’s presence beside her, but then his fingers were on her face, stroking her cheek. He brought his thumb to his lips, tasting the tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. Irulan shivered in revulsion and a separate feeling she couldn’t identify. Loneliness? Loss? She looked once more at Paul and Chani lying motionless on the ground. Chani had taken the effort to lie on top of Paul so that his intestines were shielded from view. She really loved him, thought the Princess, chewing the inside of her cheek. She would do the woman justice, she decided, as she conscribed her to history – doing her best to capture with clarity Chani’s beauty, care, and strength.

“Come,” said her intended, who was looking at her now with unmasked curiosity. He took her wrist and placed her hand on his arm before turning her back in the direction of the ship.

Chapter Text

Princess Irulan turned in her sleep. The cup of herbal tea still steamed on her nightstand, and although the Heighliner was moving faster than lightspeed, the bedside screen was adjusted to mimic the view of a traditional spacecraft, and the visible stars shifted almost infinitesimally. It was a small room, compact in its design, but when looking out through the artificial window, the chamber took on a cozier quality – more like a child’s bedroom than a utilitarian bunk. It had taken the Princess hours to fall asleep. She’d nearly asked for a sedative, but thought better of it, considering she was in mixed company. Instead, she began transcribing the day’s events. She took long pauses in between her sentences – wanting to make sure she got it just right. After half an hour of this, she felt somewhat accomplished, even if still a bit uneasy. Accomplished enough to have some tea and fall asleep. Right then, she was dreaming of a young Fremen girl sitting atop her father’s shoulders as he pointed out the constellations.

At the other end of the ship, Feyd-Rautha slid open the glass door that sealed off his bedchamber and stepped into the humming metal hallway. He had no desire to rest after the events of the day, and his darlings were grating his last nerve. He needed space. He needed out. He walked carefully. Barefoot, he made no audible sound. He liked stalking the corridors while the world around him slept… at least, that was how he unwound each night back at the palace on Geidi Prime. Why should he behave any differently aboard the Emperor’s Heighliner? Still… it gave him a small thrill to be creeping through unfamiliar halls amongst unfamiliar sleepers.

Paul Atreides had killed the Baron that afternoon. It was still just a concept to him – the reality of it all seemed suspended in space as if the laws of gravity had yet to apply. You die like an animal, the boy had said. How Feyd-Rautha wished that he had been the one to utter those words as he watched the light leave his uncle’s eyes. He’d tried to get the Baron to look at him as he gurgled and choked, but his uncle kept staring at his cousin. What a shame. Feyd-Rautha thought back to all those evenings in the Baron’s bath, how the Baron would fold his fat fingers around his nephew’s own hand to lower it under the steaming black sludge, the way the Baron’s eyes rolled back in his head when he finally ejaculated – sometimes after seconds, sometimes after an hour of steady effort – his breath coming out of him in choked gasps. A little death. Each time, the boy had watched his uncle’s face and imagined it was the real thing. He pretended the shuddering mass of flesh would eventually stop moving. Would just fucking die. Someday, when he got bigger, he’d drown him in that tub and watch until the bubbles stopped bubbling. He’d pull him out just long enough to see the stunned realization in his eyes – that his young nephew’s face would be the last thing he’d ever see – before shoving him back under. He was half-hard thinking about it.

But Paul Atreides had robbed him of the opportunity. And then he had killed Paul Atreides. Killing his cousin who had killed his uncle was sort of like killing his uncle, Feyd-Rautha mused, but he still felt cheated. Like a ruined orgasm: no real pleasure to it. Looking at the young boy, it seemed impossible that someone like him could take the life of something like that. And yet he had. And then Paul Atreides had squared up to him as if it were fencing practice. What was it the Atreides boy had said before they crossed blades? May thy knife chip and shatter. Yes. He was going to use that again someday. Without the silly hand gesture, though to give Paul credit, it was the best fight Feyd-Rautha had had in years. Maybe ever. How exhilerating it had been to duel someone of that caliber – someone who wasn’t drugged. He’d gotten a taste on his birthday, but the Atreides he slew in the arena would have been no match for Paul. The boy managed to surprise him again and again. It was like fucking, the thrill of it. He knew he’d be chasing that high for a long, long time. Not the high of the kill, per say. There was no real build up, no real anticipation – not compared to twelve years of fantasies. But the fight itself was something else. The knowledge that he might actually go down this time. He couldn’t remember having that feeling since he was a young boy. Yes… Paul Atreides had fought well. Even if he lost it a bit in the end. They always lost it a bit in the end.

Maybe if he slipped into the Emperor’s bed and gutted him like he had the boy, he would finally feel satisfied. No, he reminded himself, better to wait until the marriage is completed and consummated. And even then, he’d likely need to at least retain at least a semblance of respectability. The other Great Houses had different customs than House Harkonnen, and his ascension required their approval. With his betrothal to the Emperor’s eldest daughter, that approval should be relatively easy to obtain, but he wouldn’t do himself any favors by deposing the current ruler on his own Heighliner while he slept. There was no real honor to killing a man in such a state. He’d fought against drugged opponents in the arena, but those were executions. Preordained. No. He would find another way to get his pleasure. And this time, there would be no cousin to get in the way.

He hadn’t even managed to kill Rabban. What a waste. Feyd-Rautha was the Baron now with no competition, and full control of the empire was within his grasp, yet all he felt was frustration. A hollow victory compared to the way he’d imagined it. There was no way for him to sleep with such a feeling of emptiness in his gut. His darlings had done little to entertain him. They’d tried, poor things, but his mind was still on his uncle. He’d pushed them aside and slit one of their throats in frustration. As a general principle, he tried not to do that, but there weren’t any servant girls around. His darlings were doing as well as they could, he reminded himself. He would try to remember to give them a treat once they landed on Kaitain.

Feyd-Rautha smelled sulphur and jet fuel and took a moment to analyze his surroundings. He was standing in a small hallway next to one of the engine rooms, deep within the bowels of the ship – an insignificant location but somewhere he’d be noticeably trespassing. Just like the Bene Gesserit woman from his dreams he’d caught creeping in the shadows on his birthday, though he knew at this point that it had really been the other way around: she’d woven a trap for him and he flew right into it. He’d meant to sink his teeth into her, yet she remained surprisingly full of blood all while managing to drain him dry. And as he finally came back to himself, gasping for air, wondering how he’d ended up lying on his back, she was gone. He never saw her leave. Why did she leave him alone in her quarters? He’d asked himself that until he realized he was lying in his own bed, tangled up in his own black sheets, sweat-soaked and bleeding. He’d have thought it all another dream if it weren’t for the red bitemarks that marred his neck and shoulders. He searched for her high and low, but she was nowhere, clearly having gotten what she came for. What did she come for? And did she come? He couldn’t even remember the shape of her breasts, just the sound of her voice and the feeling of her body as she rocked against him. A Bene Gesserit.

Just like his bride. He’d seen the Princess talking with that old crone before they boarded the ship. Now that was something he could do tonight. He turned on his heel and walked away from the churning machinery, back in the direction of the main atrium, which he knew forked out into several dormitories. The florescent lights glowed on the cold metal like dull white suns, and he smelled gas and industrial cleaner. He wasn’t yet sure what he’d do when he found her. He’d decide when he got there. He felt a surge of pleasure at the new objective. Yes, this was it. There was nothing he could do about today’s turn of events – nothing he could do about Paul Atreides or his uncle or his brother – but this – this was something at least – to what? Look forward to? His mind didn’t work like that, but it was something to plan for, something to stalk. Something he knew he could eventually sink his teeth into. A Bene Gesserit like the one who’d visited him, who had caught him unprepared. The Princess wasn’t his usual type… not that he got a real look at her under that chainmail sack. Unlike the other one, she came off as a spayed pet. But even spayed pets bled. Yes, the other one had dripped with sex and whispered promise, but they were similar enough. And it wasn’t her demeanor he cared about: it was her training. A new opponent but the same opponent. A rematch. His heart pounded and his palms began to itch. A sensation washed over him that reminded him of the silent dark of the antechamber before the stone doors opened to reveal the blinding white light and pulsing black sun and the roaring, hungry crowd. He would watch her, he decided. Study her. Catch her as she laid her tricks and traps. She’d be no match for him, not this time. He’d play with her like a toy until she broke, and then what? He wasn’t sure - he’d get to that later – but he hoped she wouldn’t break too quickly. He craved another good fight. The Atreides pet hadn’t wanted a longer game. Not skilled enough to challenge him, not reactive enough to interest him. A pity.

The Princess had some stamina in her – he could tell from the way she refused to blush or look away when he leered at her – but he could see that he rattled her all the same. She’d taken a step back when he approached her before she could catch herself: a desert mouse confronted with a viper. Only for a moment before her armor slid back over her. He would find the spots where metal cracked. He could tell there were cracks – he could sense them – and yet she didn’t respond in a way he found predictable. She shuddered at his touch, but when he showed her his tongue, she seemed distracted – far away and out of his reach. What was she thinking about? He would find out. He would find out everything there was to find out about her. And he would get rid of that shapeless chainmail. Maybe he would dress her like the other one. Maybe he’d dress her up like one of his darlings. He peered through the glass of every doorway he passed, searching for her. She was likely to be at the end of a hall somewhere, unless she was in the same hall as her father, in which case he would be at the end and she would be next to him. Feyd-Rautha flexed his hands as he doubled back and turned the next corner before colliding with a figure, who nearly fell over.

It was her.

Blonde hair wet and stringy against her flushed cheeks, her eyes narrowing just enough to blot out any vestige of surprise. “Baron Harkonnen,” she said, her tone flat and even. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear your footsteps.”

“Call me Feyd,” he said curtly. The Baron was his uncle.

“Feyd,” she said as if turning the word over on her tongue, testing it out, and he immediately regretted shortening his name for her. Feyd was what his mother used to call him. He didn’t want to think about his mother tonight. The Princess eyed his bare feet.

“I don’t often sleep during travel,” he said, hoping it would suffice as an explanation. He’d meant to catch her sleeping, and here she was awake. “Did I disturb you?” He knew he hadn’t.

“No,” she said. She looked as if she wanted to say something else. He waited, but she said nothing else, and this was becoming much too awkward, much too mundane.

“I’ll leave you,” said Feyd and turned abruptly. She didn’t call after him.

She wasn’t meant to be awake. She wasn’t meant to be alert. She wasn’t meant to see him while he was seeing her.

She would pay for that, he decided as he stalked back toward his room, and muttered “Bene Gesserit witch,” under his breath. She would pay for her little tricks. Not here. And not on Kaitain. Not where she held the homecourt advantage, not where she knew the customs and the corridors better than he did. He would play by their rules and study them as well as he could without drawing notice. And he would even play the gentleman if that’s what it took to get him through the wedding and the bloodying of her sheets. But once he got her back to Giedi Prime, for that is where they would live until it was time for his now almost-certain ascension, he would make her regret any ambition she’d ever had to wield power over him. Back on Giedi Prime, where he knew all the hallways and hiding places, where he had an army and an arsenal of tools at his disposal, he would watch her closely without being observed. And he would weave a web of his own.

He felt better. Calmer. He might even be able to sleep. Despite his young age, he was much smarter than his older brother: his uncle had rewarded him for it again and again, by making him heir, by giving him Arrakis, and he had proven himself once more by killing Paul Atreides – had proven himself tonight. Rabban could only wish for a victory as evident as his.

But Rabban was dead.

And so was his uncle.

His uncle who had gifted him with a kiss before a crowd of men who could only dream of such an honor. His uncle who would never kiss him again. Would never test him again. Would never look at him again with those beady black eyes, crinkled with malice and tenderness and approval. And more recently, with newfound respect. The gravity hit then, and Feyd braced himself against his knees, heaving. His stomach clenched again and again, and he gagged, but nothing came out of him except for ropey strings of spit. He hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t wanted to. Didn’t know when he would want to again.

Chapter Text

The week leading up to the wedding was a frenzied blur of activity. Servants brought chairs out of ancient closets and spent the mornings polishing silver. In the afternoons, they unloaded shipments of fruits and meats and cheeses and stowed them away in the cold room before returning to the lower level to iron linens. Princess Irulan saw very little of Feyd during this time. They sat at opposite ends of the long wooden table during meals, their views of each other obscured by antique candelabras. Her father at one head with her to his right and Feyd in a seat of honor at the other – a stroke of brilliance she ascribed not to her father but to the Reverend Mother, whom she deduced was intentionally keeping them apart so as to give her as few opportunities as possible to change her mind about accepting the match without causing a scene.

It was working. The initial dread Irulan felt when she looked at her bridegroom began to soften with each passing day. Feyd was surprisingly mild-mannered, and she was starting to get the sense that she didn’t interest him. His courtesans – if one could call them that – traveled with him, and though she’d initially bristled at the idea of sharing Paul with Chani, this arrangement suited her just fine. Despite his placid demeanor, she hadn’t forgotten the brutality of the fight or Margot Fenring’s words: he loves pain. Irulan had reason to suspect his tastes bordered on the unusual, and she was relieved that he seemed to have an outlet – even if she found the girls unsettling to look at. He didn’t bring them to meals. She assumed they ate in his quarters. She’d heard rumors of what he fed them but decided not to dwell on it. Out of sight, out of mind. She looked at Feyd as he picked at his dinner and wondered when he’d stopped standing out amongst the other men. His teeth no longer frightened her; his baldness no longer repelled her. He was just a man. An eccentric man to be sure, but a man nonetheless.

She was determined to make the best of it. Losing Paul had been so unexpectedly crushing that she decided to start listening to her father’s advice: the heart is not meant to rule. She repeated those words to herself several times that week.

There was one difficulty: she had no desire to leave Kaitain to live on Giedi Prime. When she’d expressed this thought, over a game of chess with her father, one of the last afternoons they had to enjoy each other’s company in the courtyard, the Reverend Mother scoffed at her: “Consider yourself lucky, girl. We could have bred you with the former Baron.” And it was true. Irulan was simply following the footsteps of a millennia of women who came before her, and as far as it went to her intended’s appearance, she could have done much worse. She’d adapted to his face – his lips were pleasant to look at if you ignored the stained black teeth, and even the teeth had begun to look commonplace. She could adapt to the black sun. She had read there was color indoors.

There one thing that kept bothering her – one thing she couldn’t refrain from asking about at the first opportunity, which turned out to be days later, as the Reverend Mother appeared to be avoiding her – only popping in now and again and leaving before Irulan had a chance to get a word in:

“If you knew I was to marry Feyd-Rautha,” blurted the Princess, “why did you breed him with Margot Fenring?” She was sitting at her desk in the second library, the sunlight warming the rows of metal scrolls arrayed in front of her. The Imperial Truthsayer stood by the doorway, having unexpectedly stopped by to brief her on the schedule of events.

“Contingency,” said the Reverend Mother with a frown. “If Paul had prevailed in the duel, it would have spelled the end of the Harkonnen bloodline.”

“Isn’t that what got us into the war?” asked Irulan with a bit more edge than she’d intended, “too many prospects?”

“Don’t be short, girl. You know as well as I do that one must plan for all possible outcomes. As you can see, the prophecy failed.”

Irulan couldn’t argue with that. It was hard to see the Reverend Mother’s face with the way the light was shining through the skylight.

“Don’t let it worry you. Margot’s child will be a girl: you will still produce an heir.”

“Since when have we ever cared about the laws of succession?”

Her teacher looked at her coldly. “There will never be just one prospect, Irulan. I would have thought you were above such vanity,” she paused, scrutinizing her pupil, “Perhaps I’ve misjudged you. Perhaps you’re a bit more like Lady Jessica than I thought.”

“Lady Jessica disobeyed direct orders,” said Irulan, “I’m merely asking questions.”

“It’s not your job to ask questions,” said her teacher, “It’s your job to obey. It’s your job to put aside selfish ambition in pursuit of a greater good.”

Irulan knew that her teacher was right. Wanting more is what had caused her to nearly crumble on Arrakis, and she would do well to listen to the older woman’s advice. “Yes, Your Reverence.”

“You won’t be seeing her again regardless. She’s been reassigned.”

“Reassigned? Where?”

“That’s not for you to know.”

And of course it wasn’t. Considering they would both give birth to prospects, it made complete sense for the Bene Gesserit to keep her in the dark, lest she or her children take matters into their own hands.

“Don’t take it as a slight, Princess Corinno. It’s not you I don’t trust: it’s your intended. He is hungry for power – will stop at nothing to get it.”

“Will he not inherit the throne?” asked Irulan.

“He will almost certainly succeed your father,” said her teacher, “but he isn’t one to sit idly by. Nor will he tolerate competition.”

“I understand,” said the Princess, knowing that something had shifted between her and her teacher. She was no longer a pupil: she was a pawn. “There is something else,” she began, partially because she longed for her teacher’s confidence and partially because she knew it would weigh on her mind regardless of whether or not she gained it: “Feyd-Rautha knows about my father’s betrayal. He was there when Paul spoke.”

“Yes”

“You once told me not to rely on hope but to rely on careful planning,” she said while watching her teacher’s face, “Do we have a plan?”

“At a certain point,” said the older woman with a sigh, “you will have to decide whether your loyalty lies with your father or your Sisters.”

“Did you always mean to sacrifice him?” asked Irulan. Steadying her voice took some effort, and she could tell her teacher noticed the strain.

“He has outserved his purpose.”

“Have you considered,” started Irulan, “what it would mean for a man like Feyd-Rautha to sit on the throne? A man you can’t so easily control as my father?”

“That’s what I have you for, my dear,” said the older woman, “Now – was there anything else? There’s more business I need to attend to as the foreign dignitaries start arriving.”

“My father is all I have left.”

“Then you’d best find a way to keep your husband entertained,” replied her teacher, turning out of the room with a swish of her robes. Her voice sounded tired, as though she had had this conversation dozens of times before.

Irulan took a walk in the gardens to soothe her nerves. It was one of the last times she’d see green foliage or warm light or blue skies dotted with clouds for the foreseeable future. She tried to take in as much of it as she could, commit it to memory, so she could take a piece of it inside her when she left for Giedi Prime. An ancient myth from Harmonthep came back to her then: a young maiden captured by the God of Darkness. Her father, the Sun God, went mad and stopped performing his duties. He was able to negotiate his daughter’s occasional return, but only for specific times of the year at the discretion of the God of Darkness, who had taken the young maiden as his bride. According to tradition, this was why the planet had such unpredictable weather. Irulan doubted her father would go mad in her absence. With how preoccupied he’d been since the murder of Leto Atreides, she wondered if he would notice at all.

Where would this God of Darkness take her? She had never been to Giedi Prime, but by all accounts, it sounded like something out of a myth. Was the Harmonthep God of Darkness also a sociopath, as Margot had said Feyd-Rautha was? It was childish, she knew, to compare herself to a mythical figure, but after her talk with the Reverend Mother, she’d had enough of pretending that history was just a series of transactions. Hadn’t the Reverend Mother emphasized the power of faith during their virtually all of her lessons – the power of story? Of writing it all down? She had been the one to insist that Irulan start a diary. The truth is created by she who tells the story, she had said, and the Princess preferred stories that had meaning. She’d toned down her natural expressiveness and tried to mimic the style of the Bene Gesserit texts, but today she didn’t feel like being disciplined. She had been careful all her life to follow every rule imposed upon her, and now she was being shut out of the very sisterhood she’d shut out the universe for. She’d missed her own sisters’ childhoods – not the Bene Gesserit disciples who traded secrets in whispers behind closed doors – her real sisters – who had grown into ruthless women she could on one hand understand but on the other never trust. She’d missed the narrow opening for kinship, dedicating herself only on her father and her training. Their mother had died giving birth to her fourth sister, and the Emperor didn’t know how to foster any closeness between his daughters in her absence. Irulan twisted a blade of grass between her fingers. Despite the pleasure she felt at the sun on her neck, there were too many soldiers about for her to be thinking such private thoughts.

She turned back the direction of the castle, knowing full well she’d remember the day in the future and ask herself Why? Why did you spend it inside when you could have been out amongst the flowers? Her thoughts drifted back to the Harmonthep myth. Was the maiden happy with her fate? Did she grow to love the God of Darkness, or did he take her by force? These were all things she imagined girls discussed with their mothers before their weddings, but she had no mother to ask. She couldn’t even remember her mother’s face, not clearly, though she remembered her demeanor: a strict woman with exacting demands. She suspected this was the root of her attachment to the Reverend Mother, despite their frequent clashes. Irulan knew she had disappointed her today – it was as if she had lost five years of her training. She remembered the annoyance in her teacher’s eyes when confronted with her deficiencies, and Irulan suddenly felt like crying. Not now, she told herself, you’re being watched. Wait. She steadied her breathing and flattened her face, knowing she only needed to hold up the dam until she reached her quarters. There were other things to think about: things to plan.

The wedding itself would be easy: all she had to do was show up. It was the wedding night that scared her. She wasn’t afraid of the pain: she was a Bene Gesserit. It was the uncertainty and unfamiliarity of it that unsettled her. She had no idea what to expect other than the obvious mechanics. The idea that Feyd-Rautha – that Feyd – might be ordinary frightened her more than the idea that he might be a monster. Margot had said he loved pain. She could give him that, could give him her pain – but what if he wanted something else? The Reverend had sent Margot for a reason: seduction had always been her specialty, not Irulan’s. Not that their teacher would ever consider wasting something as precious as Irulan’s virginity on a contingency plan – as the Emperor’s daughter, she was to remain chaste for obvious reasons. She had done as much research as she could through reading, but there are certain things one can only learn from practice, and Irulan had never even kissed a man who wasn’t her father.

Sex was the ultimate weapon, according to nearly every book she’d ever read. Therefore, Irulan decided, it was reasonable to approach her wedding night like one might approach a duel. Not a battle to the death – that unnerved her – but a match between soldiers. What would she do if she were a soldier approaching his first match? I don’t even know how to hold a sword, she thought to herself as she crossed the threshold of her bedroom, shutting the door behind her and locking it. She suddenly wished more than anything she could talk to Margot. How odd, she thought to herself, to want to talk to my future husband’s former lover. But she did. She’d always disliked Margot, who was a natural at everything without trying and made sure Irulan knew it, but in this moment, the Princess wanted to talk to her more than anyone. What would Margot tell her to do?

She would be purposefully vague, thought Irulan, and avoid telling me anything of use so as to make me feel inferior. And that was true. But perhaps that was partially Irulan’s fault: Irulan had never earnestly asked her for help. Like rival daughters, they each had their own claim on the Reverend Mother’s praise: Margot for her physical ability and Irulan for her intellectual strength. They were never going to be close considering the competitiveness of their education. Irulan wished she had an hour with her tonight, just one hour, to talk without being observed – to talk about something unrelated to their studies or their futures. She wanted to talk about sex. She settled onto her bed, stretching out on top of the covers.

There were no full-length mirrors in her quarters. She supposed it was because she had servants to dress her and make sure it all looked right when she entered an important room. Had she ever gotten a good look at her own body? Would her husband be satisfied with what he saw?

She stopped herself. This was a duty – an obligation she had to fulfill – an ordinary task assigned to every wife as long as there have been wives. She would approach it the way she approached everything else: through research and study and careful observation. And if she didn’t satisfy him, he had a full harem. She’d find other ways to prove her usefulness. Approaching her first duel from a place of insecurity would only ensure her defeat.

She was letting herself get distracted again. She was not the Sun God’s daughter: she was the eldest daughter of an ordinary man. She was a disciple, not a prophet. Not even the lover of a prophet. A historian whose duty it was to record all of the prophets and all of the lovers so that future generations would know what had happened – would know the stories that had been worth recording. Not hers – hers served a different purpose, albeit no less important (she reminded herself again of her father’s words: the heart is not meant to rule), and she was determined to make peace with it. She had years of training under her belt, and she wasn’t going to lose perspective just because she was inheriting a new role. She was a Bene Gesserit, betrothed to Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen: in no way would this end well for her. It was her life’s work to bear the sacrifice with grace, to listen to orders, and to record everything she saw.

Still… she knew Margot would find a way to revel in it. And maybe that was part of it – getting lost in the story until one forgets who one is. Becoming someone entirely new. Someone formidable. Someone with power. Someone with the will to change her own destiny.

Chapter Text

Irulan woke on the day of her wedding feeling clearheaded. Her servants had left a scarlet nightgown lying at the foot of her bed, and she reached out to touch it, feeling the silk float over her fingers like water. A wedding chemise. On Kaitain, brides wore ivory with hints of delicate pastel, to symbolize the petals that fell from the Floracaelum tree on springtime evenings; yet she knew on Giedi Prime, brides wore red as a symbol of their virginal blood. Irulan had always wondered about this tradition, as she knew the black sun of Giedi Prime erased all natural color, but she supposed even in the case of an outside wedding, the consummation would happen indoors.

Irulan was glad that her servants had left her to change in private – at least for this first layer of fabric against her skin – as it gave her a moment to compose herself. The chemise was a simple gown, so as not to distract from what would lie on top of it, but the fabric was so beautiful that Irulan felt a moment of reverence for the garment, as if it were sacred.

She slipped off her nightclothes and stood naked for a moment before walking to the bedside window – which looked out onto a private balcony. She opened it to let in the springtime air, and she closed her eyes and concentrated on the breeze and sunlight, which both warmed and chilled her skin. She would never have this moment again: the quiet solitude of the morning of her wedding, before she became a wife. A shiver ran through her, but that was good. She wanted to feel it – if only for a moment in the seclusion of her bedroom: that private moment of calm before the storm.

Once she’d felt all she thought she was capable of feeling, she returned to the foot of her bed where the chemise lay waiting and put it on.

She wasn’t to eat, not yet, not until her hair was done and the first layer of dress was completed. Her sisters sat on the cubed marble benches that flanked the open window, and Irulan couldn’t remember the last time they’d been in her bedchamber. Rugi, the youngest, ate an apple with her knees to her chest - not a very ladylike way to sit, but Rugi had always cared the least about etiquette or politics. Secretly, she was Irulan’s favorite. The servants working on her hair stepped back, as her dressers came in with a scarlet corset that matched her nightgown.

“If you could stand, my lady,” said the assistant in front of her – an older woman with graying hair and kind brown eyes. The Princess rose from her armchair, and the master dresser moved it out of the way.

“Raise your arms,” said the woman behind her with an air of authority, and Irulan did, as the assistant brought the outstretched corset to the front of her body and passed the sides to the woman behind her, who began to lace the garment with practiced efficiency. Irulan drew in a sharp breath as it closed in on her waist, compressing her. She wasn’t used to wearing anything this tight.

“It’ll feel better once you see how good you look in it,” said the assistant with a twinkle in her eye, Irulan smiled back at her. She’d always liked this woman, had always trusted her, despite her status as assistant to the master. She’d never learned the woman’s name, and after years of seeing each other multiple times a day, she felt it was too late to ask. She supposed she could always find out from her father's head of staff. She would try to remember to do that before she left. Maybe she’d be able to give her the parting gift of a raise.

“Would it be possible to have a long mirror brought in?" asked the Princess, "I’d like to learn how the garments work.”

“Of course,” said the assistant, bowing her head. “I’ll go fetch one.”

Irulan wished it had been the other dresser to go look for it, for the assistant’s presence had added an informality to an otherwise awkward room.

“It’s about time you started considering your appearance,” said a voice from further behind her, and her sisters giggled.

“Reverend Mother,” said Irulan, “Didn’t you just lecture me on the pitfalls of vanity?”

“Vanity and self-awareness are not one in the same.”

“It’s generous of you to stop by,” said Irulan, still annoyed from the other day, “I assume it’s important if I’m taking you away from you away from your duties. Should I have my sisters clear the room?”

“Mind your tone, girl. It may be your wedding day, but I’m still your master.”

Irulan opened her mouth to apologize before noticing the warmth in her teacher’s eyes.

“I came to check on you,” she said. “How are you feeling about today?”

“It matters not how I feel, Your Reverence, only how well I perform.”

“There’s my girl,” said her teacher, gifting her with a rare smile, and Irulan felt its comfort wash over her: their disagreement was now behind them. Irulan could depart Kaitain knowing that she’d left things in a good spot. “I need a moment with the Princess,” said her teacher to the others. Her sisters got up without so much as looking up and walked toward the door. “You too, Talvian,” she said, eyeing the master dresser behind her.

“Yes, Your Reverence,” said the woman, and Irulan felt the corset loosen around her waist.

The Reverend mother waited for the door to close behind her before addressing Irulan. “Now. Let’s talk strategy.”

“Alright.”

“You know what’s expected of you tonight so I won’t bore you with logistics.”

Irulan waited for her to continue.

“As you know, Lady Fenring visited Feyd-Rautha back on Giedi Prime.”

“Of course”

“He is likely expecting a similar encounter.”

“I’ll do my best, Your Reverence.”

“Oh no, my dear,” said her teacher with a frown, “I suggest you do the opposite.”

That made sense. Margot had seduced him and had then used the Voice on him so that he lay completely immobile as she completed the act. Irulan lacked the necessary skill to replicate Margot’s technique, and even if she had Margot’s ability, Margot had also had the advantage of surprise. The Harkonnen would likely be steeling himself against future manipulation, which explained his sudden shift in energy upon their engagement. If this was an conscious decision on his part, he was a much more dangerous man than Irulan had given him credit for. The Reverend Mother’s eyes softened when she could tell her pupil understood.

“Don’t try to seduce him,” she said. “Use tonight as an opportunity to learn.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” replied her teacher. “That’s all we need to discuss for right now. We’ll have another opportunity to talk on Giedi Prime. I’ve made arrangements to visit in three weeks’ time with a few other Sisters. Until then, do your best to please him, as you would if you were an ordinary bride.”

“Yes, Your Reverence.” Relief washed over the Princess at the announcement of the trip, as well as a bit of shame for misjudging her teacher. The Reverend Mother hadn’t abandoned her. She wasn’t sending Irulan into the darkness without tools: her lack of tools was the strategy. Yes, her teacher had sent Margot to Giedi Prime for a reason, but she had also selected Irulan’s purpose with careful intention. Margot would not have been able to play this role.

“I’ll let the servants back in now. You have a lot to get done this morning,” said the old woman before walking past the Princess to open the double doors behind her – disappearing through them without another word.

The kind-faced assistant rushed in with a gilded, floor-length mirror, propping it up against the wall before rushing around to finish tightening the corset.

“I’ll do it,” snapped the master as she strode back into the room, “Go and fetch the makeup kit.”

“Of course,” said her assistant, and Irulan frowned. She viewed herself in the mirror as woman behind her resumed her tightening of the scarlet silk ribbons. The quarter cups pushed her breasts upward, making a feast of her usually modest cleavage, and Irulan tugged on the night gown, which had bunched up under the corset, so that the necklines matched up.

“There,” said her dresser, stepping away to inspect her own work.

The Princess examined her reflection in the mirror. While underwhelmed by her bare face and half-done hair, her body looked divine. She only wished she had the complexion to look vibrant in red.

“I’ll be right back,” said the woman. “Where have the sisters gone to?” she asked a servant on her way from the room. “I need Chalice next.”

Irulan stared at herself in the mirror, wishing she looked more like Margot Fenring.

The assistant returned with a sleek metal box. “Why don’t you…” she paused, scanning the room before walking toward the tea table and pulling out a chair. “If you could sit here, my lady.” Irulan followed her and sat. “Let’s get you ready then,” said the woman with a smile, pausing to analyze the Princess’s face. “You are a beauty, aren’t you."

Irulan didn't know how much she'd needed to hear that.

"Okay,” said the assistant, with an encouraging smile, opening the box and picking out a brush.

By the time they finished with her, Irulan felt like she’d been replaced with a completely different woman. Even her sisters looked up from their reading to stare at the final result:

The gown was a suggestive whisper of tulle embroidered with beaded ivory flowers that trailed up her hips to cluster around her bustline. The red undergarments peaked through as though she were bleeding through her dress. The assistant fastened a cape behind her neck, which adorned her shoulders with the same beading that decorated her bodice. The unsullied ivory of the silk emphasized the bloody effect of her gown. Her décolletage remained exposed, and the tops of her breasts swelled over the neckline, highlighted by the cut-out. Irulan was shocked at the audacity of her dressmaker and also of the Reverend Mother, who no doubt had her hands in the overall conception of it. It was beautiful; it was obscene. Can I even walk out in there in this? Irulan wondered to herself, staring at her reflection in the guilded mirror. There was very little color on her face except for her scarlet mouth, almost as if she were choking on blood. The audacity of those women, Irulan thought before realizing uneasily that everyone in attendance would assume the idea was her own. Should anyone write her history someday, she’d be remembered as the Sacrificed Maiden: Here I stand, ready to drown you in my virgin blood. She knew Margot would have loved it, and for some reason, the thought calmed her.

Her father stepped into the room – his eyes widening before he quickly looked down at the floor. That bad, then. She decided she wouldn’t let it derail her. Like everything else her teacher mettled in, she knew there was a wisdom in the design.

“You look beautiful,” said the Emperor while continuing to avoid her gaze.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes”

He turned to exit her bedchamber, and she followed him.

Irulan had always heard that weddings went by quickly, and now she fully understood the truth of the sentiment. The day went by in a blur. It felt as if two minutes passed between the moment she walked out into the soft rain of petals to when her pale groom to her placed a delicate kiss upon her mouth.

And then it was over.

They were walking arm and arm through the rows of standing guests, and she still hadn’t gotten a good look at him.

And then they were at dinner. She’d been moved to his righthand side on the other end of the table. They barely spoke, while the party whirled around them, and neither of them seemed to be eating.

And then she was back in her bedchamber, waiting for him to come to her. The servants had removed the long mirror in her absence, and she wished they’d just left it. The master dresser had stopped by her bedroom to take down her hair and apply a bit more color to her lips, without so much as a word of advice, and then she, too, was gone. Irulan assumed she looked acceptable – as impatient as her dresser could be, she was artistic and meticulous, never leaving even the smallest detail overlooked – but Irulan wanted to see herself. She wondered if she looked any different in the anticipatory glow of the candlelight. Maybe she'd even think herself pretty. The mirror would have given her something to distract herself with, anyway, while she waited on Feyd.

Irulan reminded herself of the Reverend Mother’s words not to try to seduce him. Good, she thought, because she knew she wouldn’t know where to start. There wasn’t anything at all for her to do except get through it.

She waited.

He didn’t come.

The third glass of wine had chipped away at some of her seriousness, and she let herself indulge in a fantasy:

There was a knock at the door and her husband walked through it. He looked handsome in his blue-green robes, and his eyes shone with amusement.

“Were you sleeping?” he asked.

“No,” she blushed. He’d caught her red-handed. “Maybe.” She smiled.

"What am I going to do with you?” he said, shaking his head, an impish grin spreading across his face. (Though she’d never seen him smile, she imagined he had dimples.)

“But you were taking so long, my lord!” she said, emboldened by the wine she’d had at dinner. “What else was I supposed to do while I waited for you?”

He continued to shake his head at her until a seriousness came over him. He let out a low whistle, and she flushed under his gaze.

“What?”  

“Nothing”

“No, what?” she pressed, willing herself to look into his eyes. They were blue. They were kind.

“You look beautiful,” he said, still leaning on the doorframe.

“So do you,” she breathed – for it was true – and it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Irulan,” he said softly.

“Paul”

Irulan opened her eyes and nearly jumped when she saw him.

“Feyd,” she gasped before stilling her breathing. He had entered her bedchamber without making a sound. How long had he been standing there watching her? “I apologize, my lord,” she said, getting up from the bed. “I only planned to shut my eyes for a moment.”

His silence was unnerving. All of the familiarity she’d felt in his presence over the past week had vanished. He was a phantom in the doorway. A predator. Irulan was still standing next to her bed because she didn’t know where else to stand, and she was very aware of not knowing what she was supposed to do with her hands.

“Well,” she began. "you're here."

His eyes were indiscernible in the shadows, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to approach him.

“My lord,” she said, taking a few tentative steps in his direction.

“Princess.”

He was talking then. Good. For a moment she'd worried he’d come to kill her. She walked slowly toward him, drifting as if in a dream. She stopped a little ways from where he stood, so that there was still room to bolt if she needed to. She squared up to him. She would talk to him bluntly, for it was better to know what to expect. “I assume you have thoughts,” she began, “on what you'd like to do.”

“You’re a Bene Gesserit,” he said as he tilted his head in amusement, “Surely you know what we must do. Unless your training was not extensive.”

“I’m aware,” she said. “That’s not how I meant it.”

“Tell me,” he said in his strange, raspy accent, “What did you mean?”

“I meant how do you want to do this?”

A grin spread across his face, showing the tops of his black teeth. He truly looked like the God of Darkness as he leaned against the door, and she had a hard time meeting his gaze.

“I’m aware that there are..." her voice trailed off as she searched words, "multiple ways to go about it." She purposefully looked past him.

“Multiple ways?”

“Surely, you’ve done this before.”

He eyed her with tender contempt, as one would look at a dog who had killed a bird.

“Do you want me to…” she trailed off.

“Do I want you to…” he mimicked her.

“I can lie down again if you want,” she offered.

He said nothing, clearly goading her with his silence.

“Or if I’m not to your taste,” she said flatly, “you can retire to your chambers. I’m sure your harem is hungry for dinner.”

He closed the distance between them, grabbing a fistful of hair, and yanking her head back to look at him. “Don’t mock me, woman.”

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked – taken aback by his sudden show of violence and the fact that he was touching her, that the man she was used to seeing at the end of a room was now inches away from her face. She could see him sizing her up, his eyes wild. Still yourself. Breathe. She took a slow inhale and willed her heartbeat to slow until she was back at a resting pulse. His pupils dilated, and she could barely see the blue of his irises. Even as a virgin, Irulan knew enough to know he was aroused.

He walked her backward by the hair until the backs of her knees hit the bed, and she fell to it, and before she could ground herself, he flipped her roughly onto her stomach so that she was bending over the mattress. Then he yanked up her skirts. So this was the moment, she thought to herself and waited. She had her arms folded beneath her, her hips sticking out crudely. Irulan waited for the pain, and braced against it. But it didn’t come. She let out a shudder of relief.

Was this the marriage bed? Was this what men craved? It felt so odd to her to be exposed in such a way to someone she’d barely spoken to: once her breathing slowed, and it became clear he was merely observing her, it felt almost clinical – like a visit from the Imperial doctor. (if the Imperial doctor nursed the private urge to slit her throat)

She waited, feeling cool air against her intimate flesh. Then she heard him undoing his metal buckle and felt her legs start to tremble. She flinched when his belt hit the floor, and then she felt a warm, soft pressure against her maidenhood. She braced herself again. He withdrew.

And then she felt his hand stroke her between her legs, just for a moment, exploring. She felt the air again and then she heard him wet his fingers before sliding one of them inside her. She drew in a sharp breath. He withdrew the digit for a moment before adding a second, twisting them around as if he were examining her insides. It hurt. Irulan hoped he’d just get on with it. The quicker he took her, the quicker he’d be finished.

He removed his fingers, and she waited for him to replace them with his cock - her heart pounded - but nothing happened. He was just standing there. She nearly turned around to look at him, but she thought she’d die of embarrassment if she actually met his gaze with her skirts hiked up around her waist.

She heard his tongue again, and he was touching her once more. She thought he meant to find her opening, but it soon became clear he was surveying her exterior flesh. He wetted his fingers one more time, and then he started gently stroking her between her legs.

“Oh,” she heard herself say. She hadn’t meant to speak. The sensation was just so unusual. She squirmed away from his touch and felt the air as his fingers left her. She waited.

A hard slap on her ass. And here comes the pain, she thought to herself, wincing at the sting. She’d been expecting to hurt and had prepared for it. The second time he hit her, she didn’t even flinch. She waited for the third strike, but it didn’t come.

His fingers were stroking her again, and the unusual sensation returned. Irulan suddenly felt overexposed. She tried to move away from his hand, but his other arm wrapped around her waist to clamp her in place. He resumed his slow circling of her flesh, and the sensation began to mount. There was an unfamiliar tightness in her belly – an urge to flee, to get closer. “What are you –”

“Tell me, Princess,” said the looming figure against her back, “How do you make yourself come?”

“How do I make myself – what? Like a man?” All she could do was squirm between the two conflicting impulses. She felt wetness dribble down the inside of her leg and heard a low chuckle from behind her. Irulan flushed in shame.

He took a break from stroking her to rake his nails up and down her inner thighs, and she gasped with a shiver that made her clutch at the bedding. Something shifted in him then, it seemed, for his meticulous exploration of her body took on an air of impatient probing. His fingers were back inside of her, and she bit down on her cheek, but instead of withdrawing them, he seemed to curl them within her, stroking as if in search of something. A new sensation crept up deep within her core as he manipulated her body with his hand. She was trembling now, unsure of what was happening. His fingers seemed to grow, or maybe she herself had just gotten tighter. It felt as if a pressure within her was coiling in on itself, and she clamped down on it, afraid of what would happen when it broke.

She felt air again.

And then an eruption of pain. Nothing like the box, but Irulan felt tears spring to her eyes and let them flow - he couldn’t see her anyway. This new intrusion felt like a battering ram, and no matter how gentle he was with her for those first few minutes, it felt like someone had gone at her opening with sandpaper.

But it was nothing like the box.

She closed her eyes and breathed, letting the cool darkness envelop her. She could do this, even if the intensifying pain threatened to make her pull away.

It was nothing like the box.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

And then it was over. She felt him withdraw and then his release on the small of her back. She waited for a touch or a word of instruction.

Why hadn’t he finished inside of her? Didn’t he want to produce an heir?

“Did you not want to try?” she finally asked as she heard him re-buckling his belt.

“There’s time,” he rasped, still panting. “Tonight was for pleasure.” And then, “Turn around and let me look at you.”

She began to move her skirt back over her hips before he slapped her hand away. She felt his fingers brush against her inner thigh once more – making her shiver – before he removed them, using his other to gently cover her modesty. Once the fabric fell to her feet, Irulan twisted onto her back to look at him – propping herself up on her elbows. He had blood on his hand. Her blood. He wiped it on the bedding at the foot of the bed. Right, she thought. For the maids.

“Get some rest,” said her husband, turning away from her. “We leave on morning light.”

“Yes, my lord.”

And then he left before she could take in his face.

Chapter Text

Irulan didn’t wake until half past noon. She was still in her wedding dress. After her encounter with Feyd, she hadn’t wanted to take it off, even to sleep. The constraint of the corset held her in, and she’d started to associate it with battle armor. She also knew that if she felt her servants’ delicate hands on her bare skin as they undressed her, she was bound to burst into tears. She didn’t want to face them until she’d had a few hours of rest to put the night behind her.

She hadn’t expected to sleep this late, and she jumped out of bed and nearly flew to the double doors across from her. Right, she thought, as she tried to turn the handle: she’d locked them after Feyd had left her bedchamber to keep the servants from coming in to check on her.

They were waiting in the adjacent room when she entered and leapt up from their seats to assist her.

“Why did no one wake me?” asked the Princess. “We were supposed to leave at first light.”

“The Baron wanted to let you recover,” said the eldest. “He left for Giedi Prime this morning and made arrangements for you to follow him in two days’ time.”

“In two days’ time,” repeated the Princess, more to herself than to anyone else, and felt the now familiar stirring of anxiety in her solar plexus. She’d imagined traveling with Feyd aboard the Heighliner and having the chance to sit opposite him during mealtimes. And she desperately hoped he would once again take on the sense of the ordinary. It seemed she would have no such luck. She felt a tingling in her palms. As unsettling as Feyd-Rautha was in close proximity, he was even more frightening out of sight. Perhaps she had bored him and he hoped to minimize their time together; perhaps he’d mostly steer clear of her when she arrived on Giedi Prime. Still… she had the uneasy feeling he’d done this specifically to catch her off balance – and the feeling that he was plotting something.

“Shall we help you undress?” asked the servant. “You must be wanting a bath.”

In comparison to the whirlwind of the wedding, the next two days seemed to drag into eternity. Irulan would have thought she’d be grateful for the additional time on Kaitain – for the opportunity to spend more time with her father, to lie in the grass, to be amongst the sunlight and trees – but more than anything, the princess wished to be aboard the Heighliner. Wished to be on Giedi Prime. The Reverend Mother had left Kaitain shorly before Feyd’s departure in order to help supervise the transition of power on Arrakis, and Irulan therefore had no one to discuss her worries with. She indulged in sedatives frequently now, as she was too anxious to sleep without them, and she had no desire to be awake while the future stretched beyond her reach. One effect of these drugs was a dreamless slumber. Thank the heavens.

On the morning of her departure, Irulan awoke to a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she said sleepily. The room was still dark, though the beginnings of a sunrise showed through the bedside window. She shivered and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her shoulders as she sat up against the upholstered headboard.

“My lady,” said a servant, “the Imperial doctor is here to see you.”

“Send him in.”

She was still in her nightclothes, but the physician had cared for her since she was born, so she felt no real need for formality. He was serious man – about the age of her father – with thinning hair and excellent posture. He walked briskly into the room.

“You wanted to see me?” asked Irulan.

“I’m giving you five more doses of Somnolara, but that’s all I’m allowed to send you with. If you need more on Giedi Prime, they should be familiar with the drug. You’ll need to set up an appointment with the Baron’s doctor.”

“I only need one more dose,” said the Princess, “for the trip.”

“You may need to taper off of it.”

“You didn’t mention a withdrawal period.”

“There isn’t one. But you’ve been exceeding the recommended dosage these past few days. You’ll have a hard time sleeping without it.”

“I’ll manage,” said Irulan. “Just send me with one.”

“I’d recommend taking a half-dose for at least a day or two.”

“I don’t want to be compromised while I’m gathering my bearings. A few difficult nights won’t bother me.”

“Alright,” said the doctor, “if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” said Irulan. She knew she’d have a hard time ignoring the impulse to take it if she had it in her possession, and she needed to be fully awake to confront whatever it was that was waiting for her on Giedi Prime. “Anything else?”

“Your body is going to need some time to adjust to the new climate.” said her physician, “That’s not my area of specialty. They’ll have a doctor meet you when you land to start you on the required medications.”

“What kind of medications?” asked Irulan.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he said, “a few inoculations, vitamin D, antihistamines, and some adaptogens. I just wanted to make you aware of it so that you wouldn’t be caught off-guard.”

“You can’t prescribe them here?”

“Like I said, that’s not my area of specialty. You’d be better served by a local doctor more familiar with the climate. Besides,” he continued, “I’m only permitted to prescribe on Kaitain.”

“Do you…” Irulan’s voice trailed off. She had almost asked him if he trusted the doctors on Giedi Prime. She had faith in the man but not enough to confide in him. “Never mind. Anything else?”

“That’s it, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, doctor. That will be all.”

He bowed his head and exited the room. Her maids entered shortly after to help her dress.

The flight to Giedi Prime was only fourteen hours, so Irulan didn’t need a full party to accompany her. Feyd-Rautha had apparently made clear his intention to gift her with handmaidens, who were supposedly meeting her ship upon its arrival. She was to have no one of her own. Of course, that wasn’t how he’d phrased it, but Irulan understood his intention: he meant to isolate her completely. The Reverend Mother will visit in three weeks’ time, she reminded herself, and anyway, there was nothing to be done: refusing her husband’s wedding gift went against etiquette, and she had to appear as if she was going into this marriage without suspicion. It wouldn’t do any good to let him know she was aware of any strategy.

She’d arranged for Thalassa to join her aboard the Heighliner – that was the name of the kind-eyed assistant whose company she so enjoyed. Irulan was glad she had one last opportunity for connection before stepping into the unknown. She’d never had an extended period to talk with Thalassa one-on-one, but she was looking forward to it. Maybe they’d share a meal and a glass of wine together before it was time to take her final dose of Somnolara. Irulan took one last walk around the grounds, hoping to feel something other than restless anticipation, but in her mind, she was already stepping out of the Heighliner and into the light of the black sun.

Chapter Text

Feyd-Rautha stood in the silence of the antechamber. The room was completely soundproofed, and he enjoyed these moments of solitude before each fight. Two minutes before it was time for him to enter the arena, the lights would gradually turn on to give his eyes a chance to adjust to full brightness, before momentarily switching off as the doors slid open – creating the illusion he was entering from the dark. The trick was necessary so that he wouldn’t be disoriented by the sun – so that he could walk out before the crowd without shielding his eyes or blinking stupidly in the light – but he wanted to experience the last moments of his opponents as vividly as he could. He estimated about half an hour until the lights began to brighten. For now, he enjoyed this moment in the silent dark.

It would be his first fight as the Baron. His initial command had been to do away with the drugs his uncle had insisted on using. He wanted his opponents lucid. Some might consider it reckless, but after besting Paul, Feyd knew he’d be in no real danger, as hard as he tried to test the waters of uncertainty. Today, he’d be facing eight men at once: surviving allies of House Atreides. After the killing of his uncle, Feyd knew the spectators were hungry for blood, and he planned to give them a show: today was the day he’d be introducing all of Giedi Prime to his bride.

He'd observed her carefully since their engagement and discovered she was as tightly-wound as a Mentat. He’d arranged to have her sit in his uncle’s box so she could have the best view of the show. Guards would flank the doors behind her barring her exit, and already, others stood at their stations, awaiting signal.

His thoughts drifted back to the wedding night. The Princess hadn’t been what he’d expected. He’d braced himself against a psychic attack, but nothing came. She was deliberate and controlled, but at his provocation, a little anger spilled out. She blushed like an ordinary maiden the moment he’d grabbed her. She was submissive – disappointingly so. He told himself he’d figure out just what made her tick, and he flipped her onto her belly so he could observe her freely. He undid his belt loudly and saw her legs start to tremble. Cute. He had the sudden urge to taste her then but resisted it. Not then. He would, however, taste his finger after sticking it inside her. She was bone-dry when he penetrated her, but she lay there passively after the initial sharp inhale. She hadn’t tried to wet herself or move his hand or tell him what to do to get her ready. Even his darlings liked to wiggle into a position that suited them if he ignored their needs for too long, so the Princess’s lack of response made him think. Fear hadn’t worked on her, so he decided to try a new tactic. He wetted fingers – she’d tasted of melange and sweetsyrup – and stroked her clit, gently enough so that she shouldn’t feel a need to brace against it. He’d give her pure pleasure and see what she did with it. And much to his surprise, it was pleasure that caused her to wriggle. He clamped his arm around her waist, holding her in position, and continued to experiment. He tried hitting her, and she flinched, though he knew it could have merely been surprise. The true test was the second strike: would she recoil from the impact, or would she moan for it? Neither, as it turned out – she gave him no reaction at all – so he resumed doing what had initially caused her to twist away from him: he put his hand between her legs.

She was extraordinarily responsive to his touch, all while fighting against it. When he asked her how she made herself come, she seemed startled by the question – “Like a man?” she’d stammered. Was it possible she’d never had an orgasm? If so, the possibilities were… rapidly unfolding in his mind. He supposed it made sense: the Bene Gesserit was an organization dedicated to gaining control, not losing it. Still… he thought to himself, it was rich – all that education on seduction with no mention of pleasure. The other one hadn’t come when she emptied him – he was sure of that now. What her objective had been, he still wasn’t sure, but he would find out. And in the meantime, he would find out what made his new bride quake.

Pleasure, as it turned out, seemed to be unfamiliar territory for her. He was tempted to bring her to orgasm when he felt her tighten around his fingers, but he decided to leave her in the dark for a bit longer. A first orgasm was a turning point: he’d reserve it for when he needed one. Besides, the first time he made her come, he wanted to make sure it was accompanied by such complete humiliation that the experience would forever haunt her cravings. He would condition her to associate fear with arousal, utter helplessness with ecstasy. And he knew she wouldn’t touch herself in the meantime – she was too prim, too proper to slip a hand between her thighs no matter how much she ached. She would be reliant on him for the experience.

She’d clenched down on him then, and he decided to take her. He’d make it as quick as he could – not necessarily for her sake – her pain wasn’t particularly interesting to him – at least not that particular flavor of pain: ordinary pain of virgins. No, he preferred his women weathered – preferred them jaded – so that when he finally saw the shocked panic in their eyes, he knew it really meant something. Anyway, he’d gotten what came for: information.

And he was about to get more.

Across the city, the doors of the Imperial Heighliner slid open to admit a crowd of new faces. Bald girls in black dresses boarded to gawk at the new bride. The heat was sweltering – the sun almost seemed to have a heartbeat – or maybe it was the Somnolara. As the Imperial doctor had warned her, the medical team began prodding Irulan before she’d even had a chance to step off the ship. Under the watchful eyes of her new handmaidens, she knew better than to resist the unspecified needles being placed in both arms. No one took any time at all to introduce themselves or explain what they were doing to her. Even Thalassa, who could always be relied on for an encouraging smile, looked unsettled. Irulan barely even had time to say goodbye before she was being pulled into the blinding light of black sun.

“You’re just in time,” said a bald maiden on her right. “The fight is about to begin.”

“Fight?”

“Oh yes,” said the maiden on her left. “Just wait till you see him.” She shot Irulan a mischievous black grin.

“There’s nothing like it,” said the other. “Nothing like it at all to stir your blood.”

Irulan felt like she might faint from the heat. Or was it the drugs? Or maybe it was the shock of her new surroundings. They whisked her onto a transporter car, which had no walls to shield her from the sun, and settled in around her. There were six of them in total. Wind whipped her hair, and one of the girls reached out to touch it.

“Will you be keeping this?” she purred.

“Yes,” said Irulan, jerking away. Her eyes were still adjusting to the light. Everything around her seemed to pulse.

“What if the Baron doesn’t like it?” asked another.

“Then the Baron will take a lover,” snapped Irulan. She just wanted a moment alone to regain her bearings. The handmaidens giggled around her.

“It’s a pity we don’t have time to get you ready,” said the girl on her left.

“Ready for what?” asked Irulan.

“You’re still in your travel clothes,” said another.

“Oh,” said Irulan. She hadn’t even thought of it, and in that moment, the Reverend Mother’s voice came back to her: it’s about time you started considering your appearance.

“She looks like an otherworld servant,” cried a voice from the back of the car.

“A pretty one, though!” chirped another.

“But the crowd will want a showing!”

“And they’ll get one,” said different voice, before another one shushed it. The girls began to giggle. Under other circumstances, Irulan would have ordered them to be silent, but she felt lightheaded. Was it their drugs? Or was it the lingering Somnolara?

The car came to a stop, and suddenly she was being pulled toward a stadium. She yanked a hand free so she could shield her eyes as the handmaidens ushered her toward a grand metal door. The guards bowed their heads and opened it, and Irulan nearly moaned at the feeling of the air conditioning before she was being pushed into a sleek metal box. It jerked upward, and Irulan grasped the railing as the handmaidens laughed.

“Do you not have elevators on Kaitain?” asked one of them. Irulan couldn’t tell any of them apart.

“Shhhhhh,” hushed another. “Don’t embarrass her!”

The door slid open, and they pushed her out onto a covered balcony. The Princess’s mouth fell open when her eyes adjusted to the sunlight and the crowd, and she saw the rippling sea of bald heads: it wasn’t an audience but a texture. She didn’t want to look at it.

“The Baron’s private box,” explained one of the girls before another grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the front row of seats.

“The best seats in the house!” squealed a voice. “Come and sit!”

Irulan sat. Her head began to ache, and she lifted her hands to massage her temples.

“Let me!” cried one of the handmaidens and grabbed Irulan’s head, digging her knuckles against the Princess’s aching scalp.

“Thank you,” muttered the Princess. It actually felt really good.

“It will take some time to adjust to the light,” said the girl to her right. “Or so I’ve been told.”

Irulan nodded. She was sitting down at least. “It’s so hot here,” she said.

“Is it?” asked a girl from behind her. “It’s always like this.”

“Until nighttime,” said another, “and then it’s freezing.”

“Here!” said one of the girls, shoving a pair of gilded binoculars into Irulan’s lap (at least Irulan assumed they were gilded: she couldn’t see gold under the infrared light). “To get a better view.”

Irulan nodded. Maybe if she stopped talking, so would they. She felt the stirrings of a migraine.

“My turn! My turn!” cried another voice too close to her ear. A handmaiden shoved the girl who was kneading the back of Irulan’s neck and took over the massage.

“I’m the best at this,” said she said, and she was indeed skilled. Irulan let out a sigh before she could help herself.

“What’s your name?” asked Irulan.

“I’m Soline.”

“Thank you, Soline. I might shut my eyes for a bit.”

“Don’t do that!” cried the girl to her left. “It’s about to start!”

And as if on cue, a loud voice boomed over the speakers. Irulan wasn’t familiar with the native language - she’d had no reason to be until a week ago – but it must have announced the beginning of the fight, because the crowd began to roar.

A door on the periphery of the arena slid open, and there he was.

Irulan felt the binoculars shoved in front of her face, and she lifted her hands to the sides so she could control her own view. She saw the bald faces in clearer view. She saw sand. She saw him. He was already looking at her, a black grin spreading across his face. Irulan felt herself shiver despite the heat, and she dropped the binoculars to her lap.

He was small again. She could manage it better this way. Irulan saw holes form in the barrier of the battlefield and several small men stumbled into the light. The princess counted eight in total. Each man held a blade. Irulan held her breath. He was showing off, she thought. What would happen to her if he got killed? She wanted to think they’d put her on the first flight back to Kaitain, but as she observed the bloodthirsty crowd, she couldn’t be sure.

Feyd-Rautha approached the men. He was small but he was huge. He dodged the first man’s knife and cut him down as easily as a fishmonger cutting through aquastratum. Two others approached him, and he dispatched with them fluidly. He moved like an invertebrate, Irulan thought to herself, his black robes fluttering around him like tentacles. The remaining five men circled the new Baron. He lunged at the closest one, gutting him, before plunging his blade into a man behind him. Irulan began to feel genuine fear for the last man left standing. Feyd was killing them quickly to diminish their numbers, but she had a feeling he’d want to make the last one hurt.

Irulan blinked and two more men were on the ground. Black seeped into the surrounding sand. Was black better or worse than red? She didn’t know. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. She was still sore from the wedding night, even after three days’ time, and she felt an ache inside of her as she watched the fight. The last man fell to the ground.

The crowd screamed. The mass of heads shivered and contracted, and Irulan felt a throbbing between her legs she’d only known once in her life. The drugs, she thought to herself and felt her stomach flip. What had he done to her?

And then the spotlight blinded her.

The booming voice spoke again in words she couldn’t understand, and the screams reached a fever pitch. The guards surrounded her then, as her handmaidens cackled with glee. One clamped a hand over her mouth, and Irulan twisted and jerked, trying to break free. She was being dragged backward, out of the light and through the open doors of the elevator, and then they were plunging down.

A guard behind her brought a gag over her head to replace the gloved hand muffling her screams. As the device vibrated and then clicked into place, and Irulan knew she wouldn’t be able to remove it on her own. The doors opened, and the men carried her through a dark metal hallway and turned a corner, opening a door before flinging her into cold, dark room. As she heard it lock behind her, Irulan realized why her husband hadn’t dragged out the eighth man’s death: she was the final attraction.

He planned to kill her then. Her instincts hadn’t been wrong when she’d woke to seen him leaning on her doorframe, obscured in shadow. He planned to kill her – had planned it all out. Perhaps her father was already dead, murdered in his bed while she slept aboard the Heighliner. The Truthsayer was on Arrakis. Even with the strength of the Sardaukar protecting him, there was no one left beside him with a knack for anticipating plans. With her father slain, with her marriage signed in blood, her husband had no more use for her. He meant to kill her. She was sure of it now. Her heart pounded in her throat.

She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

The doors slid open, blinding her. She staggered out into the light, and the crowed roared. There was no point to stilling her heart, not now: she needed all the blood she could get. Before her eyes could adjust to the light, she felt the knife against her throat – felt his arousal against her back. Her nostrils flared as she tried to control her breathing. With his free hand, he tucked her hair behind her ear so he could nip its lobe with his teeth. Irulan shuddered as he ran his tongue against her captured flesh. The sea of heads pulsed white against the black of the arena.

“I’ve seen you fuck,” he rasped, barely above a whisper. “Now let’s see you fight.” He took the knife from her neck, lightly dragging it down the length of her arm, before placing it in front of her.

When she hesitated, he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and closed her fingers around the handle.

“My darlings are hungry,” he said against her neck. “You were concerned with their dinner. So I promised them a feast.”

He was still talking, she thought, which meant it was a test. A test. Not an execution. A test. She willed her heartbeat to slow. Her fingers tightened around the blade.

“That’s my girl,” he breathed. “She’ll be coming now.” He lightly sucked on her neck, and she trembled against him, feeling heat between her legs.  She heard a buzzing above them. “She has no blade,” he rasped, “but she has teeth.”

A door across the arena slid open and a creature crawled out. Not a creature. A woman. Bald and pale and naked. And grinning. Black dripped from her mouth: she’d been feeding.

“Kill,” he whispered. “Or die.” He pressed something on the back of her skull, and the metal fell off her. Then he shoved her.

She caught herself on her hands and knees, the white sand scalding her bare palms, and she winced at the pain before turning around to look at him. Her gaze flew to his hooded black eyes, and then she saw the cone of silence hovering above him: even if she managed to use the Voice on the creature, he himself would be immune.

He’d truly thought of everything.

“Come darling,” he shouted to his pet across the arena. “See what I’ve brought you.”

The creature panted.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear.

“This is no ordinary meat, my darling. It’s royal.”

The thing howled.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

“Come and taste it,” he shouted to the creature crouched on all fours at the opposite end of the arena.

And then it broke into a sprint.

Irulan nearly doubled back before stopping herself.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.

It was running like a dog even though it was a woman. Its eyes gleamed stupidly, and its tongue wagged as it bounded towards her.

“Stop!” she cried. “Stop!” It came out like a choke. The Voice hadn’t worked. She couldn’t use it. Not on him. And not on it. Irulan whipped around to look at Feyd-Rautha and could instantly see that he knew. And he knew that she knew that he knew.

She would have to kill it, she understood: she had no other option. She could kill it. It had no knife. She had the knife.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

The closer it got, the less frightened she was. This was a match. Her first match. She had wondered about her first match, and now it was here.

It was here.

It was here.

She had a knife.

It had teeth, but she had a knife.

Irulan’s surroundings narrowed to a singular point. Her heart rate slowed, and she bent her knees.

Only I will remain.

The creature pounced.

Irulan felt the wind leave her as she landed on her back. Pain seared through her as sharp teeth sunk into the tender flesh of her shoulder, clamping down and ripping.

Her left hand flew up to catch the creature’s forehead – to hold back the gnashing black jaw – before her right hand flew up on its own accord.

Like cutting through a melon, thought Irulan as the creature’s eyes bulged, and its body jerked. Hot blood hit her in the face. She tasted metal on her tongue and swallowed it down before she had a chance to think.

The crowd roared as the thing fell against her, as Irulan sucked in air again and again, trying to still her own breathing. It wasn’t that big of a woman, but she felt pinned under its heavy, dead weight.

And then it pulled up and off of her. Feyd was hoisting her to her knees. He wrapped his fingers around her own and plunged the knife deep into the creature’s abdomen. Irulan shuddered as the metal sliced through meat, no differently than a steak. She was softer than a steak.

Irulan stood then, retching, dropping the knife and backing away.

Feyd dipped his fingers in his dead darling’s blood, and then he got to his feet, stalking toward her. He outmatched her in physicality and skill, and she knew if he meant to kill her all she could do was die gracefully. She willed her stomach to stop clenching, willed her pulse to stop racing. She felt a calm wash over her, and she squared up to him, narrowing her eyes.

He raised his bloodstained hands, showing them to the crowd, and the arena went silent.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

Then he brought both thumbs to her mouth, marking her.

And then he kissed her, stealing her breath.

She tasted salt and metal and sweat, and he caught her as her knees gave out, cradling her body as she sank into his arms. His hands came to her sides, steadying her. And then he broke away, leaving her gasping. Irulan heard nothing except for wind and the frantic beating of her own heart. The crowd was silent. Unmoving. Waiting for his command.

Her husband knelt before her, picking up the blade she’d let fall, his gleaming eyes never once leaving hers. He stood, presenting it to her handle-first, and she took it from him, as if in a trance.

Finally, once he’d closed his fingers around her wrist, he brought both their hands skyward.

Chapter Text

The crowd was deafening. Irulan let Feyd-Rautha scoop her into his arms and carry her to one of the openings of the perimeter. She slumped against his chest as the world around them shuddered and glitched.

The white light disappeared, and suddenly they were in a cold, black room like the one she remembered entering from.

She blinked, and they were in a bright metal hallway that reminded her of the insides of a cargo ship. Attendants in black robes rushed toward them, but Feyd ignored them and turned into a side room featuring what Irulan recognized as a medical chair. He dumped her onto it, and she writhed against the leather in discomfort, smelling alcohol and bleach. The lamp behind him flickered, and she recoiled from the light.

“What did you do to me?” she asked.

He raised his brow at her as attendants flooded the room behind him.

“The drugs,” she muttered before groaning. “What did you give me?”

“Vitamins”

“What else?” she grunted, as the staff began cutting through her dress with scissors.

“Neurovasodil. For the fight.”

“Neurovasodil,” she repeated, trying to infer its effects.

“Did it help?” he asked, watching her curiously, as a bald doctor slid wet fabric off her shoulder.

She turned her head to look and saw there was a chunk missing from it. Blood still flowed from the wound.

“My lord,” said the physician examining her, “she’ll need surgery.”

“Fine,” said the Baron. “Do it. Think twice before leaving a scar.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the man, as he began to strap Irulan down with the restraints attached to the base of the chair.

“Send for the handmaidens,” Feyd said to a guard, before fixing his eyes on the Princess. “You must have a favorite.”

“A favorite?”

“Of the girls,” he rasped. “You’ll need one to assist you.”

“Oh,” said Irulan, trying to think. “Soline.” It was the only name she remembered.

“Very good,” he said, petting her face.

“Will this hurt?” she asked, usure of the surgical procedure on Giedi Prime.

“Not a bit,” he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be back when you wake.”

Yes, she thought, her head swimming, a bit of rest would be good.

A nurse in black wheeled in a large machine. Attached to it was a segmented tube that fed into a stiff metal mask. She lowered it over Irulan’s face, adjusting its position until the vacuum seal activated and locked into place. Irulan couldn’t see - couldn’t breathe. She bucked against her restraints.

“Ready,” said muffled voice to her left, as her body screamed for air.

Then the mask lit up, and Irulan heard it whirring to life – tasted the sudden puff of gas – before it all went dark.

She awoke to the sound of hushed whispers. Her eyes opened, and she was looking at her reflection in a grand mirror that hung above the surface she was lying on. She looked clean – her hair had been brushed – and she was wearing a black medical gown, and whoever had put her there had cocooned her in black silk sheets.

At the sound of her stirring, her six handmaidens leapt from where they’d been sitting to rush to the foot of her bed, where they immediately fell to the ground to bow before her.

“Where am I?” asked Irulan, still trying to remember how she’d gotten there.

“Your bedchamber, my lady,” said a voice from the floor.

“Right,” said the Princess, looking around.

The room was built entirely out of metal. It was cavernous, luxurious, and sterile. She smelled nothing except the soap she guessed they had bathed her with, and the walls were an intricate texture of silver. Irulan glanced back up at the mirror above her and noticed the handmaidens were still prostrated at the foot of her bed. She saw that they were trembling.

“Please get up,” she said.

“Sorry!” squeaked several of them, as the six girls jumped to their feet. Irulan’s eyes landed on the girl on the far right, who sported a blood-soaked bandage around her left shoulder.

“You there,” she said to the handmaiden, who briefly looked up at her before staring back at the floor, “what’s your name?” She had a sinking feeling she already knew.

“Soline, my lady,” said the trembling girl.

Irulan unbuttoned the top of her medical gown to examine her own shoulder. The bandage she wore was curiously free of blood, and when she removed it, she saw that her flesh was as good as new aside from a faint red line that marked the initial incision site.

“The red should fade with time, my lady,” stammered the girl on the left. “The surgeon wanted us to assure you. He’s good at his job. It should only take a week – there’s an ointment!”

“Soline…” began the Princess, looking back at handmaiden whom she suspected was still bleeding.

“Yes, my lady!”

“What happened to your shoulder?”

“M-my lady?”

“Your shoulder,” repeated Irulan.

“Y-you. You needed muscle, my lady.”

Irulan’s hand flew to her mouth, as she fought the urge to retch, and the girls rushed to assist her.

“Grab a basin!” cried one of them.

Irulan swallowed it back and held her hand up to stop them. “I’m okay.”

The six of them froze in place, black eyes wide in fear. If Irulan hadn’t been so horrified, it would have been comedic.

“Soline,” she started again.

“My lady?”

“I am terribly sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry?”

“Yours was the only name I could remember. I didn’t know they were going to hurt you.”

“Oh,” said Soline, looking strangely crestfallen.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“N-no of course not, my lady. Please don’t apologize. It was a privilege. To be selected for the duty.”

Irulan stared at the girl, who was clearly fighting back tears. “Is this customary?” she asked gently. “I’m new to Giedi Prime, and while I’ve studied the planet, there is still much I’m unfamiliar with.”

“Of course,” said Soline. “It was wrong of me. T-to assume you meant to honor me.”

“I assure you – I remembered your name because of the excellent massage you gave me in the arena. The Baron asked me to select a handmaiden to assist with my recovery. I assumed he meant someone to help me change bandages. This procedure… is not something I’m familiar with.”

“Then what do you do on Kaitain!” blurted the girl on the left before her eyes widened and she clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Not that,” said Irulan.

“But what about scars?” asked one of the girls in the middle. “How do you get rid of them?”

“We don’t.”

The girls gasped.

“Well,” said Irulan, “we do our best to clean our wounds. And there are topical treatments to lighten discoloration. And certain kinds of light. But some more serious injuries leave a mark.”

“But you’re royal!” said the girl second to the left.

“Which means I don’t often find myself with wounds.”

They seemed genuinely confused by that.

“Does it hurt?” Irulan asked the bleeding servant.

“Not nearly as much as when they cut me.”

“They didn’t...” Irulan’s words trailed off. The girls peered at her curiously. “They didn’t sedate you?”

“I’m a servant,” said Soline. Her tone surprisingly earnest.

Irulan stared at her in morbid fascination. “And what would happen if I needed more than just muscle? What if I needed a liver? Or a stomach?”

“There are six of us, my lady,” said the girl, “Surely you’d get whatever you needed.”

Now it was Irulan’s turn to gawk at them. “How were you chosen to be my handmaidens?”

“DNA testing,” said Soline, “and then the remaining fifty-seven of us competed for the honor.”

“Why would you want to?”

“B-because – ”

Irulan interjected her: “I’m not upset with you. I’m just confused. You seem afraid of me now.”

“You’re the Baroness.”

“You weren’t afraid of me before.”

“He hadn’t claimed you yet.”

“The marriage was consummated back on Kaitain.”

“Not in blood,” explained Soline.

“We didn’t think he was going to keep you,” said one of the girls in the middle. “The former baron never kept anyone.”

“It was wrong of us to doubt you, my lady,” chimed the one on the left before turning to the other one to shoot her a look.

“It’s alright,” said Irulan. “I’m still a bit disoriented from surgery. I got confused. Thank you for helping me understand.”

All six of them bowed. It was all coming back to her now – the arrival, the arena, the fight.

The kill.

Irulan squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, blocking it out. There would be time to process later. Once she could get rid of the handmaidens. Once she had her transcriber and the solitude to think. “I had some belongings with me on the ship,” she said. “Do you know where they’ve ended up?”

The girls looked at each other as if to determine who should speak.

“With the Baron, my lady,” said Soline, who appeared to win the title of spokeswoman. She earned it, thought the Princess to herself with a grimace.

“Right. Okay.”

“Anything else, my lady?”

“No, that’ll be all,” she said. She longed for her transcriber. Recording her thoughts always helped to ease her anxiety. But she supposed her thoughts might be a bit jumbled after all of it – had she really only arrived that morning?  Perhaps a night to let the shock settle would give her a better sense of accuracy when she recorded it. “Actually.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Are there no rooms with windows?” She felt claustrophobic even in the massive space.

“Prolonged exposure to the black sun isn’t good for you, my lady. I’m sorry your chambers aren’t to your liking.”

“Never mind.”

“We must let the Baron know that she’s awake,” whispered the girl on the left across the others to Soline.

“The Baron wished to know when you’d awoken,” said Soline.

“Very well,” said Irulan, a smile tugging at her lips as the girl on the left scampered off. Now that they were past their introductions, she decided that the girls were cute. She wanted to take care of them. Like sphinx kittens, she thought to herself fondly, before realizing that’s exactly how her husband would describe them. She frowned.

“Is something wrong?” asked one of the girls in the middle.

“No,” said Irulan, “just still waking up from surgery. Do you mind if I have the room for a bit? I’d like to rest before seeing the Baron.”

“Of course, my lady,” said the girl, bowing her head.

Irulan waited for the door to shut behind them before turning back to examine her shoulder. Was a piece of Soline really living inside her now? She ran her fingers over the incision, which was warm to the touch. It bothered her. It shouldn’t bother her. She had just killed a woman, and that didn’t bother her.

That thing was not a woman.

But it was.

What had he done to it – done to her? Irulan remembered the woman’s eyes – for she was trying as hard as she could to remember it had once been a woman – the emptiness behind those eyes. Did he do that? And did he mean to do it to her?

If he did, it was working. There was no denying that it was working. What had she been on Giedi Prime for? Less than an hour? Less than an hour and he’d reduced her to mere savagery. Irulan remembered the way the crowd went quiet the moment he raised his bloodstained hands. Not a subtle dampening of sound: complete and utter silence. In an instant, because he’d willed it. Just like he’d willed her. He had marked her as his, according to the handmaidens. Taken the Emperor’s eldest daughter and made her Harkonnen – and therefore dominated the Emperor by doing so. But he had given her power, too, whether by accident or by choice. And the more time she spent observing Feyd-Rautha, the more she doubted anything he did was accidental. So if he’d raised her status by choice, and Irulan decided that he had, it only left her with one question: why?

She would find out. The Reverend Mother would be there in three weeks’ time. All she had to do was get from here to there in one piece. In the meantime, she would start by learning more about the drugs he’d given her. There were many mysteries to solve, but that would be the easiest one to start with. She could summon a doctor, ask for a sedative, slip it under her tongue and spit it out after he left – finding some hole within the exchange to ask a casual question about the effects of Neurovasodil. The world around her was nebulous and unfamiliar, but she could narrow her lens: pick one objective and focus. Like she had in the arena. She hadn’t fled – hadn’t submitted. She had killed.

Kill or die.

Irulan felt a surge of adrenaline, and she felt the urge to stand and pace around her room. She would stand then. She would pace.

She had never felt anything like it before – nothing at all – and the feeling was still there – the feeling from the arena – the feeling of focus – of clarity – of submitting to the inevitable without buckling under its weight. The feeling of power – of mastery – not over the woman she had killed – no that wasn’t it – wasn’t exhilaration at her kill – it was that he had given her a choice – kill or die – and she had lived.

And she was pacing because she had lived – because apparently her legs still worked – because she’d lost a chunk of her shoulder but she had stopped the beast from killing her.

She had lived.

And she was shaking while she paced, but she wasn’t uncomfortable. Her cheeks were hot. Her head was clear. Her fate was still within her control. The Princess thought of her father – of Paul – of the planet she had lost – of Thalassa and her makeup kit – of the dyed silk chemise – of her modest travel dress splattered with real blood.

The door opened and Feyd-Rautha entered, crossing diagonally so that he still stood a good way’s away from her.

“Baron,” she said, as evenly as she could. She normally had more self-control but found she couldn’t stand still.

“Battle tremors,” he explained with a quirk of his full lips. “Your body is ridding itself of residual tension.”

“I see.”

“Shouldn’t last long though. You won.”

“Yes.” She felt more naked than she had on their wedding night, trembling before him like this. He was looking at her the way she’d caught herself looking at the handmaidens. “Did you know,” she began, forcing herself to maintain his gaze despite the shakes, “that I would win?”

“Yes”

She didn’t know what to say to that. And if she hadn’t known what to say if he said that, then why had she asked?

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Better.”

He took a step towards her, and she took a step back, suddenly remembering her handmaiden’s message.

“Not even a scar,” she said, keeping her voice flat.

“Is that so?” he asked, looking amused.

“Mhmmm,” she said, nodding, resisting the urge to look away.

“Well,” he said. “That’s good news.”

“My things,” she said, “I brought things with me on the Heighliner. I’d like to have them tonight if possible.”

He ignored her. “How did it feel?”

“What?”

“The kill.”

“Like cutting through fruit,” she said. She was starting to get annoyed.

He laughed at this, and the ease of his black smile made her tense. “Like cutting through fruit,” he repeated.

“I might want to rest,” she said. “If you’ll allow it.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry,” she replied, and it was honest. “Though I might ask for a sedative. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep. With the shakes.” She swore he could tell she was lying, but maybe he’d just gotten under her skin.

“You’ll join me tomorrow,” he said as he turned to leave the room. It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, my lord,” she said anyway because she knew it was expected.

She was trembling in earnest now. How had she gone from feeling so big on her own to so small in his presence? She knew it was by design, but she hated that it was working. A sociopath: highly intelligent. That’s what Margot had said. She wished she had her transcriber. She was beginning to think he was never going to turn it back over to her. The Reverend Mother will take care of it, she thought to herself, the transcriber and the Baron, and the thought calmed her. And in the meantime, the surgeon owes you a favor.

Breathe, she said to herself, and narrow your focus: request a visit from the surgeon.

And do your best not to get him killed.

Chapter Text

Feyd-Rautha took a detour on the way back to his quarters, enjoying his nighttime walk through the corridors. He’d been right: his bride had some life in her after all. He’d suspected since their first interaction, had thought his suspicions confirmed when he saw her in that dress. Despite her awkwardness after the ceremony, the moment Feyd saw her dressed in blood-red dye, he knew he needed to see how she did with the real thing. And she surpassed all of his expectations.

He had never planned on letting her die – that would have spelled the end of his political ambition – but he had expected to have to help her, had expected to have to pull his darling off her and force the knife back into her hand. He was expecting to have to hold the struggling pet still for the Princess while she wrestled with herself before the crowd. And he was expecting to take pleasure in reminding her of it again and again as she tried to forget.

He kept thinking about that look on her face – that look she’d given him when she failed to use the Voice – the look of utter defeat. He’d been hoping for it, and it was better than he’d imagined. That’s when he decided she was pretty. She didn’t look at him long though – had turned back to the real thing that needed looking at. Feyd saw her posture change from that of a scared maiden to that of a warrior. In the absence of tools of her own, she accepted what was offered to her and used it. Killing came to Feyd as easily as breathing, but the same could not be said for the Emperor’s daughter. Even so, she had done it. Without hesitation, she had done it. And she had done it more easily than he had his first time. That was when he decided to make her beautiful.

And she had looked beautiful with the black dripping off her lower lip. He hadn’t planned on marking her, but there was something about the way he saw her shift before his eyes that made him want to claim her. When was the last time he’d truly been afraid? Even during his fight with Paul, the feeling was excitement – not fear. The Princess’s eyes had shone with abject horror, but she faced it head-on, and she won. Now that was brave. He marked her quite simply because she deserved it.

Feyd turned a corner, passing two guards on their way to the dining hall. He would let her keep her hair after all, he decided. With her blonde tresses, no one would ever forget she was the Emperor’s daughter. The Emperor’s daughter: his bride. He’d been thinking far too narrowly, far too small. He’d gotten distracted with the transition – too distracted to really take in what had changed. The idea occurred to him when he saw how the crowd reacted to her. It was time for him to focus.

This was a good match in more ways than he’d realized. He was next in line to the throne, and the current Emperor was on his way out – he’d make sure of that. But it wasn’t just the throne he had access to. No, he held a second key as well: he currently gripped Arrakis in the palm of his hand. The current Emperor had no idea how to leverage his power against the Guild, but Feyd had seen the planet – had seen its potential. No matter how difficult the Guild proved to be, by controlling the Arrakis, he controlled them. And through the Princess, perhaps he could gain some mastery over the Bene Gesserit. All he had to do was sway her to his side, and that should be easy enough. He had already swayed her once. Yes, something shifted in him when he watched the Princess fight. She had a certain power to her. He saw it in the way the audience reacted to the kill. Against all odds, she had found her strength in front of the crowd. It was something he could cultivate.

But as much as he could plan, Feyd knew his true brilliance lay with his instincts. Right now, his instincts told him he needed a new Governor of Arrakis. With all of his relatives dead, he would need to choose from amongst his military commanders. His Governor didn’t need to be particularly smart: Feyd would be smart enough for both of them. If they were too smart, they might try to plot against him – no, he needed someone loyal – someone good at following orders without a much of a desire to innovate.

He also needed an heir. His position was more precarious than ever. If he were to meet an untimely end, there was no plan at all for succession. He needed a son, ideally two or even three. Originally, he thought he’d make the Princess work for it. An heir was a bargaining chip he’d hoped to use to gain her compliance, but after weighing the possibility of an assassination attempt with the likelihood of his ability to sway her without withholding a child, it made more sense to gamble with the latter. They would start trying tomorrow. He’d wanted to start that night, but when he saw her trembling like that, it was clear her body was adjusting to its circumstances, and he wanted to give it a chance to complete the process – otherwise he knew she’d be left with residual complications he didn’t care to deal with. Maybe even a day ago, he would have proceeded differently, but he had always been good at seizing on potential. How else had he surpassed his elder brother to become their uncle’s heir? There was potential here, even if he couldn’t quite determine the nature of it, and he couldn’t let himself get distracted by petty revenge. There would be time to play later.

Perhaps he could use the heir to his advantage – could tap into the Princess’s maternal instinct to make her loyal to House Harkonnen above House Corrino – above even her own father. He would have to tread carefully – would have to avoid doing anything that would close her completely off to him until after she’d given birth to a son. Killing her father (he suspected) was one of such things that needed to be put on hold.

Millions of lightyears away, Reverend Mother Mohiam approached a small rock formation that nearly blended into the desert sand. To an untrained eye, it would appear as a pile of rubble, but the old woman knew she had finally reached her destination.

The journey to Arrakis had taken several days aboard one of the Guild Heighliners, and then she traveled by Ornithopter to the southern desert, where she’d heard whispers of a hidden refuge. According to rumor, Sietch Jacurutu housed a community of exiles who had fallen out of favor with larger Fremen society, and for this reason, its location was somewhat of a mystery even to the active tribes. It had taken nearly a week to track down its entrance, and she’d left for Arrakis before even having the chance to confirm Lady Jessica’s whereabouts. Word reached her on the landing pad, when the Heighliner docked outside the Residency, and after few days with the Harkonnen forces, she was able to arrange transport to the other side of the planet.

The Reverend Mother knew it was safer to approach the Sietch on her own than with a Harkonnen escort, so once the Ornithopter landed, she set off into the desert alone. The hidden entrance lay far outside of worm territory, so she was able to walk the four hundred meters with a normal stride. She was grateful for her Bene Gesserit robes, for they helped to shield her from the scorching sun. When she reached the enclosure, several Fremen guards emerged from the sand with crysknifes.

“Who comes here?” asked a heavily muscled man who pointed his blade at her throat.

“I seek your Reverend Mother,” said the old woman.

“And who is she to you that you would look for her?” he asked.

“My daughter”

Lady Jessica sat on a stone bench, muttering to herself as she cradled her swollen belly. “I wondered when you’d turn up,” she said without looking at her.

“You’ve done well for yourself here,” said Reverend Mother Mohiam, looking around at the small, dusty room. “A comfortable spot.”

“My son is dead,” said the younger woman. “There is no need to gloat.”

“You know as well as I that it gave me no joy to watch the boy die.”

“You’re not just here to lecture me. I’d love to hear from your own mouth exactly what you came here for.”

“You’re with child.

“Yes”

“I’ve heard rumors it’s a girl.”

“Yes,” said Lady Jessica. “After all this time, you finally got what you wanted. A girl.”

“What are your plans?” asked her former teacher, “Surely, you must be nearing the end of your exile.”

“She talks to me,” muttered the younger woman, glancing down at her swollen belly, before fixing Reverend Mother Mohiam with a dark blue stare. “She knows what you want.”

“And what is that?”

“Power”

“The same could be said for you, my dear.”

“She says you’ve come to ask for my aid.”

“I have.”

“You’ve come to ask me to lend my influence.”

“Yes”

“On behalf of the man who killed my son.”

“Yes”

“Unbelievable,” scoffed Lady Jessica, “Each time I think I’ve seen the extent of your ruthlessness, you manage to outdo yourself.”

“I’m sorry about Paul.”

The younger woman laughed at this before her eyes filled with tears. She stared at the older woman, shaking her head. Reverend Mother Mohiam waited. She knew that it was better for Jessica to arrive at the necessary conclusions in her own time. “You know nothing of this loss,” said Lady Jessica. “A piece of me is missing. Gone. My own flesh and blood. I believed in him.

The older woman said nothing.

“The signs were there,” she continued, more to herself than to the other woman, “The signs were all there. I became a Reverend Mother. I drank the Water of Life. I saw it. I saw him. He drank the water of life and he lived.”

“Yes”

“I don’t understand it. What didn’t he see?”

“I wish I knew,” said the Reverend Mother.

“Just like you wished you knew who my parents were,” said Lady Jessica. “How did it feel, Mother – taking that monstrosity into your body?”

“I kept many things from you. It’s natural for you to feel anger toward me.”

“I am angry with all of it.”

The Reverend Mother said nothing.

“Where did it all go wrong? The signs were there.” She looked up at the older woman as if expecting her to argue, but Reverend Mother Mohiam continued to watch her without speaking. “Perhaps…” began Jessica before swallowing. “And I knew it was a possibility. I believed, but I knew it was possible. That perhaps there were signs because I willed them into being. I chose to have him. I chose to raise him as I did. I pushed him to drink the water of life.” She looked suddenly young again, as she had at thirteen, as she resigned herself to teachings that were difficult to embrace.

“It’s human to want the best for our children.”

“I did this to him,” said Lady Jessica with a shudder. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I killed my own son.”

“You acted as many would have done in your place.”

“Not you,” said Lady Jessica, “You managed to keep it all separate. Did you ever care for me? Or did you always just see me as breeding stock?”

The older woman sighed, for she recognized what she saw before her: a woman in need, not of her teacher’s wisdom, but of her mother’s love. If she were to proceed with this conversation, their dynamic would shift irrevocably – perhaps it already had. “Do you not find it strange that I was your teacher all these years?”

Curiosity clouded the accusation in her daughter’s eyes.

“If I’d been smarter, I would have sent you away. To be taught by someone capable of objectivity. I kept you.”

“Why?”

“Why did you have Paul drink the Water of Life?”

“Because I allowed vanity to sway my judgment.”

“Because you wanted what was best for him. Because you loved him.”

“I did,” said her daughter before bursting into tears. “I really did.” Then she turned toward her mother with fury. “You speak with a honeyed tongue.” She spit the words out as if she were still in the throes of the worm’s poison. “The same tongue, no doubt, that whispered instructions for my assassination.”

“You had the tools to survive.”

“You tried to kill my son.”

“I had to be sure,” replied Reverend Mother Mohiam. “Just like you had to be sure. When you guarded the door as he faced the gom jabbar. You were prepared to sacrifice him for the certainty of his potential.”

“You believed in Paul,” said Lady Jessica.

“Yes”

The younger woman stared at her mother, shaking her head. Then she began to weep.

“It’s not over, Jessica,” said Reverend Mother Mohiam.

“My son is dead.”

“You’re having a daughter; Feyd-Rautha will produce a male heir,” said the older woman.

“You wish to breed them?” asked Lady Jessica.

“Had you produced a daughter all those years ago, we would be celebrating a wedding on Kaitain. But here we are.”

“You blame me.”

“I do,” said her mother, “but it’s no great matter. You don’t have as much power as you think you do, Jessica. Try as you did to mettle with fate, you merely delayed it a generation.”

“You say this as though you believe their child will be the Mahdi.”

“We’ve facilitated thousands of years of careful breeding to produce this match between Houses. Of course I believe it.”

Lady Jessica closed her eyes, nodding, before looking back at her mother. “She says you lie. You wouldn’t let thousands of years of genetic planning go to waste unless it were your only option. You mean to breed her with Feyd-Rautha. His heir is the contingency plan.”

“We do what we must,” said Reverend Mother Mohiam.

“You wish her to live as the concubine of her brother’s killer,” sneered Lady Jessica.

Not at all,” said the older woman. “She will marry the heir and raise Feyd-Rautha’s child as if it were their own. We must keep Feyd-Rautha alive long enough for your daughter to come of age. Once she has had his child, his purpose will be complete.”

Lady Jessica scoffed, but Reverend Mother Mohiam could tell she was opening to the idea.

“In the meantime, we must begin preparing the Fremen for the arrival of the true Mahdi.”

“You’ve come to the wrong place to seek help. Why would the Fremen follow me after I led them so far astray?”

“Because they believe in you.”

“Then they are foolish.”

“Rumor tells me you chose this place, Jessica. No one sent you here. You and the Fremen leader chose this punishment for yourselves. It’s time you returned to your people. They’re abandoned and leaderless.”

“That’s their own fault,” said Lady Jessica, “No one stepped forward to challenge Stilgar.”

“Foolish,” muttered the older woman. “The both of you. You’ve convinced yourselves you’re making amends, but all you’re doing is hiding. You created this mess – help me fix it.”

“After everything you’ve done, after everything you’re asking us to do, why should we listen to anything you say?”

“Would you rather sit in this place indefinitely, withering away? You have an opportunity, Jessica, to rectify your mistakes. Take it.”

Lady Jessica’s eyes fluttered closed, and she resumed muttering to herself, placing her hands on her swollen belly. She nodded before looking back at the older woman. “You want our help. Then tell us everything you’re planning. Spare no detail. And we will know if you lie.”

Chapter Text

A nurse came to check on Irulan the following morning. At least, Irulan guessed it was morning. With no windows, it may as well have been the middle of the night. She’d barely gotten a chance to wake up before the woman was sticking a needle in her arm and collecting blood.

“What do you need that for?” she asked.

“Just running some tests on your fertility, my lady.”

After the wedding night, Irulan hadn’t expected Feyd to want to try so soon, but maybe something had shifted after the arena. Neurovasodil, as it turned out, increased both adrenaline and blood flow to the body, all while aiding one’s ability to clot. It had the side effect of mild hallucinations. The surgeon, a curt and practical man, had confirmed its common usage in combat – especially combat of a ritualistic nature – and Irulan felt somewhat disappointed. She’d been hoping the answer to her question would be more unusual – that it would lead her to a second one.

She’d needed the sedative after all: with the adrenaline still coursing through her combined with the unfamiliar surroundings, there was no chance she’d be able to sleep without it. She was grateful now that she’d taken it, considering the blood tests. It felt overly paranoid to assume her husband would check such a minute detail, but she didn’t want to put anything past him. If he truly was just having the nurse assess her fertility, it was likely he didn’t know about her ability to control it at will. That was one thing, at least, she could use to her advantage.

As the nurse packed up her equipment, Irulan looked at herself in the ceiling mirror. The sleep had done her well – she had a bit of color again under the artificial light. She felt lucid, energized. The surgeon hadn’t been nearly as much help as she’d hoped for, but there were other things she could do.

What would Margot do?

Whatever she did, she’d look good doing it.

That was something.

“Soline,” she said loudly, summoning the handmaiden she knew would be waiting just outside the door.

“Yes, my lady!” Soline ran into the room with an eagerness to please that made Irulan smile.

“How would I go about getting some new clothes made?”

“I can fetch the dressmaker. Would you like to eat breakfast first, my lady?”

“No, thank you. If she’s available, I’d like to see her now. We can eat afterward.”

Soline bowed and scurried back through the bedchamber door. Yes, Irulan thought to herself, it was time she started considering her appearance.

She didn’t know why she’d expected a woman, but the dressmaker was charming and knowledgeable, and in no time, Irulan felt comfortable being candid with him. They sat in a small reception room at the entrance of her quarters, though it may as well have been her bedchamber: it looked exactly the same, with its cold metal walls and dim overhead lighting, except with differently functioning furniture.

“I would like to start immersing myself in Harkonnen culture,” she said to the man seated across from her. “I have clothes from Kaitain, but I imagine they’d look out of place here.”

“Do you have a specific vision of what you’d like to wear instead?” asked the dressmaker. He looked at her thoughtfully as she spoke.

“Not really. I’ve never done this before. I know that might seem surprising, considering my station, but my staff on Kaitain always took a lot of the guesswork out of dressing. I wore what they laid out for me, and I never put much thought into it.”

“I see,” he replied with a warmth in his dark eyes that reminded Irulan of Thalassa. He was a handsome man, though slight in build. Yet it wasn’t his face that struck her: it was the rapt perceptiveness she immediately perceived in him. “Why don’t we start here: how do you want to feel in the clothes?”

“That’s a difficult question,” admitted Irulan. “I usually try to avoid thinking about myself at all.”

“Then let me ask you a different question, my lady, and I hope you’ll forgive me if it’s too bold.”

“Go ahead.”

“How do you want the Baron to feel when he sees you? You are doing this for him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Irulan, before pausing to figure out how she’d articulate the next part. “I want… I want him to feel as though I’m making an effort to embrace his culture. But that I’m still very much of Kaitain. A blend of aesthetics that is both palatable and – ”

The dressmaker was watching her with amusement.

“What?”

“Go on, my lady.”

Irulan frowned. “No what.”

“Palatable,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m sure I can help you look more than just palatable. Unless palatable is what you’re going for, in which case, let me know, and I’ll do my best. Though I can’t promise a wardrobe that’s merely palatable will bode well for my future employment.”

“Right. I’m sorry.”

“I’m joking, my lady.

“Oh”

“I apologize,” he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I was far too informal in my speech.”

“No please,” said Irulan, “it’s such a relief to be talked to informally. I was just caught off guard. I didn’t realize…” she trailed off.

“That we’re not all bloodthirsty harpies?”

“Is that what you call them?”

The dressmaker was smirking at her again and she blushed. For the first time, she felt grateful for the darkness of her chambers, as it was unlikely he’d notice.

“Now it’s my turn to apologize,” she said, “I came here to ask for help embracing your culture, and all I’ve managed to do is insult it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my lady,” said the dressmaker. “After the welcome you received, how could you expect anything else?” He smiled at her again, and she began to feel uneasy. The Baron could have his head for suggesting her welcome was anything less than gracious. Why risk it all on a first meeting? “Besides,” he continued, “It’s not my culture you’re insulting.”

“Oh,” said the Princess, “I assumed – ”

“I’ve come to embrace it,” said the dressmaker, gesturing to his bald head, “just as you seek to.”

“Where do you call home?”

“Tleilax, my lady.”

“You’re Tleilaxu,” said Irulan with surprise. She’d never met one before. It all made sense now – she’d known immediately there was something off about this man, though she’d suspected he was a spy for the Baron. “If you don’t mind me asking – how did you end up here?”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Tleilax specializes in bioengineering. I’ve always had more of an interest in the arts.”

“I see.”

“There was only so far I could go as a dressmaker if I stayed on Tleilax, but there weren’t a lot of offers for me elsewhere, given our reputation. Unlike the other Major Houses, House Harkonnen doesn’t mind public associations with the Bene Tleilax and the Baron was willing to give me placement. I was very pleased at the opportunity. The aesthetic sensibilities of Giedi Prime are similar enough to what I grew up with but with more of an emphasis on maximalism. None of the Tleilaxu obsession with everything streamlined, so there’s far more opportunities to play.”

“Do you plan on staying here permanently?”

“I’ve no plans to return to Tleilax.”

“When did you arrive?”

“Just under five years ago,” he said. “Believe me when I say that you’re the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since my arrival.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It is. My specialty has always been showcasing the female form, so there wasn’t much for me to do until today. Perhaps that’s why the former Baron felt comfortable experimenting with a Tleilaxu dressmaker. The stakes were dreadfully low until our current Baron took a wife.”

“Right,” said Irulan. “Well I’m glad you’re finally getting the opportunity to demonstrate your skillset.” There was something almost effeminate about him, but it wasn’t unattractive. If she had been born as a commoner, this is the kind of man she would have found herself drawn to. He made her feel like he could see her potential.

“I’m excited for the challenge,” he said smoothly. “Not that you’ll be a challenge.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I think.”

“I can assure you, my lady. It’s a compliment.”

She blushed again, looking down. She needed to get the conversation back on track before she forgot herself. He isn’t Thalassa, she reminded herself. You just met him twenty minutes ago. You have no idea who he is or what he wants, and he could get you both killed. “What would you have me wear?” she asked.

“Black is standard,” he said, “but… the Baron seems to like you in red.”

“He does,” said Irulan, knowing he was talking about the blood. She wondered if he had been in the audience during the fight and what he had thought of it all. What he had thought of her. There was something else she wanted to know, and the words left her mouth before she could stop herself. “Do you also dress… them? The harpies?”

“I do. Yesterday’s fight being the exception. It’s against my general policy to send my clients out sans clothing.”

Irulan didn’t laugh. She wanted to know what he knew about the Baron’s tastes. “Do you think he expects me in… something like… like what they usually wear? The black vinyl?”

“As Baroness, you wouldn’t wear something like that.”

“That was probably a stupid question,” she said.

“Not stupid at all, my lady,” replied the dressmaker. “Like I said. You’re more of a challenge than what I usually get to work with. Their clothing says loudly what it means to say. Yours needs to whisper.”

“I see.”

“I understand what you’re asking for, and I think I can give it to you. You want something dignified but alluring. Appropriate but striking. And you want me to play to your strengths and to honor your history.” He paused thoughtfully. “All while transforming you into someone new.”

“You’ve stolen the words from my mouth,” she said with a laugh that surprised herself. “What’s your name?”

“Vesryn Xalikar, my lady, but you can call me Vesryn.”

“Vesryn,” she repeated, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, my lady,” said Vesryn with a warmth that reminded her once again of Thalassa. “We’re going to have fun.”

“Good,” she said with a cautious smile. “I’m in need of some good fun.”

“I’m going to make some pieces based on what we’ve talked about – some that are more in your comfort zone and some that are more of a risk. I’m going to have you try everything on, and we’ll decide together what’s most flattering. More importantly, we’ll learn what you feel most comfortable in. Style is less about the clothing itself and more about how one wears it.”

“I see.”

“We’ll develop your particular style together over time. It’s a working relationship: the more I get to know you, the better I’ll be able to design for you.”

Irulan nodded.

“But with your memorable debut, I think it’s safe to say we’re going to put you in lots of red.”

“You don’t think it’ll wash me out?”

“This is Ghiedi Prime. That’s the look.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“But I want you to feel beautiful when you wear it, so we’ll make sure to pick a red you feel good in. I’ve brought some fabric with me today. We’ll drape you in several shades and figure out what works best.”

“I trust you,” said Irulan, and she did.

“Good,” said Vesryn. “Now let’s get your measurements.”

By the end of their meeting, Irulan decided that Vesryn was going to be a positive force in her life. It wasn’t wise to get too close to the man, but he was clearly intelligent and unafraid of speaking his mind. She would have to wait until she saw the actual clothes to decide on his artistry, but if he’d managed to survive this long under the former Baron, she doubted he’d disappoint her. If nothing else, it was comforting to have the company of an otherworlder like her, even if he was a Tleilaxu. Still… she knew she would need to be careful around him. There was something so disarming about his frankness: it was tempting to match his level of candor. Something about him made her hyperaware of the loneliness she felt on Giedi Prime – perhaps because his company offered a remedy. She felt both energized and uneasy. Perhaps it was wiser to forge a friendship with her new handmaidens. They felt safer to Irulan, even if they’d been selected by Feyd-Rautha. There was never a moment in their company when she worried she might reveal too much of herself.

The girls left to fetch lunch, and when they returned to her quarters, they ate together in the small dining room of her apartment: another intricate metal prison. Irulan had yet to leave her chambers. They were all she knew of the Harkonnen palace aside from the arena and its auxiliary rooms. She wished to have a tour, but she still only had the surgical gown and the simple black chemise and robe that Vesryn had sent ahead of their appointment for when he took her measurements. What had happened to her things? Irulan was beginning to wonder if they’d been destroyed.

What time was it? With no windows, she couldn’t tell. It seemed like a long while had passed since her meeting ended, but Feyd-Rautha still hadn’t called on her. He’d said he would the previous night, but there was still mention of him from her handmaidens. She was starting to get bored and anxious. With no books to read, no one close to her to engage with beyond ordinary small talk, and without the ability to leave her chambers, Irulan was feeling increasingly agitated. She wished for her transcriber. She felt unlike herself without it.

And then the girls were leaving to fetch dinner. Where had the day gone? After the excitement in the arena, it hadn’t occurred to Irulan that her days might be filled with utter boredom. As soon as she got new clothes from Vesryn, she would be able to leave her quarters, she reminded herself. And there must be a garden or a library for her to pass the time in. There must be something to do. Even if she never got her transcriber, surely there was parchment. She needed to write. Maybe the girls could write for her. Irulan wondered if they knew how.

Had her husband forgotten about her so quickly? Did he plan to leave her there indefinitely? When they’d been on Kaitain, she never saw the harpies wandering the halls except for their arrival. He couldn’t do that to her, his wife, could he? She was the Baroness after all. And the daughter of the Emperor.

If nothing else, she could keep summoning employees. That was something she could do. She’d already met the surgeon, though she’d forgotten to ask his name, and she now knew Vesryn as well. Perhaps there was a shoemaker or an armorer she could find a reason to meet with. An armorer was a thought. That would certainly catch Feyd’s interest if he ever learned about it, and she had no doubt he would.

Two and a half weeks, she reminded herself, two and a half weeks until the Reverend Mother pays a visit. She didn’t know how she’d manage to kill the time until then. How long until Vesryn finished something for her to try on? All she needed was one gown so she could leave her quarters. Even if she needed to wait several days after for a second, just knowing there was in fact a palace that existed beyond her chambers would do an unbelievable amount to calm her nerves. She needed out. Her quarters were starting to scare her – something about them felt like a tomb. With the lack of windows, they may as well have been underground, and each time her handmaidens left on an errand she had a gnawing fear they wouldn’t come back. Which was utterly ridiculous – it’s not as though she’d starve to death in their absence. All she had to do was open the door and walk outside. That’s when she realized she’d been too nervous to approach the door leading out of the reception room, even for a peek into to what lay beyond: she was afraid she would find it locked.

The food was delicious array of imported meats and cheeses, but Irulan barely touched it. Perhaps she would take another sedative. Any lingering effects on her sharpness would be less than the effects of sleep deprivation.

But when she’d asked her handmaidens, Soline apologized. “You’re not to have them, my lady.”

“Says who?” asked the Princess.

“Says the Baron”

“I see. It’s just… I’m having difficulty sleeping without them,” admitted Irulan. She was starting to trace the grooves in the metal walls with her eyes, trying to figure out where the pattern repeated.

“Perhaps we can bring you some tea before bed,” said one of the smaller ones. Irulan was still having a difficult time telling them apart.

“That would be something at least,” said Irulan. “I might try to turn in early. There’s not much to do tonight.”

“But the Baron wishes to see you, my lady,” said Soline

“He’s coming here?”

“Yes”

“When?”

“In a little over two hours. You’ll need a bath.”

“Right”

“I’ll get it started,” said the smallest one, leaving the table.

“Wouldn’t it be more convenient for the Baron for me to be the one to go to him?” asked Irulan.

“He seemed concerned with your comfort,” said Soline, “seeing as you just had surgery.”

“I see,” said Irulan, eyeing Soline’s own bandage, which seemed to have finally stopped bleeding. “How are you tending to your wound, Soline?”

“My lady?”

“You’ll be of no use to me if it gets infected,” said the Princess.

“The surgeon’s apprentice gave me an ointment,” said the girl. “I’ve been using it as instructed.”

“You’ll let me know if it’s bothering you?”

“Yes, my lady. Thank you for your concern, but I assure you I’m healing as expected.”

Irulan nodded. “Will he come here every time?” she asked, instead of, Am I ever to leave this place?

“I’m not certain, my lady,” said Soline, “I apologize. The former Baron never married, so there’s no standard I’m used to.”

“I see.”

“I’m sure he would take your preferences into consideration.”

“I’ve no preferences,” said Irulan. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Oh,” said Soline with a shy grin.

“I’ve had no chance to explore the rest of the palace,” continued the Princess. “Perhaps you can tell me what it looks like.”

“Quite similar to your quarters, my lady. Although each room has a function of its own, the overall design is pleasingly uniform.”

“I see,” she said, her curiosity deflating. “How thoughtful – to give all who enter the same experience as the Baron’s wife.”

“Indeed,” said Soline, smiling.

“There is, however, some variation in scale and shape of the rooms,” added one of the girls across the table, “It would be impractical otherwise.”

“The palace on Kaitain was built over several centuries,” explained Irulan, “You can tell from the architecture when each wing was built. It sounds as if this palace was built by one artist.”

“Oh no, my lady. We’ve had several additions over the years, but standardization is the goal. Is that not true on Kaitain?”

“I suppose not,” said Irulan. “Perhaps it’s our way of honoring the history of the Imperium. One of the ways at least.”

The girls nodded. Irulan couldn’t even discern the differences in their eye color under the cold, dim light.

“How do you pay tribute to the past here on Giedi Prime?”

None of the girls volunteered to speak, and Irulan wondered if they’d understood the question. Finally, the quiet girl sitting furthest from her mumbled loudly enough for Irulan to hear her, “I’ve never thought of it, my lady.”

“That’s quite alright,” said the Princess. “I was just curious.”

The smallest girl emerged in the archway. “The bath is ready, my lady.”

The bathchamber was only slightly smaller than the room she slept in, featuring at its center a stone stone basin nearly five meters in length. Irulan had only passed through it on her way to the commode, but now she looked at the space around her with curiosity. There was a cavity along the back wall, framing a black marble bench, and there appeared to be a drain that surrounded it.

The girls stripped off Irulan’s robe and set it aside before ridding her of the chemise. She moved toward the basin before Soline gently stopped her, guiding her back toward the bench. The cool marble felt good against Irulan’s bare skin, and Soline stood behind her massaging her scalp while the others went to the tray that sat on the outer rim of the tub to fetch their tools. Two girls came back with brushes and kneeled at her feet to exfoliate her feet and legs, and two others started with her hands and worked their way up to her shoulders. It was abrasive but pleasant. A new sensation to break up the monotony of the unending night. One more still crouched by the tray, mixing what appeared to be soap.

“How do you wash this?” murmured Soline.

“Wash what? Oh.” The handmaiden was talking about her hair.

“With soap. But a special kind that’s less drying.”

“The oils from the bath should replace any moisture that’s lost.”

Irulan leaned into Soline’s expert hands and closed her eyes, enjoying the fingers on her scalp and the brushes on her skin. When they got to her face, she noticed that the bristles smelled like antiseptic.

“This next part will be cold, my lady,” said a girl by her left shoulder, and Irulan opened her eyes. “Now that you’re exfoliated, we’re going to rinse you with cold water. It helps with circulation.”

“Thank you for the warning,” said Irulan as the girls stepped away from her, and one of them pulled on a lever, releasing an icy torrent of rain, which after hitting her body, ran into the drain surrounding the bench. Irulan shivered under the faucet, waiting for the warmth to return.

Once the water stopped, the girls had her stand and lathered her body with soap. She wasn’t used to being touched so intimately, but there was something so choreographed about the process that it hardly bothered her. Irulan felt stunned these were the same handmaidens that had groped her so roughly only one day before. They were careful with their fingers, and every movement seemed practiced – even when they got to the places on her body and head that had hair.

“One more wash and you’ll be ready for the bath,” murmured Soline.

“I’m ready,” said the Princess, and the girls stepped back once again.

This next rinse felt warmer, though perhaps she’d adjusted to the cold. Like the bristles of the brushes they’d used on her face, the liquid that poured down on her smelled of disinfectant. Irulan wondered what chemicals they’d laced the water with.

“Let’s dry her off before the tub,” whispered Soline to the others, and Irulan waited with her eyes closed, expecting to be folded in a towel and found herself jumping at the sudden blast of wind from overhead.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, my lady!” shouted a handmaiden over the dryer.

Irulan just nodded, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. She felt beads of water trailing off her, and her skin tickled under the heat.

When it was finally over, the Princess felt clean and refreshed. She’d have skipped the bath if they’d let her. She felt somewhat hot from the warm blast of air and had no desire to soak.

“We need to replenish you after the cleanse,” murmured Soline, gently steering her back toward the basin.

Irulan stepped into it and felt immediate relief at the cool temperature. It was absolutely perfect, maybe one degree warmer than the heat of her own body. The water had been scented with oil, and Irulan wondered why she hadn’t thought to try it sooner. The Harkonnens, clearly, took bathing very seriously, and the Princess sunk fully under the surface with a rush of pleasure. This was one thing she could do to pass the time, even if her handmaidens ended up scrubbing her raw. When she came back up for air, she sat on the inner rim of the basin, which formed an underwater bench around the perimeter of the tub, and one of the girls came behind her with a comb and started work detangling her hair. Irulan closed her eyes.

She heard a noise across the bathchamber and looked to see a door slide open. Feyd-Rautha strolled into the room, and four of her handmaidens rushed to his side. He stood by the entrance, watching Irulan, as two of her girls worked to undress him and two more knelt by his feet, removing his boots one by one. Irulan had never gotten a good look at his body before and couldn’t help but glance at the smooth white muscle of his torso as Soline and another handmaiden slid the shirt off his shoulders. She returned her eyes to his – would not look down when they undid his belt – when his trousers fell to his feet and he stepped out of them. In her peripheral vision, she could see the handmaidens slink to the wall, trying, it seemed, to make themselves invisible. They feared him, she understood, far more than they feared her.

He moved toward her, and Irulan heard the comb behind her clatter to the tile. She turned to see the remaining two handmaidens scrambling to their feet and rushing to the wall. When she turned back around to face him, he was in the water, about four meters in front of her. Without saying anything, he gestured for her with two fingers, and she felt herself rise, wading toward him as she tried to gauge his face. His eyes were hooded, his expression indiscernible. He looked at her how she imagined he would at his opponents in the arena. She had never been more unsettled in his presence. Still, she reasoned as she moved toward him, she’d been wanting his attention all day, and here he was. When she finally stood before him, he brought his hand to her shoulder, running his fingers over pink incision line. “Not even a scar,” he breathed, and Irulan flushed.

Then he grabbed her, spinning her around so her back was pressed against him, and he guided both down into the water, settling in against the outer rim of the basin with her seated between his legs.

“You lied to me,” he rasped, as his hand trailed around her torso to touch her ribs. “Why?”

“I didn’t want you to trouble yourself on my behalf,” she said. She could feel his heavy arousal against the small of her back.

“You lie again,” he said, tweaking her nipple between his fingers. “I know you summoned the surgeon to your chamber last night.”

“I wanted to know the effects of the drugs you gave me,” she said evenly. “And I wanted a sedative.”

He didn’t say anything to that, and his silence made her nervous.

“I was worried you’d hurt him if you found out about the scar,” she said, deciding her honesty would likely be less dangerous for the surgeon than letting his imagination invent a more elaborate conspiracy. “You said something to him about it before my surgery. He did an adequate job, and I didn’t want to cause him trouble.” She made sure not to mention the handmaidens.

He ran a finger softly over her nipple and moved his other hand to her upper leg. “You won’t scar,” he rasped. “The redness takes several weeks to fade, even if cared for properly.”

“You knew,” she said with surprise, “last night when you came to my chambers.”

“Yes”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Curiosity.” His thumb began to stroke circles on the tender flesh of her inner thigh. She felt the blood rush between her legs, as it had in the arena. She squirmed against him, unsure if she wanted him to touch her or release her.

“Neurovasodil,” she said. “Why did you give it to me?”

“For the fight,” he replied, just has he had in the operating room.

She was about to ask why but decided against it. The question felt too intimate.

“We’ll need to do something about this,” he breathed, running his fingers over the curls between her legs.

“I wish to keep my hair,” she said stiffly. “I may be a Harkonnen through marriage, but I’m still of House Corrino. It would send the wrong message.”

“You may keep the hair on your head, but the rest of it goes. In my bed, you’re a Harkonnen.”

“If it pleases you, my lord,” she said flatly. He would be the only one aside from her handmaidens to see her undressed, so there was no reason she needed to keep her body hair, even if its absence would made her feel like a prepubescent girl. She knew that if she argued, he might change his mind about the rest of it.

His hand went back to her thigh, resuming its lazy circling. “I hear you’ve met the dressmaker.”

“Yes” His fingers slowly crept upward, and she felt an ache within her. She wondered how long it would be before he filled her and found herself clenching involuntarily at the thought.

“What did you think of him?”

“I wouldn’t know yet, would I?” she breathed. “He has yet to show me the clothes.”

“I guess not,” he replied and placed his hand between her legs, touching her intimately.

She let out quiet sigh, highly aware of the fact that the handmaidens still stood on the perimeter of the room. Was it all a test with him? It seemed to be. His hand lay still against her, and she stifled the urge to move against it – to push it off or make it move? She wasn’t sure.

“Do you like being touched?” he asked. His voice was a caress.

“If it pleases my lord.”

The hand on her breast moved up to close around her throat. “Not the thing I asked.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. And then she added: “I’m not sure.”

The hand between her legs began to gently circle her flesh. She squirmed against him, not knowing what to do with the unfamiliar sensation. She watched her handmaidens against the wall in front of her. They both stared at the floor. “I wasn’t sure either,” he breathed against her neck, “until I knew where it led.”

Irulan shivered against him.

“You’re cold,” he murmured.

“Yes”

“Turn up the heat,” he ordered to the handmaidens and one of them darted forward, keeping her head down, to adjust the control panel on the side of the basin. The water swirled around them, and immediately, Irulan felt the temperature of the tub begin to rise. The Princess didn’t move until the handmaiden was safe once again against the wall, as if any change in her might cause him to attack the girl.

“That’s better,” she breathed, once the handmaiden was out of reach. The sound of the water drowned out the silence of the room, and Irulan felt herself begin to relax. She leaned back against her husband’s chest. Margot would kiss his neck – positive reinforcement for ignoring the maid, she thought to herself and turned in his arms to press her lips against his skin. When she pulled back to look at him, his lips were parted, and he was staring at her with a look she hadn’t seen yet: awe.

“Clear the room,” she said matter-of-factly without taking her eyes off his. “I wish to be alone with my husband.” The girls bolted from the bathchamber. Once the door shut behind them, she leaned forward and softly pressed her lips to his.

His hand flew to her hair, using it as leverage to hold her against him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she found herself clutching at his shoulders. He brought his teeth to her neck, and she groaned against him, feeling an unexpected eagerness to touch the thing she knew would soon be inside her. She moved a hand down his abdomen, letting her fingers close around the velvet steel. And then his hands were on the top of her head, shoving her roughly beneath the surface of the water.

At first, all she felt was the shock.

Then came the lack of air.

She tried to push back up, but he held her down.

Air.

She needed air.

She began struggling in earnest, fighting his grip. She screamed into the water in the off chance her handmaidens waited outside the door, but it just came out in bubbles. Her body convulsed from the lack of oxygen, crying out against the submersion.

Her eyes flew open under the water. The ceiling light rippled above her, and she wondered frantically if she’d ever see it clearly again.

And then her foot came up to kick between his legs.

He let go of her then, and she pushed off the floor of the tub, launching herself backward and up into the light, coughing and gasping for breath as she watched him double over in pain.

“You would have killed me,” she sputtered as she sucked in air again and again. He raised his head to look at her, and his eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. She started to back away, for what she saw there spelled her death. “Please don’t kill me,” she said, keeping her voice as even as she could. He continued to stalk toward her as she moved herself away.

Then she felt her back against the edge of the basin.

“You’ll never sit on the throne if you kill me,” she said, but still he came for her. She turned to lift herself out of the tub, but his hands seized her hips, dragging her back into the water. “Please, Feyd!” she cried out, “I’m afraid!”

He clamped her to him as she trembled. She could hear her own pulse in her ears. With each breath, she took in as much air as she could, knowing it might be the last chance she ever got. She tried to memorize the room and its features. How ungrateful she’d been to think ill of her quarters – if she could have just one more night in them – she would – she kept waiting for the push on the top of her head, and when it didn’t come, she started to cry. At first it came as silent tears, but she couldn’t hold herself back for long. The sobs wracked through her body, and he moved to turn her toward him. Her hands flew up to shield her face from his gaze, but he caught her wrists – gently but firmly bringing them down to her sides. There was a softness in his expression – if he’d wanted to kill her, the urge had passed. It was safe then – to breathe normally and to slow down her pulse. She conjured an imaginary wall between them recited the Litany Against Fear in her mind:

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

By the time she finished, the tears had stopped flowing, and her heartrate was within normal range. She fought the urge to wipe her cheeks and kept her closed fists by her side. She saw him looking at her hands, and Irulan took one more breath – releasing her fingers, which trembled under the rippling bath.

He kissed her again and she let him. The Princess felt detached from her body as though she had retreated deep inside herself. He couldn’t touch her where she was, no matter how deeply he probed her body. He hoisted her out of the tub and laid her on the tiles, and she closed her eyes. She may have even brought her arms around him, but when he pushed inside of her, she barely felt it. She wasn’t with him, was somewhere else, somewhere deep, deep below the surface of the water.

“I want my transcriber,” she said when he rolled finally off of her. He’d finished inside her this time. “And if you’ve tossed it, I want a new one.”

She turned to look at him. He was ordinary again, lying on the bathchamber floor. A naked man, panting on his back like an animal.

“And I wish to switch quarters. I’m not satisfied here. I want new ones, and I want artificial windows put in.”

He nodded without looking at her. An unspoken agreement seemed to have formed between them: whatever he took from her he’d do his best to give back.

“Thank you,” she said, and then she stood, meaning to leave him there, but he spoke from the ground.

“You’ll sleep in my bedchamber tonight.”

“I’ll need something to wear. You have all my clothes.”

“Yes”

Chapter Text

He opened the door, and she walked through it feeling like a small creature taking its tentative first steps out of a cage into an unfamiliar new world – out of the depths and into a dream. A long hallway stretched out before her, its metal ridges nearly black – and she thought her chambers had been dark! The low-lit apartment was nothing compared shadowy labyrinth she found herself in. The space reminded her of the nighttime sky of Wallach IX. The evenings struck her most of all when she’d traveled to the planet – the strict curfews to shield off light pollution and the resulting sacredness of each sunset. That had been the one week she was allowed to visit the Bene Gesserit School. The Princess wondered what it would have been like if she’d been an ordinary Sister and had gotten to study alongside her peers – not as a queen piece, but as an ordinary pawn, surrounded by other pawns, instead of hidden away at the back of the board until the time came for her usefulness. Perhaps she would have gotten further in her studies – would have developed the tools necessary to save herself – but she had saved herself, hadn’t she? Her legs still worked, and her lungs still took in air.

They passed an archway that looked into a far larger room than she’d seen since her arrival, and she longed to stop for a moment – to investigate – but Feyd had already turned a corner. Another long and desolate hall. It lay before her like a nightmare, but the good kind of nightmare – the kind of nightmare where she knew she’d need to run, but more than anything, wanted to get to the end of the story. It was no longer Giedi Prime: he was her God, and she was his Maiden. If he chased her here, it wouldn’t be real. And she did want to run – barefoot if possible – to feel the muscles of her legs and the burning in her lungs. She’d run if he let her, as he chased her in the shadows – she’d run and run and run –

“Is it always this dark?” she asked.

“You’ll adjust.”

She didn’t want to adjust – she wanted to feel this way forever.

A door slid open she followed him through it. Back inside, she thought to herself, though she’d never truly been outdoors. His quarters looked like hers had, except bigger. The bed was nearly twice in size, and like hers, it had a mirror hanging above it. The feeling hadn’t left her – the sensation of dreaming made the place shimmer. She hadn’t expected to be out – not so soon – not ever – but here she stood in a brand-new room, having walked through brand-new hallways. She’d expected to die in that bathchamber, but she had lived – she had, hadn’t she?

Her husband was looking at her for the first time since they’d left her apartment. His eyes were obscured in shadow, but she could tell he was calm. A figure in a dream. Not really there – a background fixture – she set about exploring and he didn’t interfere –

His quarters were much bigger than hers. A grand dining table with twenty chairs. A library piled high with thick metal scrolls. A room with walls decorated with more knives than she’d seen in her entire life combined. She turned into the next one and saw the massive empty basin.

Her breath stopped and she recoiled from it – wouldn’t go in that room – not that room – back into the hallway – back into the light –

She screamed as she felt his hands on her.

He was dragging her backward, away from the basin – fine, she thought, as long as he doesn’t do it there –

He was hushing her like she was a small child, and they were back in the bedchamber, and he was pushing her onto the mattress.

“Lie down,” he rasped, and Irulan nodded, trembling despite her best efforts. She could see him settle in next to her through the mirror, could watch his movements, which were careful and slow. She scanned him for a blade and saw that both of his hands were empty.

“The mirror’s not for lust,” she breathed, “it’s for protection.”

He looked up to meet her gaze through the glass, and then he grabbed her jaw with his hand – turning her to face him directly – stared at her. Whatever he saw in her eyes caused him to let go of her. He leapt from the bed, walking out of the room and leaving her there. She was wanting again. The Reverend Mother had warned her over and over again about her tendency to want, but there was something in the night that had felt like magic to her. She wanted to live – oh how she wanted to live –

He was back, and before she had a chance to sit up, he had her hoisted over his shoulder. He was carrying her back in the direction of the bathchamber. No.

She began to kick and claw at him – struggling in his grip, but he held her firm. “Let go of me!” she barked. Once again, the Voice failed her – what an utter disgrace of a pupil she’d been – no time for such thinking – she would fight until the end with everything she had – they crossed the threshold, and he set her down on her feet beside the tub –

“Get in,” he commanded.

“I won’t,” she spit.

“Do it.”

“No”

“I have no plans to drown you,” he rasped, raising his hands. There was a mischief in his eyes that she didn’t know what to make of.

She stared at him, panting, as he reached for her with one hand. He wove his fingers into the hair on the back of her head.

“I’ve seen you kill without a thought,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “Are you going to be defeated by a tub?”

He was sizing her up. She could see it in those eyes.

“Take off your clothes. And get in.” If she broke now, he’d lose interest, and his interest kept her alive.

She started to strip.

He stepped back, folding his arms as he watched her. She was shaking as she pulled her dress over her head, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact, even as she stepped out of her underclothes. When she finished, she turned, looking at the rippling water and lowered herself into the basin, shuddering as the heat enveloped her. She took a deep breath, sinking beneath the surface, before coming back up to wipe her eyes and look at him.

That expression was back – the awe.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asked. The steam rose around her to the vaulted ceiling above them.

“You’re not a Bene Gesserit,” he breathed. “You lack training and control.”

“And yet I’m still here.”

“What are you, woman?”

“Your wife”

“My wife,” he repeated. And then again, “My wife.”

“Are you just going to stand there?” she asked. “I assume there’s more you’re wanting.”

He just looked at her shaking his head, a black grin spreading over his face, matching the inky ridges of the bathchamber walls.

“What do you want from me?” she asked again.

He walked toward the edge of the basin, crouching down to touch the water with his fingers as he spoke. “Why don’t you like your chambers? Tell me.”

“They feel like a tomb.”

“Like a tomb?” he mused. “An expensive tomb.”

“I am not some pet to be caged,” she said. “I am your wife. If you wish me to be happy, you will let me roam.”

“What else would make you happy?”

“I already told you – my transcriber”

“What do you need with it?”

“To record my thoughts.”

“What else?”

“It relaxes me.”

“What else would make you happy?”

“I don’t know – a garden?”

“A garden”

“How can you live like this?” she asked. “It’s so dark and solemn and – I don’t know – sterile? It’s just – ”

“What else?”

“You tried to kill me not one hour ago. You can’t possibly care what does or doesn’t make me happy.”

He stood, eyes gleaming. “Enjoy the water as long as you wish. Then come to bed.” And walked out of the room.

She couldn’t find a towel, so she used her dress to dry herself off. It would be unusual, anyway, for her to put it back on before going to bed.

When she came back to the bedchamber, he was lying under the black sheets of his bed. She could tell he was shirtless. She thought of Vesryn’s comment – I don’t send clients out sans clothing  – but it appeared she was appropriately dressed for the occasion. If he wished to take her again, and she suspected he might, it wouldn’t bother her much. She knew she’d be unable to sleep.

He watched her reflection instead of looking directly at her, and she met his gaze through the glass once she’d crawled in beside him.

“My uncle installed the mirrors after I tried to kill him.”

“Oh”

“I was ten,” he said. “And he was large.” Was he threatening her? If she could only determine the rules, she could figure out why had he’d turned so quickly on her? What had she done wrong?

“A young age to become a killer,” she said stiffly. The lights were already so low, there was nothing to dim – no official transition into sleep. She’d never shared a bed with anyone, so she didn’t know how this was supposed to work. She did feel more relaxed. Something about their encounter in the bathchamber had jolted her out of whatever panic she’d been feeling. She turned onto her side, and he pulled her into his chest, and she lay there, frozen, trying to determine what it meant. She feared if she moved, she could set him off like she had the last time. If she could only determine the rules, she could decipher why he’d turned on her so quickly.

“Just tell me what you want,” she said, “and I’ll do my best.”

“Close your eyes.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep,” she admitted. “If I could have a sedative – ”

“Feel,” he said, and one of his hands trailed down to her thigh.

He wishes to take me again, she thought to herself and moved to turn toward him, but he held her in place.

“Tell me,” he rasped. “Are you afraid?”

“No”

“You were.”

“Not anymore.”

“Why not?” His thumb lightly stroked her skin – his touch was more soothing than hungry.

“I suppose,” she began, before pausing to determine exactly what it was she felt. “if wanted to kill me, you would have already.” It was easier to talk like this in the darkness – when she could feel his body against her without the pressure of his eyes on her face. She wanted to ask him why she was here – why he’d wanted her in bed with him – but it felt like the words were beyond her. She could speak about herself though, even if questioning him felt dangerous. She wasn’t self-conscious in front of him, not anymore. Not right now at least. “I do feel like I’m going to bother you though. I’m not used to sharing a bed.”

He said nothing, but he continued to trace circles on her leg, and she knew he was still paying attention. The shift had happened when she’d touched him, she realized, and the Reverend Mother’s words came back to her: He is likely expecting a similar encounter. Don’t try to seduce him. She would have to let Margot go. The understanding arrived with a pang of loss. Her conversations with the Margot in her head had been the closest thing she’d had to a friend.

“I did something to upset you,” she said quietly, “though I’m not sure what. I apologize.”

“Don’t be weak,” he rasped. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“I don’t know what you want,” she said. “I try to be strong, and you drown me. I try to be weak, and you tell me to be strong.”

“Both are lies. You’re not strong, and you’re not weak.”

Irulan didn’t know what to say to that, but his fingers kept stroking her, and she felt alert but not afraid. Not truly. Not like she’d been. You’re not weak. She clung to the words in a way she knew she’d chide herself for come morning, but right then, in the darkness, she felt a flutter swirl within her. “I didn’t understand this place,” she admitted. “Not until we walked from my quarters to yours.” His touch reassured her in the absence of his words. She kept speaking. “The rooms feel like prisons, but the hallways feel the being outside in the middle of the night. There’s something beautiful about the darkness. The shadows. I could have wandered the corridors all night.” She paused. “Maybe you’ll let me one of these nights.” Her heart began to pound, not from fear but from the stillness of the air around them.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“No.” There were things she wanted to know – what he had been like at ten, if he longed for sunlight, what he felt when he killed, what he felt when he looked at her, what he meant when he said she wasn’t strong, what he thought she was if not weak, why he held her in this moment, stroking her thigh, and if he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her, she suddenly realized. She didn’t understand it – perhaps it was the dream – not a dream but a dream – she turned in his arms, and he let her – touching her forehead to his – could feel her heartbeat in her throat – his eyes were covered with shadow – a figure in the dark – his skin was hot – it was soft – she felt him harden against her belly, and she knew where it would lead, but mostly, she needed him to lean in – to close the distance between them – felt she couldn’t do it herself – needed to know he wanted her – wanted to stop time – or perhaps not stop it but experience it second by second – eighteen thousand seconds sounded better than five hours – she kept her hands by her chest knowing one wrong touch would break the spell of it – she was wanting again – shouldn’t want – moved to turn back around before he stopped her – pressed his lips to hers.

Heat flowed through her. His hands came to her hair, and hers came to his face, and he let her – unexpectedly, he let her touch his face as he held her tightly to him. She needed him closer – somehow holding each other like this wasn’t close enough and suddenly she understood why people had sex – to get as close as one could get – because words didn’t work – couldn’t explain what she needed to say to him –

He believed in her – had known she would win – believed in her for whatever reason – had challenged her for a reason – it wasn’t supposed to be him, but he had seen her –

Had seen her.

In the morning, she’d be smarter. In the morning, she’d –

She kissed him with everything she had – she let him flip her onto her back – gasped as he pushed inside her – hadn’t felt like this – had never felt like this – a dizzying pleasure that made her turn her head from side to side – a dream –

Her legs trembled around him as he rocked against her over and over. She opened her eyes and saw him in the mirror above her – his muscular body holding her – taking her –

She clenched around him and he groaned. She felt him bite her shoulder and she stifled a moan.

It had never been like this – oh she was done for – was utterly done for –

He was beautiful –

“Kiss me,” she panted, and he did, swallowing her moans. The tension in her core tightened in on itself – tighter and tighter –

He rolled off of her, turning over onto his side, as she lay shaking, looking at her dim reflection in the mirror above them. When it became clear he was done interacting with her, she turned away from him, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep and shutting her eyes anyway.

Chapter Text

She thought saw

a flash

flicker

and then gone. She saw

His warmth radiates

arms hold her to him

and she tries to nestle in

closer

never enough

his soft breathing

against the back of her head

She tries to sleep

but her heart

pounds

she lies still

There were claws

where his fingers should be.

The hum of the heater

lulls her to

dreaming of sunlight

streaming through

the windows of a fortress.

She stands looking out

as yellow leaves

fall

she is alone

but she feels the world turning

faster

she can sense him searching

in the darkening woods

she will wait for him here

she folds the cloak

she’s been wearing

and moves to set it down

before she knows that

she’s cold

The Princess woke up shivering. Her husband was still lying on his side, and she stood as quietly as she could, walking through the bathchamber to the commode. She retched. She wasn’t pregnant – she’d made sure of that – so it must have been the stress. Irulan was wide awake, and the thought of returning to that bed filled her with a sense of such indescribable dread, that her stomach clenched down on itself. She was panting on her knees before the toilet. The image of him – of his naked back in the bed next to her – sent a feeling of revulsion through her body, and with a painful cramp, she heaved up the acidic remnants of her dinner. She lay down for a moment, feeling the cool marble against her overheated flesh. She closed her eyes.

It was time to think – time to plan. From the moment she’d arrived on Ghiedi Prime, Irulan had been scrambling to orient herself to surroundings that seemed to shift every time she turned her head.

She needed to get out of his apartments. Her clothes still lay on a pile on the ground. She needed to dress and walk past him without waking him. She hadn’t remembered him locking his bedchamber door, but if he had, she would need to take her clothes back off and get in the bed with him. Perhaps she could take a bath.

Better than getting in the bed with him.

There were many things she could fixate on, but what bothered her most in that moment was the sex. She had willingly accepted him into her body – had asked him to kiss her.

She slowly got to her feet, feeling the nausea return. She willed it back down and walked back into the room with the basin, located her frock, and pulled it over her head.

But when she returned to the bedchamber, he was gone. The door opened, and Irulan took an instinctive step back, but where she’d expected to see Feyd-Rautha, she saw the kind face of her handmaiden.

“Soline,” said the Princess.

“My lady,” said the girl, “I’m to take you to meet the dressmaker. After lunch, I’ll show you to your new quarters.” Right. She had requested them.

“Where is the Baron?”

“He didn’t tell me where he was going – just to accompany you to the shop.”

“Thank you.”

“I see you’re already dressed. Is there anything else you need before we set out?”

“No,” said Irulan. “Let’s go,” and followed the girl into the hallway, which still looked like night but no longer shimmered. Why had she wanted him? She supposed her reaction was natural. Tenderness from one she feared would no doubt elicit feelings of relief, but after all her years of training, she had thought she’d be immune to such animal instincts… then again, she reasoned to herself, those animal instincts had quite possibly saved her life. Her stoicism appeared to anger him. Her humanity, it seemed, elicited a positive response. She knew she was treading a dangerous path. To abandon her teachings was unthinkable, but she knew she would need to –

On second thought, she wasn’t sure what she needed to do. Vesryn, she hoped, could give her some direction – not that she’d discuss any of this with him – that was unthinkable – but he seemed to see her clearly during their initial meeting – perhaps he would teach her something new about herself.

“My lady,” said the dressmaker, bowing his head, though Irulan could have sworn she saw a slight smirk tugging at his lips. The entrance of the shop reminded Irulan of her own quarters. Perhaps there was more of a work room behind the back door.

“Vesryn,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to have something to show me so quickly.”

“Don’t get too excited.” Said the dressmaker. He was smiling openly now, and she wondered what he’d look like with hair. “You might hate everything I’ve made for you.”

“Well let’s see it then,” said the Princess, grinning back despite herself. “If it’s going to be that bad, there’s no use dragging it out.”

“What would you like to see first?” he asked, “The gown you think you want or the gown I think you’ll like better?”

“You seem very sure of yourself,” said Irulan. “What makes you so confident?”

“I’ve made it all the way here, haven’t I?”

“This is your show,” said the Princess. “Why don’t you tell me what to try on first.”

“I’ll tell you what: let’s see what you like and dislike on the hangers.”

“If that’s how you wish to proceed.”

“Follow me.”

Despite the black walls of the work room, bolts of red fabric and the various machines added visual interest. An industrial rack to the side of the room held the sampling of gowns.

“That’s the one, isn’t it?” asked Irulan, pointing, after she had a chance to inspect them all.

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m a bit afraid of it.”

“Are you?”

“It’s transparent.”

“It’s translucent.”

“I’m not used to wearing anything translucent.”

“All you have to do is try it on. If you don’t like it, we can make adjustments to it. Or we can abandon it completely.”

“That is the one though, right? The one you said you think I’ll like the most.”

Vesryn merely smiled at her, shaking his head.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I’ll tell you at the end of our appointment. But first, I want to know what you think. What you actually think, and not just what you think I want to hear. I’ve thrown a couple of wildcards into the mix, and so I don’t expect you’ll like everything,” and then he added, “It’s very hard to hurt my feelings.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Why don’t we start with this one,” he said, selecting a dark red gown with long sleeves and a slim cut out down the front.

“Sure,” said Irulan, taking it from him and stepping behind the divider  as her thoughts drifted to her father. When Irulan was a child, he taught her how to play chess. At first, he had beaten her, but before long, she was able to hold her own. In those first few months, she was playing the game defensively – responding to his moves and eventually anticipating them. Only after practice did she learn to make plans of her own. And then she learned set traps. Feyd tried to kill her, yes, but more importantly, he had disrespected her. She may have been his wife, but as daughter of the Emperor, he was below her in station. She could build a strategy around that. Though she’d need to bolster it with something else – threats against his ascendency hadn’t worked in the tub.

Irulan looked at herself in the mirror. The gown she wore was modest aside from a thin line of exposed flesh between her breasts. Aside from this cut out and the dark red color, the dress reminded Irulan of what she was accustomed to wearing on Kaitain. Vesryn had taken her preferences into account, though he’d made it more grown-up. Sexier.

“This is the dress you think I want,” she said, as she inspected her reflection.

“Let me see it.”

“I need help with the back,” she replied as she walked out from behind the screen to stand in front of him. “What do you think?”

He walked past her to fasten the buttons around her neck before returning to his spot to stare at her, inspecting her as if she were a work of art – not really there – an absolute lack of self-consciousness in the way that his eyes roamed over her body. He was pondering the clothes, not what she’d look like out of them.

“What do you think?” he asked. He was with her again.

“I think…” she began and then stopped.

“Go on.”

“I don’t know.”

“If you don’t know, it’s not for you,” he replied, “but I’d like to know why.”

“I feel…” she stopped to think. If he had flirted with her earlier, he wasn’t flirting now. The problems of artistry held far more weight than any interest between them. “I don’t know. It reminds me of what I’m used to wearing. I was expecting to feel different.”

Vesryn nodded. And then he smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.” His dark eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Was I right about the other one?”

“Would you like to try it on?”

“Yes”

He took it off the rack of gowns and hung it behind the folding screen. “Let me know if you need help with the buttons.”

“Can you?”

“Of course,” he said, and she turned to face the screen, drawing her hair over her shoulder. His fingers didn’t linger against her skin, and she knew it was unwise to wonder what they’d feel like if they had. Irulan walked back behind the partition and let the dress pool around her feet. The crimson chiffon gown hung before her, and she reached out to touch it. Like the first dress, it had a button clasp at the back of the neck. Undoing it, she slid it off the hanger. There were more buttons at the waistline – she could do those herself. She stepped into it and put her arms through the openings alongside the front of the bodice. With one hand, she held the back of the neck closed so she could see the final effect in the mirror before asking for assistance with the fastening.

Her lips parted as she stared at herself. The high neck of the gown compensated for the sheerness of the fabric. It was indeed translucent but only just so, as the deep red helped to obscure her from view. She saw the faint hint of her nipples peeking through – visible enough to look intentional and subtle enough to remain mysterious. “I love it,” she said without needing a moment to think. “I thought I would hate it, but I love it.”

“Let me see you,” said Vesryn, and she walked back out so he could fasten the buttons behind her neck. When he finished, he backed away from her, and she turned to face him. The fire in his eyes made her stomach drop. He was looking at her now and not just the gown, as if the two had become inseparable.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“It suits you.”

“You knew it would.”

“Yes”

“How?”

“You’re a Bene Gesserit,” he said turning from her, “so you’re used to wearing veils.”

“Yes”

“I didn’t want to cover your hair – it’s what separates you from the rest of us.”

Vesryn walked over to his worktable and opened the top drawer. Inside lay an ornate metal headpiece. He took it out and returned to her, placing it over her scalp so that the filigreed halo rested against the back of your head. He stepped back to admire his work. Originally, he’d reminded Irulan of Thalassa, but now she could see a resemblance between him and her master dresser on Kaitain.

“Look at yourself,” he said softly. “I want to know what you think.”

Irulan stepped back behind the folding screen before drawing in a breath. “I don’t know what to say other than that I never could have envisioned anything like this. I was afraid it would look obscene but in fact it looks the opposite: you’ve turned me into a Saint of the ancients.”

“You’re no ordinary Sister.”

What could she possibly say to that? Nothing wise, so she held her tongue, but she smiled to herself behind the safety of the divider. “What would you like me to try on next?”

“Nothing,” replied Vesryn. “We’re done for today. The others were just backups.”

“You worked hard creating backups.”

“It’s the nature of the job, my lady, and I have a team at my disposal. Now that I know we’re on the same page, the real work begins.”

“I see,” she said, turning to admire her exposed back in the mirror, and the long, burgundy train that wrapped in front of her.

“I’m looking forward to it.” And he was – she could hear it in his voice.

“Do you need the dress back, or can I wear it out?”

“It’s all yours, my lady.”

She smiled again.

Her new quarters looked exactly the same as her old ones. So be it, Irulan thought to herself, as she approached her bed, before then she spotted the one key difference: her transcriber sat on the bedside table. She immediately went to it, excitement filling her chest as she greeted her old friend, before she felt an ache of homesickness. She would write to her father tonight. Hearing from him would do a lot to ease her mind.

The door opened behind her, and she turned toward the intrusion.

“These quarters are temporary,” said Feyd-Rautha, who was lingering at the entrance. “Your other requests will take some time.”

“Thank you,” said Irulan, not knowing what else to say. She hadn’t expected him to listen to any of her requests. What could be the reasoning behind it? Had he grown fond of her, or was he trying to throw her off? She noticed his eyes glance down at her breasts before darting back up to her face.

“I’ll have to have a talk with Master Xalikar,” he rasped.

“You don’t like it.”

“I’d like to see it on the floor.”

She reached behind herself to struggle with the buttons, as he watched her from the doorframe. “I might need your help,” she said, resisting the impulse to flatten her speech. Was he beautiful or was he frightening? The answer seemed to shift hour by hour.

“Turn around.”

She did, though she listened for his footsteps. She wasn’t sure if she preferred his absence or proximity. Both were unnerving. She felt his calloused fingers against her skin and thought to herself how strange it was for a Baron to have the hands of an ordinary worker, before he slid the dress off her shoulders and it fell to the ground. She waited.

“Turn to face me, my darling,” he rasped, and she did, feeling herself stiffen as she met his gaze.

As much as she'd dreaded it that morning, the sex was easy enough to endure. He took her as gently as he could, but she could tell he wanted it rough. It was surprising how quickly she’d learned to read his body. He only trembled when he held himself back, and she could feel him shaking on top of her as she watched herself in the mirror above them. The gold headpiece dug into the back of her skull, but she liked how she looked in it. “Do what you need to do, darling,” she said, and he hit her in the face. She closed her eyes, embracing the pain as a part of her.

“Look at me,” he growled, and she did. “I could kill you right now.” He put a hand on her throat and squeezed lightly, goading her, but her heartbeat remained steady. The intensity she’d felt toward him the previous night felt far away. If he killed her now, so be it.

“You can,” she said flatly, “But you won’t.”

His eyes widened, and she saw he was afraid. Not of her – or at least – not just of her – of himself and of what he might do.

He flipped her onto her belly and fucked her roughly from behind. For the entirety of their marriage, Irulan had felt like water, but now as he took her, she became his anchor in the storm – a stable witness while he surged inside of her – a container for him to spill into when he lost himself to pleasure. When it was over, he rolled off of her, and Irulan waited on her stomach until she heard the door close behind him.

Chapter Text

It had started with filling the pipe. The former Baron liked to smoke while bathing, and his hands were inevitably covered with inky sludge when he leaned back in the tub, so it only made sense, once he announced quite loudly over dinner that he thought Feyd cleverer than his eldest nephew, that the younger boy should spend more time getting to know his uncle privately.

Feyd had never met his father: Rabban had killed him when Feyd was still in the womb, and Feyd had never gotten the full story. Their mother spent quite a bit of time afterward trying to ingratiate herself with the Baron, but he seemed to find her annoying. This is the conclusion Feyd came to at the age of nine, anyway. She hovered over his uncle with an obsequiousness the boy found distasteful, even at his young age, and he avoided looking at her whenever she started up.

“You there,” rasped the voice of the Baron, and the boy looked up from his steak, careful to hide any trace of annoyance, and the giant laughed with a rumble. “I thought so,” he said with a gleam in his beady black eyes. “How old are you, child?”

“Nine”

“With more sense than your brother had at nineteen.”

Feyd merely peered at him. There was nothing to say to that.

“Clever boy,” said the Baron, taking a bite of meat and washing it down with wine. “You might just have a head on your shoulders after all.”

His mother looked back and forth between the two of them as if trying to keep up. Even at the age of nine, Feyd knew she had more of his brother in her, save for her looks. He didn’t recognize himself in her or any description he’d ever heard of his father, so he mostly kept his head down, observing the adults around him while knowing that he knew better.

“Where have you been hiding this one, Emmi?” asked the Baron, turning sharply toward Feyd’s mother.

“He ate in my chambers, my lord, until his recent birthday.”

“I want him seated next to me tomorrow night.” He turned to Feyd, his eyes narrowing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, my lord.” It was true. Anything to break up the monotony of his current routine would give Feyd something to look forward to. He spent his days fencing, but there was little else to do between visits from the swordsmaster.

“My lord,” scoffed the Baron. “Call me Uncle.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Very good,” said the Baron, and at that moment, a servant girl walked forward and cleared her throat. “What did I tell you about interrupting me mid-sentence?” growled the giant and with his dinner knife slashed the attendant’s throat. He didn’t even look at the girl as she fell to the ground, gurgling beside him. “I’ll need a new slave,” he shouted to the guards flanking the dining room doors. “She’s supposed to draw me a bath.”

“Feyd can do it,” replied the boy’s mother, “Can’t you, darling?”

“Of course,” said the boy, eager to be free of the dinner table. “I’ll do it right now if you point me in the direction of the bathchamber.” He wiped his hands on his napkin and rose from his chair.

“Sit down, boy,” snapped the Baron, though Feyd could tell his uncle was pleased. “We’ll walk together once we’ve had our dessert.”

“Yes, Uncle,” said Feyd, sitting back down in his chair. Walk was an exaggeration, Feyd knew: the Baron never walked. The gravity from the weight of the man would be too much for his bones. No, Feyd’s uncle floated, aided by machinery that lifted his rolls of fat to lessen the pressure of his heaviness, but Feyd would allow an exaggeration from so great a man, especially after observing the severity with which his uncle responded to impertinence. He looked down at the blood pooling around the meat on his plate.

“Are you going to eat it?” asked his uncle, fixing the boy with new attention. He raised his brow and his lips quirked in an ugly smirk.

Feyd cut off a piece and put it in his mouth, chewing and then washing it down with a sip of wine, as he returned his uncle’s gaze.

“Very good,” crooned the Baron. Then he snapped his fingers. “Dessert,” he said to the servants in the archway. “Get to it!”

His uncle needed help disrobing. It was an honor, Feyd understood, to help such an important man with such a vulnerable task, but he averted his eyes as he unsnapped the fastenings on the back of his uncle’s collar. He didn’t want to see the clammy flesh underneath them. Was it because the flesh was frightening, or was it because his uncle was frightening clothed, and Feyd worried the Baron would be disappointingly non-frightening underneath the black fabric? Feyd didn’t know, but he stared at the cloth as it fell to the ground and waited to lift his eyes until he could see in his peripheral vision that his uncle had lowered himself into the steaming basin.

“Look at me, boy,” said the Baron, and Feyd did. “My pipe is on the left nightstand of my bedchamber. Fetch it for me.”

“Yes, Uncle”

“And in the top drawer is a black leather pouch. Bring that as well. And the lighter beside it. Don’t open any of the other drawers.”

When Feyd returned, the Baron was looking at him with a wry smile. “Still got your blood inside of you, I see. The second drawer is rigged. Now. Open the pouch and take a pinch of tobacco and fill the pipe.”

Feyd did as instructed and handed the device to his uncle.

“Light it.”

“How?”

“There’s a button on the side. Now you have it.”

Feyd crouched down, shielding the flame with his left hand until the Baron leaned toward him with his pipe. The dried leaves caught the fire and smoldered as his uncle took a deep inhale before leaning back with a sigh of pleasure. The smell of incense filled the bathchamber, and Feyd stared at the great basin his uncle reclined in.

“I suppose you’re wondering about the black water,” rasped the older man before taking another pull of his pipe.

“Yes”

“Medicinal,” said the Baron. “Better than eating. Better than pills.”

Feyd nodded.

“You don’t ask many questions.”

“Do you wish me to?”

“Clever, clever,” said the Baron with a chuckle. “Your brother always asked the stupidest questions, so I sent him to Arrakis. The bath does wonders. Essence of the Black Sea. Harvested from the drowning under the light of the largest full moon.” He paused, before looking at Feyd with annoyance. “Talk, boy.”

“What does it do?”

“It makes me strong. It would make you strong, too, if I allowed you to bathe in it. Maybe someday.”

“Very kind of you, Uncle.”

“Pshhhttt,” tutted the Baron before taking another draw of his pipe. “I haven’t offered you anything yet. Enough with the platitudes. You’re starting to remind me of your mother. Tell me something real.”

“You don’t like my mother,” said Feyd.

“No,” said the Baron, his expression shifting to pleased.

“And you’re still deciding if you like me.”

“That I am, darling boy. That I am.”

Feyd said nothing else. He knew it was cleverer to be silent than it was to volley back when he had nothing of substance to add to the conversation.

“Yes, perhaps you’ll have what it takes,” said the Baron before blowing out a puff of smoke.

The baths became a nightly ritual. The Baron ordered a plush chair brought in for the boy so he could sit beside the tub. Feyd looked forward to these evenings, for during each session, his uncle revealed to him more about the inner workings of Giedi Prime. The Baron told him of the raging seas and volcanic explosions that were common on the other side of the planet. Having never ventured far from the palace, Feyd listened with rapt attention. Someday, he wished to see the magma as it slid down the rocks into the crashing black waves. Someday he wished to swim. He had never seen the waters, but he imagined them as inky as the medicine bath.

“Suppose our mining strips the soil,” said the Baron, interrupting Feyd’s daydream, “making it difficult to grow food. What would you do?”

“We could fish,” said Feyd. “And we can leverage our connections off-planet to import food.”

“Right you are, my boy, and indeed we do! But you’re wrong about one thing.”

“What?”

“Think, child.”

Feyd did. Fishing was commonplace, so that wasn’t the problem, which only left the imports. But they imported food as well.

“I can see your thoughts in your eyes, boy,” said the Baron. “You’d best be careful with that.”

“Diplomacy,” said Feyd. “The problem lies with diplomacy.”

“Indeed,” said the Baron. “It would be foolish to rely on the whims of the Landstraad for something as important as a food source. Especially as the fish grow fewer in number each year.”

“I see,” said Feyd, “Then what about…” he paused to think. “What about colonies?” The Baron smiled so he kept talking. “Manned by prisoners or slaves. Like Arrakis.”

“Clever boy. Just like Arrakis.”

Feyd returned his uncle’s smile.

“And how do we keep a colony under control?”

“You have my brother in place on Arrakis,” replied the boy. “Though you don’t seem to like him much.”

“He’s not good for much,” rasped the Baron, “but he’s good for something.”

“Violence,” said Feyd.

“Yes. But what else?”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s a reason he’s there and you’re here, dear Feyd.”

“He’s a man, and I’m still a boy.

“He was a boy once, too,” said the Baron, closing his eyes for a moment and sinking deeper into the sludge. “But I never told him of the seas or the soil.”

“You didn’t find him clever,” said Feyd.

“Precisely!”

“Which means you saw his lack of cleverness as an asset with regard to Arrakis. Why?”

“Because there are weapons and those who wield them. Never forget that, my darling. Your brother is a weapon. A hammer. He’s good for hitting things with. But you, Feyd. You just might have what it takes to wield a sword.”

“I see.”

“Time will tell,” said the Baron, taking another pull of his pipe.

Years later, it occurred to Feyd that neither he nor his uncle had thought to import soil. He watched as laborers spread it over the floor of the largest room in the black palace: a blend from Caladan, which was known for its fertility, and which was used on the Emperor's own grounds. He would have trees brought in and shrubbery, but he would leave some areas untouched for the Princess to do whatever she wished with. Perhaps she’d plant wildflowers. There was something wild in her to be sure, and he’d provide her with more seeds than she’d have room for. He was curious about what she’d do with the plot of land – what she’d choose to cultivate. He wondered if she’d have her handmaids do the digging or if she’d sully her own hands to play in the dirt. He was starting to get a sense of her, even as she tried to hide from him, and he had a feeling it would be the latter.

It would have artificial sunlight, wind, and rain, but he knew not to make it too much like home, for she’d forever consider it an imitation, and it would make her long for Kaitain more and not less. So no Floracaelum trees. No, he would take inspiration from the textures and the colors of her home planet and make something alien – give her new favorite trees, new favorite fruits. And he’d hide wonders in the garden for her to discover, engineered by the Bene Tleilax. She had asked for a garden: he’d give her one. And he’d make it so big that she could forget she was indoors.

Chapter Text

Reverend Mother Mohiam wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find when she finally laid eyes on Princess Irulan – perhaps a changed woman with circles under her eyes and bruises under her clothes – and perhaps she was changed. And perhaps there were bruises, but the girl – no – the woman that stood before her was utterly transformed – a vision in black lace and gauzy silk – as lightning lit the black sky behind her. But it was more than the sky and more than the dress – and was it truly black or just the light? – it was the posture – it was the face – it was the thoughts behind the face – the thoughts that were usually visible on the face that were now hidden from view with an icy smile – thunder cracked, and Gaius Mohiam smelled sulfur – oh, this was no pupil.

“Reverend Mother,” said the Princess, bowing her head. The infrared light – dimmed as it was through the black clouds – should have drained her, but it didn’t. This was more than makeup – there was something markedly different about the girl.

“Princess”

“It’s good to see you,” said the younger woman and sat down beside Reverand Mother Mohiam with an ease that quite surprised her teacher.

“You look settled.”

“Yes. My husband has been quite accommodating.”

“Ha! I heard rumor of a bloody reception.”

“You might have thought to warn me,” said the Princess, pulling her hood from her face. They could barely see the floor of the arena through the downpour.

“You seem to have done just fine without it.”

“Indeed,” said Irulan with a frown. “As you hoped?”

“Of course, girl. What else would I have done?” She could barely hear the crowd over the sound of the rain.

“I never know with you,” said the Princess with an easy wistfulness that seemed so unlike her, the Reverend Mother could have sworn it were a modified clone sitting beside her her rather than the once-timid girl she’d known since infancy. Whenever the girl had pulled away, the distance between them was only surface level. Now it felt there were an ocean between them.

“Impertinence,” muttered the crone. She wished she had something more clever to say, but the surprise of Irulan appearing as she was had thrown her. Even on her wedding day, Irulan looked like a child in her mother’s clothing, but now, she wore this current gown like a second skin.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” said the Princess. “I’ve looked forward to your visit.”

“As have I.”

“Would you like to use my binoculars? I brought an extra pair.”

The Reverend Mother took the spectacles from Irulan without saying anything and put them to her eyes. There wasn’t much to see in these conditions, and within ten seconds, the goggles fogged with mist. The crone frowned and wiped the glass with her sleeve.

“I assume you have business you wish to discuss.”

“Where exactly do you think we are?”

“If you don’t wish to plot, then why did you come?”

“To ensure you were still breathing.”

“It’s comforting to know the matter worried you.”

“Don’t be crass. You may have built a nest for yourself, but you know as well as I how… volatile he can be.”

“Volatile,” repeated Irulan. “Hmm.” And then she laughed. Thunder cracked above them.

The Reverend Mother glared at her.

“Are you going to hit me, or shall we discuss what you came here to tell me?”

“Yes, I suppose we shall,” said the crone with a smirk, knowing she had finally succeeded in getting under her pupil’s skin. “Are you pregnant?”

“Not yet. Do you wish me to be?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Arrange to visit your father on Kaitain. We’ll speak more there. It’s unlikely anyone’s listening over the noise of the storm, but I have matters I’d prefer not to discuss until we have the guarantee of privacy.”

“Yes, Your Reverence.” Normally the girl would have pushed back. Normally, she was near to bursting with thoughts that wouldn’t rest until she’d spilt them. Now, it appeared she had no need to confide in her teacher. Cold. That is what the servants called her behind closed doors – yet Irulan had never seemed cold to Gaius Mohiam until this moment – perhaps because until this moment, Irulan made no attempt to guard how desperately she longed for her teacher’s approval. She didn’t seem to long for anything at the moment, and the Reverend Mother began to wonder if the girl had found a new confidante. It was as if Irulan had written her off entirely.

“You’re cross with me.”

“No”

“It makes sense that you would be. You must feel I’ve left you to more or less fend for yourself.”

“Didn’t you?” asked the Princess.

“Yes”

Irulan said nothing.

“What did you want? A kiss on the forehead?”

“How do you wish for me to answer a question like that?”

“You walk dangerously, girl,” said the Reverend Mother, though she didn’t hide the smile on her lips. The girl’s sparring no longer carried that disagreeable hint of uncertainty. “Your usefulness wanes.”

“He tried to drown me in the bathtub,” replied Irulan, not softening a bit at her teacher’s goading. She put the binoculars to her eyes as she spoke. “He nearly did. If I’m no longer useful, have me killed then and get on with it.”

“In the bathtub, you say? Interesting. That’s where he killed his mother.”

“You’re joking,” said Irulan, turning to look at her.

“No”

“What happened?”

The Reverend Mother put her own binoculars to her eyes.

“Fine,” said Irulan, “Don’t tell me.”

“You are cross.”

“Yes,” said Irulan with a scowl. “You’ve made it abundantly clear you see me as disposable.”

“Every one of us is disposable. You should know that by now.”

“More disposable. Than you led me to believe.”

“Then don’t be.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You heard me,” said the crone, turning to look at the girl. “Until this point you were a weak link. But there’s strength in you yet, isn’t there? Here you stand after all – after I threw you to the wolves – you should be proud of yourself, girl – and hungry to prove yourself.”

“To you?”

The Reverend Mother smirked again, despite herself. She was fond of the girl – there was no doubt about that – a cat discovering her claws. “I’ve misjudged you perhaps. I saw your willfulness as a weakness, but it could prove to be a strength if leveraged correctly.”

“How would you leverage it?”

“You think I don’t trust you, girl. I’ll tell you something close to the chest: I’ve been to see Lady Jessica.”

Irulan turned to look at her.

“Yes, I thought that might interest you. She’s pregnant. A girl.”

“Is she?”

The Reverend Mother smiled. “We’ll discuss it on Kaitain.”

“Yes, Your Reverence.”

The Reverend Mother sighed. “I really am relieved to see you well. I’ve thought of you often these past few weeks.” She studied Irulan’s profile in her peripheral vision.

The Princess’s eyes softened behind the binoculars – just for a moment – before hardening. “How do you plan to spend the remainder of your time on Giedi Prime?”

“With the Baron. And then I’m off to Wallach IX.”

“You’re meeting with my husband?”

“Of course. Now that he’s inherited Vladimir’s role, we have business to discuss.”

“Am I to know of this business?”

“Work a little harder to ingratiate yourself with your husband. Perhaps he’ll wish for you to accompany him during my next visit.”

“Alright.”

“Don’t be disappointed, girl. You’re still alive. He must be warming to you.”

Irulan said nothing, and Reverend Mother Mohiam decided that no good would come from continuing to talk.

“I don’t really have the stomach for bloodsport. Don’t trouble yourself on my behalf – I’ll have a servant escort me back to the guest wing with an umbrella.”

“You don’t wish to honor the Baron?” asked Irulan with an edge to her voice. “He has yet to fight.”

“There’s been a change of plans. I suppose he failed to brief you on the order of events – I’m on my way to meet him now.”

The Princess opened her mouth and then shut it. She put her binoculars back to her face. “I won’t keep you.”

“Enjoy the spectacle,” said the Reverend Mother, knowing she was looking through foggy goggles.

“Thank you.”

“Irulan”

The girl’s eyes widened at the use of her given name before the flatness spread back over her expression.

“You’ve surpassed my expectations,” said Reverend Mother Mohiam and exited the amphitheater before she had a chance to see the Princess’s face react to her words.

Irulan paced about her quarters, still bristling from the arena. A weak link. That is what her teacher had called her. The storm was still inside her, though there was no evident trace of it within the mausoleum of her bedchamber.

“Soline,” she called, and the girl darted in from the side room. “I’d like a glass of wine.” Had her teacher simply meant to taunt her, or was she speaking the truth?

“But if you’re pregnant, my lady…”

“I’m not,” snapped Irulan.

The girl looked frozen in place.

“I’m not to have sedatives; I’m not to have wine – do you wish to drive me mad?”

“I – I’m sorry, my lady. Perhaps you’d like a bath.”

“I don't want a bath. I want a bottle. Now.”

“Y-yes, my lady.”

Tonight, Irulan hated her – hated all of them. She hated them for darting around in the shadows, for never knowing when she needed company or when she needed to be left alone. She hated that she now had girls to look after when they were the ones who were supposed to be looking after her. A bath? Irulan scowled. She didn’t have it in her to say, “That feels nice” when they massaged her scalp – have it in her to make eye contact. And then they’d have to redo her hair in the morning, and that was yet another thing she didn’t have it in her to sit through.

A weak link. How was that her fault? It was the Reverend Mother who insisted she remain on Kaitain instead of studying on Wallach IX. To keep her from her peers – from proper instruction and then to call her a weak link –

She looked across the room at her transcriber, which seemed a poor companion at the moment, for she had no desire to write down the thoughts that swirled inside her. She wished she had Vesryn with her and immediately felt ashamed of herself for thinking of it. In addition to being wildly inappropriate, the thought was embarrassing for its desperation. She barely even knew him, and he certainly didn’t know her – although she felt that he did. How disgraceful of her it would be to ask him to comfort her. Yes, she believed he was fond of her, but she knew it was his job to make her feel like he was fond of her. For all she knew, he could be looking at her the way she looked at her husband. And at that thought, another more sinister one came to her: did anybody like her?

Her father, she once thought, had liked her, but then he sold her off as easily as spice. Her sisters definitely didn’t like her. The idea of her Reverend Mother secretly favoring her had always kept her motivated, but at the moment, it seemed laughable. As she combed through the years of their interactions, trying to convince herself that her teacher nursed a soft spot for her, it could be argued just as easily that her teacher discreetly detested her. She hadn’t managed to make any friends on Giedi Prime in the three weeks since her arrival. Her handmaidens were terrified of her – that much was clear – though that had more to do with the environment than it had to do with her… still… she knew hadn’t done much to ingratiate herself with them. Come to think of it, she still hadn’t managed to learn any of their names aside from Soline.

And then there was her husband who’d thrice nearly killed her.

And yet there was a moment…  just a moment… she felt a connection to her husband. And perhaps if she could feel something for a monster like that, it wasn’t unreasonable to think that Vesryn might feel something for her. She liked Vesryn. It felt important to like someone – anyone – to keep herself tethered somehow to her compassion. It was practical, she reasoned, to have a crush: it was survival. She climbed onto her bed and lay down on her back.

She was stupid.

She knew she was stupid.

And what would she even say to him if he came to her bed? What would they do? She tried to imagine what it would feel like if he kissed her, but she couldn’t picture it. There was no possible scenario in which he would come to her bedchamber to make love to her.

But perhaps he might come to help her dress?

That was a start. He would come to her bedchamber with a gown. That is how it would start. And she would need help with the laces, and this time, his fingers would linger on her skin as he worked, and when she turned to face him, he would look at her like he had in the dress shop, and then… she imagined his gaze changing when he looked into her eyes.

“You’re not okay,” she imagined him saying.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

And then, in her fantasy, she burst into tears. She would try to look away from him, she decided, but he would pull her arms away from her face.

“Wine, my lady!” said Soline as she hurried into the room, and Irulan jerked upright in bed.

“About time,” she snapped, perhaps unfairly. Yes, she knew it was unfair, but she was angry at the interruption.

“I’m sorry m-my lady!” squeaked Soline.

Irulan sighed. “No. I should be the one to apologize. I shouldn’t speak to you like that.”

“It is an honor to serve you, my l-lady.” The girl was visibly trembling.

Irulan grimaced. She knew she needed to course correct. “Soline.”

“M-my lady?”

“Would you share a glass of wine with me?”

“If that would p-please you.”

“It would.”

Soline smiled uneasily and poured two glasses of red. Her hand was shaking so badly that when she handed one to Irulan, she spilled some on the floor. “I’m sorry!” she stammered and bent down to wipe at it with her hands. Her bandage was bleeding again, and Irulan knew she couldn’t be around the girl any longer without losing her composure.

“Soline,” she said as gently as she could. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Go to the surgeon. Not the apprentice. The surgeon. Tell him I sent you and that I wish for him to heal you properly. With proper sedation.”

“Y-you don’t need to – ”

“I want to. Soline. I want you to be taken care of.” She sighed again. “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” said the girl in a quiet voice.

“Thank you for the wine,” she said, forcing herself to look at her handmaiden. “That will be all.”

Soline bowed her head and fled from the room.

Irulan took a swig of her wine. She felt guilty, and she was annoyed about it. She hadn’t wanted to feel guilty on top of everything else. She finished her glass and poured herself another. She would give anything for a proper conversation – anything – anything for a conversation with someone who knew her well enough to care about her. And it was foolish, she knew, to think Vesryn might be that person, but at the moment, he seemed like her best bet.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he would murmur and fold her into his arms, holding her as she trembled. And then as she tried to pull away, but he would catch her by the forearm. He would kiss her tenderly. Irulan frowned. It wasn’t a tender kiss she wanted.

It wasn’t even a kiss. Right now, if she was being honest with herself, she wanted to be dragged from her bed and hosed down with freezing water. She wanted to be vigorously scrubbed. She wanted to be hit in the face. She wanted to be bruised and cursed at and told what was wrong with her. Perhaps by her handmaidens, but she just couldn’t picture them doing it, so perhaps by the stern-faced surgeon. Yes, she wanted someone to come at her with a scalpel and make her bleed – to cut off the parts of her that were wrong and then stitch her back together – yes, stitch her back together – that was the part that mattered.

She poured herself another glass of wine as she tried to concoct a scenario that would make Vesryn so frustrated with her that he’d be moved to violence, disliking herself more than she ever had in her entire life.

She wanted… oh Gods she wanted him to take her against the wall. In her fantasy, he didn’t ask – he took – he took because he wanted to, and if he took her like that, she’d know for sure that he wanted her. And perhaps only his head would roll. It was a wicked thought – perhaps the most wicked thought she’d ever had – but she was in a wicked kind of mood. Besides – she knew she could never accept him into her bed – not without consequences. No, the only way she’d ever be with him was if he took her without asking.

She felt a throb between her thighs, and brought her hand to her sex as if pushing against her flesh could relieve some of the pressure. She closed her eyes, picturing it.

But it was her husband’s face that came to her mind – his full lips – his shadowy gaze – watching her – watching her the way she wanted to be watched –

She remembered how he looked in the mirror above her as he took her, and she tried to imagine Vesryn in his place, but the feeling she was chasing seemed to lessen when she did –

Irulan let out a sigh of frustration, opening her eyes to look at her reflection in the ceiling mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a blush around her collarbone. She looked positively lewd with her knees bent and her hand between her legs.

The door opened and she yanked her hand away, sitting straight up in her bed.

“Feyd,” she said as evenly as she could, “you startled me. I’d fallen asleep.”

“On top of the covers?”

“I thought you might come, but I fell asleep waiting.”

“You must have been dreaming,” he rasped with a smirk. She could tell from his eyes that he didn’t believe her.

“Yes”

“Tell me.”

“About the dream?”

“Yes”

“I …” she paused, trying to think of something believable. She picked the last dream she had – the dream she kept having. “I dreamt of the Fremen girl.”

Feyd’s expression shifted entirely at that. “Oh?”

“I…” she paused again. She hadn’t expected to tell him this. Not ever. The dreams felt sacred somehow. Intimate. “Sorry. I. Um.”

He was staring at her with such curiosity, that she found herself telling him.

“I’ve dreamt of her several times. Since Arrakis.”

His expression darkened.

“They aren’t particularly eventful. Usually, she’s a child.”

He said nothing, so she kept talking. “I think I’m lonely.”

His eyes didn’t exactly soften, but the violence there seemed to dull.

“When you fought Paul Atreides, I knew I would wed the victor. I didn’t know he had a lover until you spoke to it – and I suppose in another life, she would have been my rival.” She paused, remembering the concubines. “I suppose I have rivals in this life. I fought one in the slave pit.”

“Do you dream of that one?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted. She hadn’t intended to talk about this.

There was something in her husband’s expression that reminded Irulan of a small boy. Cautious. Guarding something precious. Perhaps they were more alike than she’d given him credit for. She would need to be cautious with her words so as not to insult him.

“I think,” she said carefully, “that he loved her. And it was clear that she loved him. You have lovers of your own, but…” she trailed off. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to speak out of turn.”

He didn’t say anything, so she continued.

“It’s hard to explain. The two of them… the way they died. The way she refused to continue on without him. The way she… the way she held her neck to keep the blood from spilling out until she’d crawled on top of him – using her last moments in this universe to cover his modesty – I don’t know that you saw, but she lay atop his entrails. Only after she’d completely covered them did she take her hand off her neck – her last exertion – a gift. And I thought: that’s love.” She looked down, flushing. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“You respected her,” rasped Feyd.

“Yes,” said Irulan, “but not at first. I hated her at first.” She paused again. “Perhaps hate is too strong a word. I suppose – I suppose I saw that, and I felt… small. Yes, that’s the word: small. Compared to that – compared to whatever it was they shared. I never would have had a place in it. Between them. And then I watched her die. And then I felt… I don’t know what I felt. I felt,” she paused again. “I felt like she was someone I had much to learn from.”

“She had honor,” he rasped.

“Yes,” said Irulan. “She did.” And suddenly she felt like crying.

“If you’re lonely, I can replace the handmaidens.”

“No!” stammered the Princess. “I like them! It’s just – they’re afraid of me.”

He looked at her curiously.

“Their fear makes them excellent servants, but it makes them poor companions.”

He wore the same expression he’d had on the night they’d met before he escorted her to the ship.

“I would like to know you,” she said then, emboldened by the wine. “We didn’t choose each other, but perhaps our interests might align.” She paused, but he continued to stare without speaking. “Perhaps it is improper to discuss these things, but our marriage makes you next in line for the throne.”

“You said that in the tub,” he rasped.

“Yes, I suppose I did.” She waited for him to say something – to elaborate on the experience of the tub perhaps – but he didn’t. “You asked me what would make me happy. I wish to be useful to you.”

“You are.”

“For more than an heir. I’m well studied. I’m trained in some respects. I can write.”

“You’re a Princess and a Baroness, not a scribe.”

“I’m bored,” she admitted.

“Bored,” he repeated, and the curiosity in his face intensified.

And then a new idea occurred to her. Later, she would tell herself it was strategy, that she didn’t mean her words, not really. “I should hate you. For making me fight. But I felt... more awake than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

“You like to fight,” he said. From his tone, it could have been a statement or a question – she wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what I like.”

“Would you like to fight again?”

“No,” she said quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I… I want a purpose. I need a purpose. And not a passive one. I need… something to think about. I need something to do.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked suddenly.

“No”

“Thirsty?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

He stared at her. “You’re upset.”

“Yes”

“I thought you might need food or something to drink.”

“I’m not a pet,” she said flatly. “I need more than meals and water.”

“Not a pet?” he asked, raising his brow.

“A whole person,” she said. “Like you.”

“Like me,” he repeated, as if turning the words over in his mouth.

“Yes”

“Like me,” he said again.

“Yes,” she snapped, suddenly annoyed. “I thought you meant to torture me, but now it seems you had such little understanding of my mind that you thought I should be happy rotting away in this – ”

“You asked for a garden.”

She stopped to stare at him.

“You’ll have it.”

“A garden.”

“It’s underway. I could show it to you now,” he said, “but then you’d know how it was made.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“That could ruin it.”

“How?”

“You felt awake in the arena.”

“What does that have to do with the garden?”

“You didn’t know you would win.”

“No,” she said, frowning. “But you did.”

“My gift to you.”

“I – I don’t understand.”

“A worthy challenge. You felt challenged?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. His manner of speaking was always strange to her, but she could tell he thought deeply.

“Do you want to see the garden?”

“No,” she said thoughtfully, and then she changed her mind. “Yes.”

“Yes?” he asked, cocking his brow.

“If I’m to be caged, I wish to see the bars plainly.”

He smirked. “Follow me.”

“You’d really show me?”

“If you wish.”

“I…” she stayed put on the bed, suddenly wishing not to move. “I’m not sure anymore.”

He turned back to look at her.

“Maybe it isn’t a cage if you’d show me the bars.” Her head was spinning.

He said nothing, watching her.

“I think I’m going mad,” she said, and then, “Will you drink with me?”

Instead of responding, he walked past her to her bedside table and poured himself a glass of wine.

“Thank you,” she said and felt suddenly awkward: this felt more intimate than anything they’d ever done before. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted. “There are so many things I want to ask you,” and then she frowned. “I’m talking too much… tell me about the garden."

“What do you wish to know?”

“Whatever you want to tell me about it.”

“You asked for windows. I’d give them to you, but I thought you’d want to sleep outdoors.”

“You mean, in the garden?”

“It has an artificial atmosphere. Wind. Rain.”

“That sounds like something I’d dream of as a small child. It sounds beautiful.”

He took a sip of his wine without taking his eyes off her. She looked down at her feet, which hung off the foot of the bed.

“Do you really think it would ruin it if I saw it unfinished?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

Instead of replying, he took another swig of his wine.

“Do you have nothing to say?” she asked, and he turned to exit the room. “Feyd, wait,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He halted where he stood.

“I don’t know what I said that was wrong. I’m sorry - please stay.” And then: “We don’t need to talk.” She said this as he turned toward her and slipped the strap of her nightgown over her shoulder, and then she remembered how things had gone the last time she tried to seduce him and quickly put it back up. “Everything I do seems to be wrong.” She muttered. “It’s embarrassing. What I’d do for a scrap of kindness.”

His eyes looked almost soft at that.

“I’ve had too much to drink. I’ll sleep it off – goodnight." And she waved him away with her hands.

“You weren’t asleep when I came in.”

“I was.”

“You weren’t.”

He walked toward her. “I can help you sleep.”

“Okay,” she said, not knowing what he meant.

“Lie back.”

“Okay"

He pushed her nightgown up over her knees.

“Here,” she said. “I can take it off.”

“Lie back.”

“Okay” She felt his hands on her inner thighs, and she felt both aroused and uncomfortable. She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. The look in his eyes took her breath away. “What are you? Oh – ” she breathed as she felt his hand between her legs, gently rubbing her flesh in circles.

“What do you know of sex?” he asked, as he watched her.

“What do you mean?”

“Were you not touching yourself when I walked in?”

She covered her face with her hands.

“What do you think of? When you touch yourself?”

“I don’t,” she said before deciding to be honest. “That was the first time.” She grimaced and turned her head. She couldn’t look at him.

“What were you thinking about?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“No?”

“It’s not flattering.”

His hands stilled as he peered at her.

“Will you really make me say?”

He said nothing.

“I was thinking…” she knew she couldn’t mention Vesryn, “about the nature of it all. Why do you want to know what I think?”

“You know nothing of pleasure.”

“Teach me,” she said. “I’ll do my best to please you.”

He shook his head. “Lie back.”

She did.

And then she felt his lips on her inner thigh. She squirmed at the surprise of it, but he held her in place. She had to look away. He was too close to her – too close to a part of her she hadn’t even looked at in a mirror. And then she felt his breath against her, and she shuddered. She glanced back down at him as he opened his mouth to show her his tongue. And then she felt his mouth on her innermost flesh, and she let out a gasp.

“Lie back,” he rasped again, and she did. “What did you think of? When you touched yourself?”

“I – oh Gods” she groaned as she felt him slip a finger inside of her. “I thought of – being taken.”

“By who?”

“You,” she admitted, and he rewarded her with a swirl of his tongue. “Oh my – I thought – what are you doing?”

“Tell me what you thought of.”

“I – I told you – I thought of you. I tried to think of – of something else – but I kept seeing you. I saw – ”

“Tell me.”

“You. Taking me – against the wall – ”

“Like this?” he asked and slipped two fingers inside her.

She cried out.

“Close your eyes.”

She did. And there they were in the tub. She stepped backward as her advanced, just like last time. Only this time, he didn’t mean to kill her. She felt the wall of the basin against her back as he cornered her.

No. That wasn’t quite evocative enough –

They were in the arena. She stumbled out into the light, feeling the white hot sand scalding her toes. She looked down, and this time she was naked. This time, her hands were shackled in front of her, and a guard dragged her to a black marble slab at the center of the pit, hooking her wrists to a pole at the end of it so that she was bent over the stone, which felt cool against her flesh.

She watched the scene play out from a birdseye view:

Feyd-Rautha walked toward her, his black robes fluttering as he crossed the ring. She tried to move, but her arms were held tight. He attached a metal cuff to each ankle, and she cried out as he tightened the chains, dragging her feet through the sand as he spread her thighs. The crowd thundered as lighting flashed above them.

Then he stepped between her legs, unlacing his breeches, spitting into his palm and wetting himself, and then he entered her in one swift movement – and suddenly, all of the tension within her seemed to snap. A tide rushed through her, accelerating, pushing her higher and higher until she was afraid she might fall – she knew she would fall – oh the pressure would crush her – and then it collapsed over her like a roaring wave and she shuddered and twitched as Feyd wrung as much pleasure out of her body as he could.

Her eyes opened and her hands flew to his head, trying to push him off of her – it was too much – but he held her in place. She convulsed, surrendering to the current as it took her this way and that, trembling and jerking as he coaxed her over a second, steeper cliff.

When she came back to herself, she noticed her cheeks were damp. She brought a hand to her face, touching the wetness – that was all it took it seemed – for she let out a sob bringing her knees to her chest.

She wanted him to reach for her, to kiss her tenderly (for now it was tenderness she craved) and to take her in his arms, but of course he didn’t – of course he wouldn’t – would just sit there looking at her.

“GET OUT,” she roared, and he rose to his feet, turning on his heel - obediently walking from the room.

She brought her hands to her mouth, watching the door close behind him.

The Voice had worked.

Chapter Text

TO THE REVEREND MOTHER MOHIAM:  

I hope you enjoyed your visit to Giedi Prime as much as I did. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced by the weather. The rain is not uncommon here, and volcanic activity brews to the north. Stay dry.

Princess Irulan

Not once but twice.

Twice, she had successfully used the Voice. Irulan turned away from the interface and thanked the guards who had taken her to it.

“We’d best get back,” she said more to herself than to them, turning off the screen, and the small room darkened, florescent light casting pale circles on the black linoleum. Her message had been received. Shortly, she would get a summons from her father, assuming the Reverend Mother really did intend to keep her alive. Now all she had to do was to return to her room before she was missed. If he tried to kill her now, his guards would interrupt them with a message from the Emperor himself. She took a shaky breath. The difficult part was done. When they returned to her quarters, she would command them to forget. Assuming they made it back before he noticed her absence. Would he return to her so quickly? How long would her orders bar him from her quarters? She walked to the heavy steel door to find it bolted shut.

“OPEN IT,” she barked to the guards, and they tried, but it was locked. They began kicking the door, throwing their bodies against it as if they could bust through the metal with their flesh and bones. “STOP” she commanded before they could bloody themselves.

“You’re trespassing,” crackled Feyd-Rautha’s voice from over the intercom. It was almost sing-song, the way he addressed her. It was as if he was having fun with all of it, and of course he was: in her haste to flee, she’d forgotten all about the surveillance monitors. Of course he’d been watching. He was always watching.

“Am I?” Fear was a double-edged sword, it seemed, capable of focusing her to great feats yet simultaneously clouding her judgement. Fear is the mindkiller, she thought to herself, understanding the phrase perhaps for the very first time. How often had she repeated these words to herself like a mantra without ever fully absorbing their message? Fear had driven her from her quarters in search of rescue with no more than the clothes on her back. She had indeed thought to herself, What do I really have besides the clothes on my back? Fear had made her stupid.

“What could be so important to communicate that you would sentence two of my guards to death?”

Her breath stopped. “My lord?”

“My lord?” mused Feyd. “I like those words out of your mouth.” A moment of silence. And then the intercom crackled again: “Which one will you kill first?”

“They were following orders. I’m the one you should be punishing.”

“You are. Which one will you kill first?”

“I can’t.”

“You could command them to fight to the death, and they would.”

“I have no desire for such a thing.”

“Then which handmaiden shall I execute?”

“You wouldn’t,” she said as her heart lurched in her throat, because she knew that he would.

“What’ll it be, my darling? The guards or one of your pretty pets?”

“You’re sick,” she breathed, and the room swam around her.

“Don’t be coy. You knew what you were doing when you enlisted their help.”

“I didn’t think – ”

“But you did – you only thought you’d be gone by the time I got around to it, didn’t you? Don’t pretend to care about the shedding of blood: you just prefer it out of view. Now don’t be a hypocrite. Kill. Or I’ll carve your pet a brand-new smile.”

“I’m weaponless.”

“They’re not.”

She looked at the two men who were both staring dutifully at the floor. “How do you expect me to overtake them?” She wiped her tears – they would do her no good.

“They’ll hand you their blades if you command it. Even without a demonstration of your… skill.”

“You don’t want to watch?” she said, adjusting her tone to that of Margot’s.

“I’m watching right now.”

“From the safety of a separate room.”

She heard a scream over the intercom – a girl’s voice – and hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Wait!” cried Irulan. “Please don’t hurt her!” And she collapsed onto the ground, hugging her knees. “I’ll do it. Please don’t hurt her!” and she stood, crying softly to herself, but there was no answer. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so selfish? He was absolutely right about her – she hadn’t thought, but she had, hadn’t she? She just hadn’t cared.

Then the door opened and Feyd-Rautha strolled leisurely into the room, a cone of silence buzzing above him.

“What were you doing in here?” he asked, as casually as if he was asking her what she was eating for breakfast. “Calling for a heighliner?”

“Did you kill her?”

“Who?”

“I heard a scream.”

Feyd-Rautha smiled. He looked so completely alien to her – how could she have ever thought him ordinary?

“Tell me,” she begged.

“Tell me,” he said, “whom you contacted and what you wrote?”

“I was just thanking Reverend Mother Mohiam for her visit.”

“Tell one more lie and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“No, you won’t,” said Irulan, flattening her tone, though the tears still flowed freely down her cheeks. “Not if you want my father’s allegiance.”

“I’ll take the throne for myself without your help.”

“No, you won’t. You’d need connections you don’t have – money you don’t have – not yet – not after your brother’s stint on Arrakis.”

Feyd grabbed a blade from his belt and slashed one of the guards’ throats in frustration. He let out a guttural roar as he drew the blade back and then plunged it into the second guard, cutting him from groin to sternum as the guts fell out, black in the darkness of the low-lit room, and he bared his teeth, stepping toward her. She took a step back despite herself. “After all I’ve done,” he spit out, eyes narrowing, “turning the palace upside down and you still wish to leave.” The guards bled out on the floor. Quiet. Forgettable. Like footnotes, she thought to herself and grimaced. They’d receive no formal procession. Not like her. They’d throw Floracaelum petals on her casket. They’d paint over her bruises and guests would weep over her dead form, posed as if in slumber.

“Are you going to kill me this time?” she asked softly. “I did wonder. When it was coming.” So be it, she thought to herself. So be it.

“I came to find you in your room,” he rasped, a grin spreading across his pale face like a black sickle moon. “But you were here.”

“You came back with protection,” she said, letting her gaze shift to the drone that hovered beside him.

His smiled faltered for a moment before stretching itself back into place. “You must want me to kill you. Talking like that.”

“Do you care what I want?”

“No”

“I didn’t think so,” said Irulan, closing her eyes, waiting for the white-hot plunge of his knife.

“Look at me,” he barked, lunging toward her, and he hit her in the face so hard that she fell to the ground.

When she opened her eyes, he was standing above her. He crouched down to her level, grabbing her by the hair, so he could press their foreheads together. “I want to see your eyes,” he rasped. “When I end you.” His eyes were wild, pupils dilated, as he stared her down. She smelled blood. Hers? The guards’? His face was terrible. Beautiful.

Later, she would tell herself that she’d done it to survive. She couldn’t possibly have wanted him – couldn’t possibly have wanted to do what she did – what they did – next to the still-warm bodies of the men who’d died because she’d willed it – who had died without a choice, because she’d commanded it – had commanded them to disobey their orders – to walk willingly to their deaths. She couldn’t possibly have wanted him – not like that – not ever. But whatever it was – the fear – the familiarity – the dark black eyes and the memories of his full lower lip between her teeth – her hands flew to his face, and she kissed him desperately, feeling heat flood through her at the moment of contact. This is enough, she thought to herself before she stopped thinking entirely, This is enough.

Later, she would tell herself it was improbable that a man like that could be momentarily taken with her, but he kissed her back hard. She bit his bottom lip, and he groaned into her mouth. He yanked her skirts up around her thighs and she lifted her hips to give him access. And it must have been – it must have been because of how sensitive she still was from their earlier encounter – it must have just been the lingering arousal from when he’d been kind to her. Otherwise, why would she have moaned when he undid his trousers, and she felt him press against her entrance – his cock like a weapon – like a battering ram – poised to spear her – why would her eyes roll back in her skull when he forced his way inside her – was it forcing if it sank in with no resistance – and why would her hips lift to meet his again and again and again – why would the fullness – oh –

“Who would have thought,” he breathed hot against her ear, “that the Emperor’s daughter fucks like a whore,” and she shuddered in his arms. He captured the lobe in his teeth and pulled.

She involuntarily clenched down on him when she should have slapped him in the face. She should slap him in the face – could still slap him in the face –

His entire body tensed when her palm smacked his cheek, and she could feel him stiffen inside her, emptying himself as he pressed ground against her hips. And Margot’s words came floating into her mind – he longs to be hurt – so it wasn’t just her own pain he loved – he’d come faster than he ever had before. He pressed himself deeper inside her as he continued to pulse, and she shivered at the pleasure of it. Why had no one told her? Why had no one bothered to tell her that making love could feel like this? Making love. She frowned. No, what they were doing was certainly not making love. What they were doing was –

She could feel him start to soften inside her, and she waited for him to get off of her, doing her best to ignore the part of herself that still craved friction. She could feel his heat through his clothes – how she wanted the touch of his naked skin, his muscled arms surrounding her, his broad chest crushing her. “Are you quite finished?” she asked.

“I haven’t decided,” he rasped, rocking his hips back into hers, and despite his softening, it was enough to make her groan. His hand came to her cheek, cupping her chin, and he looked at her – his eyes unexpectedly soft.

“I did think,” she began and then frowned. “I was certain you were going to kill me.”

“You hid your skill in the slave pit.”

“I – ” she thought about lying but there was that look in his eyes again. The murderous rage had once again been replaced by curiosity. It did something to her, that look. Gods help her: it was like he saw through her to her innermost privacy. Those eyes penetrated her more deeply than his cock. “No. I didn’t know I could do that.” It was as close as she felt comfortable describing her use of the Voice. And she knew it was ironic, considering he was buried inside of her. It was almost funny – the contradiction of it all.

It must have shown in her expression, because he said: “You’re smiling.”

She frowned.

And he laughed. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him laugh – but it was a pleasant sound – he almost seemed human.

And then she looked at the guards who lay dead not ten feet away from them.

“You’re unhappy,” he rasped.

“I thought you didn’t care about that.”

He didn’t answer, but he tasted her neck, and as he did so, she felt him twitch within her. He was hardening again.

“What do you want?” she breathed. “Tell me, and I’ll try my best.”

Instead of answering, he kissed her. She opened her mouth to take a breath and felt his tongue against hers, and she groaned. He withdrew most of the way then and pushed back inside of her, making her gasp. She felt him harden with each re-entry, felt the fullness, the pressure, the pleasure return. Should she let herself get pregnant? Her Reverend Mother had told her to wait, but there was something so indescribably arousing about knowing that with each thrust, he was massaging his seed into her womb – the implications of it all – of letting him fill her with his child – of him claiming her in that way – of his child – their child, growing in her womb – growing up in the world. She shivered.

He pulled out and flipped her onto her belly before spearing her once more.

“Not a pet, you say,” he rasped, establishing a slow but forceful rhythm, and she twitched in his arms, feeling the now familiar tension start to build in her core. He brought a hand down to where they were joined. “But you like to be stroked.”

She gasped as he rubbed her flesh in slow circles, the gentleness of his fingers contrasting with the force of his thrusts. It was a delicious, agonizing sweetness. She had to bite her own hand to stop herself from crying out.

“You’re a pet if I say you are,” he grunted. “I feed you. I bathe you. I fuck you – I fuck you well,” and she clenched down hard on his length, but he continued undeterred – steel cutting through butter – he bit the back of her neck before breathing in her ear, “I will break you. And you’ll enjoy it.” She struggled then and she felt him freeze behind her until he understood she only meant to flip him onto his back. He relented, and she felt cool air on her sex and the hot wetness of his seed as it leaked down her thigh before she lifted her hips and sank onto his thick length, eliciting a groan from both of them. She watched his eyes close before opening again to take her in – his beautiful eyes – his whole face – bewitched –

“All this talk,” she said, feeling Margot rise within her despite herself. The feeling was intoxicating – she couldn’t abandon it – not yet. “I think you’re the one who wants to be broken.” He clenched his jaw. “After all,” she breathed, “here you are on your back.”

His eyes gleamed, and then he flipped them, thrusting into her savagely enough to make her scream. “That’s right,” he rasped against her ear. “You’ll play Baroness when I allow it. But deep down, we both know what you are – we both know what you want.”

She tried to shove him off of her, and he pinned her hands above her head, taking her leisurely as if to demonstrate just how in vain her efforts were. The feeling of his overwhelming strength – gods help her – it did something to her. He shifted his angle, rocking against the sensitive flesh of her exterior as he plundered her depths. She closed her eyes.

“I told you to look at me.”

She did. The pressure mounted and she had to shake her head back and forth as if that could somehow stop the rising wave that threatened to flatten her.

And then the door flung open. Feyd whipped his head around to look at the intruder, but the servant had already disappeared. And as easily as he overpowered her, he jumped off her, tucking his still-hard length into his trousers, and stalked out the door.

She lay breathless, shaking. The room came back to her – dark and sterile – the blood – a surgeon’s mess – a torturer’s. The tightness of her sex still plagued her, along with a feeling of excruciating emptiness. Her eyes drifted to the bodies on the floor beside her, and felt a shudder of revulsion – not at the dead but at herself – for not caring they were dead – for only caring when her husband would return to the chamber and finish what he started – oh, he was breaking her. That much was sure. Her hand drifted between her legs before she could stop herself. She bit her lip.

The door opened again, and he was staring at her with what seemed like both anger and awe. “Your father sends for you,” he rasped.

“Is everything alright?” she asked as earnestly as she could.

“Your sister is gravely ill.”

“Which one?”

“He didn’t say.” They both knew it was a lie.

“Then I must go,” she said, suddenly wishing she hadn’t initiated emergency protocol. What could have happened if she had waited for him in her bedchamber? Would it have played out as it had? Or did he only spare her because she’d surprised him with her resourcefulness? She could have asked him if he were still fucking her, but now that he stood on the other side of the room, it was as if a wide abyss had crumbled down between them.

“It would seem so.”

There was no need to ask if he’d be accompanying her. His time away in preparation for their wedding had already set him behind. No, he was to stay here on Giedi Prime. “Do you… um. We were interrupted. We could…”

“I have pets to take your place,” he rasped, and he may as well spit in her face.

“Of course,” she said, standing up and doing her best to flatten her expression – doing her best not to cry. “My handmaidens will accompany me. And they are to receive medical care before our departure if you’ve something to them.”

“Very well,” he rasped, “but the dressmaker stays.”

“The dressmaker?” she asked, his mention of Vesryn throwing her off. “Of course. He’s not mine alone, is he?”

“No, he’s not,” said Feyd.

“You won’t hurt him, will you?”

He smiled at her.

“I’m sure I won’t be long.”

His smile widened, and in the darkness, he looked like a madman. He was a madman.

“Alright then,” she said. “Unless there was anything else you wanted to – ”

“No.”

“Right,” she said, and walked past him, wondering if he might grab her when she did.

“I’ve been kind,” he said as she reached the door, “And off you go. What will you find? Upon your return?” She turned to look at him and his hooded eyes gleamed as they had after he finished Paul Atredies. “I wonder.” He smirked as he had at the Fremen girl as his eyes raked once more over her body with a detachment that made Irulan’s face turn pale: there was no tenderness there. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it, raising his brow: “Off you go.”

Chapter Text

It would rain again in the garden. Feyd walked barefoot through the field, enjoying how the puddles felt against his skin. He’d taken to walking there at night over the past few months. It was a shame he’d promised it to his wife, for it had become his favorite place in the palace. Fireflies flickered in the trees like red stars twinkling, and he caught one in his hand, watching the insect crawl to the tip of his middle finger before taking flight – its crimson glow the color of a split pomegranate.

The concept he owed to Vesryn Xalikar. The man was smart: too smart to do away with but too smart to put in charge of anything with political weight, so Feyd had tasked the dressmaker with designing Irulan’s new quarters. Xalikar seemed to understand the Princess even better than Feyd did, and rather than indulging in jealous paranoia, the Baron decided to put it to use. The resulting collaboration turned out to be a source of energy for Feyd, who listened with fascination at the dressmaker’s descriptions of ancient myths, classical architecture, and rulers of old. And as he watched Xalikar choose between samples of relief sculpture, he began to wonder what changes he might make to other parts of the palace, which had been built in the image of his uncle’s father and remodeled in the image of the uncle who raised him.

Of course, to make any great changes to the place, he’d need to find a way to bankroll it. Spice production was back underway, now that he’d installed a Governor on Arrakis: General Tharyn Voss, who had risen to the top of his unit despite his young age. He was a eunuch and had been since childhood due to the treason of his father against the former Baron, who decided an apt punishment for the offense was execution as well as the castration of his only living child, ensuring the man’s family line would be permanently blotted out. Thus removed from his father’s influence, the boy grew up with a clear desire to prove himself tempered with a humility – likely stemming from his impotence – that set him apart from his peers. He was methodical, clean, and followed instructions with diligence. Unlike other young men, he seemed to have little to prove aside from his loyalty to the Harkonnen miliary, which had taken a chance on him, despite his lineage. Indeed, he managed to avoid the foolish showings of bravado that led a many young man to his death. The Bene Gesserit had suggested a younger cousin for the title, but Feyd knew better than that. So far, General Voss was doing an adequate job. And adequate was perfect. More than adequate would be far too much. He made perfect sense as Governor. Raised to such a station, the man such as he would be sure not to squander it, and the lack of any heir of his own made him unlikely to usurp the current leadership.

The Baron wondered, as he often did, what Irulan was doing on Kaitain. He was curious about what she might be plotting with the crone, but he also found himself guessing about the more mundane aspects of her life – how she spent her evenings in a more familiar environment. Perhaps she read. He had begun to read more as well. Xalikar’s knowledge of the ancients made him feel as though he had something to gain from the classics, and he began to search through the archives in his uncle’s private library. Now that he was Baron, he had a bit more time on his hands, for now he was the one giving orders instead of rushing to carry them out. He’d even grown bored of the arena. Perhaps this was what his wife had spoken of when she told him she lacked purpose. Irulan. His wife. He wondered if she’d come back changed. They’d not spoken since her departure except through official channels. She’d return if he commanded it, but he’d held back for the time being. The garden was nearly ready, and he had no desire to show it to her incomplete. The roses were beginning to bloom, their smoky blue petals scenting the air with powdery sweetness. They grew in clusters around the marble columns that supported the roof above her bed, which would shield her from the rain while she slept. That had been his own idea, even if Xalikar had chosen the myth carved into the pediment. Feyd felt it important that the garden be his invention more than Xalikar’s, and the dressmaker was careful not to outshine his ideas, focusing instead on how to enhance the Baron’s own vision. Feyd watched the man closely and could tell that the dressmaker sometimes bit his own tongue, and furthermore, that he was smart enough to know when it might be necessary. Smart men rarely acted without purpose, which led Feyd to wonder what exactly might be Xalikar’s intent. He’d keep the man alive until he figured it out.

At first, he wondered if the dressmaker had designs on Irulan. He’d watched the two of them together and saw that Xalikar indeed took liberties with his wife, and he’d seen how she blushed under his gaze. The dressmaker flirted almost brazenly. Too brazenly and too quickly for a man of his intelligence, which meant he either doubted the Princess’s wits, or love was not his true aim, but rather, seduction, likely planned before he’d ever set eyes on the Princess, for his slick demeanor had not grown with time but had instead been present from at their very first meaning. He had ambition – that much was clear. The important question was whether he was acting alone. Feyd’s instincts told him Xalikar was working with the Bene Gesserit, for he’d seen the man exchange a glance with the crone as they walked past him to the ballroom, but Feyd knew the organization preferred female agents whenever possible. He would find out. And while he got to the bottom of it, Feyd saw no reason to waste the man’s talent for design. Besides, he told himself, it was better to keep the dressmaker busy. Too busy to grow idle… too busy to grow impatient.

Feyd ran his fingers along the hedges, nearly black in the dying light. They were almost there. Once he could no longer see over the tops of them, he’d let her see it. For the perimeter of the garden was a labyrinth of thorn and thicket, his lady’s bed at the center of the maze. While he could still see over the bush, he knew he could not truly see the garden as she, and he wanted to know it, to taste it, much like he craved his opponents’ experience of dark before the fight. It was nearly there. He had to lift up onto his toes to see pattern spread out before him. Of course, he knew that there was no way he could truly experience her wonder, for even once the hedges grew tall enough to obscure his view, he had memorized the garden by heart with all of its twists and turns. He suddenly felt like a swim.

He walked to the bathing pool at the garden’s northern ridge and stripped off his clothes. The water felt perfect against his skin – not too warm or too cool – which had grown clammy from humidity, and he gazed up at the pregnant sky. It was always cloudy here, for Feyd detested use of artificial windows. He could always tell it was a screen, and it immediately pulled him out of any immersion he was supposed to experience. Of course, artificial screens covered the ceilings, but Feyd set the weather to a permanently cloudy state so as to shield them from view. Occasionally, a star or a beam of sunlight would peak through a breech in the clouds, and the effect was dazzling – far more dazzling than it could ever be if the screen were laid naked to scrutiny. Besides, he liked the rain. Preferred it to direct sunlight, and he knew it was more than just being accustomed to the dark: something about the hot summer downpour as well as the cool autumn drizzle did something for his soul, if indeed he had one at all. The sound of it, the sensation of it, felt like a lullaby.

Her lullaby.

For he once had a servant named Anara. He remembered her as his governess, but that couldn’t have been her station, for she was far too young. She had bathed him, hadn’t she? That felt right. She’d been with him nightly to put him to bed until his uncle began summoning him for assistance with his own nightly baths. Why couldn’t he remember her smile without tears in her eyes? For she surely must have smiled before that morning. She used to hum. She would run her fingers over his arms and hum until he fell asleep.

Feyd sank deeper into the water, which tickled his flesh as it disappeared under the surface. He would marry her someday… that’s what he once told her, and she laughed. It was a beautiful laugh that reminded him of bells.

“I’m old enough to be your mother,” she said.

“No you’re not.”

“I’m a servant.”

“I don’t care.”

“Someday,” she said with a smile – he could see it now clearly – and she put a soft hand on his cheek, “you’ll marry a princess. A beautiful one.”

“I don’t want to marry someone I’ve never met.”

“You will when you see her,” Anara said. “She’ll be beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.”

And she laughed again. “I’m homely.”

“What’s that?”

She shook her head and smiled. “When you get a little older, you’ll understand.”

“You don’t wish to marry me?”

“I don’t,” she said, “but not because I don’t love you. What we share a different kind of love. A familial love. Like a mother and a son, though I don’t wish to speak out of turn. You have a mother already.”

“I wish you were my mother.”

“Go to sleep, sweet boy,” she said laughing, and he did. Though when he woke up, it was his real mother at the foot of his bed, and she was cross with him. She was always cross with him.

Feyd’s face was wet, and he told himself it was just the water. He stood in the pool and looked out at the flickering red lights, which began to melt. He wiped his eyes. He needed to kill something. There were animals in cages, engineered by the Bene Tlailax, which had yet to be placed in the garden, but he knew that a caged animal would only make him feel worse. He wished his uncle were alive, smiling and naked and waiting for him in the center of the labyrinth, his great body sweating under the moonlight, perspiration beading on his terrible flesh.

Why couldn’t he remember any songs that she’d sung him? Any melodies she’d hummed for him? And why could he remember with such perfect clarity how the tears shone in her eyes on that morning when he came to her.

“I’m sorry,” he had whispered, through shuddering breaths.

“It’s okay,” she said, gathering him into arms, “it’s okay,” and he clung to her, dropping the blade, which clattered to the floor behind her. He would never forget how gently she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, kneeling before him to fetch the knife and hold it out to him with shaking hands. When he refused to take the weapon, she took his fingers in hers and closed them around the handle – how serene she had looked, despite the shakes, though she couldn’t have been older than fifteen.

“Stop blubbering,” snapped his mother from behind him. “She’s a servant. Not your sister.”

“Do it,” commanded his uncle. “The punishment fits the crime.”

“I didn’t really mean to kill you!” Feyd had cried, whipping around to look at the Baron, who puffed tobacco while watching the scene unfold. His beady eyes crinkled with mirth.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. You had murder in your eyes, and I admire you for it, but I detest stupidity. And trying to kill me in my own bed as I slept was both stupid and cowardly. I expected more from the Na-Baron.”

All the while, Anara was running her fingers up and down the boy’s arms as if to soothe him.

“I won’t do it!” he cried.

“Feyd,” Anara whispered and shook her head.

“I can’t,” he whispered to her as tears leaked from his eyes.

“The things they’ll do to both of us if you don’t.” How could she call herself homely? Even as a grown man, Feyd would have called her beautiful.

“I can’t.”

“The whore is right,” said his mother. “If you don’t, we’ll make sure she dies screaming.”

“Don’t make me do this,” begged the boy. He held the dagger outstretched in his shaking hand.

“Feyd,” breathed Anara, “This will make you strong.”

“I don’t want to be strong.”

“It is an honor,” she whispered hoarsely, though her young voice shook, “to lose my life to your blade. You will carry me with you whenever you wield it, along with the others whose lives you claim.”

“I grow bored of this. You know when she’s not putting you to bed, she sucks cock for a living,” snapped his uncle. “Take her to the surgeon.”

“Wait!” cried Feyd. And Anara lunged for him, gathering him into her arms as he wept into her chest until she slumped against his shoulder.

“Feyd,” she whispered against his ear, and he stepped back to look at her, and the blade pulled from her chest, scraping against her ribs as it did so – he hadn’t felt it go in. She smiled at him, though he could tell it covered a wince. She opened her mouth to speak, and then she coughed and fell over.

“About time,” snapped his mother, and Feyd knew in that moment he would kill her someday, too.

“Yes,” said his uncle. “Now kill the rest of the whores.”

So he did.

And it was easier each time. He stopped crying by the time he got to the third woman.

“That’s right, boy,” crooned the Baron. “Don’t be upset now. We’ll get you replacements.”

Feyd clenched his jaw and slashed the throat of the woman who’d made him ejaculate for the very first time, while his uncle and his mother both watched. She held her neck out for him willingly, though there were tears in her eyes. The boy felt nothing. Or rather, his grief for Anara overshadowed anything else he might have felt.

“She made a man out of you,” said his mother.

“In more ways than one,” said his uncle with a rumbling laugh.

The boy would carry her with him, too.

He later killed his mother with that very same blade, and he kept it with him always until his uncle confiscated it, years later, after another assassination attempt. The boy wept when he lost it until he could weep no longer, and then he never wept again –

At least not until that night when he floated on his back in Irulan’s bathing pool, though it could have been the rain – it was probably the rain – it fell on his cheeks like icy daggers, and he’d nearly convinced himself that’s all there was too it, until he felt the heat of his own tears against his skin, and he swam back to the edge of the basin and hoisted himself out into the now frigid air, shaking and furious.

He needed to kill something.

Something that fought back.

Chapter Text

It was raining on Kaitain, so naturally, they were outside. It was a warm summer night, and despite the showers, there was no thunder to keep them from the water.

“Are you going to join us, my lady,” asked Freya, extending her hand.

Irulan sat up in the grass and took it, and the handmaiden hoisted her up before leading her toward the fountain where the others sat just inside the outer rim, naked and whispering like nymphs in the spray. They’d tossed their clothes onto the grass beside them, and the abandoned robes lay waterlogged and rippling. It was hot outside and Irulan felt sticky under her own gown, and unlike the dresses Vesryn made for her, it was rather shapeless – it hung against her form heavily – and she pulled it over her head without assistance before joining her friends in the water, sighing as the pool both warmed and cooled her, and both rain and mist became one. She closed her eyes, resting her head on Freya’s shoulder.

“I wish we didn’t have to go back.” It was Gretus’s voice.

“We’ll be back often,” promised Irulan,

“Whenever you’re displeased with the Baron, we shall come back here and ignore him until –”

“Until he grovels!” cried Gretus, interrupting Soline.

“Can you imagine him groveling?” chimed Liantha.

For a moment there was just the rain, and then they all began to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” said Irulan as she opened her eyes, though a smile fought its way through her practiced frown.

“But it is!” cried Prill. “It is!”

“We’ve all gone mad, haven’t we?”

“I don’t mind it,” said Raska. “Being mad is more fun.”

“Aye,” said Irulan before wiping her eyes with her hands and then turning to peer over the rim of the fountain. “Where is the rest of the wine?”

“You finished it,” said Gretus with a hiccup.

“I knew I should have brought the extra bottle.” Irulan looked across the courtyard. “The castle is so far away.”

“He wouldn’t grovel,” said Liantha with a smirk. “He’d take a finger.”

“From Soline,” added Prill. “Only Soline loses fingers.”

“Who needs fingers!” cried Soline. “Not me!” and then burst into laughter. “I’m top girl! The less fingers you have the more you know you’ve made it!”

“Made what?” asked Gretus.

“Top girl!” shouted Soline, her eyes wide with such earnestness the others began to cackle, and Soline inhaled sharply before adding: “It’s funny because it’s true!”

“I can’t breathe!” cried Raska.

“Would you like me to come with you?” murmured Freya to the Princess.

“No, no, it’s alright,” said Irulan. “Enjoy the rain. I’ll be back in a minute with a bottle of red.”

“Better bring two.”

“Smart thinking,” said the Princess, and with that, she hoisted herself out of the water and searched the grass for her gown. It was waterlogged like the others, and she thought about wringing it out before putting it back on, but it was raining so heavily, she saw it was no use. It was after midnight. Everyone but the servants should be asleep, and Irulan was drunk. Instead of putting the dress over her head, she wrapped it around herself like a towel, turning back to make a face at her handmaidens at her bold choice of dress, but they were already back to their chatter. She smiled and picked up the empty bottle and turned in the direction of the castle, closing her eyes for a moment as she walked and tilting her head backward to feel the rain on her face, before she swayed and nearly fell over. She looked back at the girls – none of them had seen her stumble – and that suited her just fine. She liked seeing them happy. Nights like that night were inevitably winding down. There was only so much longer she could put off their return to Giedi Prime. She put it out of her mind – why ruin a perfect night with such thinking?

She crossed the front garden, hoping to enter from the east wing, assuming the servants hadn’t locked the door. If they had, there was always her balcony. She was sure she’d left that door unlocked. All she had to do was climb the tree beside it, which should be easy enough, though she would need to either put on her dress or leave it in the grass. She grinned for a moment at the thought of it – of climbing naked up a tree to break into her bedchamber through the balcony – if anyone saw her they’d think she’d lost her mind completely – though only because she were a Princess and not a Prince – Princes were allowed to have these kinds of drunken nights with their men – in fact they were rather encouraged to, lest the court think him too inhibited to rule. No, Irulan thought to herself with a frown, she mustn’t. Even with the wine, she was wise enough to turn back toward the front entrance. It was odd enough for her to be carousing with her handmaidens on the front lawn. If she were to be caught climbing naked in a tree, it would be a downright scandal. Not that there was anyone to notice – anyone who would chide her – her father had retired at eight, and the changing of the guard happened at eleven, and the night shift staff seemed a little rough around the edges. Perhaps that was the wrong way to describe it. A bit less formal. They were there to do the job but not much else. She doubted they cared much for her comings and goings aside from bland amusement. They nodded politely at her as she stepped past, but she could see a smirk on the second man’s face as he opened the castle door for her – not an expression of scorn – if anything he seemed pleasantly amused by her lack of formality. She nodded her head, grinning to herself, as she strode forward into the entrance hall.

Rain pattered down on the skylight, and the marble floors felt cool on her feet. She shivered as she walked the familiar path to her room. Dark as it was, she could have found it blindfolded. She knew these halls like the back of her hand. And she was used to the dark. She wondered what Feyd was doing on Giedi Prime and if he thought of her. Perhaps he, too, was awake late. Although there was a time difference. It would be afternoon there – not that it mattered on most days, which were spent inside the palace, where days and nights had no real distinction.

Up the marble staircase she climbed, and she saw lightning through wrought-iron window. She waited for the crash of thunder, counting one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight – they were probably still fine to be out – ten. A soft rumble in the distance.

She crossed the holding room above the stair, where she and her ladies often sat before descending for dinner, dressed in their sacks, as Irulan had begun to think of the clothes they wore on her home planet. She turned a corner and passed through the hallway to her bedchamber.

No guards stood by her door. Odd. She turned the handle herself and stepped into the bedchamber.

“You’re drunk,” said a familiar voice, and Irulan whipped her head to look at the seating area beside her bed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on Wallach IX?” Irulan squinted and the two figures came into focus.

“Put on some clothes,” snapped the Reverend Mother. “We have company.”

“Margot,” breathed Irulan.

“Lady Fenring,” corrected the teacher. “Really, girl. Have you lost all sense of propriety?”

“It’s alright, Your Reverence,” said the younger woman. “I have often felt such formal language did more harm than good when it came to fostering friendship. And I have so longed for a friend.” She brought her hands to cradle her belly, and that’s when Irulan saw it. The expanding bulge of her – of him – of their child growing inside her – his child.

Anger flooded through the Princess, and it must have shown in her expression, because the Reverend Mother muttered, “He has gotten to you, hasn’t he?” – sizing up the Princess with a look of disapproval.

“I should get some dry clothes,” muttered Irulan. “Then we can sit and talk.”

“Nonsense,” said the crone, “you are indisposed. I will show Lady Fenring to the guest wing.” And then she pressed her lips together before adding: “Go to bed.”

“My ladies await my return to the castle grounds.”

“I will collect them myself,” said the Reverend Mother.

Irulan bowed her head. The room was spinning. And drunk as she was, shame flooded her cheeks. If she felt it now, she knew she’d feel it tenfold come morning.

“I apologize for catching you off guard,” said Margot, and a hole must have opened in the clouds outside, because a beam of moonlight came through the window and bathed the woman’s face in milky white light as she spoke. She looked like an angel. “I have looked forward to seeing you again. We have much to catch up on, I’m sure.” She spoke to Irulan as if they’d always been friendly, and a pang of longing came over the Princess. “Rest well, My Lady. We will speak in the morning.” And then she bowed her head and crossed the room with their teacher before walking past Irulan into the hallway. The Princess caught a whiff of sweet incense on the air – Melange and syrup and a hint of smoke – and closed her eyes, swaying.

Somehow, she made it into bed.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t her handmaidens that woke her but Margot Fenring, her lovely face serene as she touched Irulan’s cheek.

“I’ve brought you water,” she said, turning to lift a porcelain pitcher from the nightstand.

“Where are my handmaidens?”

“I haven’t seen them,” replied Margot, and Irulan frowned. “Here. I always find a bit of water helps me wake up in the morning.”

“Thank you,” said the Princess, taking the glass. She hadn’t had that much to drink, had she? Light poured in from the windows, and she squinted. Her head hurt.

“Did you sleep alright?”

“Very well,” said Irulan, though in truth, she had woken at three and tossed and turned for several hours. Wine had a way of doing that.

“I’m glad.” Margot smiled at her. How was her complexion so vibrant without any makeup?

“I should be the one asking you how you’re doing,” said Irulan. “How is the guest wing?”

“It’s quite comfortable, my lady,” murmured Margot.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Irulan felt the urge to close her eyes but instead asked: “Where is our Reverend Mother?”

“I haven’t seen her all morning. Your sisters left for the city center about an hour ago.”

“Oh,” said Irulan, wanting to change the subject. She was the odd one out, even in her own family, and she preferred it greatly if Margot could get through the entirety of her stint on Kaitain without noticing. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Alright then,” said Irulan. “I’ll dress and we’ll head downstairs. Perhaps we’ll find her in the breakfast room.”

“Do you need any assistance?”

“I assure you – even without my handmaidens, I can manage to dress myself. Do you know your way to the breakfast hall?

“I’m sure I’ll find my way.”

Irulan sighed. Her head hurt, but she knew she was being rude. She realized then she was embarrassed at the idea of Margot seeing her naked. Even while pregnant, Irulan had a feeling Margot’s figure was still better than hers. Her silk robes draped perfectly over her swollen breasts. Irulan chided herself for being consumed with such vain thoughts. “I didn’t mean to send you away. It would be an honor to have you assist me.” Irulan rose from the bed and led the way to her closet. Her usual servants no longer slept in her chambers, now that the handmaidens traveled with her. Where had they wandered off to? They did enjoy morning walks, so she supposed they left before Margot woke. They’d become friendly enough that they felt comfortable taking such liberties. Besides, they must have assumed she needed to sleep from the way she assumed the Reverend Mother would have described her condition, the old bat. Irulan looked at her clothes and frowned. Oh, how she missed the gowns that Vesryn made for her. She was not allowed to dress like the other Sisters, not as the Emperor’s daughter. Margot seemed to be looking for something within the racks of hanging clothes. “Any robe will do,” said Irulan with a trace of annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” said Margot. “It’s just, I was hoping to – this is incredibly presumptuous of me but it’s just I’ve heard so much about it. Your wedding dress.”

“Oh,” said Irulan, truly surprised.

“I would have loved to have seen it. It sounded…”

“Scandalous?”

“I was going to say beautiful,” said Margot, lowering her eyes. But then she raised her gaze to Irulan’s and smirked.

“I don’t know what happened to it,” said Irulan.

“What a shame.” The last word came out like a purr.

“Where are my handmaidens?” Irulan demanded when she finally found the Reverend Mother in the second library, pouring over metal scrolls. She was growing tired of Margot’s coy way of speaking, and once it became clear she had nothing of substance to say to Irulan before her meeting with their teacher, the Princess’s patience ran out, and she left the woman at the breakfast table with her meal half-eaten. “Well? You seem to be their new keeper. Where are they?”

“On their way back to Geidi Prime?”

“How dare you?”

“I suggest you watch your tone.”

“Do you mean to punish me for drinking?”

“You need to reassess your priorities.”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” cried Irulan, “He will kill them!”

“Perhaps,” said the crone, “He would certainly kill them if they met Lady Fenring and he found out they kept it from him.”

Irulan opened her mouth and then closed it. Her teacher was right.

“You’ll rejoin them soon enough,” said the crone with a look of familiar scrutiny.

“What is your purpose in bringing her here?” demanded Irulan.

“Lady Fenring?”

“You’re usually fine with ‘Margot.’”

“You’re usually better at decorum.”

“I’m usually not afraid for my life or the lives of my servants.”

“Stop whining. This is what you trained for.”

“This is what I wanted to train for. More than anything. But you never let me study on Wallach IV. You – ”

“You know very well your station forbids it. And you seem to have done just fine on your own.”

“If being nearly drowned in my bathtub counts as fine”

“You seem to have strength, Irulan. When it counts,” said her teacher. And smiled.

Irulan’s lips parted. “How did you…”

“I did think you would say something.”

“He told you?”

“He didn’t have to. You’re dripping in it. I can smell it on you.”

“I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to do it again. I wanted to be sure before – ”

“Don’t be modest. The power suits you.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t squander it.”

“I won’t. I – ” Irulan paused. “I thought you said I wouldn’t be seeing any more of Lady Fenring.”

“Plans changed.”

“Lady Jessica.”

“Her child is an abomination.”

“I see. What is your plan?”

“Control. It’s time you have a son. I’ve suggested a match to Lady Jessica. It will be enough for now to keep her at bay.”

“And what of Lady Fenring’s daughter?”

“The true wife for your son. We’ve already run the genetic possibilities and developed a plan for any unsavory mutations. They’d make a fine match.”

“How do you suggest I break the news to my husband?” asked Iruan. “I don’t suspect he’ll be thrilled to know he’s already sired a child.”

“I don’t suggest you tell him anything.”

“What do you mean? Surely, he’ll figure it out when he sees Lady Fenring.”

“Lady Fenring has a husband of her own. They will pass off the child as his.”

Irulan shook her head. “He will kill her.”

“We have years before they’ll need to be in the same room. During which time, you’ll be able to gain his trust. His loyalty. Or at least the ability to rein in the worst of his impulses.”

“I see. And Margot’s on board?”

“She wanted to meet with you in person to gauge your own feelings on the matter before agreeing to any arrangement.”

“Then I suppose I’d better seek her out.”

“Indeed.”

Irulan turned to leave.

“Irulan”

The Princess turned. Not once but twice the Reverend Mother had used her given name.

“I know you and Margot have had… well. This could benefit both of you. I hope you are able to put aside any personal grievances and…”

“Don’t worry, Your Reverence. I always do as I’m told.”

“Lady Fenring,” called Irulan. She found her sitting beside the fountain. She was twirling a small flower between her fingers. Such elegant hands, Irulan thought to herself.

“Please,” said the woman, shielding her eyes. “Call me Margot”

“Margot”

“That’s better,” murmured the beauty. “I assume our teacher told you of her plans for us.”

“She did.”

“What did you think?”

“What did you think?”

Margot smiled at this. “I think. Hmmmm.” She closed her eyes for a moment and chuckled. “I think you’re marvelous.” Her eyes had a glint of heat.

“In what sense?”

Margot scoffed. “In what sense? And here I thought we had finally moved past pretense.”

“My husband often repeats my words back to me for dramatic effect. I find I’m not fond of it.”

“Your husband,” said Margot. “I almost forgot,” and she drew her hands to her swollen belly as she said this.

Heat flooded Irulan’s face, and she spoke with a flatness that would have made her younger self proud: “I always thought you’d be pretty if you weren’t so smug.”

“You still think I’m pretty,” said Margot, with a lazy smile. A cat toying with its prey. “And though I never thought you a beauty, I will admit your time on Giedi Prime has suited you. You’ve come back changed.”

“Facing a your death in the slave pit has a way of changing a person.”

“All without mastery of the Voice. You must have been terrified. I was terrified hearing of it.”

“I assume you have other things you wish to discuss. I had wondered if you’d changed, but you’re still exactly the same. I mean surely – surely you have other things to say to me than to criticize my lack of – ”

“I assure you, my lady, I do not mean to criticize you. I find you brave.”

“What do you want, Margot.” Irulan folded her arms.

Margot’s smile faltered. “I’m trying to tell you I think you’re brave. How little you must think of me.

Irulan sighed, disarmed and somewhat embarrassed. She had longed, after all, for months to speak to Margot. This wasn’t how she’d imagined it going. “I seem to have forgotten my manners as of late. I’m hot blooded and – ”

“It suits you.”

Irulan shook her head. “I appreciate your gentleness.”

“I mean it. My lady, I always admired your fire. I feel grateful to be able to see more of it at present.”

“You’re too kind, Lady Fenring.”

“Please,” said the woman with an earnestness Irulan found almost believable. “Call me Margot.”

“Okay”

“Thank you.”

Irulan uncrossed her arm but then found she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “I apologize for my lack of manners. Today has been… disorienting.”

“Did you ever find your handmaidens?”

“No,” said Irulan, “But you knew I wouldn’t.”

“Yes,” said Margot through her lashes. “It wasn’t my place to say anything.”

“I thought we were done being coy,” groaned Irulan. “You must want something. Out with it.”

Margot smiled again. “I like this you better. You always seemed so repressed.”

Irulan narrowed her eyes. This woman was impossible.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t curious to talk to me. We have some things in common, you know. Besides the obvious.”

“Tell me.”

“Do you trust our Reverend Mother?”

“of course”

“I don’t.”

Now it was Irulan’s turn to scoff. “In what world do you think I’m going to agree with you and say, ‘Margot – after all these years of being insufferable, I’ve suddenly decided to risk it all for the chance to be your friend.’”

“You need more friends, my lady.”

“Who needs friends when you have planned family breeding,” muttered the Princess under her breath.

“I’ll tell you why, Irulan.” Margot paused with a smile as if to savor the taste of the name on her tongue. “She is playing us against each other as she always has.”

“Alright”

“Smug as you think I am, I am genuinely trying to help you. I assume she told you her plans are to breed our children. She told me something else entirely.”

“I see.”

“She told me what she told Jessica.”

“And you assume she hasn’t told me.”

“She told me what she was going to tell you. That she promised your son to Jessica’s growing abomination. And yet… she told Jessica she means to breed the abomination with Feyd to produce an heir.”

“You mean with our son.” Irulan’s voice came out flat.

“You heard me,” said Margot.

“I – none of that makes sense.”

“The abomination is to marry your son but to produce an heir with his father. The intended pairing after all this time: Feyd-Rautha and Lady Jessica’s daughter.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you have options. The original pairing between cousins would ensure an offspring with Harkonnen-dominant traits.”

“Cousins?”

“You didn’t know? I suppose you have been away.”

“I’m sorry. No. Weird morning,” muttered Irulan. She tried her best to imitate Margot’s arrogant tone. “I assume mean Paul Atreides.”

“Yes”

“Paul was Vladimir’s grandson.”

“Yes”

“I didn’t know the Baron had children. Until the day of Paul’s death.”

“I didn’t either,” said Margot, as if she’d seen it herself. “The point is that a union between two half-siblings would create a comparable genetic match to the original pairing.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you have options. Her Reverence has always had a soft spot for you. Do you really think she’d favor a traitor like Jessica over you?”

“I – I don’t know.”

“Don’t be modest, my lady. Really, this newfound confidence suits you. I am trying to forge a friendship with you. An honest one. I’ll be clear with you: it would suit me far better to be the mother of an Empress than a castaway on some distant planet with my impotent husband, stored out of sight as a spare for if you and Feyd-Rautha die before managing to reproduce. As Bene Gesserit, we plan for all outcomes. It isn’t personal. We both know it is our duty.” A look of mischief flared in Margot’s gaze. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t have the ability to push, within reason, for an outcome that is favorable to all.”

“What does Her Reverence think?”

“Do you even need to ask? She detests Lady Jessica. You know this to be true.”

“Did she tell you what to say to me?”

Margot smirked. “Would it change anything if she had?”

“I suppose not, said Irulan with a frown.

The woman took a step toward her, and Irulan could feel her heart begin to race. Margot clearly sensed it. Her eyes gleamed and a smile spread over her full lips. “I’ll tell you something else. In the spirit of friendship,” said Margot, taking another step toward her.

“Alright,” said the Princess. She would not take a step back, no matter how much Margot taunted her.

“It’s not anything she said, really. Call it… intuition.”

“Okay,” said Irulan.

“Why do you think she sent away your handmaidens?” prodded Margot. She took the flower she’d been holding and tucked it behind the Princess’s ear.

“So that they wouldn’t see you pregnant on Kaitain.”

“And why did she not send you with them?” They were face to face now. Irulan felt her cheeks flush. That smell of incense and syrup.

“To make sure that I saw you.”

“But why?” asked Margot. Her eyes were the color of the seas at storm.

“To send me back to Kaitain with a secret. To drive a wedge between me and whoever she fears I may be bonding with unsupervised.”

“And to think I was going to say to make it clear that she trusts you,” Margot whispered in her ear, making the Princess shiver, before she took a step back with a smirk. “But I have to admit, I admire the way you think these days. It may just keep you alive.”

Chapter Text

With Irulan’s handmaidens banished, there was no one to talk to. She had a bit of wine by herself, almost wishing Margot would join her, even if just to taunt her – anything to break up the monotony – for she was filled with nervous energy – their business was mostly done and there was nothing left to think about except for what she might find when she returned to Giedi Prime. The girls were alive – at least to her – and alive they’d remain – at least in her mind – until she found herself faced with evidence to the contrary. She shifted under her blankets and turned over to her other side. What would he do to them? What would he do to her? These thoughts kept her awake, and before she knew it she had thrown the covers off herself and walked barefoot into the hallway.

The lights were on. They were always on. She found herself craving the darkness of her husband’s corridors, which felt more like the twists and turns of her own mind – there was less distraction there, less clutter. And she could get lost in her own thoughts, the faint light of an occasional orb casting shadows like the moon, long and brooding. Electricity humming under the metal flooring. The air somehow alive.

It felt dead here. The colors felt abrasive, like an out of tune piano. She found herself squinting just to block it all out. It didn’t used to feel this way here.

Or did it?

Rather than tracing a familiar route, the Princess decided to explore the guest wing. Margot would have retired by now, so it was unlikely their paths would cross, but still, Irulan felt inexplicably pulled in that direction. Perhaps an unfamiliar hall would breathe some life back into her. The lights flickered as she moved through the corridor, glowing swathing the marble floors in warm orange  – it looked more like firelight than phosphorus. The scent of wine and incense pulled her toward an open door, and she could hear running water. Across the chamber lay an archway, and Irulan walked toward it.

And there she was.

Margot stood facing away from the princess facing a bath. Her long hair tumbled down her back – when had Irulan last seen it, seen her without the veil? “I wondered when you’d come,” said the woman in a soft voice, brushing her tresses over one shoulder, revealing her neck. “Can you help me with my clasp?”

Irulan swallowed and walked forward. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the fastening, and she could feel the heat radiating off of Margot’s skin. When she unhooked it, Margot didn’t move, and by instinct, Irulan spread the back of the gown off the ends of Margot’s shoulders, lingering with her own touch the way she’d once fantasized Vesryn would while undressing her. Margot let the gown fall and stepped out of it, and then walked around to the other side of the basin.

“Go ahead and look,” said Lady Fenring. “I know you want to.”

Instead of protesting, Irulan let her gaze trail over Margot’s form, over her breasts. They were even more perfect than Irulan had anticipated, with pale pink nipples that dotted each peak. The slight sag of them only added to her beauty. Irulan wanted to hold the flesh in her hands, to feel their obvious weight. Margot’s belly was flat but soft, her waist tapered. Even the patch of hair on her cleft looked appealing – the delicate curls looked as though they’d been sketched by an artist. The princess brought her eyes back to Margot’s face, and where she expected to find a smirk, she saw none.

“Will you join me,” said Margot, stepping into the water. It was a statement, not a question, so Irulan didn’t answer it. She pulled her dress over her head and moved toward the tub, which looked small to her after the bathing pools of Giedi Prime. At only two meters in diameter, it filled much faster, and Irulan knelt to turn off the faucet before stepping into the water. Why had she been so nervous before? There was no scorn in Margot’s eyes – in fact, they seemed to roam over the Princess’s own body with appreciation, if not hunger. Irulan stepped into the tub, across from Margot, and lowered herself into the steaming water. Margot held her gaze, and Irulan felt as if she were floating, rather than wading – like a moth to the flame.

And just like that, they stood before each other. Margot’s dark blue eyes gleamed in the candlelight. Irulan felt the other woman’s hands on her wrists, and she let Margot draw them upwards, placing them on her breasts. Irulan marveled at the feeling of the warm weight in her palms. She cupped the heavy softness, running her thumbs over the stiffened nipples, and Margot smiled at her.

This was nothing like bathing with her handmaidens, whose nakedness Irulan barely registered – whose breasts, though varying in size and shape reminded her of her own. Margot’s body, though in some ways familiar – felt as alien as Feyd’s. The smoothness of her skin, the soft heaviness of her flesh – it was as new to Irulan as the hardness of her husband’s.

And then, Margot’s lips were on hers. Irulan savored the gentleness of her kiss. The Princess’s hands came up to the other woman’s hair, and the feeling of it – of soft and fragrant hair to weave her fingers in was entirely new. It was different than kissing Feyd – which made her heart race and her stomach fold in on itself – no, kissing Margot felt like warmth. She felt safe in the other woman’s arms.

“Sit with me,” whispered Margot against her mouth – she tasted like jasmine tea – and gently pulled Irulan into the water so they sat against the ledge. Margot kissed her again, but it was quick. Once, twice more, she kissed Irulan as if to say, it’s time to stop kissing so we can talk, and Irulan smiled to herself. How different this felt than being with Feyd, with whom every transition felt potentially loaded. How easy it felt with Margot – to switch from kissing to not kissing. She closed her eyes as Margot reached under the water to lace their fingers together. “You’re going back tomorrow,” she murmured.

“Am I?”

“Yes,” said Margot. “It’s time.”

Irulan closed her eyes, enjoying the heat of the bath and the flickering of light behind her lids.

“Men are easy. Stroke their body, stroke their ego. There’s really not more to it.”

“I see.”

“Have an heir. Perhaps you’ll even enjoy yourself. Are you afraid?”

“No,” said the Princess, and she could her Margot’s smile in her voice.

“He won’t hurt you, Irulan. Not if you don’t let him.”

“How did you do it?” asked the Princess.

“Like this,” whispered Margot and lowered her lips to Irulan’s neck, making her twitch. “There is more to sex than you know. Let me teach you.”

“Margot”

The other woman captured her lower lip and ran her tongue over it.

“Margot, wait,” said Irulan, pulling away, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time now.”

“Oh?”

“It’s just… well. Perhaps this is a strange question. But what was it like? What was he like?”

“Like the rest of them,” purred Margot. “Resistant at first, but then soft. Yielding.”

“Like the rest of them,” repeated Irulan. “Like me?”

Margot frowned. “No, not like you, Princess. We’re in it together, you and I.”

“Are we?”

“There is more to sex than you know,” murmured Lady Fenring, moving to slide her fingers between Irulan’s thighs, “more to love than simply breeding.”

I Irulan gasped as Margot’s fingers found the spot they sought, and she felt overcome by the desire to put her hand between Margot’s own legs to see if she’d find slickness there, despite the water they sat in. She placed her own hand on Margot’s navel, as she sought to draw it lower, down Margot’s belly, down Margot’s flat belly. It wasn't meant to be flat - it was meant to be swollen with child - Irulan recoiled.

“What is it?”

“Margot, we can’t," said Irulan, feeling suddenly sick.

“Oh?” murmured Margot with a look of annoyance. “And why not?”

“Because I'm dreaming,” said the Irulan and forced her eyes open.

Chapter Text

Feyd,

My sister has recovered, and I will be returning to Giedi Prime, as promised. I know my departure was abrupt,

I've been drinking tonight. In fact, I've been drinking most nights. I've been drinking a bit too much to really care at this point so I'm going to be frank. I think I understand you. I really think I do. The whole thing with the tub - I think I have a thing with tubs myself now. And not because of you, oh no... I didn't understand it at first - why you seemed to recoil every time I 

It's just - you clearly have a thing with Bene Gesserit Sisters. You like me better the farther I stray from my teachings. 

I think I like myself better, too.

I know very little of your upbringing. Forgive me if I'm too bold, but I think we might have the potential to understand one another. Perhaps I might be of use to you at least. You said you want me to be honest. Here I am.

There's nothing left. Everything I thought I had was a lie

All I want is to talk frankly for once in my life. Without rules or the need to speak in code.

I'm being foolish.

We aren't friends, so I don't know why I'm writing to you. I've stopped using my transcriber. I used to think I wrote to preserve history, but I now realize that I wrote for glory. My own sort of

I don't know. I pictured people reading what I wrote someday and referring to me as

as a great historian instead of a

I've been drinking again. I don't know why I'm telling you this. I have no one else to talk to and

I do my best to be stoic, but I'm starting to think I wasn't born for it.

I can't even think about my handmaidens without crying. I know what you must have done to them - it's why I'm still here

I'm a coward.

Feyd,

I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly. The truth is, I thought you meant to kill me. I beg you to reflect on the time we spent together during the first weeks of our marriage and ask yourself why I may have felt that way. My sister was never sick, and I am sorry for leaving you. I have found myself missing the halls of Giedi Prime, and I wish to return. We have much to discuss. I know you may not trust me, and I understand why. I will do my best to explain the situation upon my arrival, but I am no longer safe here.

Baron Harkonnen,

I apologize for my long absence. My situation has changed, and I will be departing Kaitain for Giedi Prime tonight. You may expect me tomorrow morning. I humbly ask you to ensure the well-being of all my handmaidens for the remainder of my absence. In return, upon my arrival, I will dedicate myself to you completely - in whatever way you see fit.

Princess Irulan

Chapter Text

It was not a servant who showed up to fetch the Reverend Mother from the arena, but rather, the dressmaker. He carried an umbrella and waited until the old woman emerged from the large metal door. She gave him a grim smile that did not meet her eyes – but then again, it rarely did. Even as a boy, Vesryn knew better than to want any warmth from such a woman.

“This weather is atrocious,” muttered the Bene Gesserit, and the young man rushed to shield her. Despite the confidence he’d developed as he grew into adulthood, all languid grace dissolved in her presence – as it always seemed to.

“Your Reverence,” said the dressmaker, “I am glad you made the journey safely.”

“Enough with the pleasantries, boy. Let us set off.”

And so they did, taking the long way back to the palace. Thunder clapped around them, and the smell of it hung in the air. Although Vesryn very much doubted they were being spied on, the downpour drowned out any potential eavesdroppers – human or machine. She had planned her visit well.

" You’ve done nice work,” she finally said. “Irulan seems different – and not just in appearance.”

“Thank you, Your Reverence,” said the dressmaker, using his free hand to draw his coat more tightly around him.

“It suits her. If your mother were alive, she would have been proud.”

  Vesryn said nothing. Probing questions only made the crone snap at him. He had learned over time that it was better to draw her out through silence.

“Despite our sisterhood, we’ve been known to show a weakness for our sons.”

“Are you referring to Paul Atredies?” asked Vesryn. “Lady Jessica’s boy? I can assure you, my mother never took me on as a pupil.”

“But she taught you some things,” said the old woman, and Vesryn could hear the smile on her lips. “It’s alright, boy. You’re not in trouble.” Vesryn said nothing, and the Reverend Mother scoffed. “After all this time, you still don’t trust me – despite me trusting you with my very best pupil.”

“I saw her fight in the arena, Your Reverence. She is not your very best – that was evidently clear.”

  At this, the old woman let out a laugh. “I have missed you, Vesryn.”

“Yes,” he replied simply – for he wasn’t quite sure if he’d missed the Reverend Mother, and unlike everyone else he knew, she was perceptive enough to notice honeyed words – it was better not to try them.

“How are they getting on?”

“He’s only tried to kill her twice,” replied Vesryn. “I think he’s quite taken with her.”

“Who would have thought,” mused the Reverend Mother.

“There is more to her than meets the eye,” said Vesryn, before wishing that he hadn’t. It was now too late so he continued, “she has a storm within her.”

“Yes,” said the Reverend Mother, “an immaturity she has yet to outgrow.”

  Vesryn said nothing.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for her as well.”

“Of course not,” said the dressmaker, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Her story is inspiring – her survival. It’s given me a lot to work with.”

“A muse for an artist,” said the old woman with a chuckle. “As long as you don’t forget your assignment.”

“Of course not.”

"What’s good for the two of us is also what’s good for her - help her continue to sway the Baron in our favor. I worry for her. He seems to have had as much of an effect on her as she has on him. Do whatever it takes to keep her in line.” She didn’t need to look at him for him to know she knew how he felt about the Princess.

Plans upon plans upon plans. This is how the Bene Gesserit worked, and they had installed him on Giedi Prime five years before Irulan’s marriage to Feyd-Rautha. It was a matter of contingency. Any later, and he’d be subject to scrutiny along with the outsider from Kaitain, but he had managed over the years to keep his head down and gain, if not trust, at least the status of someone to be ignored.

It was the Feyd-Rautha himself who asked Vesryn to emerge from the shadows, giving him access to Irulan’s writings which he had taken from her heighliner on the day of her arrival. “She will want these back,” the young Baron said (it was the first time they’d spoken in over two years) after entering his workshop unannounced. “I’ll take them from you tomorrow evening.” He said nothing else, but he didn’t need to - Vesryn understood his new assignment: to befriend the young woman, whom Feyd-Rautha clearly recognized, was too smart to let her tongue slip around her own subordinates. To use her innermost thoughts as blueprints for the deceit. This was how he began his unofficial new role as ambassador between the Baron and his new bride. More importantly, Feyd-Rautha’s approval gave Vesryn the ability to act more boldly than he’d previously dared with regards to his deadlier assignment.

As instructed, Vesryn began to read, and as he did, he discovered - quite unexpectedly - something he wished to keep for himself: a muse. Here was a woman who not only understood the importance of story, but her own nature as a character in history. Though she was clearly self-conscious of her “self-indulgent” comparisons, Vesryn agreed that the Maiden of Harmonthep was an apt metaphor for the Princess’s marriage to Feyd-Rautha and subsequent relocation to Giedi Prime. He began to work with passion he’d not had since his teenaged years – no longer simply an agent of the Bene Gesserit or even of the Baron. He saw in the Princess a kindred spirit. They were the same – the way they saw the strings that pulled at their own limbs and the limbs of those around them. His designs became the language he used to express how he saw her. He knew it was infatuation, and yet, as Feyd-Rautha had correctly observed, Vesryn was a smart man. The dressmaker knew not only how to pull at the strings of others but at his own – fanning the flames of his longing as a source of creative fuel. At times he no longer knew which master he served, and he hoped deep down that he was diplomatic enough to sway both his patrons to agree to the same cause.

Deeper down though, still, he knew that this was wishful thinking. Feyd-Rautha was too smart to become a willing pawn in the Bene Gesserit game, and Irulan, too, seemed to be swaying from the path. The time was coming for him to make a choice. Though the Reverend Mother was too sly to speak to it, the truth hung in the air like sulphur. Be responsible, she seemed to say without speaking, for the wrong choice will spell the death of the girl who has your heart.