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The door opened with a sharp tug, heavy footsteps invaded the calmness of the huge chamber. The servants hurried to help Maekar to take his cloak, the gloves and the doublet and disappeared after being discharged. He could feel your soft presence not far away as he poured a cup of wine. Your eyes lingered on his troubled figure.

He took a sip as he rested a hand on his hip. “Is the view of your enjoyment?” His attempt to use a light-hearted tone failed, revealing his restlessness.

“Very much.”

“You shouldn’t stay on the garderobe* threshold, then. Tempting me with your lascivious clothing.” He waved toward you.

“You say it as if it’s something bad.” You chuckled as you approached.

“It is not.” He admitted with a softer tone, leaving the cup and caressing your shoulders and your upper arms. One of his hands stopped around your throat, gently gripping your flesh as a more needy kiss invaded your mouth.

“Rough day?”

“To say the least.” He took another sip of wine as you murmured, then proceeded to loosen his chemise. “Those fucking Lords. They’re a bunch of assholes.”

“Ah, it was today.”

“The fucking Blackwater has dared to ask Daella’s hand.”

“Daella?” You frowned as you took the cloth off him. “She’s still too young.”

“That's what I pointed out to him but he seems persuaded in waiting for her to be a woman.” He raised an eyebrow to show his disapproval.

“He will be too old for her then.”

“Exactly.”

You shook your head in disappointment as you stole his cup for a sip. “Don’t trouble yourself too much, husband. We both know this marriage will never happen. Now…” Your silky robe slipped down from your shoulders and touched the floor with a gentle rustle. “I prepared something for you.”

His eyes widened as he took a full view of your naked curves. A half smirk broke his usual surly face. “This is something indeed.” He didn’t hesitate to take a deep fondling of your breasts as a more passionate kiss warmed the atmosphere.

“Behave for me, husband.” You asked softly against his lips. “The night is long, and I’ll be yours before the dawn. Promise.”

“The dawn is too far. Let me have you now.”

“Not yet.” You unleashed his breeches and knelt to help him out of his boots. You kissed him again, then, unable to connect your intention with your movements.

He did a second attempt to make you his, assaulting your neck with hunger and moving his hands on your buttocks. “Wife…” He breathed into your ear, desperate, almost begging. “Let me have you. Whatever you prepared for me can wait.”

“No…It can’t.” You slightly moaned as his hardness pulsed against your body. With an enormous effort, you pulled off him. “Please…”

“Very well.” He said with a not-so-convincing face. “Let’s see what is worth waiting for.”

Taking his hand, you led the way to the stone niche where the copper bathtub had been filled with hot water, flower oil and oat milk. Many candles had been lit up all around. A plate of fresh fruit and two cups with a jug of fine wine completed the framework.

“This is fit for a luxury brothel.”

“Maekar!”

“What?” He asked as he sank in the tub.

“You’re not gentle. I worked with the servants all day to make this happen!”

“It was a compliment.”

“Comparing my love niche to a brothel, implying that I’m a courtesan!” You kept lamenting as you sank in the water with him.

“My favourite one.”

“Maekar!”

He giggled as he captured you into his embrace, pulling you against his chest and between his spread legs. He closed his eyes and let out a noisy sigh as he relaxed completely. “This is perfect, my dear wife. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome… I guess.”

Maekar smirked again at your annoyed tone. “What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need an occasion to spoil my prince?”

He groaned with satisfaction. “There’s only one thing better than this,” he said as his hands landed again on your breasts, lazily fondling them with caring manners. “But we will do it later, so this is excellent enough.”

“It’s not over yet.” You moved to the other side of the bathtub, under his protesting laments. “Hush, husband, and come here.”

“I hope it's better than it already is.”

You welcomed him into your arms as you became the big spoon. “Lower yourself, please.”

“As you command.” He slightly slipped down so his head comfortably rested on your chest. “Now it’s better.”

The gentle trickle of warm water that you poured on his head was so good he couldn’t resist making funny noises, and it was even funnier when you sank your fingertips into his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

“By the Seven, woman. You are no courtesan but a witch.” He groaned like a caveman.

“Every time my anvil surrenders to me, a fire lit up inside me.”

“Tell me more. I’m your humble servant.” He rested his arms on the edge of the bathtub and closed his eyes, forgetting everything else.

“My heart pounds wildly when my body gives you pleasure, when you have no eyes but for me, when your hands worship my intimacy.”

“Keep on this way, and I can’t guarantee my manners.” He admitted with a lower voice.

“Behave for me.” You whispered in a way that sent a shiver down his body. The relaxing moment mixed with the sensual tease melted his brain.

“You should behave, woman.” He tried to scold you, but his rough tone faltered into a low groan as you changed the massage intensity.

Your smirk approached his ear. “I spend my day with a blooming sensation in my core at the idea of your lips on me.”

“Enough.” He freed himself from your spell, turning to face you and kissing you vehemently. A happy squeak came from you along with a joking giggle.

“I'll make sure no one comes to disturb us morrow.”

The carriage stopped abruptly, men shouting and sneering mere meters away from you. You took a quick peek through fine curtains and sighed, staring at the blue and white striped banner adorned with red martlets.

“Aymer de Valence, 2nd Earl of Pembroke.”

“The beast?” 

A terrified whimper escaped your companion's lips, but the door opened with a thud, startling you both.

“Out, both of you!”

You met Aymer once, and although you were not introduced, you knew what he looked like, and the man playing nice and holding out his hand for you was decidedly not him. You hovered your hand in the air, your eyes settling on a huge man sitting on a horse that was seemingly too small for him. You cocked your head before setting it straight again, a small, polite, learned smile gracing your face.

In three long steps, Aymer de Valence and his irritating smirk were offering you his hand. He pulled his chainmaille hood off, showing a new, ill-healed scar across his bald head.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” your hand was small, nestled inside his, his long, strong fingers elegantly wrapping around yours as he guided you a little further away. “Has the Lord Edward’s castle fallen?”

You looked up, flashing another polite smile, looking again at those piercing blue eyes. 

“No, my Lady.”

You glanced at those sharp, crooked teeth when he spoke, strangely captivated by them. He was still holding your hand, breaking all rules of propriety. Yet Aymer de Valence was known for such acts, his ruthless, brutal nature caring little for the laws of men or God. His dressing up as just another soldier amongst many, trying to trick you for what seemed nothing but his own amusement, was the most tame of the examples.

“We are attempting… A negotiation.”

A giggle escaped you, a warm and earnest reaction at Aymer calling this kidnapping a mere negotiation. He frowned and clenched his jaw, but you couldn’t help yourself, your fingers tightening around the edges of his gloved palm. 

“Where are you taking us, Your Grace?” you finally managed to gain some composure, your pretty doe eyes still scanning his fuming face.

“Pembroke Castle,” he spat out, swallowing hard. It took him by surprise that you sniffed out his little rouse so quickly, and then effectively disarmed him with your pretty smile and politeness, treating him like you would any other nobleman.

He remembered you from that tourney, always giggling and wide-eyed, knights swarming you for your favour. 

You gave three, two of them to your cousins, and one to a handsome young knight; Aymer didn’t even think to ask, but unhorsed the knight in the first joust. He’d often remember how, while all the ladies around you were gasping and covering their mouths, you were serious, calmly looking at Aymer executing his beloved horse.

**

It’s been a whole moon since Aymer took you hostage, and the negotiations have stalled quickly after that. Your lady was ransomed, not having much use for her, and would now send you letters, hoping that you too would soon be safe away from the monster’s grasp.

You didn’t mind terribly, however. You were fed, entertained, and left alone, well, mostly. Aymer was growing bored, it seemed, and would barely leave you alone, demanding your presence at every meal, even going so far as to bring you to hunts. 

You had a free rein of the castle, as much as propriety allowed, and would spend most of your days among the books in the solar or embroidering. Aymer even generously procured some special threads for you when you asked, adding a couple more spools in different colours and even fine linen fabrics to serve as your canvas.

Your father decided to keep calling Aymer’s bluff, to your growing irritation. At first, you were fearful, not knowing what Aymer would do with you, and you were saddened by the realisation of how little you meant to your father, your family.

“No harm shall find you while you’re under my protection,” Aymer awkwardly told you, finding you distraught in the solar. He sounded… Irritated, almost offended by your tears. 

“I never thought it would,” you wiped your tears and fixed your hair, trying to come to terms with your father’s harsh words. “These tears are not for you,” you added quietly, swallowing another sob.

Aymer nodded, relieved and angered at the same time. He had no idea where this need to walk to you and wipe your tears himself was coming from, to embrace you and hold your face in his hands. So he left it at that, letting you grieve in solitude.

As far as Aymer was concerned, your father was a moron. Caring so little as not trying to get you back, but at the same time not marrying you off, was one of the most idiotic decisions Aymer has seen. And not that you weren’t agreeable, far from it: kind, pious, and pretty. 

Pretty enough that now, during the evening sparring session, he was losing focus, his eyes constantly trailing to you, sitting on a bench with a book in your lap. You didn’t pay any attention to it, your eyes glued to wherever Aymer would swing his sword. It became a common occurrence over the past few weeks, where you pretended that you would read just as he was in the yard, and Aymer pretended he wasn’t nervous when you’d be late to those sessions.

Swing after swing, he was trying to show off his strength and precision, even if he would never admit it, going so far to fight multiple opponents, leveraging his prowess and frame to impress you, catch that tiny moment when you would be smiling at him, your eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, before you’d quickly look into your book, trying to act as if you’ve never noticed him.

And then it happened; Aymer himself couldn’t say how, but he was struck on his sword-wielding hand, a nasty cut spreading from between his thumb and forefinger, all the way to his wrist. He cursed himself for not wearing gloves. As blood was dripping from his hand, he caught you in the corner of his eye, standing up and hastily making way towards him.

Everyone around him was frozen in fear but you, calmly demanding to see the wound. 

“Curse you, woman,” he spat out, pulling his hand away and immediately regretting it.

“Let me see, my Lord,” you repeated in an even softer tone, your fingers already reaching towards the bloody mess of his hand, ignoring the frown on his face.

Aymer thought of you as kind, a little timid, a little naive, but suddenly realised you were the only person treating him like he was nothing but a man. There was no fear in your eyes, no hesitation, your fingers gently, softly touching the back of his palm. He was taken aback, unable to say anything, unable to think. 

It’s been years since such kindness was extended to him, and despite craving it, now faced with it, Aymer didn’t know what to do, except stare at your face.

He was still thinking about it, lying awake in his chambers hours later. Your fingers, sullied in his blood, slowly sliding over his skin, patiently exploring, following the line of the cut, assessing for depth, asking him to move his fingers, massaging gently.

“I’m sure you suffered much worse, my Lord,” you said, flashing a faint smile and pressing your handkerchief to the wound, soaking it completely in crimson, watching his face relax.

Aymer already ordered his servants to clean that handkerchief to a pristine state, despite doubting that it was possible. He should at least get you more threads, more fabric, in case you wanted to make another. Perhaps a bracelet, to apologise. He quickly shook off the last thought, a weird feeling of hollowness spreading through his chest.

Then, he heard three quick, mousy knocks on the door, and in a blink of an eye, without waiting for an invitation, you simply opened the door, with two servants in tow; Aymer was too stunned to speak, watching you walk in, carrying clean rags and ointments, servants carrying hot water.

“Thank you,” you turned to the servants, watching them squirm uncomfortably.

“My Lady?” one of them asked, avoiding looking at Aymer.

Still, you dismissed them before turning to him; he was sitting on the edge of the bed, without his sleep shirt. Actually, you were not sure if he was wearing anything, a heavy quilt covering his lap. With all of his muscles on display and the idea of him being naked, you couldn’t stop the flush to your face, but you pretended it was the fire burning in the hearth. 

You thought him strong and handsome, especially now, warm flames dancing across his handsome features, somehow making his eyes even bluer. The skin of his torso and his arms was taut, scarred, and a little paler compared to his tanned face, and you tried so hard to control your breathing.

“May I see?” 

Removing the soaked rags from his hand, you slowly washed the crusted blood around his wound before gently applying a healing ointment, a faint scent of chamomile filling the chambers.

“Are you not afraid of rumours?” Aymer tried to get a read on you so badly. He wanted to desperately know the true nature of your feelings towards him, almost like he would be able to read your mind. He closely observed your face for any tell he might have missed, for any indication that his own feelings were making him delusional. 

“Rumours, my Lord?” you were still spreading the salve, your fingertips almost ghosting over his imperfect skin.

“You are alone in an Earl’s chambers.”

And there it was again, that wholehearted giggle that you couldn’t suppress, your fingers resting lightly against Aymer’s forearm. His whole body stiffened, his brows furrowing, jaw protruding. He loved your laugh, but never when it was so agonisingly pointed at him. It wasn’t anger spreading through him, it was pain - not that he was adept at handling either of those, a red flush rapidly creeping up his neck as he clicked his teeth together, almost literally biting his tongue to not snap at you. 

“I’ve been your hostage for weeks, my Lord. Do you truly believe rumours are not already abundant? Probably why my father doesn’t want me back, his daughter’s honour ruined by the beast,” you continued, trying to catch your breath, your laugh turning into a wide, warm smile that had Aymer’s heart beating a smidge faster.

“Why didn’t your father marry you off?” mellowed under your smile, and focusing on the way your fingers were rubbing into his palm, he cautiously probed, now fearing you might have been betrothed after all.

“When he sent me away, I asked him the same. I was actually convinced he would do so, for an alliance; it was only sensible. But instead, he remained stubborn, and I am now here. Alone in an Earl’s chambers,” you teased him, flashing another warm smile his way, but quickly looking away. You truly didn’t want him to know the depth of your growing feelings, as you still didn’t trust him completely. Somewhere deep there was fear after all, fear that he would hurt you, ridicule you.

“Who did you have in mind?” Aymer’s voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, his other hand gripping around the quilt so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Who did I think I should marry, or who did I want?” you were careful to make a distinction, because you truly had two different men in mind, not that your father wanted to hear about either.

“Who did you want?” his voice falling all the way to a throaty whisper, Aymer was trying to hide a tremble in himself. He was bracing for disappointment and more pain - there were so many young and charming Lords, much more suited for a beautiful, young Lady such as yourself. You wouldn’t look twice his way, he told himself, if he hadn’t stolen you from the world.

“I’ve heard that the Earl of Pembroke is rather handsome.”

Aymer’s whole body went rigid so fast he forgot to breathe. You stilled as well, observing his reaction, wondering if you were too direct, too unladylike. 

You were toying with him, he was certain of it. Ridiculing and mocking him, the same as you saw through his rouse when he stopped your carriage, you already saw through him and his hopeless weakness for you.

“Do not tease me, harlot!”

He jerked his hand away, jumping out of the bed with such force that you fell to the floor. His short, tight braies showed off his muscular legs that made your mouth water.

“Why would I do such a thing?” you tried to reason with him in the softest, silkiest voice your throat would produce. “And he’s strong, I watched him unhorse man after man at a tourney. Although not sure what to make of his predilection for kidnapping young Ladies.”

Aymer wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t even turn from the table to look at you, chugging goblet after goblet, small drops of wine trickling down his chin. You waited, your heart beating hard, before you finally had to admit defeat, to your utter embarrassment.

“Good night, my Lord.”

“Aymer,” he growled through his teeth.

“What? I couldn’t possibly…” it took you a moment to understand what he meant at first.

“You are in my bedchambers! You’ll address me in any way I like!” he threw the goblet across the room, just above the hearth, where it echoed against the stone wall.

“Yes, my Lord. Aymer. Good night.”

**

You couldn’t wait for your wedding day to end. There were so many people present at the ceremony and even more at the feast, including the king. Joyous celebration for everyone except your family, who looked like they were attending a funeral. You were nervous, so much so that even Aymer noticed, pushing for the pro forma bedding ceremony earlier in the evening, trying to be alone with you.

“You look sour,” he commented, getting up from the bed.

“I couldn’t wait for the day to be over.”

“Married to me for less than a day, and already sick of my presence?”

“Aymer,” you followed your brooding husband out of bed. “I’ve been so excited I haven’t slept for days. And then I started to think of all the ways this could go wrong, what my father had planned, if he had planned…” your thoughts trailed off as you grabbed Aymer’s hand, gently pressing kisses against the scar.

Standing on your toes, you craned your neck as much as you could, but Aymer stood unwavering. You peppered his jaw with kisses, your hands sliding over his chest and under his shirt. You could hear your breath stuttering, and feel flush spread through your cheeks, and heat through your maidenhood.

“I couldn’t wait for the day to be over, because I couldn’t wait to be your wife,” you whispered against Aymer’s skin, pressing harder into his body.

He finally relented, dipping his head to claim you in a feverish kiss, his huge hands settling over your waist. 

“I love you,” he muttered, his cheeks reddening, before gently picking you up and laying you down on the bed. “I love you,” he repeated as he settled over you, his lips gently falling into the crook of your neck.

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“Go now, learn of the concerns of the House; draw closer to them if you must” his command was clear; everyone had received orders - a carefully constructed plan of visits and excursions to unite the remaining Houses and planets, so as not to provoke war and chaos.

“As you wish, my Emperor” her words were quieter, yet audible, as she bowed and made her way out of the palace; the shadows of the clouds outside seemed to slowly cover the lights, obscuring her House’s emblem – as if it were a harbinger of the dark planet she was heading for.

She had no say in the matter; a house, not a great one, yet even for the treacherous Harkonnens, enough to be accepted.

As the shuttle moved silently through space, dark, star-forgotten planets and asteroids whizzed by, long forgotten as she gazed through the glass at the dark, lifeless-looking planet.

“Despite everything, they are proud, my child; do not provoke their bloodlust” the calm voice of her Bene Gesserit reminded her of her task; she had learnt enough during her training to know how treacherous the old House was.

All of them beasts she thought to herself as she rose from her seat during the landing approach; the ship jolted dully as it touched down before the stern opened and she took her first steps out.

Gidie Prime was no place for the faint-hearted, a planet of metal, pipes and darkness - white and black—that destroyed everything that did not submit.

“Baron Harkonnen, it is an honour to know you and your House as my opportunity allows; the Emperor sends you his thanks” she said to the giant, fat man, the faint hum of his machines making him float like a second heartbeat as his fat, ringed hand brushed hers.

He was cold, seemed almost dead.

“Only the best in return, my dear. Welcome to my planet. I have taken the liberty of arranging a feast” he replied, a broad smile spreading across his face as she walked beside him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the darkness of the supposed city—or what remained of it.

The interior was dark, with high, greyish stone corridors in which their footsteps echoed, whilst the Baron floated along before the large, dark doors to her right opened and she caught sight of the dining hall.

“Your noble taste sets you apart, Baron” she could not resist remarking as all manner of food stood arranged on plates and platters upon the dark table.

The wealth was considerable, especially since the takeover of Dune.

“I enjoy the finer things…you could do the same, with my nephews Rabban and Feyd” his hand gestured broadly as he took his seat at the head of the table and she saw the other two figures.

Figures she could easily distinguish: one tall, muscular, strong; the other thinner, nimble, and ghastly.

The brothers were, after all, the best and worst of the house.

“The Emperor sends only you, he must be desperate, or at the end of his tether” the younger one remarked, his grin mocking as black teeth flashed before he sat down.

Rabban, on the other hand, turned his gaze towards her; it almost seemed as though he himself did not want to sit next to his brother.

“Good to have you here” he muttered, and she gave him a nod; the family she had been told about was truly a picture of chaos.

Whilst the Baron stuffed everything into his mouth and Feyd used his dagger to cut up the food again and again, Rabban looked awkward with the cutlery, which seemed far too small in his massive hands.

He must be more skilful with a sword she thought to herself as the meal dragged on, for the host’s hunger seemed unquenched and Feyd’s dark gaze boded ill.

It was only when she had finished her second glass and her lack of food had apparently changed the elder’s mind that he said, “Show her to her room; our guest must feel at home” the order came as he chewed the piece of meat dripping with fat and gestured towards the door.

Feyd rose nimbly and walked casually towards the door; Rabban waited a moment for her and opened the door somewhat hesitantly as she thanked him.

Walking between the brothers once more highlighted the difference between the two; it was almost hard to believe they were brothers.

“The lady should get to know our arena, exciting fights” Feyd suggested, even though it sounded more like a plan she couldn’t wriggle out of.

“A tour would do just as well, brother” Rabban replied from her left, though his gaze remained fixed straight ahead, not even acknowledging the younger man’s malicious look.

She had to look up slightly; the man was nearly two metres tall – truly a beast.

But was he really that, or was he still the most innocent among the Harkonnens?

She would find out soon enough.

··········

The suggestion had turned into a plan, a festival that summoned selected troops and guests to the bright arena the following day.

Barabrian Festival, she had read; a deadly lie, and yet it proved the strength of Feyd, who was the champion and a much-loved fighter.

“Your nephew knows how to entertain, I take it?” she asked from the upper box, seated slightly behind the baron, who had the best seat.

The black silk robe glistened slightly in the white sunlight as he looked at her; smoke escaped from the pipe between his lips, and there was amusement in his gaze.

“A trained animal always knows how to amuse” the words sent a shiver of unease through her body; could Harkonnens even feel anything other than hatred and lust?

Glancing over, Rabban sat on the other side next to her; he looked tense.

“You must fight just as well” she said to him, an attempt at conversation that always seemed to fizzle out, no matter who she tried to talk to.

The pale man looked at her, appearing surprised as his hand lightly brushed over his dark clothing.

“Powerful, assertive, rough-hewn, that’s probably more accurate” the words made him seem small; not a beast, but rather a shield which, as it slowly dawned on her, was used only for orders—was that the price of humanity here?

Cheers and clapping as she watched the events unfold down in the arena; Feyd was being celebrated, his daggers visible through the binoculars she kept holding up to her eyes every now and then.

Sharp, pointed blades that had been slicing through slaves and prisoners of war for minutes; he was practically playing with them.

He’s more of a torturer than a fighter she thought to herself as the drugged victim stood no chance; the charade being played out here was base and repulsive.

With every further death, the white sandy ground below was stained with reddish and black blood. Screams and shouts grew louder and louder; it resembled a small battlefield – yet everyone was amused.

The amusement reached a fever pitch as Feyd turned towards the stands; the dagger glinted in the sun as it seemed he was about to bow.

Instead, he swung with such precision that her cry caught in her throat as the dagger whizzed through the air, heading straight for her.

Rooted to the spot, her arms outstretched, there was a hiss, a dull thud, and the metal of the dagger clattered to the ground.

Her eyes flew open; it was Rabban who had lashed out with his whip and intercepted the weapon at the last moment.

“Are you all right?” he asked, breaking the silence of her racing heart as she looked at him, finally rising from her seat as Rabban gently took her by the arm.

“Yes-Yes, it didn’t reach me, thanks to you” she said, slowly pulling away from him as the mood in the arena shifted with a command from the Baron for Rabban to take her to her chambers.

The scene played over and over in her head: what if he had reached her? Rabban’s gaze kept returning to her, as if to make sure she was truly all right.

“You… you’re not coarse; you’re better than your brother” she managed to say; her voice echoed in the corridor as they arrived at her chamber.

His face showed bewilderment; it was clear that praise seemed foreign to him. Before he could pull away, she took his hand—rough, warm, truly human.

“Thank you, really” Rabban replied, and suddenly placed such a gentle kiss on the back of her hand that she felt the title ‘Beast’ truly did not suit him, as he gently withdrew from her.

As his footsteps faded in the corridor, it seemed as though she had found her match in the House of Harkonnen.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

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