#sihaya

Paul stepped over the lip of an entryway leading into a bedchamber lit by the half-light of a single suspensor lamp, having already bathed and dressed for sleeping. He found Irulan standing by a window, looking out into the city beyond the walls of the Governor’s Palace. She was dressed in a shift of sheer silk the color of deep blue and vibrant green, the shades he loved best on her. And it was all that was needed to make a welcomed flash of heat creep deep into his belly. 

“You look ravishing tonight, my lady,” he called softly and crossed to her. 

Irulan flushed and turned to face him. “My Lord Emperor,” she said, dipping her knees in a deep curtsy. “Husband. How was your journey to Sietch Tabr? Is the Reverend Mother Jessica well?”   

“The journey was tiresome, but it was good to be among those I claimed as friends,” Paul said, studying her in the way his mother taught him—in the intricacies of hidden observation only those given the deepest Bene Gesserit training knew. Irulan was certain of her place now; it was visible in the untroubled way she carried herself. “My mother is well also,” he added, “and she asks that I bring you when I call on her next.” He paused for a moment. “I know my mother has not truly embraced you. But she wishes to change that. She wishes to teach you all that she knows and further the knowledge you received from your Bene Gesserit tutors. She wishes to make you a proper Sayyadina and a true Bene Gesserit adept. Say yes. It would honor us both if you did.”

Irulan was silent. She recalled a thing her mother-by-marriage stated to Chani after Paul slew Feyd-Rautha, and he offered to take her, the Princess Royal at the time, for a wife: "See that princess standing there, so haughty and confident. They say she has pretensions of a literary nature. Let us hope she has solace in such things; she will have little else. Think about this, Chani. That princess will have a name, and yet she will receive less than a concubine, she will never know a moment of affection from the man to whom she is bound. While we, Chani, we who bear the title of concubine... history will call us wives." 

Much had changed since that fateful day now five years past. Chani refused to bow to Paul and left for another sietch, unwilling to share him with another even if it was only in name, and believing the prophecy of the Lisan al Ghaib was a fabrication, an elaborate lie devised to manipulate the Fremen. She had seen the truth within the cunning influence of the Missionaria Protectiva, but her leaving wounded Paul in a way no word could describe, and it had fallen onto Irulan to lead Paul out of the darkness Chani’s absence had left him in. Her willingness to put aside her own pride and tend to him despite his cold indifference toward her paid dividends, and in time, Paul began turning to her for companionship and counsel. Now, instead of Chani receiving what was her due as the beloved companion of Paul-Muad'Dib, it was Irulan who received it from him, his ear and his affection and his body all. Nevertheless, the sting of the words uttered by her mother-by-marriage still lingered, and Irulan was uncertain if Jessica had indeed altered her opinion of her. Many knew how much she had come to love and accept Chani, and that love had not changed, not even after Chani severed the bonds she shared with Paul and left. 

“We shall see,” she murmured, her pride stiffening her voice. When Paul caressed her cheek, she looked up at him and found a sense of pleading in his eyes. She sighed and softened her stance. If Jessica was sincere in her offer to embrace her and teach her, then she will try to meet her halfway for her husband’s sake. And, she admitted to herself, she wished to further her skills without having to sacrifice her sense of self, like she would have had to have done had she furthered her training with the Bene Gesserit. “In another month,” she promised. “We shall go in another month, and I will consider her offer to teach me.” 

“Thank you.” Paul led her to the foot of the bed. He sat on the edge and placed his other hand upon her belly, awash with a sense of love over the unborn son who was not yet three months old. “How is he?” 

“He is strong,” Irulan said, “and he will grow stronger still.” She rested her hand over his own, and gave it a tender squeeze. “But that is to be expected. He is the son of Paul-Muad'Dib after all.” 

A smile graced Paul’s lips. “He is your son also,” he said. “Have you considered a name?” 

“Paul, perhaps. After his father,” Irulan said, moving to sit astride her husband. It was a thing that started to come naturally to her, little by little, as her marriage turned from one born out of political convenience into one of something more profound. “Or Leto, after the beloved father of his father.”

“Leto would suit, I think,” Paul replied, brushing the tips of his fingers over the gown his wife had chosen to wear. It was soft, almost as soft as the woman who wore it. “Leto II Atreides, the shining heir of the new Padishah Emperor.” He dipped his head to nuzzle at the crook of her neck. The sigh he heard was all the encouragement he needed to continue. “Does that please you, Sihaya?” 

Irulan trembled. Sihaya was the desert sprintime, and it was a word that held deep meaning. It was not an endearment that was uttered lightly, and it was certainly not conferred upon a lover whose presence was deemed fleeting or meaningless. Paul addressing her thus, especially when they were in the presence of others, was no small thing. It meant her position by his side could never be questioned, and the bond that had grown between them could not be loosened by anyone. 

“It pleases me greatly, beloved,” she said, circling her arms around his shoulders. Then she gasped. Paul had run the flat of his tongue up her throat and gently nipped at the soft flesh. It sent an intoxicating shiver up her back. “You are hungry tonight. How may I best sate you?” 

“However you desire,” Paul husked, sliding his hands around her waist and bringing her even closer. He was already so hard it almost hurt. “I yearn for your warmth, my love. Please, let me have a taste of it.” 

“You shall have more than a taste, beloved.” Irulan drew back, pulled off her shift, and discarded it without ceremony. Then, without wasting another precious moment, she framed her husband’s face with her hands and kissed him deeply. 

Paul moaned, his fingers digging into his wife’s skin, as desire and need coursed through him without hindrance. He had seen this very moment in one of the many futures that appeared within his waking visions, but he had not considered such a thing possible. He had not thought Chani would leave him. Yet, leave him she did, and all paths that led to her were now nothing more than darkness and shadows. Paul did not have to be told what it all meant. Chani was not returning to him, and even if she did, all she she could hope for was a place at his table and at his council, nothing more. 

This is how it is going to be, he told himself. Then he found himself being brought to the here and now by the feeling of deft but impatient hands gliding down his torso to untie the drawstring of his leggings. 

“It appears that I am not the only one who needs to be sated,” Paul teased when he was finally able to speak. He pushed what little thought he had left of Chani into the past, where it belonged. Irulan was what mattered now, and Irulan was all that was going to matter; he saw it as clearly as day. “Who knew a princess as proper as yourself could be so wanton.”  

Irulan laughed softly. She freed his erection from the confines of his garment and guided him inside of her. “Even a princess has desires of the flesh, just like any other woman. Does this displease you?” 

“Far from it,” Paul returned, shuddering when Irulan sheathed him within the heat of her body. “Yes, my love,” he crooned into her ear when she undulated her hips and ground rhythmically against him. “There. Just like that.” 

Their coupling soon turned into one of wild passion, but it was no less wondrous than all of the other nights they had come together. Paul kissed his wife, delighting in the sweetness he found clinging to her lips, and he drank in the subtle scent of spice that clung to her body and her hair. He held her tighter and tigher, urging her to yield to her own desires, and then he himself yielded to the wildness within him as she rode them both closer and closer to the edge.

Do not stop now, he wanted to say. Please do not stop. Irulan did not stop. She opened her eyes, and found Paul’s fixed on hers. There was love there, burning bright within the eyes that were the deepest shades of blue-within-blue. There was tenderness also, and want, and a longing that only ever appeared whenever he was with her. Irulan savored it all, just as she savored the pleasure that kept building and building until it crested and crashed and her whole body shook as her orgasm ripped through her. She fell against the one who held her, shaking from the aftershocks that followed her release, while he continued until he came, and emptied himself of his seed. 

A moment passed as they stayed that way, uncaring of the world outside their chambers, and locked in each other’s embrace. Then another moment passed, and another, while the sound of their ragged breathing filled the still air. Paul was the first to stir. He brushed back the stray locks of Irulan’s hair, so he could see her better. 

“Sihaya,” he whispered. “Return to me.” 

Irulan took a deep breath, then another. “I am here, beloved,” she said. “Are you sated now?” 

“I am. And you?” 

“I am also.” 

“That is good then.” Paul stood, carrying Irulan with him as he did so. He made his way to the other side and laid her down amidst the pillows. “Give me a moment,” he said, as he stooped to tug down on his leggings. “And then you can tell me of what took place after I left. I wish to hear it all from your lips.”