Bad, bad girl, 18+ content

A powerful house, with influence and connections; a house whose members were full of treachery and sinister strategies.

Yet a house that also had an heir, unmarried and eligible for marriage: the Baron’s nephew – Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.

A marriage she could not refuse; not with the power that came with it, she could not ignore her father’s command.

“The Harkonnens have strength, their own honour…even someone like Feyd will look after you” Her mother’s words on the evening she had learnt of the marriage offered little comfort.

Feyd was feared, deadly, a formidable fighter against whom she had no defence.

“I pray I do not live long enough to witness his betrayal” she replied, her words tinged with mistrust and hurt, knowing that as the sole child and the hope of her house, marriage was her only option.

Yet the gentle touch of her mother, who held her hand, offered no relief; the look in her father’s eyes - perhaps something like an apology - remained, yet he remained stubborn.

A wedding ceremony was soon to take place on Ginaz.

Ginaz, her home planet, was covered almost entirely by water, a calm, open expanse of blue that could sometimes become turbulent, dotted with small yet numerous landmasses.

A home she loved, having known nothing else until the Harkonnen spaceships landed on the largest expanse.

She could see him from afar; the Baron was hard to miss in his dark robes, which barely concealed his massive frame, not hovering above them but high enough to appear imposing.

“Baron, it is a delight to welcome you to Ginaz” her father greeted the bald man; both made a slight bow.

“Likewise, Duke. If I may say so, your daughter will make an excellent bride for my nephew” the smile he offered them rather unsettled her; there was a certain familiarity in it, yet just as much of the unknown and his own plans.

The Baron stepped aside slightly, revealing a young man of imposing stature, equally pale, hairless, younger, yet strong.

“My nephew, Feyd Rautha, your husband” he introduced, and the two approached each other; just a few steps separated them as they stood face to face, her curtsy meeting his bow.

“I look forward to a shared future” her words rehearsed, everything meticulously prepared, from her dress to her jewellery.

His hand, resting upon hers, was surprisingly warm; she had imagined him to be cold.

His grip was firm as his dark eyes seemed to study her, “Our future, my wife” Feyd said.

A shiver ran through her body as he kissed the back of her hand - a gesture unbecoming of someone of his reputation - just as the two families began to move.

Yet Feyd did not let go of her hand; he seemed to want to keep her close as his gaze kept returning to her.

A gaze she could not resist.

A touch she had to return as they stood before the statues of their ancestors at the start of the ceremony, her heart full of excitement as the ancient words came over her lips - words Feyd did not understand as he continued to look at her.

“This fabric symbolises the union of our houses and hearts” an explanation that made him understand as the fabric, woven from fine gold and silver threads, was draped over both their hands.

His grip had not loosened; his gaze remained tense as he observed her and their surroundings whilst the relatives watched as the two knelt before the statues, asking their ancestors for permission.

“I will look after and protect my wife with everything I have” he repeated the words, insignificant to a man like him, sounding strange as they rose and kissed each other.

A kiss in which she felt the twitch of his fingers, the suppression of a reflex as if he wanted to pull her closer, closer to him, never letting her go.

A hold she would actually have returned, his warmth almost pleasant as she was seemingly shown the gentler side of the warrior.

Afterwards, the satisfied clapping of her and his family rang out as one part of the wedding was completed.

The celebration was a welcome change, with food, drink and conversation; family and relatives congratulating them, caring for them, hours in which nothing but contentment reigned…yet Feyds gaze still rested on her.

On the bride.

The other part would take place in his homeland, their new home, and for a moment she had forgotten that he was a Harkonnen, that she had to go to Giedi Prime.

For a moment she had let herself be captivated by him, for a moment she had felt affection for him.

To love Feyd.

~~~~~~~~~~

His home, the Baron’s planet, Giedi Prime, was everything Ginaz was not.

Dark, indifferent to the weak, barren, full of metal, death and oppression.

The light was so bright it seemed unnatural; blackness all around and everywhere, and nowhere could she find even a glimpse of nature that resembled her familiar home.

Alone without her parents, and with part of the wedding already over, she would have had to settle into life on Giedi Prime soon enough; the Baron had insisted she come alone.

Yet with a wedding of such influence, her father would never have said no.

The first thing she noticed was how cold Giedi Prime was - not an icy cold, nor a frosty one, but a shadowy chill as she stepped out of the shuttle.

White and black, shadows, it was all somewhat peculiar as she saw the small group on the landing dock.

Feyd was already waiting for her when he held out his hand for her to take.

“Welcome to Giedi Prime, wife” his greeting was brief, his smile narrow as he walked with her across the landing dock into the interior of the grand palace building.

“Your planet does justice to your house, no place for the unworthy” her words seemed to amuse him, at least, as he tilted his head for a moment as though he had never regarded his planet as dangerous.

The small group’s footsteps echoed through the high corridors; his dark fabric, his clothing, stood in contrast to her white.

It seemed a stroke of bad luck to meet an innocent as they both entered a large hall; the great door closed behind them as they appeared to have reached the dining room.

At least, that is what it seemed, for there on the long table lay all manner of dishes, and at the head sat the Baron.

He was already awaiting his nephew and his wife.

“Welcome, my dears, please do take a seat; the ceremony is about to begin” his inviting gesture caused the fabric draped over his body to shift slightly as Feyd let go of her for the first time when they both sat down.

The plate before her was empty; the food on the table was expensive, imported goods, a fortune’s worth of which the Baron was helping himself to generously.

Feyd, on the other hand, reached for a piece of fruit; she watched him open his mouth, his black teeth biting into the soft flesh, sweet juice coating his lips and now dripping down his chin.

“Oh, forgive me, your meal will be here any moment; it is prepared for every Harkonnen bride” the Baron said, gesturing towards her empty plate, aware of her reserve regarding the various traditions she had been trying to learn.

She was the newest member of the Harkonnen family; she was Feyd’s and he was hers…yet how much connection did she truly have to her new kin?

Moments later, the large double doors opened and a servant entered, wordlessly holding a small, finely crafted plate in his hands, upon which her meal was laid out and placed before her.

“It is meant to nourish your body, bring you security and strengthen our bond” Feyd explained, suddenly rising as she looked at the food before her; nausea washed over her.

A faint dizziness as she could make out the heart, despite the preparation, surrounded by dark fruits and white petals.

Trying to suppress the slight tremor as she took the cutlery in her hands, she flinched as Feyd’s hand glided over hers.

“I know you’ll enjoy it, my dear” he almost chuckled, black teeth flashing as he took the knife from her hand.

She watched, clinging to the table, not allowed to say a word, watching as her husband walked over to the servant and, without hesitation, drew the sharp knife across the innocent man’s throat, hard and deep enough to cause profuse bleeding.

The Baron watched, amused, as Feyds caught as much blood as he could with his hand before her husband turned back to her “Thank you for the sacrifice” her words came out completely beside herself.

What else could she have said as Feyds’s blackened eyes were visibly agitated by the murder, whilst the gurgling, wretched sounds of the near-dead man were the only thing filling the room.

Blood, thick and dark red, which Feyds let drip down onto her food.

Her meal was laid out, ready, as her husband watched her; the blood on the knife, her hand stained with it, as she began to cut the meat.

The knife was sharp, easily splitting the heart; as she picked up a piece with her fork, Feyd’s gaze lingered on her lips as she took the meat and blood into her mouth.

A metallic taste mingled with rich meat in her mouth...it tasted good.

Only when she had swallowed the bite and put down her cutlery did Feyd’s fingers touch her lips; the blood smeared cold and sticky across her lips as she clung lightly to him.

“Blood of my blood, part of the Harkonnen House, you are mine” he told her, there was a excitement in his black eyes as she began the kiss; the blood now covered his lips too.

She gripped Feyd more tightly; now that they belonged to each other, she would never let him go.

The two of them would belong to each other in blood for eternity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist

The doors hissed shut behind the delegation. Guards dragged her forward until she stood alone in the center of his sparse obsidian chamber, the low crimson sconces painting her skin in harsh shadows. She was breathing hard, chest rising and falling beneath the simple tunic, eyes blazing with pure, unfiltered rage. No fear. Not yet.

Feyd circled her once, boots silent on the stone, still half-dressed from the arena, black trousers slung low, pale torso bare and glistening. His shaved head caught the light like polished bone. He stopped in front of her, close enough that the heat of his body brushed hers.

“On your knees” he said, voice low and guttural, that distinctive Harkonnen rasp carving through the air like a blade.

She didn’t move. Instead, she looked at him as if she could claw his eyes out with bound hands. “Fuck you” she snarled, the words raw and unfiltered. “I’m not your toy.”

He grabbed her wrists effortlessly, one large hand locking around both cuffs, yanking her forward until her body slammed against his chest. The impact drove the air from her lungs. His free hand fisted in her hair painfully, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to meet those dark-icey eyes.

“You are now” he murmured, almost gentle, but the edge in his tone promised violence. “Every inch of you. And you’ll learn to beg for what I give you.”

She twisted, knee driving toward his groin. He twisted with her, using her own momentum to spin her around and shove her face-down onto the wide stone platform draped in black furs. The cuffs clattered against the edge as he pinned her there with his weight, one knee between her thighs, his chest pressed to her back. His breath was hot against her ear.

“Fight me if you wish” he whispered, almost amused. “It only makes me want you more.”

She bucked beneath him, cursing, hips writhing in a way that only ground her ass against the growing hardness in his trousers. He laughed low in his throat, a dark hungry sound, and ripped her tunic open with one brutal tug. Fabric tore like paper, exposing her bare skin to the cool air. She was naked beneath it, as slaves often were for easy use and the sight of her like this, pinned, furious and fighting made his cock throb painfully against her.

“Get off me!” she hissed, thrashing harder.

He ignored her, one hand sliding down to cup her breast, thumb brushing the nipple until it tightened despite her rage. His fingers dipped between her thighs from behind. “You’re already wet” he observed, voice rough with satisfaction. “Fighting me gets you soaked, doesn’t it? Your body knows what your mouth won’t admit.”

She snarled and tried to twist again but he shoved her legs wider with his knee and pushed two thick fingers inside her without warning. The stretch was sudden, invasive and she gasped at the intrusion, walls clenching involuntarily around him. He pumped them slow and deep, curling just right, thumb finding her clit and circling with relentless precision. “Stop fighting it” he growled against her neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. “Feel how your cunt grips me. Greedy little thing.”

She moaned despite herself, half fury and half unwilling pleasure and tried to buck him off again. It only drove his fingers deeper. Heat built in her core, traitorous but she refused to give in. When he added a third finger, stretching her wider, she cried out in pain and slammed her elbow back, catching him in the ribs. He grunted, more from surprise than pain, and yanked his hand free only to flip her onto her back in one fluid motion, hand firm around her neck as the other captured her bound hands in front of her.

Now she faced him, chest heaving, eyes wild. He stood between her spread thighs, letting go of her hands to lower his trousers enough so his cock sprang free heavy, thick, flushed dark at the tip and already leaking. The sight of it made her stomach tighten with a mix of fear and unwanted heat.

“You think you can take control?” he asked, voice low and dangerous as he stroked himself once, twice. “Try it, then." He let go of himself to remove her hands roughly from the cuffs. "Show me what a slave thinks she can do to her master.” She lunged up the moment he released her wrists and he let her, curious as she shoved at his chest and twisted them, trying to push him down onto the furs. For a heartbeat she succeeded, straddling his hips, hand pressing down on his chest, the other gripping his neck tightly as if she could dominate from on top. Her hair fell around them like a curtain and she ground down against his cock, slick folds sliding along his length in a defiant tease.

“Like this?” she spat, rocking her hips with forced confidence. “You want me to ride you like some obedient whore? I’ll make you beg first.”

Feyd’s eyes darkened with something feral. His hands shot up, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise and in one powerful surge he flipped them again pinning her beneath him completely, wrists trapped again above her head in one of his large hands. His cock nudged her entrance, thick head parting her folds.

“No” he said simply, voice a rough command. “You don’t get to lead. Not here. Not ever.” He thrust in, slow at first, but relentless inch by thick inch stretching her open. She was tight, resistant, and the burn made her cry out, back arching off the furs, her hands pushing at his shoulder. He didn’t stop. He sank deeper, hips rolling forward until he bottomed out, balls pressed tight against her, buried to the hilt inside her clenching heat.

“Fuck-too big-” she gasped, legs kicking uselessly.

“Breathe” he ordered, forehead dropping to hers, eyes locked on hers with that obsessive intensity. “You’re going to take every inch. Feel me stretching this tight cunt open? That’s me claiming what’s mine now.” He stayed still for long seconds, letting her adjust, but his free hand slid between them to circle her clit with devastating slowness. “You’re fighting it, but your body is milking me already. So wet. So fucking perfect.”

She tried to twist away again, cursing him but the drag of his cock and the relentless pressure on her clit sent sparks shooting through her nerves. Pleasure coiled low and unwilling in her belly. He began to move then, long deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive wall inside her. Each thrust ground his pelvis against her clit and no matter how she bucked or snarled, he held her pinned, dominating every movement.

“You’re mine” he rasped against her mouth, nipping her lower lip. “This pussy is mine. Fight all you want, your cunt is sucking me deeper with every thrust. Good girl. That’s it… stop pretending you don’t need this.”

The praise slipped through her defenses like oil on water. She hated it. She hated how it made her walls flutter around him. She tried one last time to seize control, wrapping her legs around his waist and attempting to roll them but he laughed darkly and hooked one of her knees over his elbow, folding her open wider. The new angle let him drive even deeper, the blunt head of his cock kissing her cervix with every powerful snap of his hips.

The wet slap of skin on skin filled the chamber, obscene and rhythmic. Her moans broke free despite her clenched teeth, raw unwilling sounds that only seemed to spur him on.

“Come for me” he growled, voice thick with obsession. “I can feel you tightening. Don’t fight it, love. Let it take you. Come on my cock like the good girl you’re going to be.”

She didn’t want to. She fought the building wave with every ounce of defiance left in her, clenching her jaw, trying to think of anything but the thick drag of him inside her, the way his thumb never left her clit, the way his dark eyes bored into hers like he could see straight through to her soul. But the pleasure was relentless, coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped.

Her orgasm crashed over her against her will, deep shattering, rolling through her in heavy waves that made her whole body seize. Her walls clamped down around him in rhythmic pulses, milking his cock as white-hot pleasure tore through every nerve. A raw cry tore from her throat, back arching violently off the furs. She came harder than she ever had, vision blurring, thighs trembling uncontrollably around him.

Feyd snarled in triumph, hips stuttering. “Yes-fuck, that’s my good girl. Look at you coming for me even while you hate it. So beautiful when you submit.”

He fucked her through every aftershock, never slowing, drawing it out until she was whimpering, oversensitive and still clenching helplessly. Only when the last tremor faded did he pull out slowly, watching with dark fascination as his cock glistened with her release and a trickle of her arousal leaked from her swollen entrance.

He flipped her onto her stomach before she could catch her breath, yanking her hips up until she was on her knees, chest pressed to the furs. She tried to crawl away, still defiant but he gripped her hips in an iron hold and mounted her from behind in one brutal thrust. The position suited his dominance perfectly, he could pin her completely, body curving over hers, teeth grazing her shoulder as he drove into her soaked pussy.

“Again” he growled against her ear, voice wrecked with lust and possession. “You’re going to come one more time while I fuck you like the unruly little slave you were. And this time you’ll say my title when you do.”

She tried to push back against him, to fight the angle that let him hit so deep but he only slammed forward harder, one hand sliding beneath her to circle her clit again while the other fisted in her hair, tugging her head back so he could bite at her neck. His thrusts were powerful, punishing, the wet slap of his hips against her ass echoing obscenely. Every stroke dragged his thick cock along that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyes. “You feel that?” he rasped, never stopping. “My cock owning this cunt. You fought me, you tried to take control, and look at you now, dripping down my balls, clenching like you’ll die if I stop. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

She bit her lip bloody trying not to but the pleasure was building again, faster this time, the angle forcing him impossibly deeper. “I-fuck-you-”

He reached down and pushed two fingers alongside his cock, stretching her even fuller and the added fullness and burn broke her completely. The second orgasm ripped through her without mercy, deeper, longer, a blinding wave that made her sob into the furs as her walls spasmed violently around him. “My lord-na-Baron-please-”

The submission in her voice undid him. Feyd roared, burying himself to the hilt as he came hard, flooding her with thick, hot pulses of his seed. She felt every spurt, every twitch deep inside, marking her from within. He stayed buried while they both shuddered through it, his chest pressed to her back, arms caging her completely.

When he finally pulled out, a heavy trickle of his cum leaked from her well-fucked pussy. He gathered it on three fingers and pushed it back inside her slowly, curling them to keep every drop deep where it belonged, stroking her fluttering walls until she whimpered from overstimulation.

“Mine” he murmured, voice low and satisfied as he collapsed beside her, pulling her limp body against his chest despite her weak attempt to shove him away. His hand stroked down her spine, possessive and almost tender now. “You fought beautifully. But you’re broken for me now. And you’ll come to crave it.”

She lay there, breath ragged, body still pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure she hadn’t wanted to feel. The citadel’s machinery hummed around them like a heartbeat. Defiance still flickered in her eyes, but it was quieter now, tempered by the heavy weight of his arm around her waist and the undeniable truth that he had won.

An alliance with the Harkonnens, who had grown rich through spice mining and her house.

In return, her father would provide ships and planets.

Good blood would result from the marriage...though there was still at least some time left.

Now she was here, on the tribune, white stone beneath the sun, the servants stark, pale white, her dress holding firm as she took her place as guest and, at the same time, of honor - as future wife and baroness at Feyd’s side.

“Observe your fiancé, accustom yourself to his lust for violence” the Bene Gesserit’s voice said calmly from the seat beside her; she did not need to look at the old woman to know that her gaze held the earnestness of duty.

“Will he accept me?” her question went unanswered; trained in the ways of the Sisterhood as the heir to her house.

She was certain of her duty…yet her inner devotion to caring for others had led her to see him as the ideal match - supposedly - or the psychotic warrior.

But how did such bloodlust fit with something so carefully cautious?

Looking through her binoculars at the corpulent Baron, she saw, even from a distance, his smug expression.

“A duel in honor of the betrothal of our Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen!” the announcement sent the spectators into a frenzy as, mere moments later, a figure stepped into the center of the arena.

Turning her gaze downward, she saw him, not for the first time, but now she could see his body: pale, almost white-gray muscles of strength, dark teeth as pitch-black as the eyes that scanned the crowd.

For a moment, he looked at his uncle, raised his dagger in a gesture of promise for a good fight before Feyd looked up at their box.

The bald man did not raise his sword; he stared at her with that amused, chaotic gaze, his tongue licking his lips - a pale thing between black teeth - before the gates opened and the fighters entered.

“Even a wild spirit seeks peace at some point” she muttered.

The older woman didn’t spare her a glance; instead, she looked down as the fight began.

Three men from one house, muscular, dangerous…at least before they were incapacitated by drugs or so it seemed.

She knew the Harkonnen customs and practices, yet even Feyd had immediately recognized what his uncle had done. Instead of stepping back, however, he merely laughed.

“Look, woman, what I’m doing for the alliance!” he shouted, ramming his dagger almost effortlessly into the stomach and chest of one of the men, quickly and slowly, so that the shields could be pierced.

He skillfully dodged the next man’s attack, rolled to the side, and swept the man’s legs out from under him.

As they wrestled back and forth on the ground, she moved forward slightly to see more - only to see Feyd, not the fight.

The one who was killing for her.

He leaped away from his attacker; blood had splattered lightly on him as he’d slit the man’s throat.

Cheers and shouts encouraged him, calling his name as only one attacker remained.

He made a mistake; he seemed to want to dodge when he noticed the last one, only to be kicked from behind, another roll, another dodge, Feyd stabbed the man, catching him in the leg.

The last one didn’t seem to give up; he swung at Feyd himself, had grabbed the na-Baron by the collar, the Harkonnen couldn’t break free and even as Feyd stabbed his attacker in the heart, the attacker’s dagger landed in his side, piercing the white skin.

Causing the young warrior to bleed and let out a screaming laugh as he victoriously pushed his opponent away.

“A glorious alliance in blood and death!” he shouted, not at her, but at the crowd as he let himself be celebrated; the Baron seemed satisfied.

She herself, in that moment of pain, had risen from her seat and clung to the stone of the tribune; she had almost believed she would lose him, her duty…her betrothed.

A glance downward, however, and Feyd Rautha Harkonnen still stood victorious, bleeding as he was celebrated; he stepped slowly back into the interior, a gesture that mirrored her own, for she would now seek out her betrothed.

To show his pain that there might be a solution other than violence.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her steps were purposeful; despite her brief stay, she was familiar with the palace’s layout, even though the guards and the servant at her side were merely a formality.

“My lord, your fiancée wishes to see you” the servant announced loudly enough for Feyd to hear it from behind the great doors; a silence spread before a rasping, cracking sound could be heard.

A sign of death - and she entered as she stepped into his chamber and closed the door behind her.

The dark chamber was illuminated by a whitish light; a pool of blood spread across the floor.

Apparently, Feyd had not liked the healer or the care associated with it.

“My lady, my fiancée…my future wife, I have killed for us. What do you want from me?” he did not move toward her; Feyd stared at her, his head tilted slightly as if he could see right into her.

Instead, she stepped forward, ignoring the body still twitching slightly, stepped over it, and paid the doctor no mind, nor did she pay any attention to the smiling pets in the corner who were watching their owner’s antics with interest.

“You’ve won, amused your uncle, fascinated me…spilled blood” she replied, her fingers slowly moving toward his side, but before she could touch him, he grabbed her wrist harshly, painfully tight.

It was Feyd who began to move now, releasing her wrist only as he walked around her, a hunter surveying his prey; though a hint of a smile played on his lips, she could still see the pain in his eyes.

“Blood, the pain, enjoy it, you couldn’t give me anything better” his reply was insincere, amused, that of a young warrior who was unsure of her, who didn’t know what she wanted.

Her knowing nod made him stop; her hand didn’t reach for him but instead moved toward the bed.

“Sit down, my future husband. I’ll give you something completely different” she said, sensing the hint of anticipation in the air as she hoped he’d jump at the chance, that the warrior would let his guard down.

Dark eyes gazed at her intimately one last time before he sat down on the bed; a hiss escaped him as pressure was applied to the wound, yet a smile appeared on his lips.

She, however, did not go to him immediately; she went to the dead man, whose body had stopped twitching, the life having drained from him.

She stepped over his body once more and took the medical supplies from the broken bowl.

Feyd’s interested gaze rested on her as she returned to him; instead of sitting down beside him, she knelt beside him, knowingly stepping into the blood that had since spread across the bed.

She could feel his gaze upon her as he took in the sight, relishing it; his fingers clawed at his dark pants in a mix of pleasure and pain as she began to slowly close the stab wound.

“What does such devotion in blood show me?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

As she looked up at him, she could see that he was holding himself back, refraining from claiming her in the blood, from taking her before the wedding.

His body trembled slightly, his hands digging deeper into the fabric.

“In all this brutal chaos, I show you nothing but care” her answer made him pause; he knew he was pondering, trying to get used to this new thing that wasn’t made of blood and death.

Only after she had closed the wound and looked up at him again did he suddenly grab her jaw and pull her roughly up toward him onto the bed, heedless of the blood that now stained him as well.

For a moment, her fear, an instinct, flashed through her, stirring him, but just as quickly, they both regained their composure as she lay beneath him, their gazes met, and his hand, cool against her warm skin, remained.

“Care, is that what you bring me, wife?” he asked, moving closer to her, feeling his tongue trace the curve of her neck, licking over her pulse, her own hand not stopping him.

“Care and everything you want, you’ll see, gentleness is arousing,” she replied, placing her hand gently on his cheek, watching as such a touch confused him, almost making him flinch, until he gradually began to enjoy it.

They were both in danger of losing herself in that moment before Feyd pulled her into a passionate kiss.

His own care.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist

Feyd-Rautha had stayed on Ix for another two weeks, only to see lady Zephyr Vernius guide her nephew into accepting the proposal made by House Corrino. Whispers that came to the na-Baron carried the message that the emperor was looking into consolidating power. That the ruler was keen to hedge his power and influence over the spacing guild, with all the associated risks, through this new technology. That he wanted to use the innovations for his own house and army only, and any vassal state deemed worthy. He would use it as a way to divide and conquer.

One whisper eluded the message that the emperor was not amused with Duke Vernius, seeing this gathering of all the houses as a disrespectful mass auction. A public attempt to shackle the imperial throne. He did not take kindly to anything he perceived as a threat, nor did he respond positively to the idea of someone trying to undermine his power. In the imperial view, the mere thought of considering anyone else but him as future owner of what was developed on Ix was an act of treason. 

None of the whispers showed that anyone had found out about the actual balance of power in this house. It made the na-Baron come to the preliminary conclusion that he still belonged to a very select group of people who knew it was Zephyr who called the shots in House Vernius.

Feyd-Rautha was treated with a cold shoulder. Ever since their dance, he had been getting signs that the presence of his house was no longer deemed fitting. Any proposal of theirs were and would no longer be considered. His entourage was moved to lesser quarters, received less rations, he himself did not receive invites to all the meetings and balls anymore. The hosts even went so far as to relay the request to be informed about when his House was looking into going back home. 

What the ever-observant Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen did not hear, was that he was uninvited. He was still tolerated, which showed his House was too powerful to have its presence declared undesirable in such a brutal manner. He could not care less where his subjects stayed or whether they were given free food, and he did not need meetings to know what was going on. He too had vassals scattered amongst the present Houses to keep him informed and be guided by his instructions. If anything, it made the prospect even more desirable.

He could not help but meander around in his room. She was taking her sweet time coming to him. He did not like it. He did not like it at all. It did, however, give him time to recall the events that had led him, them, to this very room.

+++

He remembered how he had learned about yet another ball. Not through an invite, but through chatter of sworn houses. He, the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the heir to what is perhaps the most powerful house in the universe - he did not need an invite to be able to attend an event, any event, to gain information and exert influence.

And she should have known that.

Which made him slightly disappointed when she responded startled to his presence at the same balcony where they first danced. 

He saw her standing with her back towards him, towering over the capital city, looking at the small flickering lights as far as the eye could see. She was alone, dressed in unassuming formal wear. She made every effort not to stand out. No-one else was in this outdoor area, where she stood surrounded by the toxic fumes from that same city. He walked to her, not really hiding his step, yet also not drawing attention to himself. Perhaps, he shouldn’t be too surprised that she was puzzled. 

He walked up to her, stood just behind her, allowing her to first notice the soft warm breeze coming from his nose and mouth, flowing towards her uncovered and untainted neck, ears and jaw. He saw the smallest of movements in her tender body, suggesting she was getting ready to strike, so he laid his hand on the side small of her back, bordering her hip. He leaned in, his chest pressing softly against her back, to whisper: “don’t make any sudden movements. You might fall.”

He truly meant it as a warning, to prevent her from accidentally plummeting to her death. But she took it as a threat, as she turned around, forcing him to take a step back and allowing herself to twist her little dagger just enough that he could see it reflected in the light coming from the ballroom.

“You should not be here, lord na-Baron” she scolded. “I saw to it myself that you were not invited.” She was taken aback, rattled; otherwise she would have never let her mask fall like this. 

Showing fear in front of a predator only enticed bloodthirst, and he bathed in it. Her fumes, it was an aphrodisiac for him. The rage coming from her gestures, it was as a mating call. The suggestion of her hand on her weapon, it was a propitious promise. 

She blamed him for her astonishment, but somewhere her guards had failed her. Somewhere her security had failed her. She wanted to keep this man away from her.

Gradually her initial aggressive response mellowed, as he just stood there, taking everything in. It allowed her to see him, wearing a formal black outfit, that hugged his small waist, emphasising his broad shoulders. Tailored to perfection. He was not taken aback by her little weapon, her angry response. Nothing of it. He almost seemed pleased, a smirk causing his angelic lips to curl.

Thoughts ran through her head. She knew he could be her downfall, from so many angles. She felt it. Even while standing here, being threatened by his mastery and trickery allowing him to gain access to what should be protected areas. It was not even due to what he could do and the places he could access. It was, because he made her doubt herself, her decision to boycott him. This handsome powerful man, a young lord set to govern, set in his desire to claim her, her planet. 

There was a magnetic draw that came from him. The air between them filing with electricity. As if there was a mere spark required to ignite all consuming fire.

She wondered whether he felt the same. To her shame. She did not want to reconsider the anticipated offer of the emperor, yet here stood a worthy opponent. 

She had never met a man like this before. One that saw her, that saw straight through her, that craved her. After their first meeting she had spent many nights turning in her bed, feeling his warm hands cover her hands again, feeling the pressure of his hand on her waist, turning her - handling her, guiding her. No man had ever come this close. 

He chuckled. He was not willing to entertain any anger. He did not want to push her buttons further, not even a bit, as this balance was far too enjoyable. “Zephyr, please” Feyd added seductively, “Call me by my first name, always” ensuring the meaning did not escape her.

She was not amused. “Answer me” she said sternly, adding “na-Baron” for good measure.

“Ah, how I love a challenge. I will convince you, Zephyr. One day, you will call me by my first name…” leaning back in, so closely his lips found her ear: “scream it, moan it, use it to beg for mercy” dropped like honey for her to nurture on.

She contemplated slapping his face, as his cocky response refueled her aggressiveness. Contemplation and self-interest took over, allowing her to decide to continue her interrogation: “how did you get here? How did you get past the guards?” she asked, fury lacing her face and dripping from her voice. She was mere seconds from calling the guards and having him escorted off palace grounds.

“Dearest Zephyr, I will explain”, looking deep into her eyes “if you give me a dance.” He saw her eyes glow up. Contemplating how to deal with this act of defiance in her own home. “That is a reasonable bargain” as he extended his hand. “Especially to pay for the transgressions of your hand against my house.”

She huffed as she responded: “I should have you thrown from this balcony.” She wanted to say no, but her mouth betrayed her, fueled by her eyes that saw the long slender fingers eagerly awaiting her hand.

“I will take that as a yes” the young lord responded with youthful eagerness in his voice. 

He did not wait, but grabbed her hand, with more desire than the first time they danced. It sent a little signal of shock through her body. As if hunger for him was swiftly filling her bones. His arm found its way around her waist, pressing her against his trained frame. He made sure she could feel every hard line of his body: his chest, his biceps, the bones of his hips - his hunger swelling against her. 

While he handled her, turning her around, having her stepping backwards, confirming to his speed, she feared he could feel her growing heart beat. Trying to control it, she instead felt her core involuntarily warm and open up, rapidly. Her body was making itself ready for him without instruction. Every second in his arms was eating away at her resolve.

Feyd-Rautha felt her trying to get out of this hold, with increasing urgence, as expected. It made him grab her with more force, not missing a beat to the soft music escaping from the ballroom. Aligning his head with hers, he spoke softly with a sinister undertone: “you cannot escape me. Not on your planet, not in your castle, and especially not in your bed.”

That was too much for her. The tension, the desire, the fear. She wanted to know so anxiously what would happen if she would stay, kept in his arms, but she also knew she would lose herself into his eyes and dangerously sweet siren voice. She wanted to know what he would do, how he would guide her into his arms, into his bed. 

But she couldn’t.

He had broken his spell. She looked up at him, dead serious, and planted a knee between his legs. 

Whether it were his filth loaded words, or whether this was her response to her own treacherous feelings, she would never admit. But she had her agency again. 

“Get out, na-Baron. Get out now, before you force me to do something rash we both regret” she ordered him as he fell to the ground.

As he curled up on the floor, whimpering in pain, she strutted back in, to find her place in the shadows yet again.

+++

The na-Baron remembered that pain he incurred a bit more than a week ago. It could have ended worse, he considered, as he waited impatiently - almost anxiously - for his prey to present herself to him in his room. It did give him time to recall another past instance, more recently, where he got her off guard.

+++

After yet another meeting with some of the Houses, now minor, she was walking back to her chambers. Over the first stretch she was accompanied by her guards, but she had told them to leave her. 

She should have known better by now.

In this cool evening breeze that found its way through the windows of the castle, she needed to have time for herself. To allow her mind to digest what she had heard and seen, and especially what she had not heard and seen.

Who she had not heard and seen, she suddenly thought, triggered by faint echoes of boots hitting the concrete floor entered her mind. 

Within a mere moment she was back in reality again. Looking around, scanning her surroundings in the darkness. Swiftly finding shadows to blend into. After moving to another, more hidden spot, she stopped to listen. The echoes continued, getting sharper: someone was getting closer.

How could this be? This part of the palace was closed off. Only herself and her guards should be here, and she had sent them off already.

She was not willing to be a sitting duck, removed her shoes, placed them softly in the dark and took a few corners. Placing herself behind some thick curtains, she continued to listen. 

The steps were following her. The duration between steps was decreasing. Someone was speeding up.

Fear started to wrap her throat, her heartbeat increasing, as she took a few other corners and opened an invisible door that hid a small alley into another part of the quarters. She had the palace equipped with many of such covert hallways, needing to be prepared for ambushes or other events. Her nephew had declared her insane, which she disregarded as he had no say in matters of relevance.

She could no longer distinguish the sounds from the corridor she had entered, as the last faint sounds died out. 

Allowing herself a moment to rest, she was pleased she had not listened to the duke.

But the threat was not away, as someone was still walking around in her secluded quarters. She would still need to reach the guards, to have the halls combed down for any trace, and to see how this perimeter could have been breached. 

She walked silently to one of the exits of this wing of the castle, making sure she was not walking in the middle of the halls, but against the walls, wrapped in darkness.

There was still something lurking, so she could not linger, her hand wrapping around her dagger.

As she turned a corner, he stood there. In the middle of the hall. Brazen. Owning. Unafraid.

“Don’t run, Zephyr. I am not here to hurt you...” stopping mid sentence.

As she contemplated doing exactly that, he had covered the distance between them in less than seconds, driving her involuntarily into a corner, making escape impossible. He did not touch her. He did not need to.

She was so overwhelmed that her mind focussed on the most minor of details, like how he did not make a sound while moving so quickly.

“How… how…?” she failed to complete her sentence, grasping for ways to get out of this predicament. Failing to do so. He towered over her. Imposing yet shrouded in fog. She did not know what he was planning on doing. Deep inside of her a longing started to call with a soft voice. A longing for him.

Feyd-Rautha chuckled. As if he saw her internal turmoil

“How did you find me? How did you know? How did you move… so silently?” she questioned, not being able to hide the distress in her voice anymore. Again, he had pushed her so much out of her stability that she failed to control her thoughts and her mouth.

“I told you. You cannot hide from me. Your scent gives you away” he answered, leaning in to take a deep breath from the air embellished with the bouquet that radiated from her neck. The warm air exhaled wrapped around her throat, almost as a hand, causing her to relive their second dance. “I love how you thought you could hide from me, running around on your little cold feet.”

He chuckled and continued: “Hmm, if you want I can carry you to your chambers. They are just 2 turns and 8 doors away from here” he said, showing her he wasn’t bluffing. “I told you: you cannot escape from me, not even in your own bed” he taunted - he promised.

She shook her head: “You are an animal, Feyd-Rautha” she huffed with a raised voice, placing her hands on his chest and pushing him away, breaching the sanctity of untouched air between them.

He took a step back, warranted by his will, not hers. She noticed he didn’t step back due to her force, but used it as a way to be able to have yet another go at her. She felt how there was a delayed response in his response to her push, her push against his hard, rounded chest.

“Yes. I have been told before” staring directly into her eyes, so harshly she was forced to look away. “Are you surprised?” he laughed, as he slowly closed the distance again, only to end up even closer to her. 

“Get. Away. From. Me” she shouted, as she pushed him away again. And the ritual repeated itself. He took a few steps back, and found his way back to her, nearly touching her with his chest. She was cornered, no escape, in her own world submitted to his antics, his games, his desires.

She couldn’t help but notice the symbolism. He was entering her private atmosphere, the place where she should feel safe. Deliberately and slowly, entering and retracting. Focused on making her feel things she didn’t know she could feel. It made her warm, it made her hot, it made her moist.

He had not laid a hand on her, yet he was inside of her. Taking ownership over her mind, her blood, her heart.

“Why would I, Zephyr? I am a hunter. I prey. I stalk. I catch, always” he spoke with a dreamy smokey voice as he tilted his face. “You were mine from the moment I decided you were, when I saw you working your puppet.” A darkness entered the atmosphere, narrowing her vision to only see and feel him. It was as if she could see what he wanted, what he wanted to do, what he wanted to win, what he wanted to hunt. And it was her. The answer to each of these questions was her. 

Even without fucking her, he was fucking her. 

And she wanted him to do it.

She whimpered: “the guards will be here any moment now, from their round. They will kill you on the spot.” She knew it was useless. It was not true, he could hear it. And even if it was true. A man as magnificent of a warrior as him would best the guards she had patrolling here. Deep inside of her core she would even be disappointed if he would not win.

“Don’t lie to me Zephyr. You know better than to underestimate me” he said, his smile defrosting as snow in the warm light of day, utilising a grim voice to emphasize the promise and threat.

Without laying a single finger on her, he was making her feel weak, a heat rising from her core, quickly catching fire. She gulped. It was no longer a question of if, but when she would succumb. 

He drew a conclusion from his earlier observations, possessively yet simply noting: “given that you are mine, I won’t take kindly of you entertaining anyone else. You see, I don’t share.” 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She did not know whether he was referring to her planet’s future, her future, or their combined future. Hands balling into fists. She needed to prevent herself from taking the actions her body urged her to. To give him what he wanted - everything he wanted. To give herself what she wanted.

And he knew.

“I see you are coming to your senses Zephyr.” Slowly adding warmth in his voice, he added, with a last silver tongue: “now, go. Go to your chambers. Have a good night's rest.”

With those words he stepped into the darkness again, to leave a last whisper find her ear: “dream of me. I will see you soon.”

That morning, in the cold light of day, she knew he was right. She knew he would not give up. She knew he would get what he wanted. Sooner or later.

And she could not allow him. Not without a fight.

That night she removed the head of her security guard, and installed a younger, more eager officer, making it clear that their head was on the line too.

+++

Ever since that measure, she had not seen him lurking around. She was kept up to date on his whereabouts, and started to get more comfortable. 

Even though he continued to lurk in the depths of her mind.

+++

That was, until he left her a gift in her chambers, and a message relayed by one of his vassals. He effectively forced her hand to meet him, in private, in his rooms. One of the houses that she had tried to align with, ended their lengthy and failed negotiations with a bombshell: “the lord na-Baron Harkonnen requires to see your niece, lord Vernius.” A message they kept until the very end of these conversations. Wasting time, draining energy. Again, signs of manipulation. 

A shock, truly. It clarified the changes she had noticed in the majority of her guests over the last week. One after the other had decided to leave the planet, or postpone their negotiations with her nephew. She did not understand what was happening, until that very message. At that moment it became clear to her he had been trying to isolate her house. Reduce her options. Push her towards him, if she wanted to regain some competitive tension on House Corrino. 

“Don’t you see, lord Vernius? We act as dictated by the na-Baron Harkonnen. Even without him present, he is present” the vassal explained disrespectfully.

She would have sworn she saw him slip away from the shades of the grand room they were in, into the vastness of her palace. Or maybe her mind started to play tricks on her. She did not know, but she did know she could no longer hide from him, and needed to entertain his little game.

“Tell your lord” Duke Vernius spat in response “that my niece will meet him, in two hours. He needs to stand ready.”

+++

Feyd-Rautha was an impatient man, and decided he had waited too long ever since that message had been relayed to him, over three hours ago. He opened the door, ready to storm out and claim the attention she promised - if needed by force.

And there, she stood, her hand reaching out to the door to knock.

He looked at her, the anger that had fueled him now slowly being replaced with delight. Within a heartbeat he grabbed the revers of her jacket, dragging her into the room, kicking the door closed and slamming her into the wall: “no one makes me wait. Not even you, my spoil.”

Post chapter note: inspired by Ki Seung Nyang vs Tang Ki-se ⚡ 𝓐𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔 ⚡ Empress Ki - YouTube

+++

Cliche 3: He growled: who did this to you?

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