"I should take his head."

Alright so this was typical, all you wanted was one night of innocent flirting with a semi—attractive man before you got saddled with the burden of being a planetary governorness and not exactly consensual teenage mother bred, bore and manipulated by intergalactic space witches.

But all you could think of was if Lady Jessica would really let Reverend Mohiam kill you that day. You felt the breath of the needle, touching your neck idly.

She would have? Then found a way to explain it to The Duke, too.

And it was an awful thing to realise, in that moment of pristine silence as Rauthas chaotic, suffocating energy split everyone's gasping chests like a wound.

She would have.

"You could try."

Heart; in your ass. Gut; spinning, you clenched it, tearing away from the ruggedly, fucking infuriatingly handsome off—worlder THAT in a display of empowered boldness, saccharine slow, maintaining eye—contact with Na—Baron, TOUCHED YOUR BODY.

From the kitchen plates shattered.

Whatever creepy Hark string and heavy drum music that played stopping abruptly mid chorus.

And he did it openly, freely, as if there would be no consequences, some smug grin on his bearded, tattooed face while a huge and jewelled hand slipped across the cut out of your leather waist.

"Oh I will." The blonde replied in his haughty lilt, lifting his floppy, gleaming, "take your head that is," and peach scented hair to show his ink. "Easily."

And now you gawked at Leo in astonished silence, the five minutes of attention hadn't been worth it. It couldn't even be put down to cultural ignorance.

You'd been used as bait for a shot at glory.

For a man to touch a na—baroness without explicit permission was FORBIDDEN, so balls to the wall, get your throat cut, start a civil war forbidden the fact that he'd done it dropped Feyds jaw.

He may as well of slapped him and spat in his mouth.

On the ship to Giedi you'd been ordered to strip bare, sprayed with a mist—fine paint invisible and permanent, EVERY inch of you, but each contact with organic skin left a trace visible under a frequency light that glowed a cyan blue.

Whoever touched you could never deny it, their fingers stained forever, even after they'd been severed and left in a box.
Harkonnens took the ownership of women serious as plague.

Your ladies had rushed forward, dragging you back, especially Ezza, so angry at you, her disappointment etched onto her beautiful, gentle face as you stood with the crowd.

The commotion had drawn all of the attendees who clustered in a semi circle behind Rautha, not making a sound, gone was the tinker of glasses and the scrape of utensils, everything so hushed it felt overwhelmingly loud, UGLY HARK BABY EVEN QUIET, a thousand soldiers at the standby, the jam—packed, breathless ballroom moving like a symbiotic mesh of humanity with your husband at the very front.

"You touch my wife?" Feyd Rautha Harkonnen stood eerily calm underneath the severely grand marble archway, a force of fucking nature cast in the yawning gleam of the hover lights, breathing heavy, hauntingly beautiful, "stake some claim on her?" his tailored armour glossy with a sheen of still—hot blood, and the heat from it wafted from the slick surface of the plates curved around his stiff body. "And then wish to take my head, Kaitanian?"

A bruise the size of a tangerine on his cheek, prominent tip of his ear cut and cracked. Back from war.

He hadn't looked at you.

And whatever he'd been indulging in you didn't know, but it was definitely the wrong time to piss him off as he shook his head and laughed, a sound so different from his voice that made everyone look away shyly. "You," he snarled, eerie blues roaming up Leo's larger form, inquisitive, lapping a trickle of blood that dribbled from his lip cracking under the smile, "touch." Rautha breathed, a gust of a noise—

Before all humour evaporated from his face with the force of an atomic, posture ram—rod straight as he pointed the blade at Leo's brave little heart. "MY. Wife?"

You actually thought this blonde was nice; he'd been nice, made you laugh, given you that swoop in your tummy, Leo cackled, eyes closed as he agreed, "mmm, many, many times."

Everybody AHHH'd as he slung his fiercely cat—like eyes to you, smirk profane. "She couldn't get enough of it."

"You're going to eat your own tongue." Some prowling demon, vengeful, Feyd lowered his head, entire face twitching, mouth and nose drawn back as he wiped the blood from his lip onto his wrist while the juicy veins of his throat bulged. "I'll make sure of that off worlder."

"My tongue? But what a delight it's tasted." DIRTY BLONDE SLEEZE, he actually bigged himself up, chest puffed out, spitting at na—Barons feet as if he wasn't about to be hacked by a notoriously violent psycho. "Atreides sweet. Over and over again, I splayed her out on the soft soil and took her until she moaned my name."

"HE LIES!" To have every head swing towards you, a thousand jaws unhinged as your Harkonnen turned extra amateur, and they stepped AWAY from you, "BRING A TRUTHSAYER," on this world you were the z—list prize winner who should be grateful to be here.

This dumb fuck could get you killed.

Ezza took your hand, the only one stood by you. "My lady don't be scared I saw all."

But you was, TERRIFIED, and if Leo made your stomach swoop Rautha sent it hurtling to the core of the planet at his cutting glance, plunging it through black holes, past nebulas and galaxies towards the edge of his suspicion.

You shook your head at him, remembering he couldn't understand the battle sign quickly formed by your fingers. I tell the truth, about to lurch forward and hold him.

No one else saw it, a motion too subtle, but he backed away, barely a flinch of his knee high boots, still enough to make you wanna gag, a warning to not even dare.

yeah, you should've just stayed in your room, drank some spice and got down deep with some freaky premonitions, waited for him like a good wife and rolled over on your back when he came home, cleaned his wounds, nuzzled up, wrapped him in blankets and told him nothing was his fault.

And considering said premonitions plagued you HOW THE hell DID YOU NOT SEE THIS COMING?
If it was fifteen lashes before maybe it would be a good idea to pass away right now.

Leo banged his chest, sword with the Emperors Lion brand in the stark silver steel unsheathed. "Will you face me, Feyd—Rautha Harkonnen."

His thick lips twitched. "Of course, pray to whatever God you have, make your peace. Poison?"

They spoke about it like discussing a menu.

"No. Hand to hand?" Leo questioned, pulling his rings free to place them in the hand of a woman attendant.
"If it comes to it."
The off—worlder stood to his full height, slicking back his long hair into a braid. "And to the winner your wife, Na—Baron?"
"That's fine." He replied quickly sharp.

You, Rautha thought, NO WONDER YOU LOOKED SHEEPISH, silly, gullible, reckless little Atreides, in your dress bordering on scandalous, still blind to the reality of this throat cutter of a society unintentionally showed far too much soft thigh and ass, ankles tipped and weak when, with a lion stride...

he stepped forward, shadows fleeing at his feet, tip of his tongue touching the roof of his mouth as he sniffed, leaving filthy red footprints, his lips smacking together heavily as he spun his knife, specks of blood whipping from the evil tip.

"Don't wipe it off," Ezza whispered. "Don't make a sound."

He came your way, with the same walk he had in the arena, EACH MOTHERFUCKER MOVING WAYYYYY BACK, not you, you darent, showing raw submission with a bowed head.

He watched you tremble, SO YOU SHOULD, and Feyd inhaled, slyly, fully aware of everyone's eyes, nothing really on you as he accepted your fear—tipsy curtsy, lifting your chin in his palm.

"I'll slay this rat demon," he said, "rid you of his very existence," nose flaring, cupping both cheeks, "the one who speaks to tarnish your honour," and his canine tooth was chipped as it poked from his mouth, "his bloodline ends tonight while ours will continue."

...THE FUCK COULD YOU SAY TO THAT? Damn, it wasn't even holding hands and he had to go this hard?

"Does he lie, little Atreides?" He whispered into your ear.
"He does. I swear it. On my life."
A face pushed into the side of your hair. "On your life? Is that so? I will know, betrayers of me are executed."

There was no chance to reply, his muzzle twitching and dancing with violent ticks before he pulled you in to lay a sucking, rough kiss, you winced at the taste of whatever blackened his mouth, iron and meat and polluted Harkonnen spit, your hands falling on his armoured chest, long, black nails and their dragon—sharp tips drumming on the metal.

Ezza touched her forehead.

and exhaling heavily, moving your head back to look at the work, he thumbed the mess across your bottom lip.

With a wink he was gone, palm dragging across the same spot the off—worlder had touched as if to rub it away. "TO THE PIT!"

The pit?

Ezza pulled you into her body, both of you blending with the buzzing audience that FED FROM HIM, swept along by the tide of it, the young, voracious men desperate for guts speaking savage, the girls tantalised by the way your husband moved ahead, taking the steps to the outside three at a time.

And they whispered hot little words of need that made you prickle in that guttural speech, not knowing you understood, comments straight out lustful as they bowed to you at the same time. "Dirty Atreides whore doesn't know what she has." "It should be one of us." "It could be, he likes to add to his collection." "One of us will be had tonight when he's in this mood." "As if you could take it." "Oh believe me I'd like to try."

And the willow tall, grey eyed aristocrat just ahead of you, the chief of the clique, who admonished Ezza for treading accidentally on her heel said in perfect Galach, loud enough to hear said with a great enthusiasm. "Lady Ophelia is about to have the time of her life."

🩸

Rauthas fat lips twitched.

Both at your brutish frown at the mention of a name.

And at how your mother had taught you how to be a CUNNING WITCH, he slipped his hand into his pocket—the seconds it took you to place a poison sling dart in his pocket unseen by everyone else.

Not that he'd use it.

He watched in the reflection of a boot stomped puddle while you climbed to the high balcony, that ink—eyed attendant faithfully following.

And under the moonlight twisted into awful shadows, beneath the outside retractable awning dazzling with violent faux crystals spread out for half a mile dripping with caustic Giedi rain, "DRAW YOUR BLADES," the war—master ordered.

the factories in the super—built horizon spewed ash and tannic flame in the shades of the fortress as Feyds favourite knife pointed to the sky, and he stuck first with a ferocity that Leo barely deflected.

These ghouls, you thought, casting wet eyes stinging in the wind down to the mesh of pale ants foaming for it. Aliens.

Your hands curled on the brackish marble, Rauthas arm sliced open by the lion branded sword—"SISTER."

"Paul?"