{oOo}

The Dux Primus of the Eragrate Stars had offered to accept the fealty of the Emperor if he bowed his knee and sent a daughter to join the Dux' hareem.

It took Perturabo's Iron Warriors seventeen hours to seize control of the Eragrate Warfleet, tear open the orbital defenses, suppress the fortresses around the palatial Forbidden City in which the Dux Primus resided and land troops. That was less time than it had taken to convince Night Haunter, Angron and Horus that Perturabo would deal with the matter. (Four days and sixteen hours, for those curious.)

Raising one massive hand towards great double doors of the palace's grand hall, Perturabo held himself completely still as the conversion beamer built into his gauntlet went to work. One second, two seconds... The doors disintegrated in a spectacular fashion and a cold smirk crossed his lips. Tekhne had been very thoughtful to provide him with this little upgrade for his birthday. He'd have to think of something special for hers.

Waving aside his Iron Warriors, the Primarch strode menacingly through the debris.

The Dux Primus' bodyguards were good, dedicated soldiers. Perturabo methodically blew them apart with single shots from his bolt pistol. Clean deaths. A mercy, under the circumstances. The last of their bodies was on the floor before he was halfway along the hall and women scattered in front of the grim war-god as he marched to the foot of the dais. Some of them were presumably members of the harem, others servants or daughters of the nobility. Assuming there was a difference.

Without pause, Perturabo ascended the dais and lifted the throne, Dux Primus and all, over his head. The screaming potentate clung to his seat until the Primarch shook it vigourously, spilling the former master of a dozen worlds onto the marble stairs. Then he returned the throne to its former place and sat upon it.

Gold limned and cushioned in crimson velvet, the throne was built on a scale to dwarf the corpulent Dux Primus. It creaked alarmingly under Perturabo's armoured form, which almost obscured the throne.

"Wh-who are you!" the Dux screamed, practically in tears. "Are you that upstart Emperor?"

There was no reply.

The Dux sweated. "I was merely joking about your daughter. I meant to offer one of my princely sons as her husband in token of our alliance."

The silence grew deadly. Perturabo's eyebrow twitched and then he raised his gauntlet aiming it directly at the grovelling Dux who screamed and threw himself flat in submission. The more prudent women cleared themselves away as the gauntlet began to hum.

"You are talking about my sister."

The Dux - who could have easily dodged the slow-firing conversion beam if he'd thought to - exploded, completely ruining the rug he had been sprawled upon.

Perturabo looked around the room and then pointed with his other hand at a woman who showed the telltale signs of having been treated with anti-agathics. "You, come here."

Possessed of at least some survival instincts the woman walked to stand before the throne and then knelt in the gorey splatter that had once been her husband. "How may I serve the Son of the Emperor?"

"My wife's birthday is in three weeks," he declared flatly. "What might she appreciate, do you think."

{oOo}