Author's Note: Used the weddings that happened in the Prelude to Dune books for reference.

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Chapter Five: Wedding Day

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On the day of her second wedding, Rhiannon woke up long before dawn. She distantly recalled doing the same on the morning of her first wedding, just before she became the wife of Count Varvara; nerves had kept her up late the night before and woke her early the next morning. Back then, she had been thirteen years younger, vibrant and eager to start her new life. Today, it wasn't nervousness that woke her, nor was it excitement, anticipation, or dread. It was a bone-deep weariness. She felt old. Dried out and empty, more of a husk than a woman.

Sensing the creeping fingers of despondency winding around her, she put on her coat and went for a walk.

The air was damp and had a pleasant biting chill to it that reminded her of home. The sun had yet to rise, only just brushing the horizon with a hint of lightness. The docks below the castle were already busy with fishermen readying their boats. Rhiannon bypassed them, following a trail to the shore instead, where she turned left to walk along the water's edge.

Morning stars winked one by one out of an indigo sky, and black waves hissed over the rocky shore. The tide was out; she skirted dead fish and clumps of seaweed, boots scattering pebbles and occasionally catching on unseen bits of driftwood. Rhiannon walked until she could no longer see or hear any evidence of Castle Caladan, then sat on a log that had been spat out from the depths by a storm surge.

The stripped wood was damp, but Rhiannon didn't mind. She tucked her legs up under her and listened as the shore birds began to wake and call to one another. The sky brightened, bleeding first pink, then orange. There were no clouds; the day promised to be sunny and warm. Perfect weather for a wedding, though Rhiannon would have preferred snow.

Rhiannon didn't bother looking around when she heard the crunch of footsteps approaching from behind. Caladan was so peaceful that it was almost appalling, but even so, Rhiannon was completely capable of defending herself, and rarely went anywhere without at least one knife hidden on her person.

"I know it's unlucky for the groom to see his bride before the wedding," said a familiar voice, "but do you mind if I join you?"

She still didn't bother looking around, but scooted a little to one side to give him room to sit.

"On Iro," Rhiannon mused, "it's thought to be bad luck if there isn't an assassination attempt on someone in the wedding party, so maybe it would be better if we didn't try too hard to be lucky today."

"How is that lucky?" Leto asked, alarmed. "Did someone try to kill you at your wedding to Count Varvara?"

"Well, not me," she chuckled. "House Varvara was the dominant military force on Iro in those days, and none of Dering's enemies were willing to risk getting put in Varvara's bad graces." She paused. "Someone did poison the Count's cousin though, but I think that was just some family drama, so I'm not sure that it counts."

Rhiannon looked over and grinned at Leto's dismayed expression. He was dressed more casually than she had seen thus far — a loose linen undershirt, worn dark pants, and a black leather overcoat similar to the kind she had seen the fishermen wearing. She herself had changed out of her sleep clothes, but Rhiannon would be spending the morning being meticulously groomed and styled, so anything more than loungewear was a wasted effort.

"Don't look at me like that," she chided. "Times have changed. The peaceful Iro you know isn't the one I grew up on."

Leto shook his head bemusedly. "If you say so." There was a moment where he moved a little closer to her so that their shoulders touched. She found that she didn't mind the contact. "Are you alright?"

"Mm. Of course," she hummed mildly. "Why?"

"You left the castle alone before dawn on the morning before your wedding. As the man you're marrying, I feel that it's my duty to be concerned."

She looked amused. "Did you think I was trying to sneak away so I didn't have to go through with it?"

"It crossed my mind. Things like that can damage a man's self confidence, you know."

"I appreciate the concern, but don't worry too much unless I'm headed in the general direction of the spaceport," she joked. "No, I woke early and knew that if my lady-in-waiting found out, she'd expect me to get started on everything. I thought to come watch the sunrise over the water, instead."

Leto nodded his understanding, turning his gaze out to sea. His dark eyes glinted in the early morning light. He had yet to slick back his hair with holding gel, so his curls sprang loose and wild around his face, buffeted by the strong winds blowing in off the water. Rhiannon found that she liked him better this way, windswept and casually handsome.

I get to marry you today, she thought, surprised to encounter a morsel of the enthusiasm that she'd been hoping to find in the peaceful scenery. You're going to be my husband.

"I've always been an early riser," Leto admitted. "Even when I was a boy, I would wake up to help the fishermen prepare their boats for the day's catch. I think one of my favorite parts of that was that I'd always get to watch the sun come up over the waves."

"It's beautiful." It was. By then, the sun was halfway above the horizon, and the sky was painted pink and gold. "You know, I'd never seen an ocean before I came to Caladan. I still haven't quite wrapped my head around how so much water can be in one place."

He suppressed a smile. "I forgot that there are only lakes on Iro. I can't imagine that… I've spent my whole life by the sea." He covered her hand with his. "Someday soon, after we've married, we'll take one of the small boats out, and I'll show you the sights along the coast. You spoke fondly of hunting and fly fishing in the rivers on Iro… We could fish… or even dive for coral gems, if you're interested in either."

Rhiannon turned her hand over and laced her fingers through his. His hand was rough and warm, strong and callused from a life spent working on the docks and training for combat. Many noblemen chose soft lives or built false strength for show, but Leto was a man that valued hard work and dedication; it was no wonder that the citizens of Caladan loved their Duke the way they did.

"I think I'd greatly enjoy that," she said, meaning it wholeheartedly.

Leto studied her face carefully. Looking for something. For what, Rhiannon wasn't sure. She considered him, noting the careful guardedness of his expression and the weary set of his shoulders.

Rhiannon gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze. "Having second thoughts?"

He tensed. A look of embarrassment flickered across his sharp features. "No. Why do you ask?"

She smiled at him gently. "It's okay. Even though ours is a political union, marriage is a great personal commitment. It's normal for you to be having doubts."

Leto glanced away. The sun was almost above the horizon, and they would both need to head back to the castle soon. "Both of our houses have too much riding on today. The decision has been made. It's far too late for uncertainty."

"Well…" Rhiannon had the good sense not to mention the piece of conversation Mariona had overheard. "It won't truly be too late until the ceremony is over. If you do change your mind, just be sure to call it off before the ceremony, and not during. Calling off a wedding beforehand can be accepted with good grace, but being left at the altar is just embarrassing."

Alarmed, Leto's face snapped around to look at her. Then he saw her amusement, and realized that she was teasing him.

He heaved a sigh, shoulders sagging. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a strange sense of humor?"

"It's been said," she admitted. Her voice softened. "I mean it, though. You're getting married today, there's no shame in being nervous."

"I never said I was nervous."

"No, you implied that you were having doubts. Which, granted, isn't the same thing. But all the same, I think you might be."

Leto kept his gaze away. Said nothing.

Rhiannon intoned a sigh, torn between pressing further and drawing back. The fact that she was trying to reach for him at all baffled her. Perhaps it was because she saw her own loneliness reflected in his — the loneliness of a leader forced to make a difficult decision. Or maybe the lingering echoes of her old self had made her nostalgic, and was magnifying her sense of duty to offer support to her almost-husband.

It was confusing, but Leto had yet to give her a reason not to care for him, so she elected to try her best.

Rhiannon leaned more fully against him. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just know that these last few months have been hard on you, and would be happy to offer my support, if I can."

He stayed quiet for a few moments, staring at the smooth stones and shells between his boots.

"You know," Leto remarked dryly to the ground, "I came out here prepared to comfort you, if you needed it."

"That's sweet of you. But over the years, I've learned that those who offer comfort unprompted are often the ones most in need of it."

"Unprompted? That's highly cynical of you."

"I am a highly cynical woman."

They went quiet again.

"I wanted to thank you for the kindness you've shown Paul," Leto said finally, skirting the question without avoiding it. "He's intelligent, but I'm not sure he completely understands. I was worried about how he'd react to having a stepmother, but he already seems to like you. The bark weasel was a good idea — he's named it 'Khrysos', I think."

Rhiannon racked her brain and vaguely recalled that there was a Greek god named 'Chysus' associated with gold.

"Paul is a sweet boy, being friendly towards him requires no thanks." She paused, considering. "Children tend to understand more than they're given credit for, and even if Paul hasn't been able to make sense of everything, he strikes me as being cognizant enough to recognize and accept that he doesn't understand, and then strive to learn."

Leto smiled to himself, clearly full of fierce pride and deep love for his son. "He's intelligent and brave — I'm very proud of him." He became serious again. "I worry for Jessica, too. She understands why this marriage must happen, but I know it's still difficult for her."

"That's understandable."

Rhiannon had finally gotten a chance to speak with Jessica the day before, if only briefly. At the time, Rhiannon had been equal parts harassing and being harassed by the wedding coordinator, so there hadn't been much opportunity for more than the extremely formal exchanging of pleasantries. The last few days had been hectic, and Rhiannon had been too preoccupied to seek out a worthwhile conversation, while Jessica seemed to be keeping herself busy and out of the way in other parts of Castle Caladan.

"Rhia…" Leto started hesitantly, "I want you to like Jessica and Paul. And I want them to like you. So far you've been extremely accommodating… far more than I expected. You've given me leave to prioritize my responsibilities to Jessica and Paul over those I have to my wife… and I appreciate it, but it also worries me."

Rhiannon blinked. Surely that was a good thing? "Sorry… I don't follow."

"My father was a beloved Duke and a good father, but he was never much of a husband — his belief that a marriage should only be political seemed to get in the way." He paused. "I hope that one day we will be more than political partners, but I won't hurt Jessica to make it happen, either. I don't want to be a poor husband, but I'm starting to see that there may be no alternative. I know you said that you didn't care that our situation is less than ideal, but I still think that I may be a disappointment to you anyway."

"That's what you're worried about?" She tried to keep the amusement out of her voice, but didn't quite manage it. "Leto, in my mind, the bar for 'acceptable husband' is so low that you'd have to dig your own grave to fit beneath it."

Leto stared at her, frowning. "Is it?"

"It may not be the assurance you were hoping for, but it's the truth." Rhiannon gave his fingers a squeeze. "Just knowing that you're worried about it at all is more than I expected. I appreciate it, but don't worry about me too much. I'll be fine."

Leto didn't really seem to have a response to that. He looked down at where their hands were intertwined and noticed that he was gripping her too tightly. He forced himself to relax, but didn't let go.

They sat quietly together for a while, just enjoying each other's company. The sun had risen fully, and the sea was shrouded by a dense golden mist.

After a time, Rhiannon glanced at the sky. A quick mental calculation caused her to wince. "I should be getting back. Mariona is probably looking for me by now." She sighed. "For someone who is ten years younger than me and a servant, she fusses an awful lot like a mother hen."

Leto stood, pulling her up with him. "People like us need to be scolded like children from time to time. Hawat can be the same way, except he actually is old enough to be my father."

Still hand in hand, they started the long walk back to Castle Caladan. Sea birds wheeled overhead, squawking and chattering as they fought over bits of dead fish. The air was still cool, but Rhiannon was starting to sweat in the sun. She could see herself growing to love Caladan, but knew she would never stop longing for a proper, heavy snowfall.

They mostly walked in companionable silence, with Leto occasionally pointing out landmarks or certain boats out on the water that he recognized. It wasn't until they reached the docks and started climbing the winding, cliffside path to the castle that Leto spoke again.

"Rhia," Leto started, hesitated, then started again. "Do you mind if I ask… you were, uh… fairly vehement about having low standards for a husband. Can I ask why?"

Despite being overly warm in her thick coat, Rhiannon flushed cold with dread. Her words had revealed more than she'd intended to. She regretted saying as much as she had. Still, it wasn't exactly a secret, and she felt that she owed him for being vulnerable with her earlier when she'd asked.

"You're a smart man — I'm sure you have your suspicions," she said coolly. "But if you want to know, I'll tell you. Just be aware that the question is a heavy one, and you shouldn't ask unless you're prepared for the weight of the answer."

Leto stopped walking and pulled her around to face him. He took both of her hands in his and looked her in the eye.

"I do want to know," he said seriously, "and I want you to be the one to tell me. But not here. Not today." His smile was small, but genuine, finally allowing some eagerness to show on his face. "The next time we see each other will be at our wedding. Let's try to keep today happy, if we can."

Relieved, Rhiannon nodded. "Agreed."

"Paul told me of how beautiful you look in your wedding gown." Instead of kissing her hand, Leto pressed his lips to her cheek. His beard tickled, but it wasn't what made her smile. He stepped back, angled to enter the grounds by a different route than the one she would take. "I look forward to seeing it. My Lady."

Rhiannon returned to her chambers in a better mood than when she had left them. It pleased her to know that the man she was marrying didn't shy away from honest, productive conversations. Hopefully, they could be just as productive when it came time to talk about political maneuvers, the deployment of spies, and such.

Mariona was waiting for her, hands on her hips, annoyed that they'd be starting the day twenty minutes late, and not early. Trevil, who had been looming in the corridor outside her study, was equally disapproving, but for a completely different reason. Rhiannon thought that he should be used to her slipping off on her own without telling anyone by now, but bore his wordless glare without comment. There wasn't exactly anything new for him to lecture her with anyway. She'd heard it all before.

Rhiannon sat down to breakfast with Mariona. They could mull over the implications of the seaside conversation later. For now, they had enough to worry about.

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Despite having only been a part of the Imperium for roughly a thousand years, human civilization had existed on Iro for well over ten thousand. Many ancient civilizations rose and fell throughout the planet's long history, many heroes and villains turned into myths and legends, and then forgotten.

One of the better known stories of ancient Iro was that of Rhiannon the Conqueror, a warrior queen chosen by the old Ironian gods to vanquish the armies of the Seven Twisted Kings. There were many different versions of the story, and none of them could agree if Rhiannon had originally been a princess, a demigod, or a serving girl—but the tales of her military victories and heroism were remarkably consistent. Although Ironian historians still argued over whether or not Rhiannon the Conqueror had actually existed—the historical records from that era were poor—she lived on in stories and songs, her tale told to Ironian children alongside ancient Earth legends like those of King Arthur and Hercules.

On the day of her wedding, Rhiannon Varvara née Dering looked like she had stepped out of one of the storybooks Mariona's mother had read to her as a child. Although Mariona had argued for the more dainty gown, the one Rhiannon had chosen was absolutely the right choice.

The pristine fabric was relatively thick—much more similar to the sharp military suits she wore on campaigns, long sleeved and high collared; instead of opalescent and flowing, the lines were crisp and straight, making Rhiannon look as if she had been carved out of a drift of freshly fallen snow. Complex swirling patterns of gold crept upwards from her wrists, the hems of the dress and cloak, and then downwards from the shoulders and sharp collar.

Around her waist was a wide, ornate belt made from the same gold wlysteel the Ironian Dweller Clans used to make their infamous swords. A hoodless white cloak held to her shoulders by highly polished gold wlysteel clasps snapped behind her, just the right length to brush the ground without getting underfoot. She didn't wear a veil, but her dark hair was intricately braided with gold thread and pearls. She glinted in the sunlight, an apparition almost too bright to behold directly.

Exactly how a warrior queen should look on her wedding day.

Mariona stood in the back of the grand hall with Trevil Pennon, watching as Viscount Larion Dering escorted his sister down the aisle. Had the wedding taken place on Iro, the bride would've also been accompanied by a full complement of armed soldiers, and the guests would've been seated much farther away in case an assassin hid among them.

But this was Caladan. Between them, Hawat and Trevil had personally checked every guest, scoured every nook and cranny of Castle Caladan, and were reasonably confident that there was no danger here today. Few of the enemies of House Atreides had the gall to attack a wedding attended by representatives from so many noble Landstraad Houses, while Rhiannon's enemies—who absolutely had the gall—were too relieved that she was moving off Iro to risk angering her now.

Duke Leto stood on a garlanded stage that had been specially built for the wedding. He was dashing in his formal attire, every button and medal polished until it gleamed. His dark hair had been carefully slicked back until little of the natural curls remained; his beard was freshly trimmed and shaped. His eyes, like everyone else's, were trained on Rhiannon. Mariona found the astonished expression on his face amusing, like he hadn't quite expected her to look as beautiful as she did.

When Rhiannon reached the stage, Duke Leto took her hand while Larion stepped discreetly to the side. A local priest chosen by the Duke placed a massive and ancient copy of the Orange Catholic Bible on the altar and struck a clear, musical tone on a small crystal bell to begin the ceremony.

Mariona looked on, only half listening as the robed priest read from selected excerpts from the ancient book. Rhiannon looked serene; the Duke seemed to be holding his breath.

He doesn't know how lucky he is, Mariona thought wryly. She looked at the gathered Atreides men, some seated in the audience, others guarding the stage. None of them do.

Not lucky for marrying Rhiannon, per say, because that was a given; she would make a phenomenal Duchess and a powerful political ally, and any man would be lucky to have such a beautiful woman for his wife.

The Duke was lucky that this union with Rhiannon—not House Dering, Rhiannon—would make his House stronger than ever.

He didn't realize how close he had come to having everything he loved razed to the ground.

House Atreides was suspicious of Rhiannon; they feared she would turn out as some of the other women brought into the household had.

Mariona found it insulting.

Hawat listened at doors and sent maids to spy, as if they would be foolish enough to speak of their nefarious plans out loud. He scanned their personal correspondence for hidden codes, but didn't think to check for disguised transmitters in jewelry or the spies hidden in brothels frequented by high ranking bureaucrats. He did careful background checks on the staff Rhiannon had brought with her, but didn't notice the sleeper soldiers that had been trickling in from planets all across the Imperium and integrating into the population of Cala City for months, and who could be called upon to fight at any given moment.

It was a little sad.

They thought that, if Rhiannon did make a bid to claim more power in House Atreides, it would come as a direct attempt on the Duke's life, or perhaps Paul's. It would come as the drugged Salustan bull that had taken the life of the Old Duke, or as the bomb that had almost killed Duke Leto and taken the life of his firstborn son, Victor.

Rhiannon had shaken her head when she learned of those. Unambitious plans made by women who liked the idea of power, but didn't actually know what they wanted to do with it.

The priest lit two candles, one of which blazed the blue of House Dering, while the other burned Atreides green. He held them together, and the flames symbolically mixed.

From the very beginning of the engagement, Rhiannon had entertained the idea of taking over House Atreides for herself. In that regard, Hawat and the Duke were right to be concerned. But what they failed to realize was that Rhiannon would not stop at the Duke's death. Or Paul's. Or Jessica's.

When Rhiannon decided to seize control over something, she was absolute. She left nothing up to chance and gave no warning. If Rhiannon wanted the Duke dead, she would plunge a blade into his heart herself. Killing children always pained her, but once the takeover had started, she would not have hesitated to slit young Paul's throat. Bene Gesserit were tricky to kill, trained to be immune to most poisons and armed with keen awareness and the gift of the Voice. But a knife was a knife, and Rhiannon was a talented killer when she wanted to be.

The Duke and his heir would have been dead long before any of his protectors suspected anything. Likely, the first Hawat, Gurney, and Duncan would've known of the silent coup would've been when they choked to death on the same toxic gases that claimed the rest of the Atreides household. Strategically placed poison canisters and barred doors were one of Rhiannon's specialties.

Certain members of the Atreides military and a few bureaucrats would have required specialized strikes, but within the span of a single hour, everyone who had sworn loyalty to Duke Leto would have been dead, and their positions would have been quickly filled by Rhiannon's people. Not even the Duke's mother, exiled to the eastern continent with the Sisters in Isolation, would have been allowed to escape.

To the population of Caladan and the Landstraad, it would have been either a terrible accident or an attack from a rival house. Rhiannon may have had to start a war with a rival house to cover up the inconsistencies, but largely, anyone who cared enough to actually investigate would be among the dead. Rhiannon would be the uncontested head of House Atreides, and free to retake Iro with the Caladan army, if she wanted.

It was what she had done to House Varvara, along with half a dozen other Minor Houses on Iro.

Young Paul stepped forward, bearing the rings on a golden tray. He was acting as his father's best man, and took the role very seriously.

With an uncharacteristically shy smile, Duke Leto slipped a beautiful diamond ring onto Rhiannon's marriage finger, shortly followed by a luminous green soostone wedding band. Then it was Rhiannon's turn. She took his hand gently in hers and eased the gold ring onto his finger with the utmost care.

During the Last Great Ironian House War, there had been rumors passed throughout the population by mystics and those who still believed in the old Ironian gods that the Countess Rhiannon Varvara was Rhiannon the Conqueror reborn.

Mariona thought it was ridiculous—Rhiannon had been named after a character in her mother's favorite fairytale, and it was foolish to use that as proof of anything—but she could see why they would be inclined to connect the two: Rhiannon the Conqueror had brutally brought an end to a dark and stagnant regime, and then ushered Iro into a new golden age. Rhiannon Varvara née Dering had done the same.

The main difference between the two was that her Rhiannon would not be remembered. She was a warrior, but never became a queen. House Dering would be remembered for conquering Iro. And the thing about it that drove Mariona insane was that it could have been Rhiannon. All she would have had to do is kill her brother and a few distant cousins, then she would have been the head of House Dering, and history could have been what she made it to be.

The Second Coming of Rhiannon the Conqueror. She could have been immortalized. She deserved to be.

And yet the war had been over for only five years, and already her role in it had faded from the collective memory enough for the Duke's paranoid security to completely overlook just how dangerous Rhiannon was. How many Ironian noble houses she had personally eradicated. How many battles she'd won. How the few remaining nobles on Iro lived in fear of her.

She was Rhiannon the Conqueror, and they simply hadn't noticed.

Unfortunately, Rhiannon's philosophy was that there was no point in claiming a title … so long as the person holding it didn't get in the way. She loved her brother, but he was lucky that he was so easy to manipulate. Rhiannon had been able to rule around him with ease, and had never needed to remove him from his seat at the head of the House.

Duke Leto leaned in and pressed his lips to Rhiannon's. It was just as long and intimate as the situation required. More polite than anything.

This Duke Leto was different. He was an intelligent, proud man that had earned the respect he received from the Landstraad and the loyalty of his people. Upon being cornered into marriage with a man that her enemies clearly hoped would be able to control her, Rhiannon's most logical course of action was to bide her time and then take control of House Atreides in due course.

But for now, at least, he was safe. Not because Rhiannon liked him, because that would never be enough, but because she thought an alliance with Duke Leto would be beneficial in the long run. Personally, Mariona wasn't optimistic, but she trusted Rhiannon's instincts and would follow her mistress to hell and back, if necessary.

Duke Leto Atreides turned and presented his new wife to the assembled crowd. The applause was deafening. Rhiannon smiled warmly and waved, looking every bit as composed and content as she was supposed to be. The Duke's expression was somewhat baffled, like he was elated but surprised about it.

Mariona smiled and clapped, but shared a glance with Trevil, who had been thinking the same thing she was.

Rhiannon was now Duchess Atreides, and Duke Leto had no idea how lucky he was.

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The wedding banquet lasted the rest of the day and well into the night. Good food. Lively music. Fine wines. Dancing. Socializing with people she hardly knew. Laughing at jokes that weren't really funny and telling all sorts of stories about Iro, only some of which were true.

Rhiannon was exhausted.

When the party finally started to disperse, Rhiannon slipped away with Mariona and Loah back to her chambers. As soon as they rounded the corner leading to the private sections of the castle, Rhiannon kicked off her expensive shoes and went the rest of the way barefoot.

Between them, the two sisters were able to get their mistress out of her wedding getup and into a bath fairly quickly. They were tired, too, and as soon as she was free of her gown and the gorgeous yet somewhat absurd gold thread and pearl hairdo, Rhiannon was happy to dismiss them for the night.

Rhiannon wanted to soak, but decided to wash quickly on the off chance that she would have company. Although Leto originally said that he would never join her on the marriage bed, she had been getting some very mixed signals from him over the last few days, and didn't like being caught unprepared.

… Then again, he might enjoy finding her in the bath …

She got out of the bath, dried off, and dressed in her nicest nightgown. As she cleaned her teeth, she somewhat amusedly compared this wedding night to her first, when she had spent ages preparing her body for her new husband—waxing, plucking, exfoliating, slathering herself in good smelling lotions and body oils until she was absolute perfection. How different that was from tonight, where she put on a little extra perfume and wore slightly fancier sleep clothes than normal, just in case her husband showed up.

And even if he didn't, Rhiannon knew that she'd look back on this wedding night more fondly than the first.

Rhiannon walked barefoot to the vanity in her bedchamber. The windows were open, letting in the cool night breeze and the sound of waves crashing against the jagged cliffs below. She took down her hair from where she'd braided it back to keep it from getting wet, then found her hairbrush in the vanity drawer. She plucked out a stray piece of gold thread and set to work brushing out the tangles from the day.

The door from the bedchamber to the study was open, and the one from the study to the hall was on the latch, so she could pretend that she didn't hear him enter. Rhiannon glanced at Leto when he closed the bedchamber door. Locked it. Rhiannon didn't put down her brush.

"Hello, husband," she greeted lightly, grimacing when the brush caught on a particularly stubborn knot. "Did you enjoy the banquet?"

"Hello, wife," he drew out the word, testing it. He had changed out of his formal attire and into the casual clothes he'd been wearing that morning. He was nervous, she thought. The look in his eyes was guarded, his expression difficult to read. "I did. It was a day to remember, definitely. I think Duncan outdid himself… I've never seen him that drunk before."

She hummed amusedly. "Ah well, it was a wedding and he was off duty. What better time to let loose?"

Leto stepped up behind her, slow and deliberate. "I agree. He works hard."

Rhiannon shivered when his fingers brushed across the back of her neck, gently trailing along her spine. She leaned into him, responding to his touch, giving silent permission to continue. His hands wandered around to the front, exploring the sides of her neck, the hollows behind her ears, throat, pulse point, and collar bones.

When he traced the line of her jaw and tipped her chin up towards him, she went gladly. His mouth pressed against hers. It was immediately more intimate than the kiss they'd shared at the altar, with the same scratch of his beard paired with the tender melt of his lips.

Rhiannon was an experienced lover, and so, it seemed, was Leto. She felt a little thrill when he teased her lips apart with his tongue. Heat pooled between her legs when he ran his fingers through her hair.

Leto gently pulled her out of her seat and into his embrace. The kiss deepened. His hands wandered her back, one lingering down her lower back while the other slipped down the collar of her nightgown, seeking out bare skin. Rhiannon's hands went up to tangle through his hair. She really did love his curls.

When he steered her towards the bed, Rhiannon again went gladly. His weight pressing her into the mattress was nothing short of wonderful. Leto placed hot, open mouthed kisses down her neck while she nipped playfully at his ear. His beard scrubbed pleasantly against her chest as he turned his attention lower, tugging down her nightgown just enough to expose one of her breasts.

While she gasped at the sensation, Leto nudged her legs apart so that he rested in the cradle of her body. Rhiannon could feel his body responding to her, could feel him hardening against her core. She decided that there were too many layers of clothes between them and pushed him away a bit so she could work on unbuttoning his shirt.

Leto complied, shifting back to give her hands the space to work. But when he did so, Rhiannon caught a good look at his face. She froze, startled.

Rhiannon looked into her husband's eyes and saw them clouded with resignation. With uncertainty, guilt, and shame. She thought to herself: He doesn't want this.

Leto had been the one to decide to come to her chambers. He had initiated, but somehow Rhiannon was still taking advantage of him. Her mind spun, trying to work it out. So far, Leto seemed to like her as a person. The hardness pressing against her thigh told her that he found her sexually appealing. So where was the problem?

It clicked—suddenly Rhiannon understood that it was duty that had driven him to her bedchamber, not free will.

Rhiannon sat up from underneath him. Leto stayed hovering over her, frowning and puzzled. She pressed her hand to his cheek.

"Leto," she said with a sad smile, "I find you a very attractive, desirable man, and would deeply enjoy fucking you until neither of us can walk tomorrow. But it just isn't fun if it isn't something you actually want."

Leto stiffened. A myriad of emotions flickered across his face. Regret. Relief. Guilt. Embarrassment. He rolled off of her to lay on his back beside her, shirt falling open to reveal his heaving chest and stomach.

"I'm sorry." He pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut. Then quickly added, "It... it's not because of you."

Rhiannon rolled on her side to face him. "It's okay."

Silence fell heavily over them for a few moments. Leto took a few deep breaths, seemingly to steady himself. His distress was palpable. This time, Rhiannon didn't press him to reveal it, knowing that it would come out on its own.

"What kind of a man," he said slowly, voice thick with self-disgust, "struggles to make love to his beautiful wife on his wedding night?" He let out a breath. "I'm sorry. You deserve better."

"You know nothing about what I deserve, Leto," Rhiannon chided, gentle but stern, "so forget that now. The situation is complex. If you don't want it, you just don't. You have nothing to explain or be ashamed of."

He huffed a self-deprecating laugh, still keeping his eyes covered. "I know Landstraad noblemen who can balance their wife with a dozen lovers, and now here I am, struggling to give myself to both my wife and a single concubine. This isn't complex—the fault is mine."

Rhiannon slipped her hand into his unbuttoned shirt. His skin was warm and smooth beneath her palm. She traced the lines of his chest, now only seeking to comfort, rather than seduce.

"I doubt very much that they love the women they keep beyond the physical," she pointed out.

"I know." He scrubbed at his eyes, then opened them. They flickered across the ceiling, as if he could find the answers there, inscribed in the wooden support beams. "Just like I know that coming here tonight won't change my feelings for Jessica. I told her that, and she understands, but I can see that I'm still hurting her. I thought that keeping my relationship to you political would solve the issue—but I don't want what we have to be hollow either, Rhia. At the same time, I can't sacrifice my relationship to Jessica. I don't know what the right answer is."

Rhiannon had asked him to be vulnerable with her before, and this seemed to be an extension of that. Except now, he was baring a piece of his soul to her, and she was at a total loss.

"I told you when we met that I didn't need you to give me anything beyond what's politically required," Rhiannon said, feeling woefully underqualified for the conversation. "Sex included. I like you, Leto, but my position on that hasn't changed."

Leto grunted, but still wouldn't look at her. Here he was, grappling with love, betrayal, and responsibility. Rhiannon, on the other hand, was more disappointed by the fact that it didn't look like she would be having sex tonight than she was with the knowledge that her husband wouldn't be able to love her the way he apparently wanted to.

Disturbed by her own shortcomings, Rhiannon studied him carefully. She knew she needed to say something to put his mind at ease, but was struggling to figure out what he needed to hear. It was becoming glaringly obvious to her that he—along with probably everyone else—experienced romantic affection differently than Rhiannon did.

Rhiannon had been in love once, hadn't she? It had been brief and long ago, but she thought she remembered how it felt. Was she really so far gone—so broken—that she struggled to understand a concept as simple as not wanting to hurt someone you love?

If only Aunt Elsbeth were there; she'd know exactly what to say. Elsbeth had been in many, many relationships over the years, some complicated, some simple; some were driven by love, others by lust. Rhiannon recognized dully that this newly-realized deficiency of hers was probably the exact reason why Elsbeth had always been so worried about her niece's relationships.

Leto heaved a final sigh and got up. He fumbled hastily at his buttons, scouting about for his discarded jacket. "You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry… again… I'll just go…"

"Leto, wait." Rhiannon stood, fixing her nightgown so that her breasts were covered. She wasn't sure what she intended to say, but knew that she didn't want him to leave her bedchambers on their wedding night upset. "It's okay. Just wait."

He paused, looking extremely uncertain and like he very much wanted to get as far away as possible. In his rush to leave, Leto had buttoned his shirt wrong. With a wry smile, Rhiannon plucked at the buttons to show him, then started undoing them to correct the error.

"I'll admit," Rhiannon started slowly, frantically gathering everything she had heard Elsbeth say over the years and attempting to string the pieces together in a way that made sense, "I don't know what the answer is, either. I've never… been good with this sort of thing. My Aunt Elsbeth, though, she's always full of advice. I think—if you're interested—I think I know what she might say."

Rhiannon kept her eyes on where she still worked at the buttons of his shirt, allowing him the dignity of not being the one to look away. Leto said nothing, and she took it as permission to continue.

"I think Elsbeth would say that: most people think that the correlation between love and sex is simple; that the two are either separate, or inextricably intertwined," Rhiannon went on. "In reality, both are hilariously insignificant. Relationships are complicated. And the key to a healthy one isn't love — it's respect. That's why some people can be in happy, loving relationships with multiple partners, and why it's so wrong to seek outside intimacy in others. You can love Jessica all you want, but that love means little if she doesn't also feel respected."

Rhiannon finished buttoning Leto's shirt. She raised her gaze to look him in the eye. He was watching her carefully, his expression surprisingly open. Rhiannon took that as a good sign.

"You're right to think that fucking me doesn't mean that you love her any less," Rhiannon continued. "But right now, I think Jessica feels disrespected. It's also why you feel guilty about wanting to have a relationship with your wife, despite knowing that it wouldn't fundamentally change the one you have with your lover."

Rhiannon took his face in her hands. She stroked her thumbs along his bearded jaw, ran her fingers through his dark hair. Leto leaned in and closed his eyes, content to just listen and be touched.

She smiled quietly to herself for a moment, surprised to find that she already had a soft spot for her new husband. "So for now, if you need to prioritize your relationship with Jessica over the one you hope to build with me, that's perfectly fine. And if someday in the future, you and Jessica feel that you're ready to explore inviting me in further, you know where to find me. And even if that's never, you owe me nothing. I'll be alright either way."

Leto opened his eyes and gave her a soft look filled with unspoken emotion. Rhiannon gave him a tender smile, then leaned up to kiss him. He kissed back—actually seemed to enjoy it, much more so than the others they'd shared thus far.

It only lasted a few seconds, just long enough for Rhiannon to make sure Leto knew that there were no hard feelings between them. She pulled back and straightened his collar.

"You've fulfilled your duties to me, husband," Rhiannon said in an official tone, "and I release you from any others that you feel are still owed. Go to her with my blessing."

Leto touched his forehead to hers, staying close for a few more moments. Rhiannon was surprised when he leaned again in to give her a quick, parting kiss.

"Thank you, Rhia," he murmured against her lips. "I won't forget this."

When he left her chambers, Rhiannon put on her housecoat and slippers and went into her study. Her body was still keyed up, but she was too unsettled to seek out another partner or even finish the job herself.

Instead, Rhiannon sat down at her desk and opened one of the drawers. Inside was a seemingly random assortment of small hair pins—the small, nondescript, easily lost and replaced pins of silver and gold that Rhiannon always wore in her hair. She shifted through them carefully, picking out a silver one that was slightly bent in the middle.

Rhiannon took it between her teeth. The small tapwire filament in one of her back molars—disguised as one of the screws the doctors had put in when several of her back teeth on one side had gotten knocked out in a fight years before—activated another minuscule tapwire in the hair pin. The hair pin began emitting a pattern of nearly inaudible vibrations, which were conducted naturally by Rhiannon's jawbone to her eardrum, where she could hear them as a series of beeps and clicks.

It was a status update from one of her spies on Arrakis. Rhiannon listened attentively to the message, decoding it and committing the details to memory. When it was finished, she sent an erase command to the tapwire in the hair pin with a quick click of her teeth. She then selected another pin from the drawer. It was from another spy on the planet Grumman. The next was from Kaitain.

Her name was Rhiannon Atreides, and she had a lot of work to do.

~0~0~0~

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