Irulan woke on the day of her wedding feeling clearheaded. Her servants had left a scarlet nightgown lying at the foot of her bed, and she reached out to touch it, feeling the silk float over her fingers like water. A wedding chemise. On Kaitain, brides wore ivory with hints of delicate pastel, to symbolize the petals that fell from the Floracaelum tree on springtime evenings; yet she knew on Giedi Prime, brides wore red as a symbol of their virginal blood. Irulan had always wondered about this tradition, as she knew the black sun of Giedi Prime erased all natural color, but she supposed even in the case of an outside wedding, the consummation would happen indoors.
Irulan was glad that her servants had left her to change in private – at least for this first layer of fabric against her skin – as it gave her a moment to compose herself. The chemise was a simple gown, so as not to distract from what would lie on top of it, but the fabric was so beautiful that Irulan felt a moment of reverence for the garment, as if it were sacred.
She slipped off her nightclothes and stood naked for a moment before walking to the bedside window – which looked out onto a private balcony. She opened it to let in the springtime air, and she closed her eyes and concentrated on the breeze and sunlight, which both warmed and chilled her skin. She would never have this moment again: the quiet solitude of the morning of her wedding, before she became a wife. A shiver ran through her, but that was good. She wanted to feel it – if only for a moment in the seclusion of her bedroom: that private moment of calm before the storm.
Once she'd felt all she thought she was capable of feeling, she returned to the foot of her bed where the chemise lay waiting and put it on.
She wasn't to eat, not yet, not until her hair was done and the first layer of dress was completed. Her sisters sat on the cubed marble benches that flanked the open window, and Irulan couldn't remember the last time they'd been in her bedchamber. Rugi, the youngest, ate an apple with her knees to her chest - not a very ladylike way to sit, but Rugi had always cared the least about etiquette or politics. Secretly, she was Irulan's favorite. The servants working on her hair stepped back, as her dressers came in with a scarlet corset that matched her nightgown.
"If you could stand, my lady," said the assistant in front of her – an older woman with graying hair and kind brown eyes. The Princess rose from her armchair, and the master dresser moved it out of the way.
"Raise your arms," said the woman behind her with an air of authority, and Irulan did, as the assistant brought the outstretched corset to the front of her body and passed the sides to the woman behind her, who began to lace the garment with practiced efficiency. Irulan drew in a sharp breath as it closed in on her waist, compressing her. She wasn't used to wearing anything this tight.
"It'll feel better once you see how good you look in it," said the assistant with a twinkle in her eye, Irulan smiled back at her. She'd always liked this woman, had always trusted her, despite her status as assistant to the master. She'd never learned the woman's name, and after years of seeing each other multiple times a day, she felt it was too late to ask. She supposed she could always find out from her father's head of staff. She would try to remember to do that before she left. Maybe she'd be able to give her the parting gift of a raise.
"Would it be possible to have a long mirror brought in?" asked the Princess, "I'd like to learn how the garments work."
"Of course," said the assistant, bowing her head. "I'll go fetch one."
Irulan wished it had been the other dresser to go look for it, for the assistant's presence had added an informality to an otherwise awkward room.
"It's about time you started considering your appearance," said a voice from further behind her, and her sisters giggled.
"Reverend Mother," said Irulan, "Didn't you just lecture me on the pitfalls of vanity?"
"Vanity and self-awareness are not one in the same."
"It's generous of you to stop by," said Irulan, still annoyed from the other day, "I assume it's important if I'm taking you away from you away from your duties. Should I have my sisters clear the room?"
"Mind your tone, girl. It may be your wedding day, but I'm still your master."
Irulan opened her mouth to apologize before noticing the warmth in her teacher's eyes.
"I came to check on you," she said. "How are you feeling about today?"
"It matters not how I feel, Your Reverence, only how well I perform."
"There's my girl," said her teacher, gifting her with a rare smile, and Irulan felt its comfort wash over her: their disagreement was now behind them. Irulan could depart Kaitain knowing that she'd left things in a good spot. "I need a moment with the Princess," said her teacher to the others. Her sisters got up without so much as looking up and walked toward the door. "You too, Talvian," she said, eyeing the master dresser behind her.
"Yes, Your Reverence," said the woman, and Irulan felt the corset loosen around her waist.
The Reverend mother waited for the door to close behind her before addressing Irulan. "Now. Let's talk strategy."
"Alright."
"You know what's expected of you tonight so I won't bore you with logistics."
Irulan waited for her to continue.
"As you know, Lady Fenring visited Feyd-Rautha back on Giedi Prime."
"Of course"
"He is likely expecting a similar encounter."
"I'll do my best, Your Reverence."
"Oh no, my dear," said her teacher with a frown, "I suggest you do the opposite."
That made sense. Margot had seduced him and had then used the Voice on him so that he lay completely immobile as she completed the act. Irulan lacked the necessary skill to replicate Margot's technique, and even if she had Margot's ability, Margot had also had the advantage of surprise. The Harkonnen would likely be steeling himself against future manipulation, which explained his sudden shift in energy upon their engagement. If this was an conscious decision on his part, he was a much more dangerous man than Irulan had given him credit for. The Reverend Mother's eyes softened when she could tell her pupil understood.
"Don't try to seduce him," she said. "Use tonight as an opportunity to learn."
"I understand."
"Good," replied her teacher. "That's all we need to discuss for right now. We'll have another opportunity to talk on Giedi Prime. I've made arrangements to visit in three weeks' time with a few other Sisters. Until then, do your best to please him, as you would if you were an ordinary bride."
"Yes, Your Reverence." Relief washed over the Princess at the announcement of the trip, as well as a bit of shame for misjudging her teacher. The Reverend Mother hadn't abandoned her. She wasn't sending Irulan into the darkness without tools: her lack of tools was the strategy. Yes, her teacher had sent Margot to Giedi Prime for a reason, but she had also selected Irulan's purpose with careful intention. Margot would not have been able to play this role.
"I'll let the servants back in now. You have a lot to get done this morning," said the old woman before walking past the Princess to open the double doors behind her – disappearing through them without another word.
The kind-faced assistant rushed in with a gilded, floor-length mirror, propping it up against the wall before rushing around to finish tightening the corset.
"I'll do it," snapped the master as she strode back into the room, "Go and fetch the makeup kit."
"Of course," said her assistant, and Irulan frowned. She viewed herself in the mirror as woman behind her resumed her tightening of the scarlet silk ribbons. The quarter cups pushed her breasts upward, making a feast of her usually modest cleavage, and Irulan tugged on the night gown, which had bunched up under the corset, so that the necklines matched up.
"There," said her dresser, stepping away to inspect her own work.
The Princess examined her reflection in the mirror. While underwhelmed by her bare face and half-done hair, her body looked divine. She only wished she had the complexion to look vibrant in red.
"I'll be right back," said the woman. "Where have the sisters gone to?" she asked a servant on her way from the room. "I need Chalice next."
Irulan stared at herself in the mirror, wishing she looked more like Margot Fenring.
The assistant returned with a sleek metal box. "Why don't you…" she paused, scanning the room before walking toward the tea table and pulling out a chair. "If you could sit here, my lady." Irulan followed her and sat. "Let's get you ready then," said the woman with a smile, pausing to analyze the Princess's face. "You are a beauty, aren't you."
Irulan didn't know how much she'd needed to hear that.
"Okay," said the assistant, with an encouraging smile, opening the box and picking out a brush.
By the time they finished with her, Irulan felt like she'd been replaced with a completely different woman. Even her sisters looked up from their reading to stare at the final result:
The gown was a suggestive whisper of tulle embroidered with beaded ivory flowers that trailed up her hips to cluster around her bustline. The red undergarments peaked through as though she were bleeding through her dress. The assistant fastened a cape behind her neck, which adorned her shoulders with the same beading that decorated her bodice. The unsullied ivory of the silk emphasized the bloody effect of her gown. Her décolletage remained exposed, and the tops of her breasts swelled over the neckline, highlighted by the cut-out. Irulan was shocked at the audacity of her dressmaker and also of the Reverend Mother, who no doubt had her hands in the overall conception of it. It was beautiful; it was obscene. Can I even walk out in there in this? Irulan wondered to herself, staring at her reflection in the guilded mirror. There was very little color on her face except for her scarlet mouth, almost as if she were choking on blood. The audacity of those women, Irulan thought before realizing uneasily that everyone in attendance would assume the idea was her own. Should anyone write her history someday, she'd be remembered as the Sacrificed Maiden: Here I stand, ready to drown you in my virgin blood. She knew Margot would have loved it, and for some reason, the thought calmed her.
Her father stepped into the room – his eyes widening before he quickly looked down at the floor. That bad, then. She decided she wouldn't let it derail her. Like everything else her teacher mettled in, she knew there was a wisdom in the design.
"You look beautiful," said the Emperor while continuing to avoid her gaze.
"Thank you, Father."
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes"
He turned to exit her bedchamber, and she followed him.
Irulan had always heard that weddings went by quickly, and now she fully understood the truth of the sentiment. The day went by in a blur. It felt as if two minutes passed between the moment she walked out into the soft rain of petals to when her pale groom to her placed a delicate kiss upon her mouth.
And then it was over.
They were walking arm and arm through the rows of standing guests, and she still hadn't gotten a good look at him.
And then they were at dinner. She'd been moved to his righthand side on the other end of the table. They barely spoke, while the party whirled around them, and neither of them seemed to be eating.
And then she was back in her bedchamber, waiting for him to come to her. The servants had removed the long mirror in her absence, and she wished they'd just left it. The master dresser had stopped by her bedroom to take down her hair and apply a bit more color to her lips, without so much as a word of advice, and then she, too, was gone. Irulan assumed she looked acceptable – as impatient as her dresser could be, she was artistic and meticulous, never leaving even the smallest detail overlooked – but Irulan wanted to see herself. She wondered if she looked any different in the anticipatory glow of the candlelight. Maybe she'd even think herself pretty. The mirror would have given her something to distract herself with, anyway, while she waited on Feyd.
Irulan reminded herself of the Reverend Mother's words not to try to seduce him. Good, she thought, because she knew she wouldn't know where to start. There wasn't anything at all for her to do except get through it.
She waited.
He didn't come.
The third glass of wine had chipped away at some of her seriousness, and she let herself indulge in a fantasy:
There was a knock at the door and her husband walked through it. He looked handsome in his blue-green robes, and his eyes shone with amusement.
"Were you sleeping?" he asked.
"No," she blushed. He'd caught her red-handed. "Maybe." She smiled.
"What am I going to do with you?" he said, shaking his head, an impish grin spreading across his face. (Though she'd never seen him smile, she imagined he had dimples.)
"But you were taking so long, my lord!" she said, emboldened by the wine she'd had at dinner. "What else was I supposed to do while I waited for you?"
He continued to shake his head at her until a seriousness came over him. He let out a low whistle, and she flushed under his gaze.
"What?"
"Nothing"
"No, what?" she pressed, willing herself to look into his eyes. They were blue. They were kind.
"You look beautiful," he said, still leaning on the doorframe.
"So do you," she breathed – for it was true – and it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.
"Irulan," he said softly.
"Paul"
Irulan opened her eyes and nearly jumped when she saw him.
"Feyd," she gasped before stilling her breathing. He had entered her bedchamber without making a sound. How long had he been standing there watching her? "I apologize, my lord," she said, getting up from the bed. "I only planned to shut my eyes for a moment."
His silence was unnerving. All of the familiarity she'd felt in his presence over the past week had vanished. He was a phantom in the doorway. A predator. Irulan was still standing next to her bed because she didn't know where else to stand, and she was very aware of not knowing what she was supposed to do with her hands.
"Well," she began. "you're here."
His eyes were indiscernible in the shadows, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to approach him.
"My lord," she said, taking a few tentative steps in his direction.
"Princess."
He was talking then. Good. For a moment she'd worried he'd come to kill her. She walked slowly toward him, drifting as if in a dream. She stopped a little ways from where he stood, so that there was still room to bolt if she needed to. She squared up to him. She would talk to him bluntly, for it was better to know what to expect. "I assume you have thoughts," she began, "on what you'd like to do."
"You're a Bene Gesserit," he said as he tilted his head in amusement, "Surely you know what we must do. Unless your training was not extensive."
"I'm aware," she said. "That's not how I meant it."
"Tell me," he said in his strange, raspy accent, "What did you mean?"
"I meant how do you want to do this?"
A grin spread across his face, showing the tops of his black teeth. He truly looked like the God of Darkness as he leaned against the door, and she had a hard time meeting his gaze.
"I'm aware that there are..." her voice trailed off as she searched words, "multiple ways to go about it." She purposefully looked past him.
"Multiple ways?"
"Surely, you've done this before."
He eyed her with tender contempt, as one would look at a dog who had killed a bird.
"Do you want me to…" she trailed off.
"Do I want you to…" he mimicked her.
"I can lie down again if you want," she offered.
He said nothing, clearly goading her with his silence.
"Or if I'm not to your taste," she said flatly, "you can retire to your chambers. I'm sure your harem is hungry for dinner."
He closed the distance between them, grabbing a fistful of hair, and yanking her head back to look at him. "Don't mock me, woman."
"I'm sorry," she squeaked – taken aback by his sudden show of violence and the fact that he was touching her, that the man she was used to seeing at the end of a room was now inches away from her face. She could see him sizing her up, his eyes wild. Still yourself. Breathe. She took a slow inhale and willed her heartbeat to slow until she was back at a resting pulse. His pupils dilated, and she could barely see the blue of his irises. Even as a virgin, Irulan knew enough to know he was aroused.
He walked her backward by the hair until the backs of her knees hit the bed, and she fell to it, and before she could ground herself, he flipped her roughly onto her stomach so that she was bending over the mattress. Then he yanked up her skirts. So this was the moment, she thought to herself and waited. She had her arms folded beneath her, her hips sticking out crudely. Irulan waited for the pain, and braced against it. But it didn't come. She let out a shudder of relief.
Was this the marriage bed? Was this what men craved? It felt so odd to her to be exposed in such a way to someone she'd barely spoken to: once her breathing slowed, and it became clear he was merely observing her, it felt almost clinical – like a visit from the Imperial doctor. (if the Imperial doctor nursed the private urge to slit her throat)
She waited, feeling cool air against her intimate flesh. Then she heard him undoing his metal buckle and felt her legs start to tremble. She flinched when his belt hit the floor, and then she felt a warm, soft pressure against her maidenhood. She braced herself again. He withdrew.
And then she felt his hand stroke her between her legs, just for a moment, exploring. She felt the air again and then she heard him wet his fingers before sliding one of them inside her. She drew in a sharp breath. He withdrew the digit for a moment before adding a second, twisting them around as if he were examining her insides. It hurt. Irulan hoped he'd just get on with it. The quicker he took her, the quicker he'd be finished.
He removed his fingers, and she waited for him to replace them with his cock - her heart pounded - but nothing happened. He was just standing there. She nearly turned around to look at him, but she thought she'd die of embarrassment if she actually met his gaze with her skirts hiked up around her waist.
She heard his tongue again, and he was touching her once more. She thought he meant to find her opening, but it soon became clear he was surveying her exterior flesh. He wetted his fingers one more time, and then he started gently stroking her between her legs.
"Oh," she heard herself say. She hadn't meant to speak. The sensation was just so unusual. She squirmed away from his touch and felt the air as his fingers left her. She waited.
A hard slap on her ass. And here comes the pain, she thought to herself, wincing at the sting. She'd been expecting to hurt and had prepared for it. The second time he hit her, she didn't even flinch. She waited for the third strike, but it didn't come.
His fingers were stroking her again, and the unusual sensation returned. Irulan suddenly felt overexposed. She tried to move away from his hand, but his other arm wrapped around her waist to clamp her in place. He resumed his slow circling of her flesh, and the sensation began to mount. There was an unfamiliar tightness in her belly – an urge to flee, to get closer. "What are you –"
"Tell me, Princess," said the looming figure against her back, "How do you make yourself come?"
"How do I make myself – what? Like a man?" All she could do was squirm between the two conflicting impulses. She felt wetness dribble down the inside of her leg and heard a low chuckle from behind her. Irulan flushed in shame.
He took a break from stroking her to rake his nails up and down her inner thighs, and she gasped with a shiver that made her clutch at the bedding. Something shifted in him then, it seemed, for his meticulous exploration of her body took on an air of impatient probing. His fingers were back inside of her, and she bit down on her cheek, but instead of withdrawing them, he seemed to curl them within her, stroking as if in search of something. A new sensation crept up deep within her core as he manipulated her body with his hand. She was trembling now, unsure of what was happening. His fingers seemed to grow, or maybe she herself had just gotten tighter. It felt as if a pressure within her was coiling in on itself, and she clamped down on it, afraid of what would happen when it broke.
She felt air again.
And then an eruption of pain. Nothing like the box, but Irulan felt tears spring to her eyes and let them flow - he couldn't see her anyway. This new intrusion felt like a battering ram, and no matter how gentle he was with her for those first few minutes, it felt like someone had gone at her opening with sandpaper.
But it was nothing like the box.
She closed her eyes and breathed, letting the cool darkness envelop her. She could do this, even if the intensifying pain threatened to make her pull away.
It was nothing like the box.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
And then it was over. She felt him withdraw and then his release on the small of her back. She waited for a touch or a word of instruction.
Why hadn't he finished inside of her? Didn't he want to produce an heir?
"Did you not want to try?" she finally asked as she heard him re-buckling his belt.
"There's time," he rasped, still panting. "Tonight was for pleasure." And then, "Turn around and let me look at you."
She began to move her skirt back over her hips before he slapped her hand away. She felt his fingers brush against her inner thigh once more – making her shiver – before he removed them, using his other to gently cover her modesty. Once the fabric fell to her feet, Irulan twisted onto her back to look at him – propping herself up on her elbows. He had blood on his hand. Her blood. He wiped it on the bedding at the foot of the bed. Right, she thought. For the maids.
"Get some rest," said her husband, turning away from her. "We leave on morning light."
"Yes, my lord."
And then he left before she could take in his face.