Feyd-Rautha stood in the silence of the antechamber. The room was completely soundproofed, and he enjoyed these moments of solitude before each fight. Two minutes before it was time for him to enter the arena, the lights would gradually turn on to give his eyes a chance to adjust to full brightness, before momentarily switching off as the doors slid open – creating the illusion he was entering from the dark. The trick was necessary so that he wouldn't be disoriented by the sun – so that he could walk out before the crowd without shielding his eyes or blinking stupidly in the light – but he wanted to experience the last moments of his opponents as vividly as he could. He estimated about half an hour until the lights began to brighten. For now, he enjoyed this moment in the silent dark.
It would be his first fight as the Baron. His initial command had been to do away with the drugs his uncle had insisted on using. He wanted his opponents lucid. Some might consider it reckless, but after besting Paul, Feyd knew he'd be in no real danger, as hard as he tried to test the waters of uncertainty. Today, he'd be facing eight men at once: surviving allies of House Atreides. After the killing of his uncle, Feyd knew the spectators were hungry for blood, and he planned to give them a show: today was the day he'd be introducing all of Giedi Prime to his bride.
He'd observed her carefully since their engagement and discovered she was as tightly-wound as a Mentat. He'd arranged to have her sit in his uncle's box so she could have the best view of the show. Guards would flank the doors behind her barring her exit, and already, others stood at their stations, awaiting signal.
His thoughts drifted back to the wedding night. The Princess hadn't been what he'd expected. He'd braced himself against a psychic attack, but nothing came. She was deliberate and controlled, but at his provocation, a little anger spilled out. She blushed like an ordinary maiden the moment he'd grabbed her. She was submissive – disappointingly so. He told himself he'd figure out just what made her tick, and he flipped her onto her belly so he could observe her freely. He undid his belt loudly and saw her legs start to tremble. Cute. He had the sudden urge to taste her then but resisted it. Not then. He would, however, taste his finger after sticking it inside her. She was bone-dry when he penetrated her, but she lay there passively after the initial sharp inhale. She hadn't tried to wet herself or move his hand or tell him what to do to get her ready. Even his darlings liked to wiggle into a position that suited them if he ignored their needs for too long, so the Princess's lack of response made him think. Fear hadn't worked on her, so he decided to try a new tactic. He wetted fingers – she'd tasted of melange and sweetsyrup – and stroked her clit, gently enough so that she shouldn't feel a need to brace against it. He'd give her pure pleasure and see what she did with it. And much to his surprise, it was pleasure that caused her to wriggle. He clamped his arm around her waist, holding her in position, and continued to experiment. He tried hitting her, and she flinched, though he knew it could have merely been surprise. The true test was the second strike: would she recoil from the impact, or would she moan for it? Neither, as it turned out – she gave him no reaction at all – so he resumed doing what had initially caused her to twist away from him: he put his hand between her legs.
She was extraordinarily responsive to his touch, all while fighting against it. When he asked her how she made herself come, she seemed startled by the question – "Like a man?" she'd stammered. Was it possible she'd never had an orgasm? If so, the possibilities were… rapidly unfolding in his mind. He supposed it made sense: the Bene Gesserit was an organization dedicated to gaining control, not losing it. Still… he thought to himself, it was rich – all that education on seduction with no mention of pleasure. The other one hadn't come when she emptied him – he was sure of that now. What her objective had been, he still wasn't sure, but he would find out. And in the meantime, he would find out what made his new bride quake.
Pleasure, as it turned out, seemed to be unfamiliar territory for her. He was tempted to bring her to orgasm when he felt her tighten around his fingers, but he decided to leave her in the dark for a bit longer. A first orgasm was a turning point: he'd reserve it for when he needed one. Besides, the first time he made her come, he wanted to make sure it was accompanied by such complete humiliation that the experience would forever haunt her cravings. He would condition her to associate fear with arousal, utter helplessness with ecstasy. And he knew she wouldn't touch herself in the meantime – she was too prim, too proper to slip a hand between her thighs no matter how much she ached. She would be reliant on him for the experience.
She'd clenched down on him then, and he decided to take her. He'd make it as quick as he could – not necessarily for her sake – her pain wasn't particularly interesting to him – at least not that particular flavor of pain: ordinary pain of virgins. No, he preferred his women weathered – preferred them jaded – so that when he finally saw the shocked panic in their eyes, he knew it really meant something. Anyway, he'd gotten what came for: information.
And he was about to get more.
Across the city, the doors of the Imperial Heighliner slid open to admit a crowd of new faces. Bald girls in black dresses boarded to gawk at the new bride. The heat was sweltering – the sun almost seemed to have a heartbeat – or maybe it was the Somnolara. As the Imperial doctor had warned her, the medical team began prodding Irulan before she'd even had a chance to step off the ship. Under the watchful eyes of her new handmaidens, she knew better than to resist the unspecified needles being placed in both arms. No one took any time at all to introduce themselves or explain what they were doing to her. Even Thalassa, who could always be relied on for an encouraging smile, looked unsettled. Irulan barely even had time to say goodbye before she was being pulled into the blinding light of black sun.
"You're just in time," said a bald maiden on her right. "The fight is about to begin."
"Fight?"
"Oh yes," said the maiden on her left. "Just wait till you see him." She shot Irulan a mischievous black grin.
"There's nothing like it," said the other. "Nothing like it at all to stir your blood."
Irulan felt like she might faint from the heat. Or was it the drugs? Or maybe it was the shock of her new surroundings. They whisked her onto a transporter car, which had no walls to shield her from the sun, and settled in around her. There were six of them in total. Wind whipped her hair, and one of the girls reached out to touch it.
"Will you be keeping this?" she purred.
"Yes," said Irulan, jerking away. Her eyes were still adjusting to the light. Everything around her seemed to pulse.
"What if the Baron doesn't like it?" asked another.
"Then the Baron will take a lover," snapped Irulan. She just wanted a moment alone to regain her bearings. The handmaidens giggled around her.
"It's a pity we don't have time to get you ready," said the girl on her left.
"Ready for what?" asked Irulan.
"You're still in your travel clothes," said another.
"Oh," said Irulan. She hadn't even thought of it, and in that moment, the Reverend Mother's voice came back to her: it's about time you started considering your appearance.
"She looks like an otherworld servant," cried a voice from the back of the car.
"A pretty one, though!" chirped another.
"But the crowd will want a showing!"
"And they'll get one," said different voice, before another one shushed it. The girls began to giggle. Under other circumstances, Irulan would have ordered them to be silent, but she felt lightheaded. Was it their drugs? Or was it the lingering Somnolara?
The car came to a stop, and suddenly she was being pulled toward a stadium. She yanked a hand free so she could shield her eyes as the handmaidens ushered her toward a grand metal door. The guards bowed their heads and opened it, and Irulan nearly moaned at the feeling of the air conditioning before she was being pushed into a sleek metal box. It jerked upward, and Irulan grasped the railing as the handmaidens laughed.
"Do you not have elevators on Kaitain?" asked one of them. Irulan couldn't tell any of them apart.
"Shhhhhh," hushed another. "Don't embarrass her!"
The door slid open, and they pushed her out onto a covered balcony. The Princess's mouth fell open when her eyes adjusted to the sunlight and the crowd, and she saw the rippling sea of bald heads: it wasn't an audience but a texture. She didn't want to look at it.
"The Baron's private box," explained one of the girls before another grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the front row of seats.
"The best seats in the house!" squealed a voice. "Come and sit!"
Irulan sat. Her head began to ache, and she lifted her hands to massage her temples.
"Let me!" cried one of the handmaidens and grabbed Irulan's head, digging her knuckles against the Princess's aching scalp.
"Thank you," muttered the Princess. It actually felt really good.
"It will take some time to adjust to the light," said the girl to her right. "Or so I've been told."
Irulan nodded. She was sitting down at least. "It's so hot here," she said.
"Is it?" asked a girl from behind her. "It's always like this."
"Until nighttime," said another, "and then it's freezing."
"Here!" said one of the girls, shoving a pair of gilded binoculars into Irulan's lap (at least Irulan assumed they were gilded: she couldn't see gold under the infrared light). "To get a better view."
Irulan nodded. Maybe if she stopped talking, so would they. She felt the stirrings of a migraine.
"My turn! My turn!" cried another voice too close to her ear. A handmaiden shoved the girl who was kneading the back of Irulan's neck and took over the massage.
"I'm the best at this," said she said, and she was indeed skilled. Irulan let out a sigh before she could help herself.
"What's your name?" asked Irulan.
"I'm Soline."
"Thank you, Soline. I might shut my eyes for a bit."
"Don't do that!" cried the girl to her left. "It's about to start!"
And as if on cue, a loud voice boomed over the speakers. Irulan wasn't familiar with the native language - she'd had no reason to be until a week ago – but it must have announced the beginning of the fight, because the crowd began to roar.
A door on the periphery of the arena slid open, and there he was.
Irulan felt the binoculars shoved in front of her face, and she lifted her hands to the sides so she could control her own view. She saw the bald faces in clearer view. She saw sand. She saw him. He was already looking at her, a black grin spreading across his face. Irulan felt herself shiver despite the heat, and she dropped the binoculars to her lap.
He was small again. She could manage it better this way. Irulan saw holes form in the barrier of the battlefield and several small men stumbled into the light. The princess counted eight in total. Each man held a blade. Irulan held her breath. He was showing off, she thought. What would happen to her if he got killed? She wanted to think they'd put her on the first flight back to Kaitain, but as she observed the bloodthirsty crowd, she couldn't be sure.
Feyd-Rautha approached the men. He was small but he was huge. He dodged the first man's knife and cut him down as easily as a fishmonger cutting through aquastratum. Two others approached him, and he dispatched with them fluidly. He moved like an invertebrate, Irulan thought to herself, his black robes fluttering around him like tentacles. The remaining five men circled the new Baron. He lunged at the closest one, gutting him, before plunging his blade into a man behind him. Irulan began to feel genuine fear for the last man left standing. Feyd was killing them quickly to diminish their numbers, but she had a feeling he'd want to make the last one hurt.
Irulan blinked and two more men were on the ground. Black seeped into the surrounding sand. Was black better or worse than red? She didn't know. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. She was still sore from the wedding night, even after three days' time, and she felt an ache inside of her as she watched the fight. The last man fell to the ground.
The crowd screamed. The mass of heads shivered and contracted, and Irulan felt a throbbing between her legs she'd only known once in her life. The drugs, she thought to herself and felt her stomach flip. What had he done to her?
And then the spotlight blinded her.
The booming voice spoke again in words she couldn't understand, and the screams reached a fever pitch. The guards surrounded her then, as her handmaidens cackled with glee. One clamped a hand over her mouth, and Irulan twisted and jerked, trying to break free. She was being dragged backward, out of the light and through the open doors of the elevator, and then they were plunging down.
A guard behind her brought a gag over her head to replace the gloved hand muffling her screams. As the device vibrated and then clicked into place, and Irulan knew she wouldn't be able to remove it on her own. The doors opened, and the men carried her through a dark metal hallway and turned a corner, opening a door before flinging her into cold, dark room. As she heard it lock behind her, Irulan realized why her husband hadn't dragged out the eighth man's death: she was the final attraction.
He planned to kill her then. Her instincts hadn't been wrong when she'd woke to seen him leaning on her doorframe, obscured in shadow. He planned to kill her – had planned it all out. Perhaps her father was already dead, murdered in his bed while she slept aboard the Heighliner. The Truthsayer was on Arrakis. Even with the strength of the Sardaukar protecting him, there was no one left beside him with a knack for anticipating plans. With her father slain, with her marriage signed in blood, her husband had no more use for her. He meant to kill her. She was sure of it now. Her heart pounded in her throat.
She wouldn't go down without a fight.
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.
The doors slid open, blinding her. She staggered out into the light, and the crowed roared. There was no point to stilling her heart, not now: she needed all the blood she could get. Before her eyes could adjust to the light, she felt the knife against her throat – felt his arousal against her back. Her nostrils flared as she tried to control her breathing. With his free hand, he tucked her hair behind her ear so he could nip its lobe with his teeth. Irulan shuddered as he ran his tongue against her captured flesh. The sea of heads pulsed white against the black of the arena.
"I've seen you fuck," he rasped, barely above a whisper. "Now let's see you fight." He took the knife from her neck, lightly dragging it down the length of her arm, before placing it in front of her.
When she hesitated, he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and closed her fingers around the handle.
"My darlings are hungry," he said against her neck. "You were concerned with their dinner. So I promised them a feast."
He was still talking, she thought, which meant it was a test. A test. Not an execution. A test. She willed her heartbeat to slow. Her fingers tightened around the blade.
"That's my girl," he breathed. "She'll be coming now." He lightly sucked on her neck, and she trembled against him, feeling heat between her legs. She heard a buzzing above them. "She has no blade," he rasped, "but she has teeth."
A door across the arena slid open and a creature crawled out. Not a creature. A woman. Bald and pale and naked. And grinning. Black dripped from her mouth: she'd been feeding.
"Kill," he whispered. "Or die." He pressed something on the back of her skull, and the metal fell off her. Then he shoved her.
She caught herself on her hands and knees, the white sand scalding her bare palms, and she winced at the pain before turning around to look at him. Her gaze flew to his hooded black eyes, and then she saw the cone of silence hovering above him: even if she managed to use the Voice on the creature, he himself would be immune.
He'd truly thought of everything.
"Come darling," he shouted to his pet across the arena. "See what I've brought you."
The creature panted.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear.
"This is no ordinary meat, my darling. It's royal."
The thing howled.
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.
"Come and taste it," he shouted to the creature crouched on all fours at the opposite end of the arena.
And then it broke into a sprint.
Irulan nearly doubled back before stopping herself.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.
It was running like a dog even though it was a woman. Its eyes gleamed stupidly, and its tongue wagged as it bounded towards her.
"Stop!" she cried. "Stop!" It came out like a choke. The Voice hadn't worked. She couldn't use it. Not on him. And not on it. Irulan whipped around to look at Feyd-Rautha and could instantly see that he knew. And he knew that she knew that he knew.
She would have to kill it, she understood: she had no other option. She could kill it. It had no knife. She had the knife.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
The closer it got, the less frightened she was. This was a match. Her first match. She had wondered about her first match, and now it was here.
It was here.
It was here.
She had a knife.
It had teeth, but she had a knife.
Irulan's surroundings narrowed to a singular point. Her heart rate slowed, and she bent her knees.
Only I will remain.
The creature pounced.
Irulan felt the wind leave her as she landed on her back. Pain seared through her as sharp teeth sunk into the tender flesh of her shoulder, clamping down and ripping.
Her left hand flew up to catch the creature's forehead – to hold back the gnashing black jaw – before her right hand flew up on its own accord.
Like cutting through a melon, thought Irulan as the creature's eyes bulged, and its body jerked. Hot blood hit her in the face. She tasted metal on her tongue and swallowed it down before she had a chance to think.
The crowd roared as the thing fell against her, as Irulan sucked in air again and again, trying to still her own breathing. It wasn't that big of a woman, but she felt pinned under its heavy, dead weight.
And then it pulled up and off of her. Feyd was hoisting her to her knees. He wrapped his fingers around her own and plunged the knife deep into the creature's abdomen. Irulan shuddered as the metal sliced through meat, no differently than a steak. She was softer than a steak.
Irulan stood then, retching, dropping the knife and backing away.
Feyd dipped his fingers in his dead darling's blood, and then he got to his feet, stalking toward her. He outmatched her in physicality and skill, and she knew if he meant to kill her all she could do was die gracefully. She willed her stomach to stop clenching, willed her pulse to stop racing. She felt a calm wash over her, and she squared up to him, narrowing her eyes.
He raised his bloodstained hands, showing them to the crowd, and the arena went silent.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
Then he brought both thumbs to her mouth, marking her.
And then he kissed her, stealing her breath.
She tasted salt and metal and sweat, and he caught her as her knees gave out, cradling her body as she sank into his arms. His hands came to her sides, steadying her. And then he broke away, leaving her gasping. Irulan heard nothing except for wind and the frantic beating of her own heart. The crowd was silent. Unmoving. Waiting for his command.
Her husband knelt before her, picking up the blade she'd let fall, his gleaming eyes never once leaving hers. He stood, presenting it to her handle-first, and she took it from him, as if in a trance.
Finally, once he'd closed his fingers around her wrist, he brought both their hands skyward.