He opened the door, and she walked through it feeling like a small creature taking its tentative first steps out of a cage into an unfamiliar new world – out of the depths and into a dream. A long hallway stretched out before her, its metal ridges nearly black – and she thought her chambers had been dark! The low-lit apartment was nothing compared shadowy labyrinth she found herself in. The space reminded her of the nighttime sky of Wallach IX. The evenings struck her most of all when she'd traveled to the planet – the strict curfews to shield off light pollution and the resulting sacredness of each sunset. That had been the one week she was allowed to visit the Bene Gesserit School. The Princess wondered what it would have been like if she'd been an ordinary Sister and had gotten to study alongside her peers – not as a queen piece, but as an ordinary pawn, surrounded by other pawns, instead of hidden away at the back of the board until the time came for her usefulness. Perhaps she would have gotten further in her studies – would have developed the tools necessary to save herself – but she had saved herself, hadn't she? Her legs still worked, and her lungs still took in air.

They passed an archway that looked into a far larger room than she'd seen since her arrival, and she longed to stop for a moment – to investigate – but Feyd had already turned a corner. Another long and desolate hall. It lay before her like a nightmare, but the good kind of nightmare – the kind of nightmare where she knew she'd need to run, but more than anything, wanted to get to the end of the story. It was no longer Giedi Prime: he was her God, and she was his Maiden. If he chased her here, it wouldn't be real. And she did want to run – barefoot if possible – to feel the muscles of her legs and the burning in her lungs. She'd run if he let her, as he chased her in the shadows – she'd run and run and run –

"Is it always this dark?" she asked.

"You'll adjust."

She didn't want to adjust – she wanted to feel this way forever.

A door slid open she followed him through it. Back inside, she thought to herself, though she'd never truly been outdoors. His quarters looked like hers had, except bigger. The bed was nearly twice in size, and like hers, it had a mirror hanging above it. The feeling hadn't left her – the sensation of dreaming made the place shimmer. She hadn't expected to be out – not so soon – not ever – but here she stood in a brand-new room, having walked through brand-new hallways. She'd expected to die in that bathchamber, but she had lived – she had, hadn't she?

Her husband was looking at her for the first time since they'd left her apartment. His eyes were obscured in shadow, but she could tell he was calm. A figure in a dream. Not really there – a background fixture – she set about exploring and he didn't interfere –

His quarters were much bigger than hers. A grand dining table with twenty chairs. A library piled high with thick metal scrolls. A room with walls decorated with more knives than she'd seen in her entire life combined. She turned into the next one and saw the massive empty basin.

Her breath stopped and she recoiled from it – wouldn't go in that room – not that room – back into the hallway – back into the light –

She screamed as she felt his hands on her.

He was dragging her backward, away from the basin – fine, she thought, as long as he doesn't do it there –

He was hushing her like she was a small child, and they were back in the bedchamber, and he was pushing her onto the mattress.

"Lie down," he rasped, and Irulan nodded, trembling despite her best efforts. She could see him settle in next to her through the mirror, could watch his movements, which were careful and slow. She scanned him for a blade and saw that both of his hands were empty.

"The mirror's not for lust," she breathed, "it's for protection."

He looked up to meet her gaze through the glass, and then he grabbed her jaw with his hand – turning her to face him directly – stared at her. Whatever he saw in her eyes caused him to let go of her. He leapt from the bed, walking out of the room and leaving her there. She was wanting again. The Reverend Mother had warned her over and over again about her tendency to want, but there was something in the night that had felt like magic to her. She wanted to live – oh how she wanted to live –

He was back, and before she had a chance to sit up, he had her hoisted over his shoulder. He was carrying her back in the direction of the bathchamber. No.

She began to kick and claw at him – struggling in his grip, but he held her firm. "Let go of me!" she barked. Once again, the Voice failed her – what an utter disgrace of a pupil she'd been – no time for such thinking – she would fight until the end with everything she had – they crossed the threshold, and he set her down on her feet beside the tub –

"Get in," he commanded.

"I won't," she spit.

"Do it."

"No"

"I have no plans to drown you," he rasped, raising his hands. There was a mischief in his eyes that she didn't know what to make of.

She stared at him, panting, as he reached for her with one hand. He wove his fingers into the hair on the back of her head.

"I've seen you kill without a thought," he said, pressing his forehead to hers. "Are you going to be defeated by a tub?"

He was sizing her up. She could see it in those eyes.

"Take off your clothes. And get in." If she broke now, he'd lose interest, and his interest kept her alive.

She started to strip.

He stepped back, folding his arms as he watched her. She was shaking as she pulled her dress over her head, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact, even as she stepped out of her underclothes. When she finished, she turned, looking at the rippling water and lowered herself into the basin, shuddering as the heat enveloped her. She took a deep breath, sinking beneath the surface, before coming back up to wipe her eyes and look at him.

That expression was back – the awe.

"Is this what you wanted?" she asked. The steam rose around her to the vaulted ceiling above them.

"You're not a Bene Gesserit," he breathed. "You lack training and control."

"And yet I'm still here."

"What are you, woman?"

"Your wife"

"My wife," he repeated. And then again, "My wife."

"Are you just going to stand there?" she asked. "I assume there's more you're wanting."

He just looked at her shaking his head, a black grin spreading over his face, matching the inky ridges of the bathchamber walls.

"What do you want from me?" she asked again.

He walked toward the edge of the basin, crouching down to touch the water with his fingers as he spoke. "Why don't you like your chambers? Tell me."

"They feel like a tomb."

"Like a tomb?" he mused. "An expensive tomb."

"I am not some pet to be caged," she said. "I am your wife. If you wish me to be happy, you will let me roam."

"What else would make you happy?"

"I already told you – my transcriber"

"What do you need with it?"

"To record my thoughts."

"What else?"

"It relaxes me."

"What else would make you happy?"

"I don't know – a garden?"

"A garden"

"How can you live like this?" she asked. "It's so dark and solemn and – I don't know – sterile? It's just – "

"What else?"

"You tried to kill me not one hour ago. You can't possibly care what does or doesn't make me happy."

He stood, eyes gleaming. "Enjoy the water as long as you wish. Then come to bed." And walked out of the room.

She couldn't find a towel, so she used her dress to dry herself off. It would be unusual, anyway, for her to put it back on before going to bed.

When she came back to the bedchamber, he was lying under the black sheets of his bed. She could tell he was shirtless. She thought of Vesryn's comment – I don't send clients out sans clothing – but it appeared she was appropriately dressed for the occasion. If he wished to take her again, and she suspected he might, it wouldn't bother her much. She knew she'd be unable to sleep.

He watched her reflection instead of looking directly at her, and she met his gaze through the glass once she'd crawled in beside him.

"My uncle installed the mirrors after I tried to kill him."

"Oh"

"I was ten," he said. "And he was large." Was he threatening her? If she could only determine the rules, she could figure out why had he'd turned so quickly on her? What had she done wrong?

"A young age to become a killer," she said stiffly. The lights were already so low, there was nothing to dim – no official transition into sleep. She'd never shared a bed with anyone, so she didn't know how this was supposed to work. She did feel more relaxed. Something about their encounter in the bathchamber had jolted her out of whatever panic she'd been feeling. She turned onto her side, and he pulled her into his chest, and she lay there, frozen, trying to determine what it meant. She feared if she moved, she could set him off like she had the last time. If she could only determine the rules, she could decipher why he'd turned on her so quickly.

"Just tell me what you want," she said, "and I'll do my best."

"Close your eyes."

"I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep," she admitted. "If I could have a sedative – "

"Feel," he said, and one of his hands trailed down to her thigh.

He wishes to take me again, she thought to herself and moved to turn toward him, but he held her in place.

"Tell me," he rasped. "Are you afraid?"

"No"

"You were."

"Not anymore."

"Why not?" His thumb lightly stroked her skin – his touch was more soothing than hungry.

"I suppose," she began, before pausing to determine exactly what it was she felt. "if wanted to kill me, you would have already." It was easier to talk like this in the darkness – when she could feel his body against her without the pressure of his eyes on her face. She wanted to ask him why she was here – why he'd wanted her in bed with him – but it felt like the words were beyond her. She could speak about herself though, even if questioning him felt dangerous. She wasn't self-conscious in front of him, not anymore. Not right now at least. "I do feel like I'm going to bother you though. I'm not used to sharing a bed."

He said nothing, but he continued to trace circles on her leg, and she knew he was still paying attention. The shift had happened when she'd touched him, she realized, and the Reverend Mother's words came back to her: He is likely expecting a similar encounter. Don't try to seduce him. She would have to let Margot go. The understanding arrived with a pang of loss. Her conversations with the Margot in her head had been the closest thing she'd had to a friend.

"I did something to upset you," she said quietly, "though I'm not sure what. I apologize."

"Don't be weak," he rasped. "It doesn't suit you."

"I don't know what you want," she said. "I try to be strong, and you drown me. I try to be weak, and you tell me to be strong."

"Both are lies. You're not strong, and you're not weak."

Irulan didn't know what to say to that, but his fingers kept stroking her, and she felt alert but not afraid. Not truly. Not like she'd been. You're not weak. She clung to the words in a way she knew she'd chide herself for come morning, but right then, in the darkness, she felt a flutter swirl within her. "I didn't understand this place," she admitted. "Not until we walked from my quarters to yours." His touch reassured her in the absence of his words. She kept speaking. "The rooms feel like prisons, but the hallways feel the being outside in the middle of the night. There's something beautiful about the darkness. The shadows. I could have wandered the corridors all night." She paused. "Maybe you'll let me one of these nights." Her heart began to pound, not from fear but from the stillness of the air around them.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"No." There were things she wanted to know – what he had been like at ten, if he longed for sunlight, what he felt when he killed, what he felt when he looked at her, what he meant when he said she wasn't strong, what he thought she was if not weak, why he held her in this moment, stroking her thigh, and if he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her, she suddenly realized. She didn't understand it – perhaps it was the dream – not a dream but a dream – she turned in his arms, and he let her – touching her forehead to his – could feel her heartbeat in her throat – his eyes were covered with shadow – a figure in the dark – his skin was hot – it was soft – she felt him harden against her belly, and she knew where it would lead, but mostly, she needed him to lean in – to close the distance between them – felt she couldn't do it herself – needed to know he wanted her – wanted to stop time – or perhaps not stop it but experience it second by second – eighteen thousand seconds sounded better than five hours – she kept her hands by her chest knowing one wrong touch would break the spell of it – she was wanting again – shouldn't want – moved to turn back around before he stopped her – pressed his lips to hers.

Heat flowed through her. His hands came to her hair, and hers came to his face, and he let her – unexpectedly, he let her touch his face as he held her tightly to him. She needed him closer – somehow holding each other like this wasn't close enough and suddenly she understood why people had sex – to get as close as one could get – because words didn't work – couldn't explain what she needed to say to him –

He believed in her – had known she would win – believed in her for whatever reason – had challenged her for a reason – it wasn't supposed to be him, but he had seen her –

Had seen her.

In the morning, she'd be smarter. In the morning, she'd –

She kissed him with everything she had – she let him flip her onto her back – gasped as he pushed inside her – hadn't felt like this – had never felt like this – a dizzying pleasure that made her turn her head from side to side – a dream –

Her legs trembled around him as he rocked against her over and over. She opened her eyes and saw him in the mirror above her – his muscular body holding her – taking her –

She clenched around him and he groaned. She felt him bite her shoulder and she stifled a moan.

It had never been like this – oh she was done for – was utterly done for –

He was beautiful –

"Kiss me," she panted, and he did, swallowing her moans. The tension in her core tightened in on itself – tighter and tighter –

He rolled off of her, turning over onto his side, as she lay shaking, looking at her dim reflection in the mirror above them. When it became clear he was done interacting with her, she turned away from him, knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep and shutting her eyes anyway.