Slowburn | Enemies to lovers | dark romance | false prophets | Space Opera | triangle | strong femme characters | eventual Romance | Eventual smut |
A desperate Baron.
A yearning Duke.
A woman who weaves destruction with an army of fire.
In the m...
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The planet of Grummon Homeworld of the Moritani
Hawk lowered her finger as a Harkonnen vessel thin enough to be a pin shot across the horizon.
A Moritani single seater weaved after it. The wings like that of a breakbat, pulled her hair free from a braid she had tucked into the neck of her armor. Whoever was driving had a death wish, allowing the plane to drop and careen until it nearly broke the peaks free from the mountain top.
The Harkonnen's had mastered travel better than any other house in the order. A race of beings primed for battle from the day they stepped forth into the world. The emperor used them as his own personal army, despite a capability to call upon any other house he chose. There was a blatant reason for that, the Harkonnen's carried no conscience, no will to survive. Their bones were plastered with bloodshed, synapses held together by a pleasure to kill.
It was what the Galicine would have been if they had been controlled earlier. If they had not been creatures of their own wants that only bowed to one master.
The Harkonnen arrival on the planet did not spark confidence in Hawk. Regardless if they were simply sending a message to Moss.
There was no existant world where the antique Moritani plane could catch up to the Harkonnen vessel. They tried anyway, disappearing into the crimson sky as nothing more than a speck of dust at the corner of Hawks vision. A noble crusade, at best. A suicide mission at worst.
Hawk traced the emerald at her neck and crossed the threshold from the balcony into her chambers. It had been ten days since her arrival on Grummon and the scaled armor she wore fit better with every pass of the dawn. Surely, that had something to do with the excess protein and laze of residing in the palace walls.
She tightened the cuffs of her boots and ran a hand down the waist plate. The scales of the armor bit at her fingers, sharp and fitted to her form. A second, more resilient, set of skin.
When Hawk stepped into the hallway, chamber maids and guards marched past with their eyes locked on the throne room. The brief show of the Harkonnen's did not shake only Hawk. It seemed the whole palace had awakened in a fit of confusion.
Worrisome tones crept through the crack of the throne room door every time it opened. Moss's worried tone to be exact. He hollered about a message dropped on the pavillon, how they hadn't even been courteous enough to land the vessel and speak man to man.
If Moss decided so, he could order Hawk to fall before the throne and prime her with the information. Her head swam as she considered spending the afternoon trapped between Moritani soldiers and his vacant eyes. If she made it to the training yards, then at least the order would take some time to reach her.
To stand before an army that one didn't deserve was a fate worse than serving. Yet, she owed it to the Galicine to finally make an appearance. They might detest her for it; mirror the words she composed in her head and cast her to the ground. She wouldn't blame them if they did.
