In a number of ways, the fighting pit reminded Hawk of the burning corpse of the soldier she had sent to death. Every time she turned a corner, or startled at the sound of a blade hitting cement, it reimposed his final screams in her mind. As she took a seat at the head of the training yard, the fighters looked to her for orders, all wearing his eyes in some way.
Hawk lifted her hand, a sign that it was time to start.
Two Galicine ventured into the center of the ring and racked their blades on the pillar. A larger man and an ever so slightly shorter counterpart. With parted legs, they began to dance, swinging the axes in smooth motion.
"Do they look thinner to you?" Moss asked, hands folded together over full military uniform. There were no meetings organized or caravans to welcome, but he insisted on wearing the part of the watchful overlord. Hawk wondered if it were a tactful approach in case one of the Harkonnen's attacked. Moss would want to be dressed proudly for his funeral.
Hawk shrugged, "They're eating well. It's probably a loss of muscle from lack of fighting."
"They fight each other all the time," Moss said.
On cue, the larger soldier tripped the other, sending his head into the wall."It's different," she replied, "there's no bloodlust in it."
Moss eyed her suspiciously. Narrowed looks had grown more common in the halls of the Moritani palace. The duke was wary of everything, and everyone. That circumspection translated not only to the Harkonnen's but to her as well.
Hawk cheered as the smaller soldier pulled himself upright and swung his blade. The tip narrowly skidded over the combatants jaw, drawing droplets of blood.
"You root for the underdog," Moss assessed, hesd nodding as if he had uncovered some brutal secret.
Hawk chuckled, "I don't bet on lame horses, but I do love a unexpected twist."
Moss trailed his gaze down the chain at her throat. He hadn't used his control over her yet, but Hawk had anticipated the day that he did. She suspected that he would command it to level her against Feyd Rautha, or commit some impossible act.
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The Dying Moon ( Feyd Rautha )
FantasySlowburn | 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...