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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Feyd Rautha skimmed his hand over the concubine's head, but didn't find any white hair to grasp. She did a fine enough job on her knees, eager and tender with a practiced lack of teeth. It missed artistry, a rote action without any true intention to make him feel lusted after. Against his will, he imagined Hawk before him instead. Given the opportunity, she probably would have bitten the appendage off and spit it on the fine rugs. At least, she would have shown some enthusiasm.
Hate was more preferable than pleasure, it lasted longer. A tether without any slack. The concubine would eventually rise and wipe her mouth, sulk back to her chamber and wait for him to call her again. A fact that would not have bothered him in the slightest on Giedi Prime. Grumman had a way of making the most gloriously depraved acts feel like a chore.
Feyd lulled his head against the lounge back and cast his eyes to the soot coated ceilings.
"That's enough," he barked pushing her head away.
"You're not finished, my lord," her dark eyes gleamed, wide and puzzled.
"Is there not something else you would rather be doing?" he growled, "sewing, fighting, drinking?"
The concubine dropped to her haunches and rocked, "There isn't much else to do. Most of the other bed women have been executed. The spider is always hungry."
Feyd lifted his lip into a sneer. There was nothing that drained blood from his cock faster than the reminder of the Baron's favored pet. "Then, I would hide if I were you."
The concubine kept her eyes trained on the floor as she rose. She pulled a dark satin robe from the bed and sheathed her unconfined body. "I'll wait for you to request me again. I apologize for my failure. "
She was halfway to the door, head lowered in apathy, when Feyd called after her, "By hide, I didn't mean within the palace. The planet might tear your limbs off but that is preferable to what you'll find here."
She turned, and Feyd finally registered that he didn't even know her name. She gazed about the room, to the bed, the balcony, to the night that never broke and pooled darkness into the quarters. Her harrowed eyes said that she thought his offer of escape was a trap.
"I apologize again, my lord," she bowed and ducked her fragile head through the door.
War was a mans sport, but the fates of women were always the indication that it had fully taken hold. If a Harkonnen concubine would rather face death by eight legs and sharpened teeth than run into the badlands, the house had truly failed all.
Feyd groaned and dressed himself. The Galicine were no longer running rampant, they holed themselves along the coast line on the north side of the palace grounds. They took bodies with them for sustenance, weapons and women from the village. The turncoat Moritani held the barracks for the few remaining Harkonnen men, the plane bay devoid of ships and the glowing pillar in the fighting pits that had ceased to light any longer.
