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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// I don't typically post tw at the heads of chapters, but there is a one sentence reference to CSA in this chapter that I think should be mentioned. You'll see the italics where Feyd is recalling a memory of the Baron.
It was one very minuscule mercy that Feyd would not have to look upon the Alica as they descended upon the courtyard to stuff their rocks into the pillar. They waited against the mountain side for him to create a mass distraction. It came in the form of Oliver, the renounced Moritani.
"There is a disturbance on the western side," Feyd said, "Go see it to and bring all your men with you."
The general listened, but not without reluctance. He sulked off into the shadows, bellowing for men to follow. Moritani, Harkonnen, they all fell into step as they marched toward the cliffs. It made Feyd sick to the stomach. He hadn't yet decided if he were betraying the The Baron, or himself.
A little bird that often whispered betrayal sulked along the palace walls. Feyd nodded to Hawk as she hooked a claw in the side of the stone to peek through a window.
Approach, an inner voice echoed, remind her that she should fear you.
Feyd stood his ground, watching the soft breeze whip her hair. She already knew, whether her insolence allowed her to show it or not. If he died in the oncoming battle, he would ensure that she went with him.
Hawk raised her hand, and the Alica swift footed it down the peak. It was the last sight of her that would catch until the annal's of fate either unfolded for them, or sent them to the afterlife. Feyd spared the Alica a glance that burned in his retina's, and ducked into the palace halls.
Night, and tempering on the depths of it, Feyd racked his sabre against the stone. He allowed to shriek with every step, every breath and beat of his hollow heart. He scratched it against the walls, the drapes and portraiture. Shreds fell to the ground, a carpet for him to walk on.
The Baron would be soaking in a tub of charcoal and urine. He would have his disgusting head rolled back against the basin, breathing in the acrid scent. Feyd pictured him there, oozing in the liquid like cattle seeking refuge from heat in river clay.
Feyd lowered his shoulders outside of the throne room. A door that had withstood the passage of battle, the only veil between them. The veil grew thinner the longer he stood. Merely a sheet that separated him from the life that he had been promised.
Come to me little boy, The Baron's voice resounded in his head, a memory of boyhood long past. Fight for me boy. Nephew, creature, death bringer. That's all that you're good for. Here's a woman and a blade, see how she fucks, see how she bleeds. Isn't it godly to hear the screams?
