Blood & Marriage🩸Feyd Rautha x f! Reader

06;

Maybe they did just a LITTLE.

But if they harmed you Paul and the Duke would have their head. WAR. Why did you have to move here anyway? And how come it was all THEIR RULES? Neither one of them had the decency to visit you, hell, even leave a note, their communication AWFUL.

To be married to a stranger. An otherworldly one who didn't even know your favourite colour, who didn't even care.

so Ezza was warming up, her tiny body sat on a HUGE CUSHION behind yours as she dolled it, your mostly nude (they were a fan of this) frame full of oils and raw slicks of honey, just basting, learning all about this so—called 'husband.'

Nothing you didn't know, but from a native it held a much different weight.

Feyd was a playboy, womaniser, who enjoyed the company of...others, 'but they wouldn't be you, my lady,' she'd soothed at your frown and the quiet way you brushed your teeth, SO IT WAS LIKE THAT, he was a formidable fighter, prone to fits of ruthless rage.

As you'd seen...

"Is there," you began to ask, taking the cloth to rub the dewy lotion from your hands, "anybody else," eating the plate of pundi rice brought from your home world, she didn't like it, too sweet for their thirst for meat diet, "special, someone he loves?"

Ezza picked some peculiar bread like substance from her plate, occupying her hands with another pour of the jug, "y—."

Before she could respond, Hakim, thinner, older, far more serious, a obvious spy for THE FLOATER burst in, so professional and appeasing yet noting everything happening—Ezza pretended like she hadn't been doing anything for three hours.

"YOU!" Hakim slapped her hands together, being a petty bitch, severe in expression, "GET BACK TO WORK, sluggish oaf."

Ah you didn't think so, "she is my maid," you was making it clear, unmistakably, head up, hands on either side of the marble bath, "don't presume to order her, now what news do you bring to interrupt us? Something important I imagine?"

Hakims haughty face fell, Ezza hiding behind your head, the older woman's arms crossing defensively but subtly as she submitted and bowed, ENJOYING MESSING UP YOUR NIGHT THOUGH, "Na—Baron Feyd Rautha requests your presence."

SHIT.

"It's normal for a husband to see his wife before marriage," Ezza explained, her loose fitting sack—like garb sailing behind her body to keep up with your fast stride, "the next left."

Normal here, but nowhere else. Veil over your face, all the inhabitants of this otherworldly fire pit were in awe, staring openly, their whispers obvious. Your head didn't once move, held high, walk immaculate.

What could he want at this time?

"This is as far as I can go, my lady," Ezza stopped at the tip of the long, stone corridor illuminated only by hovering faux candlelight, the doors heavily guarded by the elite soldiers. "Please, conduct yourself well."

Great, now you was left to do this entirely alone.

"Rest for the night." You bid her with a squeeze of her arm, she flinched, unused to the contact, making you worry you'd done something culturally unacceptable AGAIN before returning a thick—lipped laugh.

And dismissed she left you entirely alone, Hakim languishing in the shadows behind you, thinking she was sharp.

With a flush on your cheeks, steadying your nerves, skin gleaming, reaching the eight foot tall sentries who pulled back their swords—did you knock? Announce yourself? Adjusting your veil, both pairs of green eyes slinking to you before one took charge and banged three times with a spear.

"Come," Feyd beckoned, "come on in, little Atreides." And it was a spine shuddering, gut—puncher of a laugh, "I won't bite you, too hard at least."