❝𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳.❞ You, an Atreides, the only daughter of Lady Jessica and Duke Leto are married to the violent bald Harkonnen.
I wrote all 20 + chapters of this in like three days so spelling...
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Nobody in this house would admit the truth; IT WAS DYSFUNCTIONAL.
You'd awoken alone, save for Ezza diligently waiting at your bedside, mouth puckered when she saw the bruises on your wrists.
She'd got better at doing hair at least, knowing how to plait it, her sense of Giedi Prime fashion valuable as she'd help you choose a purple dress, Grecian but tight.
Now you stood in the bathroom, foot up on the bath basin, razor held between your toes, biting on a toothbrush when you ran it across the skin so sensitive you saw stars.
One night without sex could be excused, two would be humiliation.
"Gently my lady," the black eyed maiden whispered. Ears pricked for any interlopers. "So you can still walk." You'd asked her to do it for you, the question straight out horrendous to her as she explained laying a hand on you would be a death sentence.
"Here goes." Blood oozed instantly as you caught it in Feyds shaving bowl, dizzy at the sight of it, not letting it cool or congeal and limping to your bed.
Who knew when he let you out of those fucking chains, but you'd awoken wrapped in downy fleeces, tucked underneath the covers, his piles of paperwork and armour gone.
Alright, tongue poking out, he'd roll onto you, right? Soooo somewhere in the middle?
"Remember, na—Baroness," Ezza manipulated your arms into a better position before you poured, "Harkonnen women are NEVER on top, so if asked, say you was taken on your back."
"Never?" You squinted, shocked enough to accidentally spill some on the floor. "Men always..." what was the word? "Are in control?"
She nodded, touching her inner elbow, silently worried nothing had happened in this bed yet.
Kneeling on the mattress, it felt sick, figuring out just where fresh blood from a broken hymen would spill, it couldn't be too big, too spread out, kinda smeared would do the trick, like the leak from a cycle.
You wafted it with a pillow, hoping it'd dry soon, he'd obviously been gone for too long for fresh blood.
Ugh. You imagined Hakim and her minions pulling it from the laundry, inspecting it with a magnifying glass. "That should work, Ezza. What's my schedule today?"
"First, you must find the Na—Baron, my lady. I will escort you to where he trains."
⛓️💥
The vast stone halls had warmed up, oddly enough this planet was warmer than Caladan, the fortress bustling with life, teeming with emissaries and dignitaries, politicos and diplomats, economists and Guild members.
They observed you with curious expressions, some malicious, some pitying, making way for you.
"Ezza," you said, the young girl moving in closer as you took the long way through the gallery, Harkonnen ancestors in their gold frames everywhere . "How long has na—Baron," killed slave women? You exhaled, giving her a reassuring squeeze on her hand, "indulged in acts of unforgiving sadism?"
