❝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...
HELLO people, yikes, I'm so sorry this little book of mine hasn't been updated in so long and I've not responded to notifs—life has been a little—eh, but thank y'all to the moon and back for reading, 50k views is 🦇 💩 I'm amazed. ♥️
I've got back into it and done some tweaks, so a few chapters have been unpublished because it was moving too quickly, the story's been sucked back to right after the wedding night, after we/you/all of us lol nearly get fucked up by the spider.
Might help if you read the chapter beforehand again :) we begin with a little time skip after the uh, consummation.
Again, thank you, I hope you enjoy it, this chapter might be a little rough, as per inspiration hit me before work, but I'll come back and tidy up shop. Extra long to make up for it.
♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️
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Thirty nine days;
Although in reality, here on Giedi, it was really forty eight.
It'd been the longest Feyd—Rautha Harkonnen had been away from this black rock planet without the sharp, all—seeing guidance of The Baron, allowed to finally dip his toe into interstellar politicking alone, save a small entourage of translators, cherry picked court masters and body guards.
Not that he needed one of those; a reputation proceeded him.
And you'd pleaded to accompany him, with those lovely, wet eyes, the responding no turning them slitted in insult. You'd never even said goodbye, no kiss, no warm mouth around any part of him, teasingbrat.
Rautha wasn't exactly thrown into the deep end of Great House Relations, no, Vladimir was far too protective of him to actually find out if his chosen heir would drown instead of float, but it had been muddy and bloody and seditious enough it was evident to everybody the boy could handle it.
First to Ix, procuring complex machinery for melange harvesting—then over to seven other planets under the control of the Landsraad too woo and wheedle, and finally to three outer stations under Harkonnen rule to dampen the fires of revolution.
And as usual, he'd done well.
With no little Atreides as a distraction, exceptionally so.
There wasn't any other option for a potential emperor and soon to be planetary governor of Dune to achieve anything less. Power smelt weakness.
The colossal craft touched down, the main ramp unfurling as Feyd—Rautha adjusted to the light. "Mmm."
Wrapped in a woollen military coat sleek and form fitting, collar popped, hands hidden with whale—fur gloves, your husband stepped down, inhaling the familiar scents, a legion of handlers rushing to him to fawn and congratulate, he paid them no heed, walking with lion—like strides into the expansive halls of the fortress.
