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Chapter Text

Irulan Corrino sat under the gloomy shadows of her chambers, her living room scantly lightened by a mere glowglobe suspended in the air above her study desk, sipping through her wine. A brief memory of home, the flavors of breeze and lilacs with the finest Kaitain Shiraz grapes. Small shows of kindness for the Princess Consort from the Emperor.

Irulan pursed her lips with bitter resentment and contempt, bottoming her drink, and poured the last drops of the bottle into her goblet. She had already finished the bottle. Her head was half dizzy, spinning, the fermented sweet-sour liquid hitting her bloodstream after many years. After many years, Irulan was getting intoxicated. Her strict training did not allow such occasions for idle purposes, drugs and alcohol were only allowed to a Bene Gesserit for enhancement of their mind powers, allowing them to enhance their perception of nuances. Irulan did not seek such a purpose now, her only purpose tonight was oblivion.

The sweet call of nothingness and oblivion.

She wanted to forget this dreadful day, which just brought another shame upon her with her failure. She imagined the faces of the council as her good husband denied her once more in front of everyone, she imagined the reaction she was going to get from the Reverend Mother hearing yet another rejection and failure on her part. She told herself it did not matter, the conspiracy was in place, it would not matter, but the tightness in her chest and a foul taste in her mouth did say otherwise.

Irulan should have gotten familiar with getting ridiculed and humiliated, but it still…hurt. As the matters stand, though, I reject this proposal. Irulan herself had insisted the matter should have been discussed openly as hard as it must be, but the humiliation of his rejection still hurt.

I know the political arguments. It’s the human arguments which concerns me. I think if the Princess Consort were not bound by the commands of the Bene Gesserit, if she did not seek this out of desires for personal power, my reaction might be very different. As the matters stand, though, I reject this proposal.

But what had she expected? After twelve years would he have finally seen the sense and sensibility? Losing his hope for an heir from his concubine? No, it was not unexpected nor she was that humiliated by yet another public refusal. She had grown immune to his refusal to see her as a woman perhaps, or perhaps she just did not care anymore. It was something else.

The atrocity of him, the hypocrisy of him for the refusal, not the refusal itself. The arrogance of it.

Her face souring, Irulan bottomed up her drink once more, the fermented liquid hitting her bloodstream with her fury invoked as she recalled… It’s the human arguments which concerns me.

The atrocity of him to judge her for not having human arguments to seek his heir!

As if he had given her any reason whatsoever to seek him beyond what he had been judging her!

A woman in the throes of greed, seeking only personal power, if she was not a pawn of the Sisterhood. That was how her husband, Paul Muad’Dib Atreides, still continued to see her after twelve years, either as a pawn or a woman driven by only the calculus of power.

Irulan stood up from her chair and went to her study to bring out another bottle. Her steps were staggering, her always certain and deft movements were wobbly with her intoxication. Irulan laughed suddenly, finding it amusing although she could not be sure what was exactly so funny. She still laughed, though. It felt…nice.

She had forgotten smiling, laughing. How long it had been since she laughed for true? Meaning it. She could not remember. Sometimes it felt like this horrible dune planet had sucked every joy out of her existence.

Irulan grasped the bottle by the neck after corking it out and wobbled back to her study, but this time, she did not bother herself with her goblet and drank the liquid directly from the bottle. She did not recall if she had ever done something so out of the decorum, drinking something directly from a bottle, but she did not care for the decorum at the moment, either. It also felt nice, liberating. She threw off her slippers, flung her bare feet over her study desk, and took another big sip from the bottle. The acidic taste of the liquid burned her throat, soothing her frayed nerves and cobwebbing her mind more.

We all know she holds no love for me, Paul had commented right at her face in front of everyone. Irulan laughed again, finding it incredibly funny, acerbic and ironic, but funny.

Did he truly expect love from her, after all his treatment toward her for years, after ignoring her for years, after swearing to another woman Irulan would not have anything of his in front of her on their wedding day? On their freaking wedding day? On the day her father had been dethroned and her whole life had turned upside down, and she found herself being forced to wed to save her father and the rest of her Family, being taken as a war prize along with the throne so that he could claim himself as the Emperor?

Irulan had not expected understanding or compassion from him as being a fallen princess, but this…this was unfathomable. She wondered if their good Emperor ever looked in the mirror. She was being accused of not loving him, and being rejected to carry his child consequently, but had he ever loved her? Had he ever considered her as a human being, not a necessity for his throne, a mere inconvenience he and his dear lover had to suffer?

The hypocrisy was a long path to walk in Dune, it seemed, never-ending.

Irulan laughed again, her laughter a peculiar mix of amusement, resentment, and bitterness. She took another sip from the bottle, swaying her feet over her neat desk study, gazing at her notes, tidily arranged over the surface. Her work of twelve years, keeping herself busy with her aspirations so that she would not grow mad in her loneliness.

On a sudden urge, unbidden and destructive, Irulan dropped her legs off the table’s edge, her eyes glowing with primal, raw fury, straightening her back as she leaned forward in her seat. She paused only for a split second as her arm raised before she poured the liquid all over her studies of the last twelve years, ruining her life's work about the Imperium and its Emperor in a mere second.

She laughed as she shook her hand, sweeping the bottle for the last drops wine of the bottle, the destructive urge singing in her a crescendo, urging more for ruin. It seemed fitting. Everything in her life was laid in ruins, it just felt natural that all her hard work of the last years also turned to ruin. Especially if it concerned him. She absently wondered whilst watching the red wine soaking her work beyond repair if Paul would have considered this enough human now.

It’s the human arguments which concerns me.

Her eyes narrowed, Irulan set the empty bottle on the soaked desk with a heavy and deceiving thud, her gaze still captured by the little destruction she had created. On the outside, it seemed trivial, her silly writings meant nothing to His Majesty, but for Irulan, it felt like she had surpassed a threshold. A critical threshold. She stood up from her ornate chair, the whispers of her folly were like a sirens’ song in her ears, enchanting her. 

It’s the human arguments which concerns me.

Desire rose in her strong, whipping at her edges for a confrontation, wanting to hear those so-called human arguments further in detail. It felt like it was past due.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the most hypocritical of us all?

Paul seldom stayed alone in his chambers at nighttime, but as Irulan opened her doors and slipped past her Fremen guards without a word, she did not care if he would have company for a confrontation. The Fremen woman had been in the middle of their…situation since the beginning, so Irulan did not see any reason to stop herself from facing him in her company. Or perhaps she had just drunk too much liquid courage to care at the moment.

She snickered very unladylike as she walked past her guards, rounding the corner, feeling the Fremen’s silent but critical eyes on her back. Everyone judged her on this dune planet, harsh and unforgiving, so Irulan did not falter, but when her gaze cut down over her feet, feeling a coolness under her soles, she did realize the purpose of those judgmental stares better. Her feet were still bare without slippers, Irulan had forgotten to slip them back on her feet before she left her chambers.

She laughed lowly again, somehow finding it hilarious this time. She was striding toward her husband’s chambers that he shared with his concubine in the middle of the night, barefoot. She told herself she had never done anything crazier than this, including agreeing on a dangerous conspiracy against him that she could not still comprehend fully and spiking his lovers’ food with contraceptives.

Oops.

She also should not think of those while she sought him out for a confrontation, so she quickly shielded her thoughts as she strode off. The last sane part of her inebriated mind told her this was high time to return to her quarters, and just crawl back to her cold bed in loneliness as she had done for the last twelve years and prepare herself instead for facing the Reverend Mother and her fury for yet another failure, but that prospect even seemed drearier than facing the Muad’Dib now. So Irulan walked on.

When she forced herself to stand in front of his quarters without staggering on her feet, the two Fedaykin guards gave her an assessing look, their gaze lingering on her bare feet before they fixated on her. Irulan tried to hold their intense blue eyes as staunchly as she could, and carefully arranged her voice too not to slur before she announced, “I wish to see Muad’Dib.”

Irulan seldom used his Fremen name, hated it if she had to be honest, but tonight, she also made an exception for herself. The guards gave her another look, almost dismissive before stating, “Muad’Dib has retired, Princess wife.”

“It’s very urgent…” Irulan insisted. “I need to speak to him.”

They still looked unconvinced. Irulan let out a long sigh. At another time, she would have convinced them to let her in, but she just did not…care tonight. She arranged her vocal into her best pitch, which was harder than usual in her current disposition, but it would make do with this folk.  “Open the door.”

The echoes resonated, and the doors swung open, and Irulan congratulated herself inwardly managing it in her inebriated state. She grinned with contentment, the barely adept Bene Gesserit using her medium skills, shocking her rival.

Her rival turned toward his doors with the unexpected intrusion, his eyes slightly widened with surprise upon seeing them swinging open and revealing Irulan in his doorway. He was only wearing his breeches over his cotton loose shirt, draped over his waist in his leisure time. His slightly widened eyes narrowed quickly as he assessed her, his gaze lingering for a fraction on her bare feet as well as they peeked out under the hems of her own white leisure gown when Irulan crossed his threshold.

“Did you just use your powers on my guards to pass them through, Princess?” he asked lowly as the doors closed behind her with a silent thud. The door of the adjourned room in his chambers was closed, but Irulan knew the woman was there, waiting for her beloved. Paul’s gaze cut over toward it for a second before it turned back on Irulan.

“That I did,” Irulan accepted without a bother and walked over to him. “I wanted to talk with you, but they did not let me in.”

“Because I’d retired to my chambers,” he pointed out.

Irulan shrugged. “It was urgent.” She paused and snickered as she maneuvered her way and sauntered toward his cabinet for drinks.

“I might be dying,” she chided with a low, throaty laugh, sending him a look over her shoulder before she chose the bottle she was seeking. Kaitain wine, not one of those hideous spice-tinged sour things that passed as wine on this planet. “In dire need of my dearest husband.”

She could feel his squinting eyes on her even without seeing it. “Are you drunk?”

“Not quite yet,” she replied, fixing herself another goblet from the bottle she picked. “Not quite yet, husband.”

“Irulan—”

She swirled toward him, holding her goblet, and faced him. “Be at ease. I did not come to throw myself at you in an inebriated haze. I just came to ask you a question.”

“Hmm.”

She walked back to him again and sat on the chair in front of his desk as he stood beside it, staring down at her. She flung her leg one over the other with an idle flourish and stated in an unremarked, placid voice, “Just a mere curiosity if I may.”

“Perhaps you should leave,” he tried to send her away.

She smiled, almost wickedly, thinking all the conspiracies she had managed to web behind his back despite all his powers for years. Sometimes—whenever she was not frightened out of her mind, Irulan used to feel sad…as if she was betraying him, despite all the reasons she had listed to herself, but there was nothing left in her for that sadness anymore.

Irulan, I am truly sorry, he had told her today, sounding sincere, and Irulan had hated it. Hated his pity. No. There was no sadness in her anymore, only cold fury.

“Aren’t you curious?” she asked, so sweet it was sickening. “Perhaps I came to… confess.”

“Confess what?”

She stayed silent, dipping her head and taking a sip from her wine, letting him read whatever he wished from her silence. Confess…her sins, or her love. Sometimes, on long, cold nights when her loneliness bested her, Irulan also wondered about it. If she indeed bore any love for him in her heart.

And some nights, Irulan could not find any answer in her. Twelve years were long to hate someone. But not tonight.

We all know she holds no love for me.

Oh, she exactly knew how she felt about him tonight.

But hate…simply could not be sufficient for the job. She would need to invent a new word if she wanted to express how she felt about him tonight.

“Did you mean what you said today?” she asked, lifting her head, no furry in her look or voice this time, just a mere curiosity. “That you would have wanted my heir if I loved you?”

“Irulan—”

“It’s just a question, Paul,” she cut him off. “A mere curiosity. It would not hurt your integrity.”

“My integrity would not also tell lies,” he replied, lips clenching. “I would have felt differently if that was the case as I already confessed.”

She laughed, taking another sip from the drink. “Oh, so it’s true. You truly expect my sincere love.”

“I did not say that. I understand why you hold no love for me. I bear no ill feelings for you because of the lack of love in our marriage.”

She clinked her tongue. “No ill feelings, no heir, too.”

“Princess—”

She stood up, cutting him off again, “You’re the most egotistical, hypocritical man I have ever had the misfortune to meet, and that coming from me says a lot, Your Majesty.”

Paul looked at her with the same stern look as Irulan continued to insult the most powerful man in the universe. “You judge me for not having human reasons for wanting your child, for not loving you but having only political reasons when you actually did it, wed me to keep the throne, has been acting like I’m nothing but a war prize, and I’m still being the one who was being judged because I hold no love for you.” She croaked another laugh bitterly again. “Funny, isn’t it?”

“I do not judge you.”

“Again, I repeat. You’re not letting me have your child.”

“You know the reason—”

“I could have loved you,” her intervention cut him off once more, rendered him more thoughtful and bleaker with her confession. “If you ever showed me even an ounce of affection, if you ever gave me a reason, I would have loved you.”

Suddenly, he looked tired, letting out a gruff, grave sound. “I know, Irulan,” he admitted as she frowned. “That’s why I don’t do it.”

So that she could not love him, Irulan realized as if something clicked into its places, and she laughed again with no humor, with only bitterness.

“Oh, I see. Me loving you would have made things harder for you, wouldn’t it?” she asked. “It’s easier when I hate you, doesn’t it? Easier to refuse me, imagine if my affections would confuse your mind! Such dismay it would cause you!” She laughed again because it was funny, cruel but still funny. “Pardon me, Your Majesty. I underestimated how self-centered and inconsistent you can be.”

His intense blue eyes darkened like the purple desert night without stars as he fixated on her. “You shall take your leave, Princess, before you say more you may regret later on.”

Irulan did not take his hint, although it sounded very much like a warning.

“Sometimes I really wonder if you can hold your word and execute me if I bear a child from another man,” she mused out almost conversationally, sitting back on the chair instead of heeding his warning. She craned up her head an inch, twisting her neck as she regarded in seriousness. “Something tells me you could not.”

His lips thinned with tension at her challenge. “Do you want to test me?”

She lifted her drink toward him, and replied coolly after a second of careful reflection, “Perhaps one day. When I drink more liquid courage than tonight.”

“So tell me,” he replied, a challenge entering into his voice, too. “Do you want an heir or a child?”

He was gazing down at her with all his intensity now, slicing through her barriers as the question caught her unguarded, the inquiry swirling in her hazed mind. Do you want an heir or a child?

She knew for what she had been commanded and what she had been trained for, she had been prepared for the continuation of their bloodlines and the longevity of the Imperium, but as she considered the question, the first image that came to her mind was a little baby, sleeping with her in her bed, her arms holding her small frame against her bosom, a small baby girl.

Her chest feeling tighter, she averted her eyes, and muttered, “It matters not.” She was avoiding to answer now, but she reckoned she did not owe him a sincere answer this time. “You would give me neither.”

She twisted her neck and fixated on him with another look, something inside her clawing once more, wishing to cause him to hurt as much as he hurt her.

“Why do you even keep me here beside you?” she questioned. “Why don’t you send me to exile?” She paused. “It’s very clear your lover hates me being here.”

Once being sent to exile would have made her drop to her knees and beg him not to do it, but not anymore. If the Reverend Mother had seen what Irulan was prompting him now, she would also have had her hide, but Irulan was simply beyond caring. He was never going to accept her having his heir, so she did not see any reason why she had to suffer through this more. She had suffered enough. Twelve years. She had done her part. They had to think of other ways to fulfill their purpose now without spending Irulan further. This chip was done.

“Do you want to be sent to exile, Princess wife?” Paul read through her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“I see no reason for me to stay here,” she admitted. “I’ve spent all my chances.” She paused and smiled sweetly, encouraging him. “Imagine a life without me, Your Grace. How happy Chani would be getting rid of me,” she taunted, even using the woman’s name, her voice mockingly silky. “Would you not want to make her happy at least?”

“Your Sisterhood would be very disappointed in you, Irulan,” he replied, and Irulan sensed his avoidance to answer her point. “If they saw you now.”

“They’re going to have to deal with it,” she replied coolly. “And who knows? Perhaps the unknown quality of Fremen's genetics would enhance the gene pool they had been trying to protect for generations. Who wouldn’t enjoy plot twists from time to time?”

 “That’s very un-Bene Gesserit,” he remarked snappish.

“And why do you care?” she pressed further, nearing him closer. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of torturing me with your sterile kindness and indifference.”

He glowered at her as Irulan stopped just a foot away from his personal space, so close but stars apart. “I do not torture you, Princess. I did not choose you for this. You were chosen for this role just like me.”

“Spare me from the destiny talk,” she snapped. “I’m not one of you fanatics, Muad’Dib! I know who keeps me here, and it’s not so-called destiny.”

 “Do you really want to leave?”

“As the matters stand,” she shot back his words in the council sardonically, “I fail to see any reason for me to continue this farce.”

“The Bene Gesserit would truly hurt you, Irulan,” he replied, and for a second, Irulan thought he actually cared, for a second it felt like he did before it passed.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to read his nuances, his avoidance and refusal to let her go.

“Why do you not want me to go?” she questioned. “Why this persistence?” Irulan would understand his persistence not to impregnate her or consummate their marriage, but keeping her at his side, when she was almost…begging him to let her go, it made no sense.

Irulan was no fool to consider he was harboring secret feelings for her inside him that he could not even confess to himself. It must be something else. “We both know you don’t have any human arguments for wanting me here which concerns me. What’s your angle?”

His spine straightened, and Irulan knew she hit a cord. “I do not have any angle. Your presence and intellect are worth keeping around.” Irulan arched an eyebrow. He was the only one who was taking her inputs and suggestions seriously in the council, sometimes, but not that much. “You’re a valuable part of my court.”

She laughed at that, loudly. “Valuable for menial tasks?” she mocked. “Surely, you can afford another scribbler, my Lord.”

He fixated on her with a hard look. “You’re my link between my enemies,” he stated, voice stoic and stony before he repeated, “Like I said, your presence is worth keeping around.”

She glowered with contempt, understanding now his reasons for wanting to keep her around better. “I thank you for sincerity, my Lord. I did not realize I was your double-spy but then again I have always known you let me send messages to Wallach IX for that purpose.”

It was hardly a surprise, but as Irulan comprehended it had become her chain, she decided to break it as well. She had earned her freedom, both from him and from the Sisterhood. Neither of them had brought her anything but pain. She was going to bring all the wrath of the Sisterhood and the Spacing Guild onto herself for what she was about to do, but Irulan still did not care.

“Then allow me to function my duty better, Your Grace. You were right. They mixed me into something which I’m still not particularly comfortable being a part of when I visited the Sisterhood the last time,” she confessed. “They set up a conspiracy about you. Soon, the Tleilaxu will send you a gift, and they believe it will bring your downfall. I honestly don’t know how it will happen, they did not tell us that much, but they guaranteed me I would have remained something from you to father an heir.”

She paused and smiled again as she had outed the most delicate, intricate, elaborate conspiracy in the universe. “Something.”

And, it sounded as sinister as the Scytla had promised it.

His face grew darker and bleaker, but his expression only bore a tint of surprise. “I knew the Spacing Guild’s ambitions, Irulan. If you’re trying to render yourself useless for their schemes, I’m warning you again. You’re walking on a very thin line right now. They would kill you for what you have just done.”

She paused and averted her eyes. “Maybe I just want it to end now…” she whispered.

He deeply breathed, looking tired once more before he shook his head slowly. “Go back to your room, Princess, and forget what happened tonight. So will I in the morning.”

Irulan snapped a look at him in fury, seeing clear pity in his blue-within-blue gaze, even accepting to forget what she had confessed to him tonight. “I don’t want your pity!” she hissed, and that destructive force hit her stronger than before, a raw urge to lay everything in ruins, even her own life.

“It’s me,” she whispered, stepping closer and holding his eyes. “I’m the reason why Chani has not given you the heir you so desire. I’ve been spiking her food with contraceptives for years so that she could not get pregnant with your child.”

She tilted her head and laughed acerbic, feeling the noose tighten around her neck, and she did not care. “How about that? Do you still wish me to stay?”

Chapter Text

Cool sweat ran down his skin with a subtle chill in the cool air after sunset before the moon rose high as Paul deactivated his shield, the tingling of the turning off energy field mixing with the sweat chill. The ghola was replacing the crysknives and short swords they had used as they practiced behind, and for a split second, his flowing consciousness traveled back, and Paul was at Caladan in his youth, practicing with his mentor and master, the man who used to look up and admire the most after his father. Hayt, they called him now.

Soon, the Tleilax will send you a gift, and they believe it will bring your downfall.

His mind flowed to the fickle present, capricious and unstable, and unperturbed. The sand of times fluctuated like sand dunes over the sea, oscillating without a purpose beyond moving, the very nature of the act itself, Time happening.

The reason and logic suggested that Paul would have refused this gift, but the prescient did not apply to the natural law of the things, existed beyond the rules of physics and law. Absently, for a brief second, he wondered if Irulan would have called it inconsistent once more, claimed it made no sense but quickly quenched the wonder in him.

Chani was in the clinic. Paul stood by the window and looked down in the temple plaza, and tried to imagine the scene at the clinic, imagine her reaction to learning she was not pregnant, that her body still needed time to recover from the contraceptive drugs she had been given to.

Prescient vision had recorded these moments, but he shielded his awareness from the oracle, preferring the role of a Timefish swimming not where he willed, but where the currents carried him. Destiny permitted no struggles, allowing him like a gentle lover.

The past merged with the currents of the futures, the countless possibilities, ever-changing diverging paths and the tides of the change. He told himself once more he had done the best, what he had concealed—was it evil, or just he was just selfish—self-centered as Irulan had accused him of? Preferring Chani to an heir. An heir that would not even solve his existing problems for the succession to found his Imperial dynasty.

Perhaps it was truly evil of him to think like that, preferring Chani to an heir. A female heir. Paul had told himself it did not matter many times, but when everything laid out, his heart still faltered.

You’re the most egotistical, hypocritical man I have ever had the misfortune to meet!

If only she knew for true what Paul had done—had allowed.

Foolish thoughts! He had done the best, prolonged his beloved's life. He did not let her die in vain even when the alternatives suggested terrible paths, yet they stood now at a crossroads—the course of the time willing itself. Paul stood as the mere observer now, afraid that his mere existence would affect the change of the tides—his very being affecting the fabric of the universe like it usually did.

How could Paul explain what his mere existence was doing to this universe? They would only sense the effects—see the results. Observing if the currents decided they were waves or particles, whether acting according to their nature or not.* But what was their nature? How could one know it before observing it? It was not possible—even for him.

Chani was going to question him again why he didn’t allow her to kill Irulan, and once more Paul was not going to be able to explain it. Paul had stopped her twice until now. His flowing conscious swayed back, thinking of the event just after Irulan’s drunken ruinous confession came out, breaking down the bridges in a way even Paul could have not anticipated.

The prescient had suggested those ruinous paths a lot of times, but Paul had never believed Irulan would have done it. Ruinous Irulan—ruining all. Ruinal.

His chest panged, with sorrow and anger. He should have stopped those nicknames. He should have ripped off the tongues, would have never allowed her ridicule to go that far.

In his inward eye, the memory replayed itself. Chani was springing out of their private chambers where she had been listening to their whole conversation, charging Irulan, her crysknife already drawn.

Irulan was barely an adept Bene Gesserit, the least of her skills were for the Bene Gesserit fighting skills. She had never had to protect herself from physical attacks as the people who had wanted her death usually preferred more elegant devices than brute force. Yet, she was still enough of a Bene Gesserit, mastering Prana-Bindu mind-body control. She was deft enough to divert the attack in the nick of time and Chani’s crystal blade nicked her arm instead as Paul jumped on Chani, securing her in his arms and stopping her to attack another time.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” his beloved screamed at his wife, “I’LL TAKE YOUR WATER AND WASTE IT IN THE DESERT!”

Irulan laughed with the same destructive force she had extruded to ruin everything, and even her bleeding arm or Paul’s firm hold to keep Chani from attacking her again did not stop her. “Go ahead, little Fremen—” she said. “Try your chances, take your shot. If I’m going down, I’m taking you all with me!”

And, she sounded like she meant it all. “Ruinous Irulan ruining all!” She laughed with that croaked, acerbic sound that did not sound anything like a laugh. Chani staggered for a split second in his arms after her remark. “Oh, yes. I know why you all call me behind my back. Make little jokes, sharing a laugh. Is the Princess-wife entertained you enough? Ruinal entertained you enough? How about this joke now, concubine?” She turned to him. “Is this enough human for you, husband?”

Chani lunged another time, trying to break free from his clutch. “ENOUGH!” Paul shouted, the rasping tingles of his Voice entering the room, silencing both women. Chani ceased her struggles to break free as his Will ran down her body and Irulan, standing rigid and still trembled with the force of it.

Paul fixated his eyes on her, angry, sad, and sorrowful all at the same time. “Fremen!” he shouted as he let go of Chani and straightened, his focus still on her. “Take the Princess-wife to her chambers. She is not to leave until I say so.”

Chani turned to him after the Fremen took her. Her eyes were still stormy, looking for revenge and blood, the will of his Voice passed. “Are you going to let her live?” she asked, almost spatting the question, her eyes looking at him accusingly because Paul had stopped her.

Paul confronted it all. “You’re not going to kill her, Chani.”

“Why?” she asked, sounding very simple.

The pang seized his chest again, and Paul would have listed her a million reasons, but the best answer he found was the simplest one, too. “Because I’m asking you not to,” he told her softly and watched her accept it in the ways that she always did whenever Paul did something she did not like. The sand slowly absorbing the water, sinking it beneath, accepting it. It was the desert way, and Paul was her man. Asking her simply something not to do.

She let out a long shaking breath, and muttered, “I don’t understand you.”

Paul had stayed silent on that day when Chani had told him that, perhaps because he couldn’t understand himself either anymore. The prescient echoes rang in his ears, calling from the futures and the past. The ghola was still racking weapons, examining the equipment in the background.

Murky sandclouds darkened the night sky over the plaza, making stars invisible as Paul watched. Fremen called such weather “dirty air.” Blurring their sight, their self-ruh, their inward eye. Sand absorbed the water, but there were always consequences. When sand and water collided, it became a swamp, sinking everything down.

Irulan was gone. Two months in exile now, two months at Caladan. Chani was still angry and would become only worse when she heard the last news. Soon, she was going to try another time, although she had accepted his conviction and verdict. Ruin was contagious like a plague. Paul had seen it—the Princess Consort giving water to the dead, wailing and weeping in the dark.

I could have loved you—her confession swirled in his flowing consciousness and Paul returned from it, but her words still persisted. If you showed me even an ounce of affection, if you gave me a reason, I would have loved you.

That’s why I don’t do it. Perhaps Paul had been his most sincere since their wedding day with that confession. We all know she holds no love for me. His secret wonders—the wonders he had not wanted to look closer had found an answer now. Paul still did not want to look closer. It’s the human arguments which concerns me.

The taste of failure was like ashes in his mouth, clogging his throat. The prescient had stripped off the regret from him, turned the kindness into cruelty. Irulan had been better as his enemy, which was a more known quality. Is this enough human for you, husband?

Paul trembled, the tides of the time washing over him. The Bene Gesserit had sent no word, had not attempted to seek him out, deliberately delaying to decide what to do the next. They had attempted to contact Irulan a few times on Caladan, which Paul had allowed them—curious to see her reaction but Irulan had refused to answer their call.

His wife in name only had thrown them a blow so impactful that the ripple effects were ruling the time-and-space equilibrium now, the impact as powerful and profound as what Paul had started twelve years ago. Paul could sense it, and there was a tingle all over his skin.

Everything was “murky”, their paths were diverging and wavering so much that even Paul could not be sure of the course of the present. Paul relayed on his mere presence affecting the universe, riding the universe on the back of “time” as he rode the desert on the back of the sandworm. He was the fulcrum, he was the Kwisatz Haderach.

Run, run, run—the echoes swirled in his mind, taking Chani and fleeing to the deep desert and be forgotten from memory and thought. It would have been so much easier.

It’s easier when I hate you, doesn’t it?

No, it doesn’t, Irulan, Paul slowly muttered to the dark, starless night. You’re gone, and I’m still stuck in your intrigues. Paul had no alternative than accepting the ghola of the man who had saved his and his mother’s lives if he still wanted to have a link between himself and his enemies and if he didn’t want to add more people to the list of the people who wanted to hurt the Princess Consort more than anytime now. Chani was at the top place now, the Bene Gesserit still hiding their thoughts and schemes. If the Spacing Guild and Tleilaxu also learned what she had done they would also look for revenge. Paul did not want any further complications. She had created a mess already enough.

The ghola was still inspecting the equipment, a pretense to stay further in his presence. He was—curious, Paul could sense it. He heard the door open and Chani’s footsteps followed. Paul held his sigh and prepared himself for another confrontation and fight.

Murder sat on Chani’s face like on that faithful night. She had received the news, no doubt. He opened his arms as she looked at him, faking ignorance, but instead of accepting his wordless invitation, she stood facing him a few feet apart. “The medics say I still need more time to get pregnant. At least three months, perhaps more.”

Paul dropped his hands and nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

Chani’s face became more forlorn, her grimace setting in her expression further. “Did you know this?” she questioned, not the first time either. “Did you see this, beloved?”

“I have, my Sihaya,” Paul replied truthfully. “The drugs you were given were heavy. Your body needs time, your cycle needs time to recalibrate itself.”

“And you still forbid me to have her blood?” she asked, angry and accusing.

Paul held back his sigh once more. “Yes, Sihaya. I still do.”

“Why?” Again, a simple answer for a very, very loaded question.

Paul neared her, not wanting to answer her, not even knowing truthfully how to do it. Despite she had not wanted it, Paul held her close to calm a sudden trembling. Snapshots passed, echoes whispered. Sadness sat on his chest, heavier than mountains, and gnawed at his heart.

“My Sihaya, you’ll bear the heir we want,” he said. “Isn’t that enough?” It had to be enough now. The course was set. Even though the paths were shadowed, Paul knew where they were leading. He told himself once more this was the best, the best of many horrible alternatives. Better than the slave pits, torture, and agony. And he thought; I’ve tried to prolong it as long as I could, beloved, Irulan only helped it. I am truly sorry.

Regret stung like sand beneath his skin, but Chani saw nothing. “I should kill her for this!”

“No, my Sihaya. You’ll kill no one.”

Chani pushed away from him, still angry and looking for blood. “She cannot be forgiven!”

“Who said anything about forgiving?”

“Then why shouldn’t I kill her?”

Again, a very simple Fremen question that Paul felt himself almost overwhelmed by a hysterical urge to laugh, remembering Irulan’s bitter and sharp laughter, hysterical. She would have found this so amusing, too, Paul was adamant. Amused at the destruction she had caused. The Head of House Corrino. Ruin was a plague.

“It wouldn’t help,” he mumbled, turning away. “I still need her.” Ambiguous answer, but the murky path was getting clearer. He was still going to need her.

“For what?” Chani demanded. “She’s in exile, enjoying her life in the waters of your home, Usul. Your enemies cannot use her from Caladan.”

“I’ll need her for something else,” he replied lowly.

Chani’s frown got deeper. “For what?” she demanded again. “For what you would still need her, beloved?” Her eyes of Ibad narrowed into a slit, reading his nuances. “What have you seen?”

 Paul felt his belly tighten with vision-memory. He felt chained to a future which, exposed too often, had locked onto him like a greedy succubus. “What I’ve seen … what I’ve seen …” he muttered, a sudden horrible question skating over the conscious thought. Had he followed the witchcall of his own oracle, he wondered, until it’d spilled him into a merciless present?

Did he make a horrible mistake?

 I could have loved you—her voice persisted, and Paul recalled Chani’s Fremen decision that he had too rejected.

“Tell me what you’ve seen.” The insistence plunged at him, looking for an answer, for a…confession?

Paul jerked his head a little, still refusing, “I can’t.”

That angered Chani, her sudden trepidation drowning under her ire. “Then should I let her live the rest of her life in leisure and comfort? Let her enjoy what she did to me! Is this a punishment or an apology, Paul Muad’Dib?”

The question caught him by surprise, making his head snap at her. “Is this pity or do you regret your decision, beloved?”

Paul let out a silent, sharp breath, but did not answer. “Is the silence approval or confession?” she asked.

Paul whirled at the ghola, and asked him, “Hayt, is the silence approval or confession? What say you?”

The ghola who wore the skin of Duncan Idaho walked beside them calmly, not bothering to hide what he had spied on. His metallic eyes sparked with a grey metallic glint, artificial eyes processing the question and context. “It’s said silence is consent, m’lord,” he slowly remarked.

Paul almost laughed with that hysterical, bitter laugh, wondering how much this Mentat had already worked out. Silent gives consent. Paul had kept his silence for many years, secretly giving his consent.

Is this a punishment or an apology, Paul Muad’Dib?

Perhaps, both, beloved, he answered then inwardly, feeling an incredible sadness.

Chani sighed, her anger quenching once more as the sand sunk water, but she was getting murkier and murkier. “I don’t understand you…” she whispered once more before fixating her gaze on the ghola, a frown returning to her stout expression. A Fremen woman. “You’ve been crossing blades with him?”

His gaze went to the diamond circle on the floor, remembering the past memories and back to the ghola’s metallic eyes. “A forgotten memory of the past.”

“I don’t like it,” she replied, her discontent visible in her voice.

“He’s not intended to do me violence,” Paul reassured.

“You’ve seen that?” The hidden accusation stung, and for a split second, her ornery irony sounded very much to the exiled Princess. Even from afar, his estranged wife was still affecting them. His ire rose.

“I’ve not seen it!”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because he’s more than ghola; he’s Duncan Idaho.”

“The Bene Tleilax made him.”

“They made more than they intended.” Was that a wishful thinking of something else he had gone, a memory of a bygone era, Paul asked himself before shoving away the thought from the conscious thought. The whispers of folly and madness spoke from the shadows of his prescient, seducing. Paul silenced them all.

Chani neared him and whispered in his ear. “That woman—” the word came out with disdain from her lips, “said he might be the tool of your downfall. The Bene Tleilax gift.”

Paul turned to the ghola, and asked plainly, meaning it very much, “Hayt, are you the tool of my undoing?”

He wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, but Chani looked at him as if he was humoring her, offended. “If the substance of here and now is changed, the future is changed,” the ghola replied, and Paul could not agree more. Irulan’s unpredictable move had changed the substance of here and now, and the paths were evolving into places even Paul had never seen before.

“That is no answer!” Chani objected.

“The mentat is truthful,” Paul replied and tried to explain, “Irulan is away, the Tleilax gift is my only connection to my enemies now. I need him here.”

“You’re walking a dangerous path, beloved.”

“Haven’t I always?” He allowed himself a little sigh, glancing at the ghola. “Somewhere there there’s a plastic something which remembers the shape of Duncan Idaho,” he said.

“What if there wasn’t?” Chani asked.

“There is,” he insisted. “The self-ruh persists. That was Duncan Idaho once. He’s still there.”

“Have you seen it?”

Paul stayed silent. Chani gazed at the plastic man in flesh and blood trying to understand, and she asked, returning to him. “Would he have allowed Irulan to go on living?”

He held her gaze, and replied pointedly, “If I commanded it.” For a second, it felt like they were running around in circles and a dry drawl in his mind, asked him; and who did put us in this circle, husband?

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be angry?”

“I am angry.”

Chani shook her head, her red hair swaying with the motion, her eyes murky, “You don’t look angry. You’re…sorrowful, sad.”

Paul closed his eyes. “Yes. That, too.” The prescient was not consistent, neither was he. I underestimated how self-centered and inconsistent you can be. The Princess Consort would have found too this amusing, Paul reckoned. He wondered what she was going to feel when she learned what Paul was going to ask from her.

In another time, Chani and Irulan would have been friends, would have even shared him. Foolish thoughts…not… If the substance of here and now is changed, the future is changed…Paul muttered to himself inwardly. The Tleilax gift was devious, perhaps even more than his conspirators realized, had aimed for.

Paul looked at Chani with the same incredible sadness and sorrow she had sensed from him.

“You’re my man,” she said. “I know this, but I don’t understand you anymore.”

Abruptly, Paul felt that he walked down a long cavern. Her name was a whisper on his lips, and Irulan was giving water to the dead in the dark. His flesh moved, and he whispered aloud, “I don’t understand myself, either.” Perhaps he owed this confession to both of them now. Although it would not change anything now. Inconsistency was the plague of his prescience, the price he had to pay for being everywhere and everywhen.

Time never cared to be consistent, it just flew, it just happened. Occurred.

When he opened his eyes, he found that he had moved away from Chani. He should call Wallach IX, and ask for the old crone. There were matters to discuss, decisions to be forced upon. Kwisatz Haderach didn’t need to be consistent. He too just occurred, happened. A path glinting golden blinked in his vision-memory and Paul shuddered.

“Beloved, I’ll not ask again why you do what you’re doing,” Chani spoke somewhere from behind him, her decision set, sand absorbing water, the swamp becoming resolute. “I only know I’m to give you the heir we want.”

And if only it could have been enough.

And he thought they would have had more time.

Time.

Paul swallowed that hysterical laugh that wanted to rip itself out of his throat once more.

Chapter Text

Her exile was the best thing that happened to her since her marriage, and the irony wasn’t lost on Irulan. At first, Irulan thought Caladan was the paradise on earth, well-protected from the changes Paul had brought on the universe, but as time passed, she came to understand it was his secret place.

A designated Tupile for himself, away from himself, just as how he had designed Tupile for a secret refugee for the people who still resisted him, a beacon of light for the survival of…hope. He had let Caladan survive as before although he would have never allowed himself to take its comfort.

Paul Muad’Dib Atreides belonged to the desert, sand dunes of Arrakis, like how Irulan had started her chronologies about him, he might have been born on Caladan, but Paul Muad’Dib’s home was Arrakis. Yet, his birth planet was his secret place, untouched by him and his holy war.

The cunning design had occurred to her slowly during the past months, comprehending what lay beneath this unsullied, peaceful planet. Everywhere Irulan had turned in the last twelve years, she used to witness his power. He was the mentat whose computational mind surpassed the greatest ancient computers. He was the Kwisatz Haderach, the one who could be in many places at once. He was the Mahdi whose merest whim was the absolute command to his Qizarate missionaries. Everywhere around them were his powers or his fanatics, shaping the universe in his image and at his whims and his pleasure, changing it irrecoverably.

Here in Caladan, everything was different. As if nothing had changed. There were no Fremen Fedaykin, there were fanatics that lost their sense and sensibilities, no Qizarate were looking for more power and influence, there were no hajis that burned with the yearning of sweeping their faces at the feet of Duke Leto’s skull’s shrine. There were no prayers five times a day, there were no communes, there was no sand, no oppressive heat, no stillsuits.

If Dune was Paul’s dystopia, Caladan was his utopia, Irulan slowly comprehended and it was as good as how Dune was horrible. In fact, it was so good that sometimes Irulan had a hard time believing this was a punishment, not a reward, despite being shackled with Lady Jessica’s constant attention.

As far as punishments went, Irulan knew hers would have been so much worse. In those times, secret small voices in the back of her mind gave her again alluring whispers, of Paul’s possible affections, but Irulan quickly silenced them each time. She had fooled herself enough. Twelve years.

Twelve years were also long for fooling yourself.

I could have loved you—if you showed me an ounce of affection, I would have loved you.

I know. That’s why I don’t do it.

No. Irulan wasn’t fooling herself anymore.

Still, it could have been worse. She was well aware she might have spent the rest of her days in a cold, shivering wet dunk on Selusa Secundus, without seeing another face for the rest of her life even when her life was pardoned. Paul had not only sent her to exile, but he also stopped Chani from taking her life, and she was also well aware he was still giving instructions to the Lord of Caladan for her protection from the Qizarate.

Saying that the Qizarate did not take well what Irulan had done would have been an understatement, twice in two months they tried to take their revenge. Irulan had never learned if Chani was involved in the attempts that Paul’s former Warmaster and the Lord of Caladan had unearthed before she was harmed, and no one told her of course. Irulan wouldn’t have been surprised if the Fremen woman was also a conspirator despite Paul’s adamant order not to touch her.

Even if it was her, Irulan wouldn’t have blamed her. She reckoned she understood why Chani wanted revenge. She deserved it. Irulan certainly deserved a…better punishment than this. Her horrible…situation wasn’t the concubine’s fault, not really, but neither it was Irulan’s. They were all at fault, she reckoned, but Irulan still knew where the fault lay mostly. Paul must have felt the same, Irulan supposed, hence this punishment.

Was it regret or guilt, it was what Irulan couldn’t be sure of. Or was it pity again? She could never be sure of Paul’s emotions when it came to her. Other times, Irulan would have felt angry again, his pity and guilt always irked her anger the worst, reminding her those were the only things she would receive from him.

No child of mine, nor touch, nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire.

Her chest seized with the same pang of twelve years with the remembrance but she quickly shoved it away from herself with a practiced ease. Twelve years were also long to feel hurt by the words as harsh as they would be.

The slow waves of late tides splashed at her ankles as Irulan approached the shore, wet sands under her bare feet. Dawn was breaking over the horizon in the summer sky, casting a golden-orange hue on the blue waters.

Sea. Salty air and breeze.

Rains of summer.

The sun that was not your enemy, but was a warm gentle lover.

The paradise.

Irulan smiled lazily as she walked on the shores, feeling the warm friendly sunlight on her face, waves playing under her soles, her toes digging into wet sands. Twelve years were also long to miss that. Her lazy smile spread across her face, and gathering the hems of her morning dress, she started to run along the shore, laughing and happy.

There was a part of her that wished she had done what she did a lot earlier. She had never felt this…free. She didn’t even need to answer Mother Superior’s calls now, didn’t need to bear the old woman’s anger and displeasure because of her failures, didn’t need to crumble against her orders, didn’t need to face punishments.

Mother Superior wasn’t as forgiving as her husband.

Irulan knelt on the shore when she got bored with running aimlessly, a sense of stupidity catching up with her. If Reverend Mother saw her now, she would have looked down at Irulan with pity and contempt, stating she was behaving like a common girl, not like a Bene Gesserit Princess. She would have reminded her of her duties, she would have reminded her of her training, what they had on the balance. Irulan simply didn’t care about those, either, anymore.

They were going to have to find another way to continue the bloodlines, and Farad’n could continue their bloodlines. House Corrino had already dwindled, and the Atreides Reign had begun. Irulan had had twelve years to accept that. The realization had come to her on her wedding way when she had accepted to be his bride, but acceptance took time. She was done now.

She let out a snickering laugh, not acerbic anymore. It was funny, she supposed. No defeat should feel this…sweet.

Her gaze lowered to the shore, Irulan started to look for the stones that she had come to collect. She had promised she would bring better stones today to play five stones. She better keep her promise. She picked the smoothest pebbles, slowly throwing them in the air and catching them to test them for the play. She was still clumsy, despite her Bene Gesserit training. Irulan had never played the children's game a month prior. When her little friend deemed it necessary, Irulan decided to find the best pebbles according to her instructions. She got up, finding the perfect stones, satisfied with a job done.

If Reverend Mother saw her now, she would have truly given Irulan a lesson that she could never forget. The thought amused her, making her laugh lowly again. Sometimes she even wondered if she was losing her mental faculties, what she was doing, what she was trying to achieve even herself, but she still didn’t stop.

There was that dark thrill buzzing beneath her skin, singing in her veins. They all knew nothing. They could not even believe it if they saw it. That also gave her another thrill, the sweet call of doing something she was not supposed to, wild and dark, primitive. Feral. Animalistic.

Irulan had not been tested with the Gom Jabbar test, she had been too valuable to risk her life like that, but sometimes, she wondered if she could have passed if the animalistic urges were this strong. She knew fear. She had been so fearful for twelve years, and despite the Bene Gesserit training, she also knew that fear had kept her alive. At least made her immune to some of the Reverend Mother’s orders despite how much compulsion and command she installed in her orders. Irulan’s fears had always managed to rebuke the compulsion, making her resist the Sisterhood’s orders although it cost her great pain.

The Sisterhood reserved certain techniques of persuasion to use on the Sisters to assure the instructions would be carried out without defiance, and Irulan had learned about those persuasion tactics rather well in the last twelve years. The ghost pain of contractions, spasms, and burns tingled at the edge of her nerves, and Irulan quickly subsided them, collecting herself and repressing the remembrance. Yes, fear had been very vital to her survival, albeit not painless.

She pocketed her pebbles inside the hidden pocket of her robe over her dress and headed back to the Castle on the top of the cliff. The wind of the hill whipped at her face even in the late summer, the breeze sweeping through her loose hair. It was always windy at the Atreides' ancient Keep, carved out from the stone at the side of the sharp precipice, looking down at the sea and rocky abyss, shaping it.

Not for the first time, Irulan wondered how it was going to be after the summer, tasting the salty air around them, filled with humidity. The rains and winds of Caladan. As Irulan looked up as she climbed the steep pathway, not for the first time, she saw Paul’s stony, solid character at His House’s ancient Keep, shaping him as much as the desert shaped him. It made sense, Irulan supposed, the unyielding quality in him, the determination and willpower.

Although stars apart, and so different, Caladan suited him as much as the desert suited him. It was a comprehension that Irulan didn’t know what to do with, especially since she had realized how much his majestic, imperial Keep at Arrakis resembled his ancient home, how Paul had designed it as a version of the desert’s unyielding power.

At another time, Irulan would have written about it for a full discourse, trying to understand and reveal what lay beneath, but now, she just pretended it was an idle revelation about her husband that was not hers.

Caladan and the Keep were surrounded by such small intrigues and reminders which Irulan tried her best to ignore or only give a flicker of interest, not wanting to ponder about him any longer. Twelve years were also long for trying to understand a man.

When she passed the hallways under the careful scrutiny of the household, certainly already informing Lady Jessica that the Princess Consort was on her way back to the Keep. She had slipped before dawn from the castle, and Lady Jessica was getting more…intrigued by her disappearance, getting curious about her whereabouts. The wheels were turning in her mind, the conclusions were being drawn. The conclusions Irulan wanted her to draw.

She had set up her trails very deliberately, with only one possible deduction. A secret, discreet affair would entertain the woman enough. While she tried to unearth who was her lover, Irulan would continue to do what she had been doing for almost a month now. The dark thrill ran over her wildly again, and Irulan hardly could stop her satisfied smile.

Lady Jessica’s blue-within-blue eyes gave her a long look as Irulan walked into the drawing room, lingering on her soaked hems by the waves. She could have directly walked back to her quarters, but hiding in the room would have given the appearance that she was hiding something deliberately which Irulan didn’t want to.

The older woman was wearing a morning dress as well over a silk robe, and her face was uncovered, though her disconcerting small ink tattoos were still on display. Even with her tattoos, she looked so different from how she was on Arrakis, Irulan had quickly gathered why the woman so seldom came to see her son and daughter, leaving her Paradise.

She had unleashed upon them a terrible storm, enabling her son to shake the very foundation of their system and their lifestyle and then she returned here and hid herself in her safe bubble, not even facing what she had created.

Her ire rising, she looked down at the woman with contempt, hating her with all her being. Lady Jessica was serene, holding her furious look, but there was no hatred inside her intense blue eyes anymore. Not like that day when she had bragged Chani that history would have called them wives despite their titles. Irulan could even swear she saw a hint of sadness and sorrow inside her very akin to Paul’s whenever he too developed this disposition, and it irked her anger in the same way.

She wanted to take their regret and shove it up to—She stopped herself before her thoughts and composure slipped away further, quenching her anger. Her eyes cut over the portrait on the walls, her dear Duke, standing tall and proud and handsome. Irulan had never seen the man in person, but she had seen his ego-likeliness in their Hall of Portraits, her father showing him to her with open love and admiration. He had loved the Duke like a son, and sometimes—somehow it made it all worse.

Her glance skidded toward the second portrait in the room—Paul. A different Paul than the one Irulan had always known. A version of him before their moving to Arrakis, before her father and the desert had made him the man he is today. He carried a strong resemblance to his father, the same sharp features, thin lips and nose, arched, strong jaw, and smart eyes. No blue-within-blue, but hazy green. Still keen and piercing. Even at that time, his portrait had the same aura he possessed now, firm and resolute, overconfident, but softer and kinder. The Duke’s son. The gentle, kind but firm man Irulan had glimpsed and used to admire—used to hope—

She tore her eyes away from the ego-likeness and buried her foolish thoughts deep inside her. No more childish dreams, no more foolishness.

Wishing for something that could never happen. Admiration was understandable, despite everything…Paul was admirable. It was a simple fact, nothing more. What he had succeeded, what he had done in a little more than a decade, it wasn’t an ordinary feat, even without being Kwisatz Haderach. Admiration was even…expected, but her foolishness was not boundless.

“Good day, Lady Jessica,” she greeted the older woman unabashed, taking a seat across her, and trained her eyes on her disconcerting face, as composed and serene as her.

“Good day, Princess Consort,” Lady Jessica greeted her back, her voice thinning on her title on purpose, letting her observe the small change. Irulan wanted to sigh. It was too early for Bene Gesserit's tricks, but well, it was pointless to run away from it. “You’ve started the day early.”

“I wanted to see the dawn at the shore,” she replied, her voice truthful because it was not a lie. “My yearning for the sea has still not satiated in two months. I still feel the urge.”

“What else urges do you still feel unsatiated, Princess?” the older woman asked, and although Irulan was surprised by her directness, she did not let it display on her face.

“I beg your pardon, the mother of my husband,” she shot back, letting her voice develop a mocking tone underneath, knowing it would irk her further. “I do not understand the scope of your question.”

“Then allow me to cut to the chase, Irulan,” she replied shortly, placid. “You’re slipping from the Keep constantly, dodging your guards, and you disappear for hours. Then you show like nothing has happened.” Irulan let the accusing words sweep past her, holding her composure and staying unaffected. She knew where she was leading now and it was a struggle not to smile smug now.

“Are you having a lover?” the woman asked directly, voice upset, showing her feelings clearly, and Irulan allowed herself a little smile knowingly. She had managed it! She had thrown off the dogs of her scent, misled them.

And she had been waiting for this confrontation for a week now. “Paul allowed me to take a lover on the condition of being discreet and childless,” she confronted, and her comeback shocked the older woman. Widened eyes, surprised look.

Irulan took in her reaction. Paul had not mentioned it to her mother. She could not decide what it meant, so she set it aside for further contemplation, to decide what it would mean. Paul had given his consent when she had challenged him, accepting her challenge, but Irulan had never thought he was humoring her.

“He did,” she insisted as the woman gave her doubting looks although she must have sensed the truthiness of her claim with her renowned Bene Gesserit abilities much better than Irulan.

“You can verify it with him if you don’t take my sole word,” she prompted, allowing herself another disdainful smile. “I do not intend to deceive. Paul truly allowed me to take a lover as long as I keep it secret and stay childless.” Another taunting smile flicked over her lips, and she couldn’t help herself but added, “You can also assure him I’m heeding his conditions carefully. I will stay childless as he wishes. I’ve become very educated with contraceptives over the years.”

“Careful, Irulan,” the woman warned. “Otherwise, some of these days, you will lose that pretty head of yours. My son’s patience with you seems to be in abundance, but do not taste his limits.”

“I’m not doing anything that I’m specifically told not to,” she idly defended, rebuking not so veiled threat and carefully wording her phrase so that the woman could not sense the lie under her words. Irulan wasn’t as skillful as her, perhaps, but she had grown up in the Royal Palace, in the middle of intrigues and plots. Twelve years with Paul on Arrakis, trying to protect herself from literally everyone had only honed that skill of hers.

Because well, Irulan was doing something she was not allowed—although it wasn’t what Lady Jessica had thought. She had been doing it for almost two months now, and she had no plans to stop doing it. The thrill it made her feel like—the rush inside her vein, blood pressure raising, pulse hastening, heart thudding.

Oh, no, Irulan had no plans at all to stop.

The urge was too strong, too powerful, like on that faithful day when she had wanted to lay everything in ruins—wanted to destroy everything. There was a part of her that whispered to her she was seeking that feeling now, chasing after it. Irulan had been about to destroy herself, flirting with ruins, but—but she had never felt so—alive.

After years of indifference and ignorance, her arm bleeding, the feeling rushing wildly in her veins as she screamed at them as Paul held his beloved lover from attacking her with all the murderous intent, Irulan had never felt more alive than that moment.

When she laid her fingers on the places where they didn’t belong for the first time two months ago and took something that didn’t belong to her, Irulan felt the same destructive thrill in her veins, turning her head and quickening her pulse, making her feel alive. Her heart in her throat, her fingers slipped the apple from the rack in the open market before it disappeared under the folds of her cape.

It didn’t matter it was an apple and she could have bought tons of it, no. It was the act itself, making her feel so alive. Reaction she would see on the face of every person over the Imperium, the shock and disbelief. The Princess Consort of the Emperor stealing apples from street vendors.

Irulan wanted to throw her head and laugh hysterically, wondering if she was losing her mind. Even that was not enough to stop her from doing what she was doing. The compulsion was like an addiction, she had quickly gathered after she couldn’t even stop herself from stealing Lady Jessica’s worthless kitchen utensils and daily kitchenware. A steel fork, and a cheap porcelain teacup. Trinkets from the streets, ribbons from stalls. Apples or figs from the farmers’ markets. She had even stolen a single safety pin from one of the hawkers when she couldn’t find something else. What she took didn’t even matter.

She had been trying to stop herself, but it was as useless as telling a spice addict not to consume spice. She was getting lost in the marketplace of Caladan for hours, hiding herself and dodging Gurney’s spies that tailed after her, wandering around aimlessly and stealing worthless stuff.

There was even a part of her that reckoned taking a secret lover would have been easier than what she did, but Irulan didn’t want to have an affair to amuse herself with a man she didn’t care about. It was below her, humiliating. She had threatened Paul with it and got so angry when he told her back she could take a lover. The fact he didn’t even care for her infidelity had hurt her, but Irulan had even stopped caring about it. She simply didn’t want any male company, honestly.

Especially when she had found herself….an unusual friend.

Another secret Irulan had been keeping from anyone for more than a month now.

Her little friend.

She glanced outside over the tall windows. She had promised she was going to come in the morning. She had better get Lady Jessica off her neck and get prepared. Her fingers touched the hidden pebbles inside her robe.

Amy was going to like these stones, Irulan was sure, and she couldn’t wait to see that big smile that would split her face in two when Irulan brought her the pebbles with a slice of cake she was going to snitch away from the kitchens, her big grin reaching her doe-like green eyes. Irulan had ordered her handmaidens to have prepared chocolate cake last night. Amy liked chocolate the most.

Irulan revived the moment of their meeting, Irulan snitching away a bar of chocolate from one of the stalls in the marketplace, and Amy catching her. Her doe-like big green eyes stayed focused on Irulan with so much attention from the pillar she was hiding behind under the archway, clad in ragtag clothes, watching Irulan with so much intent that she paused her hand halting.

The street urchin still kept her gaze on her, and with a small smile, Irulan tilted her head and brought her forefinger over her lips in the universal sign of staying quiet. She must have been around six years old, and at that moment, Irulan realized she was not looking at Irulan, not really, but the little chocolate bar she was stealing.

A little street girl on the street, clad in ragtag clothes and staring at a bar of chocolate.

It was then that Irulan also started to see behind Paul’s utopia, covered with his shining wealth and riches as if a veil had lifted off over her eyes. A place still broken with the toils of the war, where small children wander in the streets in rags, hungry and lost. Something clogged her chest, and moving her cape over her shinning hair, clean and perfumed, Irulan slid away from the stall and headed toward the archways of the agora. She looked at the little girl, moving with her Bene Gesserit skills, and she quickly followed Irulan with her small feet. She was wary and distrustful when Irulan stopped in a back alley in the shadows, and her hand went behind the sash of her waist.

Irulan knew she was hiding a blade there, and it stung her chest further. She tilted her head, sweeping away her cloak, bearing her face to her, letting the child see her. Her little hand did not move away from her waist. Irulan still smiled a little and offered her the chocolate bar she had stolen.

Her hair was as golden as Irulan’s hair but caked with dirt and unkempt, looking like a bird’s nest. Irulan saw her eyes were mossy green like hers upon closer look. More than Atreides, she looked like a true Corrino. The observation somehow made her pang her chest, even not knowing the reason, but realizing she must have been one of the orphans of the war. Even the orphanage on Caladan was full, the children spilling out to the streets. Irulan briefly wondered what she was doing on Caladan now, how she had come here, or she had been here all along, the child of one of the few Atreides that had survived her father’s and Harkonen's attack. The thought made her even sadder, pinging her chest sharper.

And the girl still was watching her warily, measuring her up and down as Irulan offered her the chocolate with a small smile that she tried to keep on her lips. Then she lunged like a viper, quick and agile. Her fingers slid away the chocolate from her fingers so quickly that Irulan couldn’t even understand it for a split second before she dashed out, fleeing from the scene of the crime.

Their encounter stayed with her for the rest of the day, and like a possessed woman, Irulan went to the same stall the next day hidden under her cloak—looking around to spot her. And there she was, hiding behind the pillar under the archway. Irulan tilted her head toward the chocolate bars at the stall, forming a wordless question. The six-year-old street urchin jerked her head a little and pointed her small golden head toward the candy bars at her left. Irulan moved aside and stole two candy bars.

The girl followed her when Irulan walked down the agora, and after Irulan gave her two candies, she dashed out again quickly. On the third day, she told Irulan her name. Amy.

In the second week, she brought Irulan to the Pit. And that was how Irulan met with the notorious gang of the Pit.

“Is it Professor Jackon?” Lady Jessica broke the silence that had stretched between them as Irulan snapped her head at the woman, looking at a loss for a second before she realized the topic as the other woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Right, her supposed secret lover that the woman had assumed—Professor Jackson. Where that even had come from her? Irulan had like spent two hours in his company after seeing him Caladan, working on his biography on the Emperor. Irulan had known the professor back from Kaitain, and she even used to have a crush on him in her youth, he was like a star in her eyes, being the Dean of the Department of History at the Imperial University, but him being her lover?

He was twice her age, around Paul’s late father's age, although it would barely matter in these endeavors, she supposed. Her father had even wanted her to wed Duke Leto, Irulan knew. It had been even one of the reasons why he had not wanted her to wed Paul when the talks had started to circle in the palace, and her father had refused, not wanting to leave his throne a son out of wedlock although Paul was Duke Leto’s legal, lawful heir. He had wanted Irulan to bear the Duke lawful sons who would sit on his throne. The offer for her marriage with Paul had even…upset him, Irulan supposed. They hadn’t even known him, had never seen him.

Duke Leto had declined, mostly because of the woman who sat in front of her now, and Irulan reckoned it was one of the reasons why the woman hated her this much, why she had made that harsh comment on their wedding, taking a sick pleasure from the fate that was waiting for her.

Her eyes cast at Paul’s portrait on the wall, wondering how their fate would have been if her father had made a different decision on that day and allowed her to marry Paul, or—what if Duke Leto had accepted it, and married her? Would she have been Paul’s stepmother? The thought disturbed her so profoundly, made her so sick, she felt a strong repulsion even at the thought.

“He asked another audience with you yesterday,” Lady Jessica continued, cutting off her wayward disturbing musings. “It's the third one. He seems very interested in spending time with you.”

“Paul is an enigma,” Irulan drawled out lazily, without revealing anything. “I was one of the closest people to him for years, even writing about him. He needs…uh…my expertise on the topic.”

Lady Jessica did not see the humor in her words. “Funny. I wonder what Paul would tell about this expertise, Irulan.”

Irulan shrugged. She would have even laughed, but Lady Jessica truly looked like Paul would not like hearing her having a lover.

In other times, Irulan would have liked to test this—to find out if it was true or not, but she cast another look outside, her fingers touching the pebbles again, but it seemed to her pointless again, and really, she just wanted to leave this windy castle and go to the Pit and play with the five stones with the street kids. She was done with the intrigues.

“I will not tell Paul,” the woman stated firmly, taking her silence as affirmation for whatever point she was making, “but you will put an end to this.” With the last part, Irulan whirled her face at her.

Putting an end to this—stopping seeing Amy and the other kids.

No.

No way.

They were not going to take away this from her, the little happiness she had found in the least expected places she was looking for. She was just Ru there with those kids, a small thief from the streets, trying to make out in a wild jungle just like them. If Irulan went there, she was the Princess Consort again, Ruinlan, the Ruinous Irulan who could not even get a man in her bed for years. Irulan did not want to be that woman anymore.

“No,” she said with the determination. “I will not stop.” They had taken everything from her, but they would not take this one.

“Irulan, be serious!” the woman resisted firmly. “What do you expect from an affair?”

“Perhaps I expect a little bit of happiness, Lady Jessica, if it is not too much to ask!” she retorted harshly, springing up to her feet, fear coursing through her veins vividly. If they learned about her secret, she was going to lose everything once more!

“Your son allowed me at least that much, hallowed is his merciful heart!”

“Irulan, I know how you feel—”

“Then be assured you have made my life a living hell for years! Be happy I spent my nights and days in loneliness, being miserable when I wasn’t humiliated! Take comfort that the history will call you wives, Lady Jessica! Have your victory, enjoy your own lover in your happy bubble, and leave me the fuck alone!”

Her ruinous anger shook even all the carefully constructed Bene Gesserit composure of the older woman, and Irulan smiled wickedly, watching her tattoed face bearing the marks of surprise and shock at Irulan's reveal. Lady Jessica must too understand it. If they hurt her, Irulan hurt them back twice, even though it would cause her own downfall.

She slowly sauntered toward the older woman with her smug smile and slipped her blade. If she was going down, she would take them all down with her!

“If you sell me out, I sell you out, Jessica, do you understand?” she asked the woman with all her seriousness. “You can hide what happens here from Arrakis, but not from me while I am here. I know your secret lover, too,” she revealed. “Imagine how your son would feel learning you take another man into his father’s bed, in his home, none other than his former Warmaster? Imagine his reaction, Jessica, learning Gurney took his father’s place in your bed. Imagine his feeling of betrayal…”

 “Mother Superior always wondered if I would bring down their downfall and I did, Jessica. I did bring their downfall, the Bene Gesserit breeding program went south now, our bloodlines will dwindle, and your genes will be mixed with the Fremen genetics, screwing up the ninety-generation hard work, and I did it without even blinking. And I still know I am going to pay for that one,” she continued serenely, knowing it all too well.

The Bene Gesserit had a long memory. They were going to have to start anew now, start from the beginning, and they were not going to forget who had caused it.

“I’m going to pay for it dearly. They will hurt me. The Reverend Mother has her own unique arsenal when she wants to inflect pain, you know it as well as I do, right? The things she does to you when you disobey or when you fail. There must be a reason why you kept Paul hidden for years in here, Jessica, never allowed him to go out. I’m not a fool.

“Yet by any chance, if I went back and relived that moment, I still would have done the same. I still would have confessed. I know the only thing that keeps me alive right now is Paul’s willpower, and I still don’t regret my decision. I still don’t care. So the next time you tell me what to do, remember that, Lady Jessica. Remember it well.”

With that, Irulan swirled around and headed out, her fingers brushing the pebbles.

She better hurry up. Amy hated waiting.

Chapter Text

Every creation had a part of its creator inside, especially the most authentic ones.

The children of the Pit were no fools, they were highly intelligent although their minds were not trained or educated. However, they had the smarts of their lifestyle which had necessitated certain perceptions and intelligence for survival. This, Irulan had quickly surmised when Tim –the seventeen-year-old the leader of the gang—had pointed out the softness of Ru’s hands for a working girl that tried to make out on Caladan.

Thus, Irulan had created Ru’s background, weaving it from the parts of Irulan—the Princess Consort’s story. Ru had been working as a kitchen maid in the kitchen of the Atreides Keep for the past six months after her family’s fall from power. Her father who used to be a powerful and wealthy figure at Kaitain in the days of the Old Empire was a political prisoner at Selusa Secundus now, and the rest of her family were scattered, fallen into disgrace. Ru had drifted away until she found herself on the streets of Caladan, hoping for a peaceful place away from the Muad’Dib’s Empire, and started to work as a kitchen maid to sustain her life.

Her uptight poised mannerism and disposition made this background for Ru necessary, even the way she spoke had made the kids measure her with narrowed eyes, observing her nuances, and her polished, highly educated background so Irulan had to spin her fabrication in this way to make Ru authentic. She told herself her tale was not a lie, not really. Her father had fallen from power, was a political prisoner and she had fallen into disgrace. She could have been more truthful about that even if she tried.

Her fabricated backstory also created a common point between her and the kids, Irulan realized after the first time Amy had brought her to the Pit. Ru had no love for the Muad’Dib Empire for her sufferings, and so did these children who had to grow up earlier than they were supposed to, the children who had never lived their childhood. Paul’s jihad had them orphans who had to grow up quickly. Their hatred for the Empire was etched on their skin, were marred into their marrows.

They all hated Paul.

It was…refreshing, Irulan had realized after a while. Children’s prerogative, perhaps. Allowing their emotion so freely and so…authentically without malintent. Irulan had spent her last decade among people who either worshipped him or tried to conspire behind his back, hating him secretly, the free display of standing came to her fascinating. Even the fanatics who worshipped Paul conspired against him for more power and influence. This childish free hatred was so pure and without any hidden agenda that Irulan felt herself drawn toward it, even knowing that Paul would have…appreciated it.

Sincerity and authenticity were the most that Paul Muad’Dib Atreides placed high value, even when he did not share the same feeling or opinion. Sometimes Irulan told herself it was also the reason why he had not ordered…her execution despite what Irulan had done, sensing her…sincerity in the act. Irulan did not know, and she was trying not to ponder about it much.

Irulan passed the watch guards hidden in the trees as she approached the small gulf where the Pit was located at one of Caladan’s many secret coves, a safe haven that the street urchins had provided for themselves, neatly hidden a few clicks away from the cluster and clamor of the city center. The familiar sounds echoed in the air, mimicking the sea birds that circled above the bay, notifying her of coming. The natural gravel narrow pathway crunched under her heels as Irulan hurried her pace quicker.

She shouldn’t have gotten into a fight with Lady Jessica, Irulan knew it. It was just that the older woman irked her anger, making her react harshly. Irulan shoved the thought away from her mind as she approached the ramshackle wooden gates that protected the Pit. The place used to be some sort of beach resort once for the fishermen, Irulan reckoned, abandoned in neglect before it became the Gang’s abode.

The wooden gates sprung open even before Irulan knocked on the door, allowing her entrance. Irulan smiled with contentment, reveling in their acceptance. The first time Amy had brought her here, Irulan had spent hours outside the compound, answering many questions before she was allowed to enter.

Amy was at the other side of the gate amidst the wildness of thick woodlands that opened up the bay, pouting as she peered at Irulan. The seabird gawked above their heads, the summer midday air thick with humidity and salt. Ahead of her, Irulan spied a glance at the open sea, clear blue-and-green waters spread dormant in the well-hidden cove. The sea was unruly with the ever-existing wind at the heights of the Keep, as unpredictable as its true lord, but here everything was amiable and good-tempered despite the untouched wildness surrounding them.

True to the wilderness in which the girl lived, her blonde hair was still like a bird nest, but carrying the pink ribbon that Irulan had brought for her the last time, picked from one of Lady Jessica’s handmaidens. She had braided the girl’s hair with the ribbon to Amy’s delight. Her braid was still undone although it had become unkempt once more. Amy was such a vivid, lively child that her hair became undone no matter how hard Irulan tried to keep it tamed.

“Ru!” the girl whirled herself at Irulan, jumping into her arms as Irulan swept down to her knees and caught her before she hit Irulan like a laser beam. “I thought you wouldn’t come today! You’re late!”

“Can you make my hair again?” she asked breathless without even waiting for an answer to her earlier comment as Irulan got up, holding the six-year-old in her arms. “I asked Rogue this morning but she shooed me away. She said she didn’t have time for silly ribbons.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as she neared Irulan’s ear, her face developing a sudden somberness, her doe-like big green eyes shining, displaying her emotion without a filter, allowing Irulan to see her sadness. “Tim and she fought this morning. Tim told her the f-word!”

Oh, passed inside as she looked down at the child. If Tim was the father figure of the Gang of the Pit, Rogue was the mother figure. She was two years younger than Tim and was running the household of the Pit with a strict personality combined with tough motherly affections. Her real name was Wendy, but almost no one called her like that, except the adolescent leader of the gang on some occasions. Mostly when they were at cross with each other. She had black hair in thick unkempt waves and dark brown eyes that almost look like in the color of the night. Her complexion was warm olive skin, and her body was slim and sleek, always at ready like the rest of the street urchins. She used a butterfly knife which she whirled through her fingers effortlessly and without a thought whenever she was upset or bored.

Imagining this rough fifteen-year-old teenage girl braiding Amy’s hair was so comical that Irulan almost laughed, the scene playing in her mind. There was even something that reminded Irulan of…Chani whenever she looked at the girl. The same roughness and ferocity, perhaps.

“Did you bring us chocolate cake?” the child questioned with glee, not bothered by Irulan’s absent ear for what she had been yammering about, as her attention returned to what Irulan had promised her the last time she had come.

Irulan looked down and nodded with a small smile before patting the small bundle under her robes. “Yes,” she replied. “And I also found us pebbles like I promised. Very smooth.” Smoother than the ones here at the seashore.

“Why did Tim and Rogue fight about?” Irulan questioned as they walked down the ramshackle wooden bungalows that the children still tried to keep on their feet.

Amy’s youthful face became somber once more for a second before she hid her head in the crook of Irulan’s neck. Irulan read her reluctance and sadness so she didn’t press on. But if Tim had used the “f word”, it must have been something big. Rouge was as rough and ferocious as Tim was uptight and reserved. He never used any swear words, he never acted without reflection, never lost his temper. Irulan had always thought the boy would have made a good Bene Gesserit. He didn’t allow the kids under his protect behave like vagabonds, never even let them swear. He didn’t even allow them to steal anything until it was a matter of life or death. He and the older kids collected garbage, waste, and scraps from the streets and resold them to look after the “family”.

Amy—wiser beyond her years, had not mentioned how she had befriended Irulan, and they knew Irulan as a simple kitchen maid, not a kleptomaniac who was stealing stuff for the little girl. Tim had been suspicious of Irulan at first, questioning her in detail as Irulan gave him her fabricated backstory. Something about her story would have soothed down his wary nature in a way because he had allowed her entrance to the Pit afterward. Something Irulan had realized wasn’t a daily occurrence for the Gang of the Pit, the scavengers of the streets—fifty or so war orphans that tried to stay alive on their own.

The kids around Amy’s age, a few years younger or older circled Irulan as soon as they spotted her, her arrival best known as the bringer of the…gifts. Irulan was treated as a fairy godmother from the children’s stories, carrying delightful gifts every time she visited. Irulan also spotted Rogue sitting in front of her bungalow with her surly face, sulking as she watched Irulan settling with the kids that surrounded her. As the adolescent girl watched her, she was whirling her butterfly knife expertly in her hand, idle and effortless, not even glancing at it. Someone else with less talent would have cut her wrist and bled to death in a few minutes for the way the girl acted.

Irulan glanced at her, tilting her head in acknowledgment, while Rogue only continued to stare at her. Amy had been right. The girl was surlier than her usual today. She checked around to see if Tim was around, but she couldn’t see the seventeen-year-old boy around. Even though the kids were vivid with her presence, the tension in their air was apparent, filling the community. It must have been a nasty fight.

Amy made a mess of herself as she shoved the chocolate cake with her hands which Irulan laughed silently and intervened when the girl didn’t want to share with her friends. “What did Tim tell you the last time, sweetheart?” she reminded the girl as she took the other pieces and gave them to the others who were waiting for their share.

Amy pouted but grumbled, “But you’re my friend!” she protested. “I saw you first!”

“That doesn’t matter,” Irulan replied, firm but kind, and insisted, “What did Tim tell you?”

Amy bowed her head and muttered, “We share what we have. That’s what good people do.”

“Yes,” Irulan agreed and dipped her head to kiss the top of her head with an encouraging smile. “That’s my sweet girl.”

In the open pit in the middle of the compound where they cooked their meals, Leo was preparing a stew in a large cauldron for supper. The boy was around Rouge’s age, and he was Tim’s second-in-command. He was a tall boy with a muscular massive body, and with a face that suggested lower intelligence and comprehension, but he had a kind heart despite his massive bulk, and he was loyal. He also had an affinity for cooking whenever he got upset, preparing grand, complex meals out of nothing—improvising and creating miracles so Irulan comprehended this fight Amy had mentioned must have been worse than the little girl had realized.

Tim did not even glance at her as the kids attacked her to see what Irulan had brought for them, chatting with ease freely as the fifteen-year-old stirred his cauldron vigorously. Rogue’s hand that whirled her blade continuously picked up the pace, her face setting grimmer.

Irulan stood up, excusing herself from her admirers, and approached the girl. The girl shot up a look at her from where she was sitting on the steps of her bungalow, her hand didn’t even falter for a second, and she didn’t say anything. Irulan demurely perched on the step below her on her wooden patio, her eyes picking the wormholes absently before she asked the girl, “Can you teach me how to do this?”

Rogue’s hand faltered for a split second, but only a split second as the razor-sharp blade slipped between her fingers. “You’d cut your hand, at best, Princess,” she then said.

Princess.

The nickname they had also given her for the way Irulan was—the former wealthy highborn girl who used to live in comfort, opulence, and leisure. Irulan almost laughed hysterically, the irony not lost on her, either. If only they had known.

“I’m working in a kitchen,” Irulan replied in her best composed Bene Gesserit act, smiling demurely and kindly, poised like a Princess. “I’m becoming well-acquainted with knives.”

“This is different than cutting veggies,” the teenager pointed out.

“Just humor me,” Irulan replied, her smile widening, being her sincerest. She had only seen jugglers and acrobats performing such tricks to amuse the royal court at Kaitain. Paul’s Royal Court had no such entertainments as the Fremen despised the usual attendants of a circus. Irulan was well aware of the fact that Rogue was no juggler, she was as deadly as a Fremen with a crysknife, Irulan could read the nuisances, but she still wanted to learn.

Moreover, she wanted to talk with the girl. She could at least describe Rogue’s feelings toward her as…tolerance, she was tolerating Irulan because the kids had developed a liking toward her, and Irulan wanted them to get closer.

With a rough gruff sound, Rogue jumped to her feet, flicking her knife close and slipping it inside her front pocket. She also wore man’s pants with knee-high sturdy boots and a linen loose shirt with a leather vest. Irulan had never seen her in dresses. She disappeared inside her bungalow cabin and for a second, Irulan thought this was a clear dismissal, but a few seconds later, the girl showed up with a wooden butterfly knife. A practice knife.

Irulan smiled nicely as Rogue threw it in her lap. “You’d really cut your hand.”

Smiling eagerly, Irulan quickly picked up the practice knife and started to mimic the moves the girl showed her. Amy ran over to her side, seeing it, squealing with glee. Leo shouted out a snort, stirring his stew. “Look at you, Princess!” he shouted. “You look so badass!”

The jab was good-natured and well-meant, and they all shared a laugh. After spending twelve years, enduring the jokes and ridicule at her expense, the humiliation, the way they jested her came to refreshing, like everything with these kids.

And her barely adept Prana-Bindu fighting skills did not help at all with a butterfly knife that the street rascals and outcasts usually preferred, but Irulan was a quick learner, despite the contrary evidence. She had managed a full whirl after her tenth attempt without dropping the knife and touching her fingers or wrists. Rogue had been also right. Irulan would have cut her fingers or worse her wrists if she had tried this with a real blade.

Rogue nodded at Irulan appreciatingly after she finished her whirl. “Well, I guess you’re not as pampered as you seem,” the fifteen-year-old street girl called out to her in a snicker, her tone still lacking any mal intent. “Sometimes I feel like you’re liking here more than your kitchen in that Keep of your Lady.”

Out of a sudden, her heart thumped against her ribcage, the astute remark turning in her mind. If anyone asked her, Irulan wouldn’t have explained it, just like how she couldn’t explain why she kept stealing things she didn’t need to or she would have easily bought. But the remark was true. Irulan was enjoying this ramshackle old beach resort more than any place she had been in the last decade.

Rogue leaned in toward her and sniffed, “Yet, you still smell different,” the girl commented, pulling back.

A sliver of panic rose in her chest, the panic of her undercover might have been unrevealed. These kids were not fools, were even wiser beyond their years. Irulan had never worn any perfume or cologne she came to see them, tried her best to look like a kitchen maid, but nuances were still missing. She did not smell like a kitchen maid who spent hours in cooking vapors, carrying the smell.

“I bathed before I came,” she remarked as calmly as possible to cover her tracks but Rogue only laughed at that.

“I wasn’t talking about that,” she replied, giving Irulan another look, “But yes, you did bathe. Good for you.”

Irulan stayed silent because she didn’t know what to say to that. The girl didn’t look like she was expecting an answer, either. They stayed silent then, watching the community they had built. The younger kids ran around, eager for midday supper now, hurrying over Leo. Another flock had gone fishing at the shore and were returning, led by Tim.

As the seventeen-year-old leader walked past them, didn’t even bat an eye seeing Irulan, Irulan watched him. There was something that reminded her of Paul from him, too, the way he carried his slim but toned body, his countenance that hid his aggressive nature with a tightly controlled, reserved mannerism. Even his steps had the same predatory pounce Paul had, and his visage and features suggested the uncanny resemblance, strong Atreides blood. It wasn’t an uncalculated move that the leader of the Gang of the Pit had led his…family to Caladan.

Tim was an Atreides, although Irulan didn’t know anything beyond her deduction because it was a knowledge no one even mentioned. Irulan didn’t have any idea what the story behind it was, but she could have lied to herself if she said she wasn’t interested.

The late teenager did not cast them a look as he dropped the fish they had caught by Leo’s side and disappeared in the woods, again without a thought. His foul mood hung in the air heavier but the Gang quickly reciprocated after his disappearance. The pit’s fire was doubled and the grill was put over the hot coals before the fish were laid on top. Next to the pit, Leo also dug a small pit in the earth, wrapping the sea bass inside the big leaves and cooking it slowly buried under hot ashes.

It was then that Irulan truly realized the extent of their fight, making the younger boy cook something that would take hours.

“What happened?” Irulan finally asked, glancing at the high sun in the sky. She still had a few hours before Lady Jessica grew more comfortable with her disappearance. Irulan made a quick mental note to call for Professor Jackson too for the interview the man had asked for, agreeing to it.

Lady Jessica had worried her, but if the rumors had gone as wild as she had suggested, she also better give a…front for…her husband. If his attention was piqued, Irulan didn’t know what Paul could see. It was hard to predict Paul’s powers and abilities. Sometimes Irulan even wondered if he knew them himself. He always sounded so…vague when he tried to explain it, applying to… “supernatural”, stating his abilities lay behind laws of nature, perhaps even not to admit he knew not himself, either.

Irulan still found it “inconsistent”, sometimes even wondering if it was a front to fool them although she could not understand. Despite the inconsistencies, everywhere around, Irulan still saw the marks of his powers, unable to ignore or deny. Sometimes he looked so certain and confident that Irulan thought he knew everything.

Yet, Irulan had also managed to fool him for years and managed to give his beloved drugs despite all his power and prescience. She had worked very hard to cover her steps, had pulled enough strings, and caused enough turbulence to murk his prescient. She could still do it. Paul could see many things, but contrary to what Irulan felt, he could not see everything. Irulan was the living proof of that. If necessary, she could…divert his attention again from him.

Because Irulan could not imagine him being happy with his so-called wife stealing things and befriending street kids. Better if he believed Irulan was just having a secret affair and she was trying to hide it. Perhaps she had even made a tactical mistake threatening Lady Jessica to expose her if she told Paul anything about the rumors.

With the thought, Irulan also reminded herself Paul couldn’t see his mother’s secret affair with his former Warmaster as she also couldn’t imagine him taking it…amicably and understanding if he did.

Turning her thoughts away from her musings and plans, she continued when Rogue didn’t answer. “Amy mentioned you fought.” Irulan didn’t elaborate, but it was very clear to whom she had referenced.

“Amy talks a lot,” came the answer as the butterfly knife appeared again in her hand out of thin air.

“She was sad.”

“It will pass,” she replied. “No one has ever died from heartbreak.”

Brutal, but honest. But no one had ever died from heartbreak? Irulan did not know. Heart broke as badly as bones. Irulan was also a living testament to that. She might have not died, but sometimes it felt like she had lost a part of herself. Something vital, a part of her essence. The so-called self-ruh as the Fremen called.

On long, frigid desert nights, Irulan also wondered if this was how Paul felt, too. She quickly dismissed the thought away from herself, not wanting to ponder about him. He was like a ghost that haunted her, just behind her neck, a breath away. No matter how hard Irulan tried, she still felt his presence all the time, following her.

She berated herself for superstitions, making her lose her common sense and reason. She had spent so much time among the Fremen! Their fanatic eagerness to believe in the supernatural had rubbed on her.

“We discovered a child from Ginger’s gang yesterday in the Junkyard,” the girl finally spoke. “He was lost last week.” Irulan nodded, remembering the hushed talk she had overhead, barely whispering. The street urchins did not talk about those rumors openly, never. Children lost from the streets, suddenly disappearing, or found dead, never to appear again.

Kidnap of the children that no one wanted to bother themselves.

The easiest prey for the predators, the easiest prey to exploit. Human trafficking, organ harvesting, slave labor—each possibility had driven any thought of Paul away from her, understanding the somber air around the community.

“Dead. His kidney and eyes stolen. Eyes are very popular these days in the black market. Those damn stone burners.”

Irulan swallowed through her clogged throat, the teenage girl’s remarks suffocating her, the fact a child had been taken advantage of in the most brutal, animalistic way. Something roared inside her with the unfairness of it, small children living through the worst consequences of this holy war they had started.

An incredible sense of guilt and sorrow washed her over, feeling helpless and angry even more than the night she had ruined everything. Children have taken off the streets to harvest their organs because no one cared. No one even bothered. Irulan had known the brutality of the war, but she had always known it from afar, from a safe distance where these things were mere statistics. Just numbers. The causalities of war.

It wasn’t a number anymore. “Don’t look so sad,” Rogue remarked somberly, watching her expression. “It could have been worse.” Irulan looked at her. The girl smiled bitterly, and there was no humor in her expression. “He wasn’t raped at least. Tim checked.”

Irulan sprung to her feet, and there was a part of her that wanted to run away and never back. The part of her still wished to hide in the secluded Keep at Arrakis so she would have never lived in a world she should have been glad that a child hadn’t been raped at least.

Such a brutal, unfair world. A world that she had helped to shape. She was a part of this too. She used every ounce of her Bene Gesserit training to compose herself as Rogue stared up at her, waiting for her to say something—or perhaps the girl just waited for her to run away. For a second, Irulan couldn’t decide and it cemented her resolve.

Irulan was aware that most of the time Reverend Mother considered her nothing but a whining shrew, throwing tantrums and refusing reality instead of facing it, hiding herself inside her studies, but she was not. She had never been. What she had considered as denial and tantrums had been her survival instincts, mostly refusing to kill Chani. But she had never hidden herself from her realities.

So Irulan steeled herself and sat back on the step. “Why did you fight with Tim?”

Rogue shrugged, returning to whirl the butterfly knife. “We came here because he promised we would be safe here, but we’re not. We’re not safe here.” Irulan nodded slowly, pensive. She was right. Nowhere was safe. There was no escaping from this war.

“I want to go to Tupile,” the girl suddenly said as if she also sensed Irulan’s last thought while Irulan looked at her. “I have a lead.”

Her heartbeat hastened, drumming against her ribcage as Irulan continued to stare at the girl, stupefied.

“He claims he knows where Tupile is. He can get us there for one million solaris,” the girl continued as Irulan’s head spun further, the world slipping away. She felt breathless, at the edge of a panic attack. A lead for Tupile? She remembered all the heated discussions they used to have for the secret compound, a safe place even Paul had allowed for the people who stood against him.

“I want to try our chances but Tim refuses,” Rogue stated, stopping playing with her blade altogether. “He believes it’s a scam.”

“It might be,” Irulan tried to reason out, listening to her common sense. Many people claimed to know Tupile’s whereabouts, trying to take advantage of people’s desperation to escape Paul’s holy war, but Rogue looked daggers at Irulan when she agreed with her leader.

“We don’t know it!” she replied heatedly, jerking up to her feet. “He just doesn’t want to risk it!”

“Can you blame him?” Irulan asked, looking up, but instead of answering her, Rogue just looked down at Irulan and then stormed off inside her cabin, banging the door at her not to leave any room for suspicion about how she felt about Irulan’s reply.

Still feeling at a loss and shocked, Irulan looked ahead, her eyes fixating on the seventeen-year-old teenager.

A lead for Tupile?

Did these street urchins uncover the secret that even Kwisatz Haderach couldn’t uncover?

The thought shuddered her, and Irulan felt scared once more after months.

# # #

His private study at the end of the passageway was a twenty-meter cube of privacy, yellow glowglobes for light, the deep orange hangings of a desert stilltent around the walls, a perfect environment for tranquility and stillness for one to stay away from the rush of the present time and stay with one-self. A suitable place to meditate and connect with the self-ruh away from the desert.

Paul threw himself on a divan between the soft cushions and poured himself water from one of the crystal water flagons from the low table. His favorite snacks were on top of the table on copper trays, dates, molasses candies, and nuts. Paul did not touch them. The war council had drained him, and Chani—despite their last agreement—was still cranky although she didn’t question him anymore as she had promised.

Yet, Paul still felt trapped with the same sense of the doom he had been feeling, the greedy succubus still locked onto him. The fate he could not run away from anymore.

Reverend Mother was scheduled to arrive the next week, Paul had arranged everything. His summon had surprised everyone, Chani and Stilgar the most, but always loyal to a fault, they did not question him for his summon. Qizarate was not so understanding. Korba liked the summon even less than Stilgar did, and he was verbal about it.

Chani was away, sensing his need for solace, giving him space. His beloved always sensed what Paul needed the most. The news about Caladan had arrived at the least time Paul would have wanted it, fouling his mood.

Had Paul kept away his awareness from the oracle too much, too long that he had missed this? Did his adamant insistence to stay away from Irulan make him blind to it? Rumors were vague, but his prescience was sensing it now, the oracle seeing it.

His wife was hiding something.

The rumors mentioned a Professor that Qizarate had wanted him to declare as a heretic just last year, stating his books about the desert war and the Atreides Empire were heresy. Paul had quelled down the flames by banning his books and setting all the copies on fire as Kobra demanded, but he had not let them touch the man. Now, it seemed the man wanted to make a biography about him this time, which apparently ended up with Irulan having private interviews with the man. His mother had mentioned nothing out of the ordinary, but the other sources were definite.

Irulan was getting lost for hours without any explanation, and the Professor and she were getting…well-acquainted. The fact that she also knew the older man from her father’s court was just fanning the flames for a secret affair.

Had she decided to take up on his offer now? After what had happened between them? Now that Paul had decided. A secret lover would have just made things…more complicated between them.

No. Paul could not allow that.

His jaw set, thoughts whirling in his mind. He should have never let Irulan get under his skin the way she had done with that “cuckolding” discussion. She had challenged him, shoving his buttons once more, and Paul had shoved her back. Telling her she was free to take a lover as long as she stayed childless and discreet. Now it seemed she had decided to test him for it.

It was just another test, to see his reaction, to see how Paul would react. The Bene Gesserit plotting and setting up a lure, as easy as breathing for her. It was a wonder she had resisted the urge this long.

His lips set, Paul turned inward, breathing in the scents of the scented candles, melange, and other spices, the smells of the desert. Paul unleashed the oracle from his awareness, adopting the role of the Timefish once more, letting the tides carry him over in the sea of possibilities.

His prescience recorded the vision-memories as his awareness swam—

Irulan—hidden beneath a cloak and robes, her face shrouded in shadow as she walked in the marketplace. Irulan again at the seashore of his childhood, picking up stones. Irulan in their palace’s kitchen, checking the cakes, her fingers brushing over a fork. Her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, a different yearning in her expression. She was in the marketplace again, following a golden-haired small girl. Then woodlands, and a secret cove—sea birds circling above in the heights. Irulan was there too, sitting in front of an old cabin with a girl about fifteen years old, with wavy dark hair and olive skin. The small girl was then in her lap as Irulan kissed the top of her head and braided her dirty, unkempt hair with ribbons. She was wearing a modest linen dress over her cotton cloak. Paul had never seen her dressed so…simply or modestly. Children—There were many children around in a place that looked like an abandoned old beach resort.

Caladan.

It was his home.

The scene shifted again—this time, he was back at home, in a study room at the Keep. Irulan was sitting behind a massive desk from a walnut tree, and she was clad in the finest silk, poised, lavish, and opulent as ever. And she wasn’t alone, she had company and even without his oracle, Paul knew who the man she shared his company was.

The professor he had heard. He was at the beginning of his fifties, his salt-and-pepper beard cut elegantly and trimmed fashionably, his well-kept and confident appearance revealing his refined mannerisms and disposition. A man of high education and sophistication. A polished scholar Irulan would have easily regarded in high opinion, bestowing admiration. The expression she carried also clearly showed her infatuation, smiling sensually as the man spoke.

That seductive smile—Paul had seen it mostly directed at himself, trying her allure and her feminine wiles to win his graces. His jaw moved with what he was seeing, something making his teeth grit. Was his wife truly giving him horns?  She was not his, but she still carried his name, and Paul didn’t like it.

“Professor, may I suggest a bit more…caution?” she asked, her drawl silky and lingering, giving the man a smoldering look through her eyelashes before she reached out and briefly touched the man’s hand. “My husband is a tolerant man, but his fanatics are not.” His awareness turned rigid at the discourse, recording the moment as his eyes locked on her touch, her fingers briefly touching the man’s skin before she pulled her hand back.

The senior man laughed lightly, flirting back with her. “Your Highness, you honor me with your thoughtfulness. It eases my heart knowing you’ve been thinking about me.”

Paul grimaced, his prescience still recording the vision-memory. Irulan gave the man a frustrated look, still coy but serious, looking scared…for someone she cared about? The scene shifted again before Paul could decide, the Timefish moving over the tides of change and possibilities.

Irulan was once more clad in simple dresses and a cloak—walking on a gravel path hurried. This time, Paul was there too, following her. Paul followed his twin-self in the vision-memory as he followed his wife. His prescience was muddled, the paths were murky. His awareness reached out and touched his other self, feeling his confusion, conundrum, and…frustration. He was angry, angry with her.

The emotion wafted off of him, spreading over the awareness of the oracle.

A wooden gate appeared ahead of them as Paul secretly followed his wife—Neither in his prescient nor in the vision-memory, Paul could understand her.

The sea birds echoed above his head, and Paul realized quickly, sensing the shadows above him in the trees. The hunter becoming hunted. Paul let it and allowed the children to surround him.

And Irulan finally realized she had been followed. She spun on her heel before she knocked on the ramshackle old gates, her eyes widening seeing Paul.

“PAUL!” she cried out as a slim, sleek teenage boy jumped from the tree above her just a step away. Paul quickly saw the Atreides' blood in the boy’s features, the oracle whispering his blood. He was an Atreides.

“Do you know him?” the teenager asked her even though his sharp hazy green eyes were fixated on Paul as a muscled younger boy forced him to his knees. There were at least six ways that he could have thought of to subdue his “captors” and neutralize the threat top of his head, but Paul did not react.

Irulan was still shocked, but she bobbed her head. The wavy dark-haired girl appeared beside her other side out of nowhere, whirling the butterfly knife in her hand idly as she watched Paul.

Paul held their look silently as they measured him. “Who is he?” the girl asked.

His eyes got locked on Irulan as she mumbled, “H-he’s my husband.”

The girl and the Atreides boy shared a glance, a silent communication going between them as Irulan continued to stare at him dumbfounded. Then the Atreides boy tilted his head, his gaunt but handsome features getting grimmer as his jaw moved.

Paul tilted his head at him in response, exchanging a silent look just before the boy started to march toward him, letting out a derisive scoff. He did not step back, he didn’t stop. The boy pounced on him and punched him right across his face.

Irulan screamed, her hands flying over her mouth in shock, her eyes widening as Paul fell back, allowing the blankness to claim him, a part of him amused for the first time after years.

Chapter Text

Private commentary, entry 1:

I have never believed I would have done this, started my private commentary. Recording the imperial diaries always felt sterile, observing everything from a safe distance. I felt if I directly involved myself, I would have become lost in it, and I didn’t want it. It felt as if I had allowed myself to voice out my disappointments and plagues, they would have become real—I would have conjured them into existence. Written or recorded words left prints, thoughts not.

A childish insistence, an innocent delirium—believing if you close your eyes, the monsters would not see you, either. But the monsters are here, staring back at me, and how hard I try, I cannot pretend they do not exist anymore.

Since last week, I cannot sleep. Peace eludes me, what I have witnessed haunting me. In my dreams, I’m seeing lost children found in the garbage heaps, abused in the worst ways, tortured and disfigured. We are the Royal Family, the protector of the Empire, the defender of the People, but never it felt more like a scam than I feel now.

Once Paul had commented that Empires did not suffer emptiness of purpose at the time of their creation, but it was when they had established what they aimed that they were lost and replaced by vague rituals. I was born in the Royal Palace, and I have never felt it truer than today.

It was that part of me that wondered if this was how also Paul felt about what he had created—disheartened and disappointed by his creation. Paul never mentioned, and I never dared to ask, but nuisances were still there.

I reckon it was also the reason why that part of me wrote him this letter about the situation on Caladan—about the Pit, about the Gang, about the abducted and abused children—how could he allow this?

Irulan stopped recording, swallowing tightly through her clogged throat, and put down her small mike. The question swirled in her like it did since last week, her anger mixed with her despair and disappointment although Irulan could not understand.

The communication letter was still there. Irulan had not sent it. She had not dared much like she could not dare to ask if he was…content with what he had created even when all the existencing evidence suggested he was not. And there was that disappointment again in Irulan—even after years—even after everything—realizing that Paul had been well aware of all of this but allowed it.

Her talk with Gurney and her insistence to do something—at least allow Paul to know what happened had cemented it. Although Gurney had never admitted it aloud, it was very clear from his disposition that Paul was aware of everything.

What did she expect from him? He had started this war and he knew the consequences, and he had accepted them. The war orphans were not desired but expected consequences. They were doing their best.

“We’re doing our best, Princess,” Gurney had told her when Irulan had finally broken her reserves and confronted him about the issue, confronting him about the city and planet he was supposed to take care of. Protect and prosper.

“But we’re still at war,” he had continued, and then he had started to question her about her knowledge, about her intel, about how she had discovered it—the gutters of the city as he called it. Apparently, children abducted and their organs harvested were not as important as Irulan knowing about it.

In the grand scheme of things, a few abused orphans were nothing compared to the causalities of the Muad’Dib’s war: sixty-one billion he killed, ninety planets he sterilized, and hundreds of other planets he completely demoralized.

They were just one of many causalities of the war, and they were doing their best, and it should be enough. Before the Pit, Irulan admitted it would have been enough also for her, and it raised bile to her throat, churning her stomach, making her want to vomit.

Before the Pit, Irulan would have accepted this, told herself the same. Before the Pit, Irulan used to repeat she was doing her best.

Please, Reverend Mother, don’t! I’m doing my best!

Please, Reverend Mother, let me have another chance. I’ll do my best!

Please, Reverend Mother. I can’t do it. I can’t poison Chani. He’d kill me. I’m doing my best. Killing her is killing me.

Her silent pleas through sobs and spasms echoed in her—and Irulan pushed them away. Before the Pit, she had always tried her best and it had never been enough. Before the Pit, she would also beg and cry for mercy and another chance, but things had changed.

Irulan was making her own life now, her own decisions.

It felt she stood at a turning point. A turning point for her, something irrecoverable and irreversible. 

Irulan had thought everything had ended when she had confessed everything—ruining everything—but now it felt like it was only the beginning. Everything in her life prior to that moment, her every humiliation and suffering was just another stone in the pathway that led her here—even Paul’s victory and her fail-marriage were nothing but pavement for this end—necessary pathways so that Irulan could find Amy.

So that she could find the Gang of the Pit.

The knowledge arose inside her a priori, washing her over, giving her something she had always felt lacking in her life—a true, sincere purpose. Not doing something because she had been trained for it for all her life—lying on her back, closing her eyes and opening her legs for a man to produce an heir—or because she had been ordered—drugging a woman’s womb barren so that Irulan could be the vessel.

Irulan was born for this end, and she had been shaped for it for all of her life, but it had never felt like a true purpose. It just felt like a duty she was supposed to fulfill because everyone was telling her so, and Irulan accepted it open-heartedly because there was nothing more awful than an existence without a purpose, without a meaning.

Empires do not suffer emptiness of purpose at the time of their creation.

Irulan laughed humorlessly inside her private chambers, taking the slim, elegant envelope on the top of her desk study—staring at it. Once more, he was right of course. In the beginning, no one suffered emptiness of purpose.

Perhaps it was the bane of Paul. Being right even when he was wrong.

Irulan hated him for it, but it also cemented her decision.

 If they did not help those children, if they did not care, then Irulan was going to do it herself. Their best was not good for her. Irulan was going to do better.

She had enough human arguments.

# # #

The next day, her decision cemented and set, Irulan accepted to see Professor Jackson much to Lady Jessica’s chagrin despite their last understanding. Heeding Irulan’s bluff, the woman had stepped back, giving her space, but Irulan did not humor herself thinking it was permanent.

The woman was laying off dormant now to prepare her another attack, but Irulan did not mind her anymore as she had decided Paul hearing the rumors of her supposed affair would have worked better for her purposes. But muddling Paul’s prescience and confusing his inward eye with misleading rumors and speculations wasn’t the only reason why Irulan looked now for her consultation with the older man.

Professor Jackson wasn’t only a renowned scholar, but he was on the managing board of the Intergalactic Red Cross, a body of humanitarian aid that Paul had allowed a bit of freedom and lenience from his totalitarian despot rule and he had not forced away the man from the board even after all the heretic drama of the last year.

Paul had an insistency on keeping the Red Cross as Fremen-free as possible, not letting the Qizarate take control over the board although they tried many times—sometimes Irulan even believed their bout with the Professor had born because of it—not only because they considered the Professor’s writings about Paul and the Empire as heresy, but they hated the man’s presence and influence in the Red Cross, wanting its control to enhance their religious influence over the people.

Their Emperor had not allowed it, and it was one of those things that confused Irulan about Paul—she quickly quenched the thought. She had no time to ponder about Paul’s conflicting behavior and discrepancies. She had plots to weave, secrets to undercover.

Five main bodies of villainy ran the underworld of the Empire, plaguing the gutters of the cities of every planet during the holy war, taking advantage of people’s weakness, desperation, and despair. Three main bodies were fanned into many branches, and Irulan had discovered three of them were at work at Caladan.

The Inagawa-kai was a branch of the intergalactic Yakuza Brotherhood—an ancient Terran mob that plagued the Empire for thousands of years. Irulan used to hear hushed voices about them in her youth, the tales that she could not listen to without shuddering. Neither the Empire nor her father was merciful, but the tales she had heard about them still used to make her close her eyes in the dark and whisper in the dark—fear is the mind-killer.

Irulan knew better now. Fear is survival.

The Inagawa-kai did not interest her at the moment though, they mostly ruled the spice smuggling and weaponry business, not get involved with human trafficking unless they performed high-profile hostage situations for ransom or compensation.

The little Forty was the branch of the intergalactic the Haramis who ran the smuggler routes of the Empire, ruling the smuggling all across the universe. They were intergalactic thieves who would steal and resell almost every merchandise known in the universe, and they were also butting heads with the Yakuza constantly for the smuggling of whale fur and spice.

The SD-9 was the branch of the Reapers. As the name suggested, the Reapers ran human trafficking all across the Empire for every purpose and intention. Whether for slave labor or harvesting organs. Whether for mendicity or prostitution. Petty thefts, beggary, pleasure houses, voluntary body parts trade. The deep of the gutters. The despair and hunger making people so helpless that even selling your body becomes an option.

The SD-9 was what Irulan was targeting. They took advantage of every weakness and no one stopped them. No one cared enough. Well, Irulan cared now.

She picked at a small thread in her silk, opulent dress, waiting for the Professor. Her eyes caught the elegant envelope on the desk and she quickly grabbed it and shoved it into her drawer.

She was not going to beg him for help! Beg him to take notice, beg him to care! She had spent a lifetime doing it! He would sit back on his ass, mooning over Chani whenever he didn’t yammer about the Empire that he had built for all Irulan cared. She was done with him. She was done with expecting anything from him.

A low knock on the door cut through her sudden angry silent outburst and Irulan noticed she had fisted her right hand tightly, her nails digging into her palm. The urge hit her strongly—making her leave the room and get lost for hours—her fingers twitching—wanting to touch something she didn’t have a right to.

Irulan worked on her breathing as she had been trained, composing herself and flexing her fist. She slowly let out her deep breath, counting mentally to three before she called out with a calm, serene voice to allow entrance.

When the older man walked inside the study room after a quick but deep curtsey, Irulan was composed and poised as a marble statue, the sterile decorum of the royal pose blanketing her safely. She looked up at the man and allowed a small, enticing smile to allure the man, playing the courteous host.

“Professor, well met,” she greeted the man as he took the seat in front of her desk.

Irulan would have also sat directly in front of him at the opposite seat in front of the desk, but she had decided not to. It would have seemed so…eager. She wouldn’t want to give that impression. There was still time for that. She wasn’t sure how their private encounter might go, but it was better to be cautious.

Professor Jackson was no fool. If he sensed Irulan was using it for a specific purpose, he would not be cooperative.

“Thank you for accepting me again, Your Grace,” he greeted back courteously and Irulan allowed another small graceful smile, and it wasn’t forced this time. There was also something that put her at ease, something reminding her…home. Her younger years perhaps. He looked as handsome as ever, like a good Kaitain wine that became more precious with age.

Irulan inspected his handsome features briefly, the strong jaw under his well-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, his strong characteristic broad nose, the keen smart eyes that showed his intelligence, his sophisticated mannerism, the way he crossed his legs in front of her and his elbow touched the edge of the desk. All calculated in poise, and like always, Irulan enjoyed what she saw.

A flicker of her old admiration and attraction simmered beneath her, rekindling a surprising warmness in her chest. Perhaps it had been because she had been forced to think about him a lot since last week, his presence becoming more familiar, but Irulan felt her heart grow fonder. She could be lying if she said she didn’t like it. Both the flicker of attraction she had also glimpsed in the man’s gaze when he looked at Irulan.

She had missed that kind of male attraction. She had never allowed herself to look for it from other sources during her marriage despite her threats to Paul, but now, it felt nice. The way his gaze touched on her lips as she smiled and lingered.

Irulan thought if the man had ever thought of kissing her as her own gaze flicked over his lips under his beard. He had full, swollen lips—not thin like Paul’s. The comparison came to her suddenly and it was funny because she possibly had a better chance kissing this man than kissing her own husband. Irulan quickly dispelled the absurd thought from her and focused on her purpose. She should not let her attention divert with idle, absurd wonders.

“I admit I was a bit surprised when you agreed to my petition,” he commented, his eyes raising to her eyes from her mouth, holding eye contact.

“Why?” Irulan asked, again a bit taken aback.

“Well, Your Grace, you didn’t seem so keen on talking about the subject the last time,” he remarked and let out a little sound, shaking his head. The subject of course being her husband. “Though no one would disagree with you on that. The subject is dreary, I suppose.”

Irulan laughed moderately like a poised lady, but sincerely. “It is,” she admitted. “But someone has to do it, I suppose.” She laughed again. “People like us. History would expect us. We’re appointed for this role.”

Or she Irulan had kept telling herself for twelve years whenever she felt she could not bear it—although she hated when Paul told her that destiny chose her for this role.

Professor Jackson tilted his head, giving Irulan a long, measuring look. “By destiny or the Emperor?” he questioned.

Irulan shrugged in an indifferent manner an inch.

The man laughed lowly. “I am not a man of faith. I don’t feel appointed or obliged by any higher divine power. I don’t believe such a concept does even exist.”

“Then why do you insist to write about him in a manner that would get you killed?” Irulan questioned back, intrigued. “Do you have a death wish, Professor?”

This time, he laughed louder. “I don’t know,” he replied, still laughing and her Truthsense picked his honesty. “Perhaps I’ve just gotten bolder in my old age.”

Irulan tsked at him, this time playful. “You’re not that old, Professor. And I remember you making my father very upset from time to time. He used to grumble about you all the time.”

“If I didn’t make an Emperor not upset with me from time to time,” he retorted, letting out another subtle laugh. “I would’ve felt I did something wrong.” He paused, his face getting serious. “I reckon I feel obliged by the truth. The cold-hard naked truth. People need to hear it even when they refuse to listen to it.”

“That the Emperor is a sociopath despot?” Irulan asked, her back tensing even when she repeated the words.

Paul had burned the books but repeating them still gave her a chill although there was a part of him that admired the man’s…courage for it. This charming elegant man who had possibly never taken an arm all his life had called the most powerful being in the universe a sociopath, and his Empire being an apathetic, sociopathic dystopia built on irrational religious fervor.

The cold-hard naked truth which Irulan had rounded around the words so much and so many times not to say aloud.

But the man also laughed again, almost agreeing with her. “Perhaps I did have a death wish,” he commented, “But mind you, Your Grace. I did not call him a sociopath. I pointed out he and his Empire have a certain affinity toward sociopathic tendencies.”

Irulan laughed, giving him a look through her eyelashes, and it felt like they were flirting now—with the subject. Her husband whom they thought might have an affinity toward sociopathic tendencies. Perhaps they truly had a death wish.  

The Irulan got serious, too, shaking her head. “No. Paul isn’t a sociopath. He processes feelings and emotions very well and can read nuances. I reckon his powers just had made him…” she paused, a part of her could not believe she was discoursing this now but the man had come to discuss Paul despite her ulterior motives, so Irulan thought they were right on the topic.

“…review everything in a more apathetic light. You’re right about that,” she concluded, remembering her earlier thought about his Empire—losing its purpose as time went by, leaving its place to rituals and symbols. But she could not say that even to this man.

Strangely, she still felt an odd urge to…defend him. “He won many victories, and knows the consequences of his victories.” Expected causalities. Her lips thinned as her anger returned, firing away her understanding and compassion for him. “He’s possibly foreseen all of them and accepted them,” she grunted, voice ornery, more upset than before. “Made his peace.”

She wished to finish the consultation suddenly, her fingers twitching, wanting to go to the Pit. There was a part of her that felt even jealous of his easy acceptance, making her wish she could have made her peace with her failures, too, could have accepted them as serenely as he did. It was hard to explain as Irulan still felt angry for his acceptance, too.

“That doesn’t give him the right to be apathetic,” the Professor replied, stiff, and Irulan shrugged indifferently again.

“He’s the victor,” she reencountered, words like beads of glass in her throat, “And it’s the victors’ prerogative, or perhaps the Emperors.” She paused and also admitted, “My father was not the most empathic Emperor in the universe, Professor, you know it. In some cases, Paul is even more emphatic than him, I reckon. He didn’t let the Qizarate touch you,” she reminded him. “He didn’t throw you in a dungeon like my father did. In any case, sometimes I feel like he’s at least better than…Feyd-Rautha. Unlike Paul, that man was a diagnosed psychopath. Reverend Mother tested him.”

She stopped, letting out a labored raspy breath after her tirade, surprising even herself. It was a thought she secretly kept herself—a thought she could barely even admit to herself although she knew it was deep inside her, and now, it had come out.

The Professor gave her another look as Irulan glanced back, averting her eyes, almost cutting off their session short. Something deep in her chest felt disturbed, straying away from her purpose, and it was then Irulan realized she had called him Paul during her tirade.

She had never done that before, had never called him by his birth name while talking to a…stranger.

The man gave him a curious look and smiled slowly. “You’ve almost conveyed me, Princess Consort. I’m this close to writing an endorsement for our dear Emperor. I guess we can claim he’s…the lesser of two evils, hallowed is he.”

Irulan gave the man another look, trying to hold back a smile from her lips with his teasing, feeling the tense heavy air between them in the room slowly dissipating.

“Professor, may I suggest a bit more…caution?” she asked in a languorous drawl, putting an exasperated note in it at the man’s subtle flirtation at ease. It was still harmless and Irulan played along further.

She reached out beyond the desk between them and briefly touched his hand.  “My husband is a tolerant man,” she warned. “But his fanatics are not.”

Professor Jackson let out another light laugh. Irulan had to admit. The older man was an easy flirt, and he had no setbacks to return her flirtatious gesture. Getting bolder, indeed. “Your Highness, you honor me with your thoughtfulness. It eases my heart knowing you’ve been thinking about me.”

“Not every man in these days can surprise me,” she replied, still smiling. “It would be so bad if we lost your unique intelligence, witty mind, and enjoyable company.”

“Does Her Grace think of my company enjoyable?”

Irulan gave him another look through her lashes. “As she still hasn’t kicked you out, one would assume she does. You’re a man of reason and logic, aren’t you, Professor? What’s your logic tells you?”

The man’s gaze was calculative now, measuring Irulan and what she clearly implied. Irulan held his eyes, openly confronting it. His pupils slightly widened, becoming sure. “Well, what say you, Professor?”

“I’m still not sure if I’m allowed to,” he replied, mumbling sotto voice, sounding still not convinced.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Professor. The Emperor has given me his permission to take any lover I desire as long as I stay childless and discreet,” she openly said as the man stared back at her, stunned, eyes widened.

Irulan rested her back and smiled wide and saucy, seizing him up and down, and her interest wasn’t feigned at all.

“Like I said,” she commented with her saucy smile and silky drawl, touching the edge of her desk and giving the man another look. “My husband is a tolerant man.”

# # #

The next day, Irulan went to the Pit.

With the memory of a passionate kiss they shared, the silver lighter she had stolen from him after it, and a promise he was going to look for Red Cross’s connections for more intel about the SD-9. She needed a lead, and she was going to find it.

But first, she had to do something else.

Something she didn’t want to—something not as enjoyable as making out with a fifty-year-old handsome scholar, but something she needed to.

She needed to make a confession and learn about this Tupile. The Gang was having heated discussions about it, and they could not afford it. She needed to find this man and question him. She needed to be a Bene Gesserit. For the first time in her life, Irulan Corrino needed to be a true Bene Gesserit—not only a sexual, sensual doll to seduce a man into her bed.

Irulan pulled aside Rogue and Tim after she had welcomed Amy and the other younger kids and announced without any further ado after letting out a deep, calming breath, blanketing calmness around herself.

“Tim, Rogue—” she called. “There is something you need to know about me.”

The duo who led the Gang of Pit gave her a look after sharing a glance in silent communication whenever they confronted something that took them by surprise.

“Something very important that can help you with your hardships and suspicions,” she continued as they gave her another confused but wary look. Irulan let out another deep breath and confessed:

“I’m a Bene Gesserit.”

Chapter Text

The walk from the Keep’s grand entrance to the throne room was long, and the old woman in willowy blacks was showing it all to Paul with his unveiled face, a very unfamiliar sight that one could see ever on a Bene Gesserit expression, let alone from a Reverend Mother.

The tall and old woman stood rigidly, her back slightly inclined forward to display the fatigue she had endured as she looked up at Paul as he sat on his throne and looked back at those beady eyes he had not seen for a long time. 

Only his most trusted aides and attendants stood around him as Paul preferred it in this way before he led the discussion to a more personal space. After the half-curtsey the old crone wandered her beady gaze around them, quietly taking in considering who was attending, and obviously noting Chani’s presence. She must have already heard the rumors, the Emperor not having any important audience without his women’s presence—yet here Paul was; having neither at his side—not his wife who had been sent to exile, nor his concubine. Not for this one.

Paul also wondered if she had any idea what he was going to ask from the woman after Irulan’s banishments. Paul watched her closely as she took note of Chani’s absence, shrouded thoughts swirling through her beaded eyes. Paul had shielded his oracle from this present, not wanting his prescience affecting this critical moment, a chip caught in the wave, waiting to see where it was going to land.

There was never literal cause and effect in the oracle. Causes were occasions of convections and confluences, places where the currents met. But even those had become so unpredictable in the last days that his prescient abilities could not distinguish them, could not sense any segregation. Irulan had become so volatile and unstable that she had become truly a chip caught in the way, impossible to foresee where she would land, truly unpredictable.

The last time Paul had seen her showing up at Professor Jackson’s door under a summer downpour, at the heart of the night and she was giving her water openly before she lunged and kissed the man. The man was surprised to see her, and it gave Paul an insight that it had been the first time she had come to his home.

Something had happened between them in the last days— Paul had sensed it through his vision-memories, although he could not determine how further she took it beyond a few kisses. They were not chaste though, they were kissing passionately and longingly in his visions, and Paul had been that close to sending a holo-message to order her to end the affair.

But he had not done it.

Not yet.

I’d be stupid to feel otherwise given the circumstances, he had told her in their argument for the issue, and Paul had to own his word now.

Until he dealt with this and the old crone went to speak with Irulan. His urge to end it was still strong, he still didn’t like seeing his wife—the woman who was going to carry his heir soon-- kissing another man— I’d be stupid to feel otherwise given the circumstances.

Paul had repeated himself many times that the circumstances had changed now, it was not the same thing anymore, but the sight still bothered him beyond it, something deep in his chest telling him he had been right. He should have never let her get under his skin with her irritating threats to manipulate him. He could not begrudge her any male alliance as he had told her, but she was still his wife—and Paul did not like seeing his wife even only in name kissing other men.

Stupid or not, what he felt did not correlate with what his intellect advised him. It did not make sense, it was not consistent, but was Irulan right? When was he ever consistent? Did she feel like that once more Paul was inconsistent if he ordered her to stop the affair? Or egotistical?

Treat his subtle jealousy as something more?

As the questions swirled in his mind, Paul realized he had truly believed Irulan would have done it, would have given up in her pursuit, and taken another lover—even to test him. Now she did it, Paul felt conflicted.

Did it mean she had truly given up on hope after her banishment? Accepting their situation? Or was there more? Was this a test to measure him like Paul had assumed at first? His lips thinned as his jaw tensed, the thoughts making his ire rise further as he kept his silence in the throne room.

The Princess Consort and her plots. They were as easy as breathing was for her. When you gave in to one of her plots, she would just advance another of them. Even the man she had finally chosen to take up this license that Paul had freely bestowed on her was a message. She had decided to take a lover who was twice her age, the man who had called Paul a sociopath without fear.

And the man was having gals now to kiss his wife!

Anger hit him, the audacity of it, reimagining them whilst sharing passionate kisses. It must have amused Irulan as she really looked like enjoying herself as the man’s hands traveled across her body and his lips devoured hers. If this was a form of sending him a message, Paul surely had taken it.

His mood was sour since last week and most of his household had noticed it, including Chani. His beloved had asked him a couple of times what Paul had seen, and every time Paul had refused to answer her, making the unspoken chasm between them grow deeper and wider, not knowing how to say Irulan had taken a lover.

It would have made her even angrier with Paul’s decision, to see how Irulan had also started to enjoy her punishment. Chani was still faithful and supportive, accepting his silence like sand accepting water, but their foundation was murkier now. Paul could not tell his beloved.

Her guard had stopped the old woman ten paces from the foot of the dais where his throne was sat above, and the old woman gave a cursory glance at his audience, noting further Alia who stood two steps below Paul, and on his left, there was Stilgar among his other Naibs, and below them, there was Hayt, the gift that would bring his downfall. The beady eyes lingered on the ghola for a few seconds before it moved toward Paul once more. She could observe the shimmering effect of his shield around him and noted the maula pistols and crysknives, some even carrying lasguns. His most trusted household that Paul allowed to carry guns and knives in his presence.

His focus completely turned to her, Paul nodded to her, silent, measuring. How much did she already know? She knew the Princess Consort was sent to exile because of drugging Chani like everyone else, but no further explanation had been made. Paul had played the dumb and had not accused the Bene Gesserit of giving her orders to do it formally, but the old crone’s tension and apprehension were clear.

She did not know what games Paul was playing and it contented Paul, making him assured that Irulan had not contacted them in another way beyond his knowledge.

The Reverend Mother took his silent assessment offensive and said, “So, the great Paul Atreides deigns to see the one he banished.”

Paul smiled wryly. She knew she was asked here for something. That knowledge had been inevitable. The Bene Gesserit didn’t become Reverend Mothers by chance. Paul recognized her powers.

“Shall we dispense with fencing?” he asked, cutting to the point.

Her expression remained the same, but Paul caught a flicker of agreement pass over it before it vanished quickly like a sand shift. “Name the thing you want.”

Her tone was curt and ordering, and Stilgar stirred, casting a sharp glance at Paul. He didn’t like her tone. He had advised Paul not to accept the witch in his presence, not wanting them to get into affiliations with the Bene Gesserit once more openly. A mutual feeling Alia also shared. Even if his sister had sensed what Paul sensed with Chani’s pregnancy, she had not commented.

“Stilgar wants me to send you away,” Paul remarked, mostly to cut the sudden silence between them instead of answering her. It was not time yet for that.

“Not kill me?” Reverend Mother asked. “I would’ve expected something more direct from a Fremen Naib.”

Stilgar scowled. “Often, I must speak otherwise than I think. That is called diplomacy.”

Paul almost laughed at his retort, his most trusted Naib’s answer reminding him of Irulan—how she used to insist to the Fremen that they must use diplomacy more to solve their issues with the Imperial affairs, not always with their fist so that they would not escalate the situations. Irulan was as tough as a Fremen when the decisions had to be made, like her father, her life spent in the royal court had necessitated it, but after twelve years Paul had become assured that if they had not hidden their plot from her, she would have found a way to stop her father from allying himself with the Harkonnens to end them.

Paul knew this now as he knew himself, and it panged his chest. He had known her innocence even before he had required her hand for marriage. But knowing she would have also stopped them—knowing it was also the reason why they had not told her anything about the conspiracy made everything that had happened to her worse—made Paul feel…guiltier.

“Then let us dispense with diplomacy as well,” the Reverend Mother said as her voice cut through the image of Irulan that filled his mind, but she was not alone in his imagination, she was with that mana again, kissing him and smiling in a way Paul had never seen her in his company.

His lips strained as the Reverend Mother asked, “Was it necessary to have me walk all that distance? I am an old woman.”

“You had to be shown how callous I can be,” Paul replied curtly, deadpan. Other people had to be shown how callous he could be, it seemed. “That way, you’ll appreciate magnanimity.”

“You dare such gaucheries with a Bene Gesserit?” she asked.

“Gross actions carry their own messages.”

The image of the man’s hands traveling across her chest and fondling her breasts flickered across his mind once more as his lips sucked that spot under her ear, making her tremble and letting a soft moaning sound that Paul too had never heard from her. Gross actions did carry their own messages, indeed.

Such lewd, unadulterated passion—only two people who loved each other passionately would share in the temple of their self-ruh. Irulan delving into such animalistic pleasures freely greatly disturbed him. It was unbefitting to her. Paul knew he was not fair to her once more, he had not given her any other choice than this, but he still had not expected this from her. Irulan would have regarded this beneath her. She should have regarded this beneath her.

He also knew he was being hypocritical once more, he was going to ask her something even more…animalistic, but his intellect still did not care what Paul felt. The hidden fear was there too—the thing that Paul did not want to ponder—what if she had taken this further than a few kisses?

What if she had taken the man in her bed? Paul had not seen anything, but how could be ever sure of anything that concerned his wife now? Irulan had become an element of surprise in his prescience.

 “Say what it is you want from me,” the Reverend Mother muttered in his heavy silence, and Paul took it as a sight of victory against the old crone as he wondered if Irulan had flown the nest so far away that even this woman could not bring her back anymore.

“You must be careful how you speak to me, old woman,” Paul said and stood up from his throne. “It was a long walk and I can see that you’re tired. We will retire to my private chamber behind the throne. You may sit there.”

He gave a hand signal to Stilgar, and he and the ghola converged on her to help her up the steps. They followed him through a passage concealed by the draperies as Paul wondered idly if the woman realized now why he had greeted her in the hall: a dumb-show for the guards and Naibs.

He still did not fear them, but messages sometimes had to be sent. Now, he played the gracious host, displaying kindly benevolence toward his rival, daring such wiles even on a Bene Gesserit. Surely the news would reach Cobra. Paul had not allowed his presence today here. It was going to occupy the Qizarate for a while.

Paul seated her on a divan in his private chambers and stood over her, studying the ancient face—steely teeth, eyes that hid more than they revealed, deeply wrinkled skin. He indicated a water flagon. She shook her head, dislodging a wisp of gray hair. He took the seat across from her and sat reclining in a comfortable position, watching her with an open and keen interest.

The woman was a stone now, revealing nothing, simply holding his inquiring gaze and waiting. “Do you not wonder how your student is?” Paul questioned, cocking his head aside, his eyes still on the woman.

“I do not,” she replied calmly. “I know how she is.”

Paul smiled wryly. He highly doubted it. “She’s been drugging Chani for years under your command.”

A stir passed through their little audience after his simple statement, but the woman and the ghola did not even flinch. The metallic eyes of the ghola recorded every instant, as beady eyes stayed impassive.

“The Princess Consort knew she was tasked to carry the imperial heir,” she replied, and Paul noted the past tense and her avoidance of answering his statement openly.

“So do you deny you were giving her orders?”

Two Bene Gesserit questioning each other. Lies would not save their pretenses now. “We do what we must. Your bloodlines must be preserved.”

“Chani will be pregnant in a month,” Paul revealed.

“Have you foreseen it?”

“I have,” Paul admitted. “She’ll give me what I want.” He voiced out carefully, so the woman’s Truthsense could not detect his intent to deceive. Paul knew her powers, and he also knew his. She was powerful, but Paul was unprecedented.

Paul had not only wanted an heir. He had always wanted a child—a daughter like Chani, fierce and nimble at the same time, his only real spoils of war. A treasure amid this bloody war that had taken almost everything from him. Chani was going to give him that.

“If that’s so what I’m doing here, oh you divine?”

“I know you’ll attempt her life,” Paul stated with the iciness of a cold hard fact. “You cannot allow your precious plans would interfere with the unknown quality of Fremen genetics. You cannot allow my bloodline to get altered with them. I know that. I also know you ordered Irulan to kill Chani many times but she resisted it every time. I know now she doesn’t even speak to you. She does not answer your calls. She fled over the nest, Gaius.”

The woman stared at Paul as shocked and frightened at the time when Paul had used his Voice on her. Her beady eyes widened. “So here we all are,” he lowly stated, leaning toward her an inch from his seat. “I wish to bargain with you for the life of my beloved.”

Stilgar cleared his throat.

Alia fingered the handle of the crysknife sheathed at her neck.

The ghola remained at the door, face impassive, metal eyes pointed at the air above the Reverend Mother’s head.

“I know what it is you want from me,” Paul said, leaning back once more after what he had revealed. “And I also know you will not stop until you attain it. I wish not to continue this pantomime. Irulan is beyond your control now, but she still can prove herself useful. For both of us.”

She lifted her chin and met with Paul’s eyes. “How?” she asked, a touch of intrigue brushing her tone. She was interested, and she could barely contain it even with her hard Bene Gesserit training. “What coin do you offer?”

“I’ll give you what the Bene Gesserit desires the most. Not in my person, but you may have my seed,” Paul said openly. “Irulan will get inseminated by artificial—”

“You dare!” the Reverend Mother flared, stiffening and cutting him even before Paul finished.

Paul gave her another wry tight smile as Stilgar took a half step forward. Disconcertingly, the ghola smiled. And now Alia was studying him more carefully. Not for the first, Paul wondered how much she had known—how far she had seen. He could have done this alone, too, but the old crone needed to realize Paul had witnesses for this discussion and draft her conclusions accordingly.

“We’ll not discuss the things your Sisterhood forbids,” he said calmly. “I will listen to no talk of sins, abominations, or the beliefs left over from past Jihads. Irulan may have my seed, but by artificial means only. That’s my offer.”

Paul watched the Reverend Mother close her eyes for a split second, the alluring trap Paul had cast for her becoming perfectly visible to her insight. She looked at their audience after the brief interlude, and Paul could almost hear what she thought.

She must have hated casting the genetic dice in such a way—against every teaching of the Bene Gesserit and the lessons of the Butlerian Jihad. It all proscribed such an act. One did not demean the highest aspirations of humankind. No machine could function in the way of a human mind. No word or deed could imply that men might be bred on the level of animals. For the Sisterhood, mating mingled more than sperm and ovum. One aimed to capture the psyche.

Paul knew all of it, and even agreed, but his personal proscription went deeper than the general proscription. He had given his promise to Chani, and he could not break it. Still, not.

He had changed the fabric of the universe so much, so deeply that he told himself one more change wouldn’t hurt anyone. His decision necessitated it. There was still a part of him that felt disturbed with his decision, and Paul told himself it was the best. He also needed to break a path free from the influence of the Bene Gesserit over his child.

It was paramount to ascertain that Bene Gesserit stayed away from him when he sat on the throne. Paul could deal with Irulan, but the whole Sisterhood had to be kept under a tight leash until his heir came to age. As long as Paul dangled the truth above their heads, the Sisterhood would heed carefully.

Were it ever discovered this move would bring down popular wrath. They could not admit such paternity if the Emperor denied it. This coin might save the precious Atreides genes for the Sisterhood, but it would entirely bind them to his will for the throne, making them dependent on Paul’s collaboration. Which was his gambit for the safety of his child—and also for Irulan.

Irulan would turn her back on the Sisterhood even further, burning down all the bridges to protect her child. Her strong maternal instincts would not allow otherwise. Paul knew his wife, knew her scheming nature, but he also knew her maternal side.

This was his queen’s gambit.

Irulan was his queen gambit. Making her carry his heir via artificial ways was his sacrifice—both for his personal integrity and the safety of the child and mother, and his Empire, and in return, this gambit was going to secure his control of the center of the board.

“Your decision,” he prompted the older woman calmly, holding back his wry smile, assured that she was tempted by the carrot Paul was dangling for her.

The precious Atreides genes. They were too important to miss. Need went deeper than proscription also for the Bene Gesserit.

She swept her gaze around the room, studying each face, the witnesses Paul had brought himself today. His most trusted men—who would back up his claim if the need arose. Paul trusted Stilgar with everything, and Alia was his sister and his heir at the moment. And the ghola—well, the ghola had to witness this event, too, not for Paul, but for his self. If Duncan had been alive, he would have also stood with Paul here today, so Paul also allowed him to stand.

To show them clearly how he felt about their tool of conspiracy. Today also confirmed it. The Bene Gesserit still did not know how far Irulan had broken away from them. They did not know Irulan had also confessed to the conspiracy.

“This is your only offer?” the old woman asked.

“My only offer,” he replied with a firm nod and added to make it absolute with the Sisterhood. “And I will only allow this license for her. Not for another Bene Gesserit. Only for the Princess Consort.”

The second license Paul had allowed for his wife. Let’s hope it’s going to work better than the first license, Paul thought ironically to himself, recalling her with her new lover but pushed away the thought from himself as the Reverend Mother peered at him long. Paul held her piercing gaze, letting the woman see the seriousness of his decision. She would not let her entertain herself with other contingencies in case Irulan refused the offer stronger than Paul predicted or the Reverend Mother decided to place someone more trusted than Irulan now in her place.

After the brief tense moment, the woman turned to the ghola. “You, ghola,” she called. “Should such an offer be made? Having been made, should it be accepted? Function as the mentat for us.”

The metallic eyes turned to Paul for approval.

Paul tilted his head. “Answer as you will.”

The ghola returned his gleaming attention to the Reverend Mother and gave her a smile that took her unawares. Paul observed the nuances of her slight trembling of the muscles of her cheek.

“An offer is only as good as the real thing it buys,” Duncan’s ghost said. “The exchange offered here is life-for-life, a high order of business.”

Paul wondered if the ghola had predicted there was more lining underneath in this bargain, but it was Alia who spoke it aloud: “I can see human arguments and the political ones. But what else is hidden in this bargain?”

The Reverend Mother refused to look at Alia like she had been doing since she arrived, but between them a subtle understanding had passed, two Reverend Mothers communicating through their mutual distrust and hostility.

“What else?” the ghola asked.  “One crossing the line may lead another one. One might wonder why the witches of the Bene Gesserit have not used Tleilaxu methods.”

The Tleilaxu methods…altered genetics. Even if it were only for political arguments that Paul sought this, could have he done this?

The artificial ways might be…an unorthodox method for having a child, avowed as a strong taboo by all the Empire but the sperms and eggs fertilized in a clinic and then the fertilized egg was going to be placed in a real womb, in his wife’s womb. This child was going to belong to them despite how it was conceived. The Tleilaxu methods were beyond being unorthodox. It was an abomination.

“If we set the Atreides genes adrift in a Bene Gesserit river, who knows what may result?” his sister mused out. The Reverend Mother’s head whirled at her and she finally met his sister’s eyes of Ibad.

His lips strained as Paul, observing the play of emotion around him, felt abruptly that he no longer knew these people. He could see only strangers. Even Alia was a stranger.

 “One tended to believe power could overcome any barrier, including one’s own ignorance,” the old crone muttered under her breath, averting her gaze from Alia.

Paul arched an eyebrow. “You reject my proposal?”

The beady eyes returned to him, and she almost snapped, “I’m thinking.”

Paul stayed silent and stared back at her.

“Tell me, oh flawless exemplar of all that’s holy, why did you ask me?” she asked eventually. “You would’ve bargained with the Princess in person.”

“I would have,” Paul agreed. “But Irulan was your student. And as the matters stand between us as they are, she may be more inclined to listen to your counsel than mine.”

A low scoff escaped from her. “And you claim she’s flown the nest.”

“Yet, she used to be your cuckoo. You trained her for this task.”

“And you’d just use Irulan to gain your own ends, eh?”

“Wasn’t she trained to be used?” Paul asked. All her life they had trained her for this.

“Prove yourself useful to me, Gaius.” His expression became studier and stonier as he leaned forward in his seat, more threatening. “Prove to me I was right when I sensed you would be more useful to me banished twelve years ago.”

His threat did not go unnoticed, her Truthsense observing what his tongue did not say aloud. Prove me wrong, I’ll take your life.

“What if she declines?” she asked. “What if she has truly fled the nest, Your Grace? What will you do? Will you force this upon her, too?”

His lips strained, but he held his temper in check. “That’s why I’ve asked for you, Reverend Mother. I’m trusting your Bene Gesserit persuasion tactics. You convinced her for many things in recent years.”

“And she rejected many times, Your Grace, like you also know,” she pointed. “Your wife has been always a whining shrew—”

“Be careful how you speak of my wife in my presence,” Paul warned icily, cutting her off. “Whatever she is, she’s still my wife.”

“And your wife has a temperament as we all know,” she retorted. “There were some occasions in which we needed to put certain edges in our persuasion tactics to give her…incentive to carry out our commands. It was not pleasant.”

Paul felt a cold shiver run down his spine with the implications, sugarcoating the facts with semantics to sound more civilized and sterile. The Imperium called torture enhanced interrogation techniques, and the Bene Gesserit called it persuasion tactics. The fact that Paul had caused her this made the bile rise to his mouth with his anger, a part of him wanting to throw this old sociopathic witch into the desert to find her own end like an animal.

The stir passed over their audience in the same way, understanding what lay beneath the words. Torture. They had hurt Irulan until she broke and submitted to her orders. How many times they had asked her to kill Chani, and how many times she had refused? A vision of her contracting with spasms and trembling crouched into a corner flickered over his insight, hugging tightly herself and crying.

“I’ll ask openly as you speak so,” the Bene Gesserit continued with the same sterile matter-of-factness. “How far do you wish me to go if she resists?”

Paul stood up and loomed above her. “You will not hurt her. If you do, I’ll kill you.”

She firmed her jaw, and insisted for an answer, “And if she declines?”

Paul fixated his hard gaze on her blue-flecked old eyes. “I’ll kill you the same. Make no mistake,” he warned to drill his point through her. “If she declines, your life is also forfeited and the Sisterhood will never have again a pure sample of our bloodlines. But if you hurt her again, I’ll make you wish for your end.”

“I see,” the woman mused, holding his stern stare. “You presume putting me between a rock and a hard place would create sympathy in her.”

Paul remained silent once more, letting his stony silence speak for himself. “Let’s hope then you assume correct and she’s not gone from the nest that far away,” the Reverend Mother commented in a low voice and she sounded for a second as if a true old woman.

Then the beady eyes turned to him and Paul saw the Mother Superior of the Sisterhood, ready to do everything to ensure his bloodline continued pure.

“Will you put Chani’s child on the throne?” she prompted, the beady eyes having another glint.

Paul had been waiting for this. “On my throne,” he corrected, avoiding to answer.

He glanced at Alia, who stood with eyes closed, an odd stillness-of-person about her. Seeing his sister thus, Paul felt Alia stood on a shore that was receding from him. Though, Paul could not be sure who was moving adrift from whom. Him or her?

Sometimes, Paul could not be sure. Oracles were blind to each other.

The Reverend Mother smiled a little but it reached to her beady eyes. The woman was amused now and intrigued more than Paul would have liked. “And what if we decide to have a boy?” she finally asked openly. “Will you allow it?”

“I decide who sits on my throne,” Paul warned darkly, taking a step closer to the woman. Not a lie, either. “Not the Bene Gesserit. Always remember it. This child will not buy you a throne.”

“I understood that as soon as you demanded the artificial ways, Your Grace,” she replied. “You were very clear.”

Paul smiled curtly, with no humor at all. “Glad we’re on the same page then, Bene Gesserit. Go and see Princess Consort now. I wish to have her answer at once.”

“Will you permit me to counsel my council at Wallach IX before I go to Caladan?”

“Permitted,” he agreed. “But don’t delay too long. Chani and Irulan must bear my children around the same time.”

Her eyes glinted again with his preference to refer to both as his children, and Paul did not mind. He did not wish to hide it. But her tone had a leery note when she asked, “May I ask how we would arrange the…uh…logistics, my Lord?”

Logistics… such a civilized manner to ask how they would have his seeds. The easiest answer was to attain them here and then send them to Caladan in a nitro-container tank, but his seeds traveling in the vast space freely before they reached Irulan gave him pause. It felt too…unorthodox even for him.

Furthermore, Paul could not let the Bene Gesserit put some schemes with them, too tempted by his genes. He must be there when the insemination happened, and make sure the rest of his seeds were retrieved and destroyed properly. He could not trust any Bene Gesserit with his seeds. Even to his mother.

“Talk with her,” Paul ordered once more. “As soon as she accepts, I’ll come to Caladan. We’ll deal with the logistics there.”

That surprised her, Paul could see it openly this time. “Will you be there?”

Paul looked back at her straight in the eye. The old woman smiled pleased and it was one of the most disconcerting sights that Paul had ever seen as she commented what Paul had not spoken aloud: “You still don’t trust us with your seeds.”

“Only a fool would trust a Bene Gesserit.”

“Does your mother know about your decision?”

Paul held back a sigh. Her mother—well, she wanted to stay away and Paul respected her decision. She did not have any right to say anything about this anymore. “You’re free to give her the news.”

The old woman nodded and slowly started to rise from the divan. Stilgar quickly moved to her side, ready to escort her out but the Reverend Mother paused by the draped door and turned aside to Paul.

“Oh, the last thing before we part ways,” she started as Paul simply waited to see what the old witch was going to spawn this time. “We reached some rumors from Caladan in the past weeks.”

Paul, still silent, felt his face darken, knowing where this was going. “The rumors say the Princess has taken a lover. What do you want us to do about it?”

The corner of his mouth almost twitched as Paul forced himself to stay impassive. “Nothing,” he said coldly. “That’s between me and my wife. You won’t get involved.”

Even though his cold acceptance of the rumors surprised the old woman, she did not display it, but Paul still could sense her keen interest. Alia’s eyes held the same burning interest and…worry. Paul turned away from them, dismissing his company wordlessly. After the Reverend Mother was escorted, the ghola also left, but Alia lingered.

Paul still did not look at her, but Alia was still watching him, suspicious and wary. Her question had revealed though she had not seen the alternatives here…Vision varied from sibyl to sibyl. Why not a variance from brother to sister, one oracle from the other? Paul wondered.

Paul wondered many things, his attention wandering … wandering … He came back from each thought with a start to pick up shards of the correlations in his insight. He had done it.

He had done what was incomprehensible, what was beyond folly.

Alia was confused. Paul did not blame her. Let her wonder. If they still could wonder, it was a kindness. He remembered the man Irulan was kissing—the teenage boy who punched him right across his face. Wondering was a blessing.

“Paul…” she finally called out to him. “Will you really do this, brother?” Disbelief colored her voice, low and hesitant. 

Paul turned and looked at his sister in silence. “You still trust that woman this much even after what she did?”

“We caused her to do it,” Paul murmured, averting his eyes. “She tried her best.”

Alia approached him and her eyes of Ibad were stern. “You knew it, didn’t you?” she finally asked. Paul swallowed but remained silent as Alia comprehended all.

“Will Chani die?”

The question trembled it, hearing it aloud from another human being, the terrible destiny that had clutched on him, the terrible fate that Paul had been trying to evade, trying to flee for years. It was there, and there was no place to run anymore. An incredible sadness wrapped him once more as Paul slowly—lowly breathed the breath he was holding.

A sole tear rolled down his cheek as vision-memories filled him.

Chani touching a tear on his cheek…

Whispers in the desert… it was mostly the sweet, and you were the sweetest of all.

Irulan knelt in the dark, giving water to the dead.

Alia let out a deep, grave sound, shaking her head. “We must not grieve for those dear to us before their passing.”

“Before their passing,” Paul repeated in a mutter. “Tell me, little sister, what is before?”

Chapter Text

Of all things, it was the interiors of Rogue’s ramshackle bungalow that had surprised Irulan the most. She had never seen it before and had expected a jumbled, cluttered place with litter that scattered around after a tornado, not a tidy, orderly, well-put minimalist place that was organized analytically from the objects in the Junkyards.

It was a one-room bungalow, and the door of the bedroom was closed, so Irulan could see only the living area. There was an old but clean carpet over the creaking wooden floor in the middle of the space, and another old, used but clean couch at the farthest corner. There was a small table across the couch and four simple chairs. They did not match, two of them were metals and two of them were from wood, but somehow they did not clash. There was a tiny metal cat that spun from wires, a curious figure, and a painting of shores on one of the walls, a cheap replica of an Imperial artist that had been commissioned by her father years ago.

Art had been stalled in the last decade because the Fremen religion scorned all art that imitated the real human essence that was sacred, even forbidding the ego-likeness portraits, considered it as blasphemy, a childish attempt to rival the Creator. There were no portraits of Paul all over the Empire, only the Hawk of House Atreides on Fremen Brown, his Might allied and combined with the desert power. And the shrine of his father’s skull.

Paul had not let his fanatic legions destroy all the art even Qizarate pushed on it, but there were no more commissions for the creation of art anymore nor was it favored anymore in the new Empire. Missionary Protectiva had not only worked in Dune, the Bene Gesserit had been preparing all the worlds in all the star systems for their own Messiah. All the sects and fanatics on all planets had their own messiah figures that they had been waiting for centuries, and Paul filled in all those roles as naturally as he filled the Fremen messiah, like ticking away a checklist.

Whenever Irulan had difficulty rationalizing how quickly Paul had been able to reshape their own reality in less than a decade, Irulan reminded herself of that fact. Paul’s Empire had been only a decade older, but the Bene Gesserit had been preparing the whole universe for him for centuries. When they looked at Paul, they all saw their own personal Messiah, the personification of all their fate and hope, somewhere who was there, answering their call.

All the diligent work of the Bene Gesserit for centuries, coming to fruition; their Kwisatz Haderach ruling all.

I’m a Bene Gesserit.

It was a wonder that Rogue did not open up her butterfly knife, Irulan reckoned after her declaration. Tim and she had brought her inside after Irulan had confessed, sharing the silent communication that they had perfected over the years, Irulan observed. It was quite impressive. The Bene Gesserit and Great Houses had their own secret war language and hand signals, coded and encrypted so that their secret would not be discovered, but these children had figured out a way to understand each other by the glances, reading the nuances in their body language. The Bene Gesserit in her observed it with approval, noting their high intelligence.

I’m a Bene Gesserit.

Irulan let out a low breath, pondering briefly what the Reverend Mother would think of her statement now, for whom she had made it. She would have observed Irulan might have lost all her mental faculties, if she did not already believe it. The thought gave her a sick pleasure inwardly, the same destructive ruinous urge wanting to make her laugh. She diverted her gaze from the children and stared at the wall ahead of her.

It was one of the…decorations Irulan did not expect. At all. Even less than the metal cat from the wires or the replica painting. It was a board—a vision board. On the top, it was declared handwritten … VISION BOARD.

Irulan had never seen a true vision board before in this way. It was one of the old relics of the old Empire, a spiritual old—childish version of the Bene Gesserit School’s sacred axiom: Our minds control our reality. Combined with the older religious traditions, the people of Old Terra had childishly believed that they could conjure their hopes into existence by the mere fact of wishing. The Bene Gesserit in her would have laughed at the crude attempt that only a truly skillful, adept Bene Gesserit would manage, but what she saw on the board was so—innocent, so pure in naivety that it only sat a deep gravity on her chest.

On the vision board, Irulan saw Tupile. The paintings that Rogue had possibly made herself or had found from the heaps of garbage, clips from the art pieces or handmade drawings, written words—on a closer look, she even saw a piece of the ribbon Irulan had gifted Amy, making its way below a piece of art of the sunny beaches and summer sky. It was not only the teenage girl, Irulan surmised then, studying the board, seeing the pieces from the all kids that sheltered in the old beach resort.

It was a collective design of the Gang of Pit, objectified as their Hope. Much like how Paul was personified as the hope of the masses.

Irulan felt someone had kicked her in her guts, witnessing the depths of what Tupile Entente truly meant for these kids, for those who were looking for a…Sanctuary. Away from Paul and his Peace.

His words swirled in her mind further as Irulan stared…

Tupile remains the place of sanctuary for defeated Great Houses. It symbolizes a last resort, a final place of safety for all our subjects.

Perhaps she had been too hard on judging him, too easily judging him being self-centered. Even though she knew the need for it, she had never truly understood it—perhaps until today, until she saw this crude, childish Vision Board to make a wish true. She had always felt ill at ease with letting Tupile go. She had always felt there was an ulterior motive for the Guild’s insistence to keep the place away from Paul, something just made the hair on her back stand. The Guild never insisted on something without an angle, without an ulterior motive. It was…naïve to think that they would start to care about the other people. They were apathetic aside from their own selfish needs and desires that always prioritized spice above everything.

To think that Paul would believe they would care anything beyond that was absurd at best. But still, he didn’t press but accepted. He needed their compliance for Paul’s rejection of a Constitution that they also insisted. It was what Paul prioritized, Irulan reckoned. He had been quite adamant in his reviews of the Constitution for years, feverously denying it. Irulan had always felt it was also an act of denying the Qizarate more power, but Irulan reckoned he had believed Tupile an agreeable loss. Paul was a warrior and he knew how to lose, too.

And Irulan also understood the importance of not backing desperate people into a corner, they would fight with you until the bitter end. It was a known quality of war strategies but the Guild’s insistence on keeping it secret still made her wary. If the Guild was involved, Irulan always erred on the side of caution. But here Paul was, even with his angles and ulterior motives, allowing it—wanting to give a sanctuary—a hope for those who did not even believe in him.

Even Irulan could not deny it was a noble, honorable disposition, something Irulan had always felt they lacked now. Irulan recalled the fight they had had before Paul had bestowed on her the license of taking a lover, not begrudging her male affection.

“Your father was and is a beast,” he had claimed like he always did whenever he wanted to justify his own actions, before claiming her hand for marriage for the throne. “We both know he'd lost almost all touch with the humanity he was supposed to rule and protect."

“Was he hated less than you're hated?” Irulan had flared that day, wanting to hurt him with nothing but the truth, like he hurt her.

The sardonic that touched the edges of his mouth came to her as Irulan recalled further, his curt but ironic admission: A good question.

Irulan had an answer for that question now, as much as it hurt her. Her father would have possibly not let Tupile stay. Once, he might have—but the man who had orchestrated the fall of House Atreides would have not let it, and Irulan did not know what to do with that. There was still a part of her felt—angry with her father for what he had caused although she still loved him, despite everything, and she did not know what to do with that fact, either.

Sometimes she felt there were no more easy questions and answers for her, only hard questions, hard answers, and ambivalent feelings.

Irulan swallowed tightly and thickly, turning her gaze away from the vision board on the wall, and looked at the teenagers. They were still silently watching her.

“I know you have questions,” she started, not running away from the wariness she saw in their gazes. They were suspicious of her they had never been, and Irulan could not fault them for it, either. Hard questions, hard answers, ambivalent feelings. She sensed those too had been their life for a long time now.

Tim laughed lowly, and the sound reminded her of Paul. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

“You know I’m a highborn,” she said truthfully. “It’s very traditional for highborn lords to have…alliances with the Bene Gesserit. My mother was one. I was never trained officially, I never went to their school on Wallach IX,” she explained further how she had become a Bene Gesserit, not even lying. “I was never a Bene Gesserit formally,” she also confessed. “But my mother trained me.”

Rogue gave her a look, not looking convinced, and still wary. “So you’re what?” she asked. “A rogue Bene Gesserit?”

Irulan almost smiled. She supposed it was also true to some extent. Her mother and Irulan’s situation in the Sisterhood was a complex one, and the Reverend Mothers solved it by creating another rank for them outside the hierarchical structure of the Sisterhood, the Hidden Rank.

“I guess yes,” Irulan admitted, also pondering on her late circumstances, “you can call me a rogue Bene Gesserit.”

Rogue still was not convinced. “You don’t look like a Bene Gesserit.”

That almost made Irulan heave a deep sigh, but she accepted it also gracefully. “I know,” she replied. “She tried her best, but I’m not very adept. And—” She paused for an instant, a smile lifting her lips. “I certainly never wear any black.”

Tim faintly smiled next to her, giving her another look.

Irulan swallowed once more and tipped her head at them. “Allow me to prove it to you,” she said and then quickly arranged her pitch, and used her Voice after a while—putting all her concentration in it as she turned to Rogue.

“Bring me the cat.”

Her pitch filled the small space, catching the teenage girl. Under Tim’s widened stare, Rogue turned around and started to move toward the wire cat across the woman like a puppet and then brought it back to Irulan as she was commanded. Tim was truly astonished now, his youthful Atreides features morphed into shock. Irulan realized they had never witnessed the Bene Gesserit powers this close, or directly upon them.

The knowledge grew in his hazy green eyes, making him take a step away from Irulan as Rogue shook herself out of the compulsion, staring at her hand with the little cat stature she had extended toward Irulan.

The girl was visibly shaken, gasping, but it only took a second for her until she composed herself and suddenly the butterfly knife in her hand, flicked open in defense. “You’re truly a Bene Gesserit witch!”

“Rogue!” Tim shouted as Irulan stepped away, holding her hands up in the air in the universal sign of peace.

“Easy,” she quickly said, arranging her vocals again for tranquility and peace as much as she could. It was not the Voice, and she had never needed to use her vocals in this soothing manner. It was the most effective for calming down frayed nerves and soothing the tension, or it was used to pacify the prisoners when the Bene Gesserit wanted to have quiet, calm discussions, playing the good questioner before they switched their persuasion tactics to persuade those who were under the questioning. The Bene Gesserit usually did the best questioners, trained to perform the deadly Gom Jabbar questioning with those who were too dangerous to keep alive if they were not human enough.

Irulan had never been trained in this way, of course, she wasn’t even tested with the Gom Jabbar test, but she had studied the Reverend Mother enough when she stayed on the other side. Being the one who was questioned.

With Paul, she had never been able to use her training to its all extent, he had been so much more potent and skillful than her that he always saw right through her attempts. The teenagers were truly looking at her now as if she was a Bene Gesserit witch for the first time she had known herself, with fear, wariness, and awe combined together.

“It’s still me, Ru,” she continued. “I just wanted to tell you because I might help. We Bene Gesserit are trained to be as skillful questioners. The Great Houses seeks our skills for this purpose. We function as their safety net. We sense the truth from falsehood,” she continued explaining their Truthsense skill, “We even notice when we hear the truths that intend to deceive us.” She paused, cocking her head at the vision board on the wall. “You are not sure if your contact for Tupile tells you the truth or not, if it’s a scam or not, and I can help you there. I can decipher if he’s lying or trying to deceive you.”

She swallowed the same strong feeling that had made her confess what she was hitting her once more. She had confessed because she had wanted to help. Because she cared about them. She had seen their conflict, and how much Tupile meant for them even before she had seen Rogue’s vision board, had sensed the importance of it from the discord Tim and Rogue’s tension was creating in the Gang. Now she was here, Irulan comprehended she had only sensed the tip of an iceberg.

“Rogue, Tim,” she said, walking them closer once more, her voice adopting an imploring note on its own. “Let me help you. I can help you.”

*

Irulan waited inside the cabin for the next hour as the Gang of the Pit tried to decide what to do with her. The teenagers had left after her detailed explanation, Irulan revealing it was her Bene Gesserit barely apt skills that had made sure she had managed to survive on her own after losing her family and even made it possible to fix herself a place in the Lady Jessica’s household despite being who she was. All her explanation was truthful once more, her barely apt skills had made her able to drug her husband’s beloved for years without anyone noticing it, making her afloat with her schemes, and here she was again, in Lady Jessica’s household.

Yet, despite the truthfulness of her words, Irulan still felt as coiled as a barbed wire, a part of her wishing she had not needed to deceive these kids even with her best intentions. She wished she could have truly told them who she was—although there was a part of her that did not know it anymore.

Who was she anyway?

She was a fallen Princess who had lost everything, the daughter of a man who had lost his throne, and the wife of a man who kept reminding her of that fact. For years and years. The Princess Consort to a man who had never been her man, a man who only kept her as a necessity that he endured as an unwanted but necessary consequence.

Irulan dispelled her depressed thoughts and feelings and inspected instead the cat statue from the wires. It was…kinda cute, she decided, sitting on the couch in the room, heaving a sigh. She would not have not minded to steal it, and the urge ran deep in her, to have it, something for her own, only for her, although the other part of her strongly protested it.

She could not steal from Rogue. It came to her so wrong in so many ways that Irulan didn’t even know where to say, but it still didn’t undo what she felt. But it made her resist it at least. Putting the small statue back on the table, Irulan stood up and walked closer to the vision board.

That part of her—the part of her that even bested against her strongest urge was also afraid, her stomach coiled as much as the wire cat statue, fearing losing what she had found, fearing the street kids would also not want her. The fear of rejection hit her stronger than ever, making her regret her decision. She had wanted to help, but was it worth taking the risk?

Now they knew the truth about her, they would not want her company again. They would cast her away—like how she was banished, sent away. She should have gotten accustomed to being not…unwanted by now, she supposed.

The story of her life in a nutshell.

The story of the Princess Consort.

No one wanted her.

She was a risky complication at best or an unwanted deadweight at worst. When she was not a chip to be spent for the best outcome.

What if the Gang would think of the same?

Irulan swallowed, fear clogging her chest and her throat, making it harder to breathe!

She should have never confessed!

She should’ve just hidden it, like always, hid who she was, what she was. What the hell was she thinking?!

How could she be this stupid!

Of course, they wouldn’t want her. Why would they?

No one wanted Irulan Corrino. Even when they didn’t know her.

 The door cracked open behind her and Irulan slowly turned around, preparing herself for the worst. She tried to look as serene as possible, understanding and wise. She did not want the kids to feel guilty for the decision if they felt forced to make it, accepting their verdict.

The story of her life in another nutshell, perhaps, accepting the decision made for her peacefully, accepting her place, accepting the role that had been designed for her.

How was Paul describing it? Sand absorbing water, submitting to a force greater than you. There is no shame in submitting to an overwhelmingly stronger enemy.*

Who had said it? The Fremen? Irulan wasn’t sure, but it surely fitted the Fremen ideology and beliefs for the power dynamics. Sand absorbing water, internalizing it, making it a part of something bigger. There was a part of her that knew it was how her husband regarded both her and his beloved, submitting to his will like sand absorbing water, admitting the places he placed them in his bigger picture.

Irulan was his chip to be used, and Chani was his—Irulan hesitated momentarily, her train of thought pausing her. What Chani stood for him?  Irulan would say she was…his conscience, but the Fremen woman was even more bloodthirsty than their Emperor on many occasions. For once, Irulan knew without a doubt that it was Paul, not Chani who still refused to send her to the guillotine or had her garroted.

The unkempt blonde bird nest with ribbons and plaids showed up through the crack of the door, surprising Irulan as her depressed musings cut off, and Amy sprinted toward her like a small sandworm.

Irulan had been once in the temples of Fremen, after the many attempts and downright begging to convince Paul to show her the South and the temples, how the Sayyadinas procured the Water of Life. It was sacred knowledge, and for some unfathomable reasons, Paul had finally crumbled and approved it. He had brought her to the South, showing her how they caught the sandworm offspring and extracted the Water of Life.

Irulan was astonished and scared, and tried to hide both, although it was naught. Paul had sensed it and had commented it was the Fremen way. Only life paid for life. The highest exchange. And then he had looked at her, truly, through her—and for a second, Irulan had shivered, fearing he knew everything. She felt like he had brought her for a purpose, and an insane second, she had even thought he was going to have her executed because he knew what she was doing, how she was drugging Chani, but he had swallowed hard, shaking his head, his blue-within-blue keen and stern eyes softening, and for a second, Irulan could swear she saw something very akin to...compassion in them.

Irulan had asked him why he had brought her to the temple then, and he had told her he wanted to give her something. It was the first time he had told her he didn’t want to be cruel to her. Irulan had spent the next six months wondering if his resolve about her was breaking after the event, observing the moment and wondering if it meant he was accepting her, that he was going to ask for her one night, that one day he was going to let her carry his heir.

She had demeaned herself countless times, belittling herself countless times until all her hopes withered away, leaving her womb barren and her chest with a weird feeling of emptiness. But it was not empty. The void she felt, it was solid, filling her up until to her mouth, suffocating her so much that every new day she had to make room for more humiliation and pain to breathe.

Once more, Irulan shoved away the dark musings from her awareness, not letting her conscious existence stay trapped with them, and instead looked at the little girl as she threw at Irulan’s legs.

“Ruuuuu!!!” she cried out, burying her head between Irulan's knees. “But you don’t like one of them cockroaches!”

 Despite herself, despite her circumstances, despite everything, Irulan laughed, wondering if any Bene Gesserit had ever called cockroach at her face, but somehow, the naïve and wailing exclaiming from the six-year-old came to her funny. The cockroach was the derogatory moniker that the common people called the Bene Gesserit whenever they did not call them witches, adopted after their chosen fashion statement, always dressed in black.

It was not a false statement, either, one of the benefits of being a Bene Gesserit in the hidden rank; Irulan had never needed to dress in full black even in front of a Reverend Mother. It was one of the exceptions that the Sisterhood had made for her and her mother, allotting them some certain freedom that they did not bestow the other Sisters.

Her hands that had swept across the child’s little back moved up and Irulan stroked her hair that she had plaided herself. “No, I don’t look like it,” she assured her little friend. “It’s still me, sweetheart.”

Amy lifted her head up as Irulan bent and picked her up in her arms. With ease and no wariness, her slim little arms wrapped around Irulan as if nothing truly had changed. It made the solid void in her chest lessen, giving her more room to breathe and relieving her tight stomach. She perched on the edge of the couch as Amy straddled her lap.

“I told Tim if he sends you away, I’ll run away!” she exclaimed. “I’ll come to your kitchen and help you to bake chocolate cake!”

“This is your home, sweetheart,” she told the child slowly. “Tim and Rogue would be so sad.”

“But I don’t wanna you to go!”

“Amy, stay calm—” Tim walked into the cabin at that moment, the door cracked open, “She’s not going anywhere.”

Truly surprised, Irulan turned toward him as Rogue also stepped inside. The teenage leader of the Pit kept the door open, tilting his head at the six-year-old. “Leo cooked the supper. Go and eat.”

It was already dusk, the sunset approaching. Soon, Irulan was going to leave—had to return to the Keep. She felt the desire to be away stronger in her, not wanting to return and face Lady Jessica and her lover’s inquisitive and intruding gaze. They had started to follow her steps so closely since yesterday as if they had already picked her affair with the Professor. Irulan had only elongated her meeting with the Professor an hour, fooling around in the comfortable divan in the room like she was a teen herself once more, fooling around with one of her admirers in their hidden gardens.

In a way, it was as refreshing as Caladan and the Pit, Irulan had enjoyed the male attention more than she had presumed. The Professor was an excellent kisser although Irulan lacked the practice, but he was a teacher at his core, quick to notice inexperience and make amends. Irulan would be lying if she said it didn’t work for her benefit, and she truly debated now how further she would take it, but she advised herself caution.

It had taken her a lot more today to dodge the tailers Gurney had set after her. Lady Jessica had become more suspicious, and her surveyance had doubled. If she arrived late, they would have turned the whole city upside down. It was the last thing Irulan needed now. She wanted their attention diverted from her, especially Paul’s attention, but she didn’t want all her footsteps to be watched.

Not when it would lead them to the secret that Irulan truly wanted to hide. She didn’t care less if they learned about her new dalliance with the Professor, it would even keep Paul busy enough if she was lucky—not liking what she did after everything that had transpired between them, but—as he said, it would be stupid of him to feel the otherwise.

Like the brief occasions in which she had seen a flicker of compassion in his eyes, coming and passing. Emotions were fickle like happiness in their life. Irulan had stopped putting importance on them, feeling they would mean something. Experience was a hard but good teacher: it etched its lesson onto the bones.

Amy left them, taking the order and closing the door Tim and Rogue stared down at her as Irulan silently held their stare and waited for their verdict. “Can you really decipher if he’s lying or saying the truth?”

Irulan serenely nodded and answered it truthfully. “I can’t defend myself if you attack me—I wasn’t trained in Bene Gesserit fighting skills, I can only try to stop you with the Voice. I lack many of the skills that an adept Bene Gesserit has, but I excel at the Truthsense. My mother trained me well,” she affirmed firmly. “If he’s lying, if he intends to deceive you, I’ll pick it.”

Tim nodded his acceptance slowly. “All right,” he said. “Get ready. We’ll find him and get him tonight. You question him.”

Glancing outside through the window, Irulan looked at the setting sun. “Tonight?”

“Yeah. Is there a problem?” he asked, his brows furrowing. “Do you need to return? Are you also working at night?”

Admitting to it came to the tip of her tongue, she was asking for more trouble staying outside after the sun was set, but when she was finally accepted, she could not deny them.

“No. There isn’t a problem. I don’t work at night.”

“All right,” he said again. “Get ready then. We’ll return after midnight.”

Irulan nodded, swearing inside, but on the outside, she was as cool as cold marble, not bothered. She did not even want to imagine the clamor she was going to cause in the Keep, being MIA even after midnight. Jessica was going to lose her mind. She peered at the gloomy outside, inspecting the dark rain clouds in the grey-purple sky with a deep sigh.

Well, what happened, happened. She could not return now.

The rest of the night passed… uneventfully, at least Gurney didn't suddenly appear in front of the old beach resort that the Gang resided in, showing up with a whole garrison at his tail, deciding Irulan had been taken captive. She wouldn’t have been the first royalty who had been taken captive for ransom. Perhaps Irulan told them that when she returned in the morning. She would pass the rest of her night here or with the Professor, she reckoned, creating herself an alibi.

If she stayed with the Professor, she would have even told them where she was. But it would endanger the Professor more than like she would like to. Once more, Irulan didn’t fear Paul as much as she feared his fanatics. Paul was a reasonable man as she had assured the Professor, but his fanatics were not, just as she had warned the scholar. Paul might bear his wife’s infidelity, but his fanatics wouldn’t have been so understanding. Even here at Caladan, although they were controlled, his followers still existed. If the words flew to the Qizarate, they would have taken action in the name of their prophet. Like when it was about Guild, Irulan always erred on the side of caution, too, when it was the fanatics.

Yet, even the fanatics wouldn’t stop her. She had started something, and she was going to follow it until she reached the bottom. Until she reached the truth. Tupile was creating so much discord between the Gang that Irulan couldn’t watch it without doing anything. All her life she had watched, reacting to what had happened to her, not making active decisions, agreeing to what was expected of her, admitting her place in the so-called bigger picture.

Irulan reckoned her husband and she were similar in that regard. As funny as it sounded, sometimes it felt like the man who had brought an entire Empire to its knees was exactly like her, too, reacting to things that had happened to him, fulfilling the roles that were expected of him. But well, Irulan had stopped doing that. He had chained them into that bitter circle, but Irulan had broken it when she confessed her…sins. Irulan was walking down her path now. Admitting that now—where the path would lead her. It was her own path at least, what she had actively decided, not had been forced upon her.

If it brought her downfall, Irulan also accepted it. But she could not fail. These children that no one cared needed her help, and it was impossible to do it if she was dead. For that simple, logical reason, Irulan could not simply fail. She had failed in her mission to build the imperial dynasty, but in the matter of things, it didn’t matter. Chani would get pregnant at any time now, fulfilling her role as the mother of Paul’s children. Irulan was interchangeable for that. If she was honest, she wasn’t even a replacement. Even if Chani wouldn’t get pregnant, she doubted Paul would ever agree to let her have his children. The political arguments were not enough for him, and human arguments were absent. Unavailable. Nonexistent.

This required Irulan. So, she could not fail.

She wanted to go with them when they left the Pit to attain the man—picking him up from the street but after another discussion which Irulan had left stayed out once more, Tim informed her she was going to wait here for them to return with the man so that Irulan could question him in the Pit.

Irulan quickly observed they didn’t trust her enough to take her along as they went to retrieve their lead, but after a few quick observations, Irulan realized it was not because she was a Bene Gesserit, but because Irulan confessed that she was not adept in…fighting like a true Bene Gesserit did and they wanted her to question the man in a safe and protected place, not actively taking her in the combat zone. She was about to protest as well, but after a second consideration, deciding to err on the side of caution once more, Irulan stayed silent.

The wait in the Pit after they left was tense and pregnant, although the younger kids kept her company, happy with her presence and Irulan tried to hide her as best as she could. Amy was ballistic, having her even during the night, asking if she was also going to stay for the night.

“Can we sleep together, Ru!” the little girl exclaimed, climbing on her lap as they sat by the fire in their open kitchen, eating their supper under the moist purple-grey sky. The sun was already set, and the moon was raised, but the rain clouds were so heavy that they covered the moon and the stars. The sky felt like it had sunk on them, swollen with humidity as it still hadn’t rained. It was what the Fremen called the murky air at Arrakis, filled with dust and sand, but only it was filled with the rain that had not dropped yet.

“I still need to go back, Amy,” Irulan declined, feeling sad and imagining how it would feel sleeping with the girl together. Her lips smiled on their own accord with the image, a stark missing seizing her chest—that solid emptiness she felt in there.

She tried to remeasure how utterly dangerous it would be staying here in the Pit, not returning, the prospect even more alluring than spending a night with a man. Irulan had never slept with a man before—had never shared her bed—or another bed on that matter, she was still as…pristine as the day was born. She was unsullied and had never been touched by a man in that lustful way—even if Paul had allowed it, Irulan had never thought of herself doing it. Mating was more than simple animalistic gratifications; Irulan would have never stooped that low. It was beneath her, beneath her status. She was not a concubine. The Bene Gesserit accepted the status for the greater good, accepting for their greater purpose, and Irulan had accepted it to some degree with the same reasoning…it was their duty. In her exile, she had lost her earlier…edges in the way of her thinking, had pondered about the possibilities, how far she could take it, the part of her that made her steal trivial things to feel…alive also whispering in the dark recess of her mind, but when she measured it, Irulan still found staying with Amy weighed heavier than sleeping with a man.

The knowledge comforted a part of her—the part that perhaps thought she was losing her mind. Her self. Her core.

Tim and the rest of them returned after midnight as Irulan tried to convince herself the whole Caladan was not looking for her, as she tried to assure herself Lady Jessica and Gurney would not speak of her disappearance to Paul. Not this early. If she hadn’t returned by the morning, they would need to inform him, but not yet. She still had time.

  The man was tall and lanky, so thin that he looked like a willow tree with his elongated limbs. His face was gaunt and his cheeks were sunken, and there was a malicious glint in his dark eyes that made the hair on the back of her neck stand. At first glance, Irulan understood why Tim did not trust him—he looked anything but trustworthy.

And he was supporting a broken nose and split lips, dry darkened blood caked over his dirty stubble, painting him red and more feral. His hair was bedraggled, the shine of sweat on his skin, drooping over his bushy eyebrows. For a man so thin, he had so thick eyebrows. Irulan could not place any familiarity in his features to place him on a planet or an ancestor as if his rascal way of life had stripped him of every hereditary genetic. His hands were already tied behind his back, his clothes were torn, and it looked like he had put up a good fight.

Tim’s eyebrow was also split, the under of his eye supporting a bruise. Leo’s shirt was torn open, missing buttons, and his wrist looked sprint. Their knuckles were reddened, scraped raw, even Rogue’s.

Irulan tipped her head at them, standing up from the fire, bringing all her regal and Bene Gesserit composure she had learned to bear from the age she had started to walk and talk. “Bring him inside.”

By the look of her, the man visibly shivered, and Irulan inwardly smiled, a surge of power coursing in her veins.

*

“Are you Bene Gesserit?” the man exclaimed with shivers, cowering away from her as Irulan simply sat over the Rogue’s table, holding the statue cat from the wires.

“Tell me more about the Tupile—” Irulan demanded another time, ignoring him and arranging her pitch, her vocals not pushing but intruding gently, picking at him with her Truthsense.

She did not hurt him, not yet, but all her disposition had suggested she would—if she needed to. Infamous the Bene Gesserit persuasion tactics. Irulan had never used them on another human, she had never been trained for it, but unfortunately for this rascal, she had been on the other side quite frequently in the last decade, sharing the same position he faced now. Getting questioned by the Bene Gesserit. This rascal would never know how lucky he was because he wasn’t answering the questions of a Reverend Mother.

He did not know, but he had heard the rumors. The Qizarate were famous for their enhanced interrogation tactics, and the Bene Gesserit were famous for their persuasion skills.

Fear was a powerful agent. It filled him with dread and uncertainty, cobwebbing his rationality. Oh, he’d certainly heard the rumors. Irulan had never minded people thinking of her as cruel, in a sense, it worked for her. It made people think twice before attacking you—thinking about the ramifications if they failed. Irulan had never been Paul’s true mate, but over the years, despite her status, she had managed to take control of his court.

Granted, Chani had never shown a special interest in ruling the court, in fact, she always looked quite happy with leaving all the necessary chores and endless duties for a royal court to her, escaping to her dear desert whenever she could, but the fact that Irulan could even manage to drug her with contraceptives under the Fremen’s watchful eyes for years made it certain for her.

Even the Fremen erred on the side of caution when it was about the Princess Consort, knowing her as a cruel woman and treading carefully. They feared Irulan’s wrath as much as they feared their Muad’Dib.

It was a play of shadows that Irulan had created over the years diligently, casting a shadow greater than reality. Funny enough, even if Paul noticed it, he had never interfered with it, had never tried to diminish it. And why would he? The empty cardboard figures would be only a burden to carry. Irulan at least had pulled her weight, even helped him to secure his reign. He accepted her in his council, offered her a place, and Irulan tried her best with what she had. To prove herself reliable and trustworthy, to prove herself she was not his enemy.

With the same foolish hope he would see her one day beyond what she was to him.

She quickly suppressed the bitter thought again and did not let herself stay focused on it. Her imperative had nothing to do with Paul right now. Or she was tidying up after him once more in a sense, cleaning after his mess. Story of her life, too. Cleaning the mess left on the table.

Still, better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven*.

It was also better to be feared than to fear.

“Tell me.” Irulan ordered with the Voice. “Do you know where Tupile is?”

Her Voice enclosed her, her pitch setting down on his bones, drilling until she reached his marrows. She pressed on her pitch and pickled at his strings. The nerves firing. It was quite a sample of what he was expecting him if he denied her. Recognition lit in his pupils with understanding as they dilated. Pain had a language of its own, spoken not with words.

But Irulan was still merciful, still probing, but not forceful. If the Reverend Mother had been here—Irulan pushed away the thought, not letting her composure slip, and repeated with more pressure, “Tell me.”

He was hiding something. Irulan had become sure of it. She had put enough pressure. He would have already told her if he was not hiding something. He had not lied when he answered her, Irulan had detected no lie when he answered positive. He knew where the Tupile was, but he was still hiding something. Irulan had sensed his intent to deceive.

Both Tim and Rogue had been right. This man knew where the Tupile was—and Tim was right because it was a scam. The implications ran her blood cold—the conclusion that she could not help but arrive at.

If this rascal was not a scam, but—Tupile.

Tupile was the scam.

Irulan pushed, her throat was scratching, and it lashed at the man. “Tell me!” Throwing his head back in his bonds, his scream got smothered by the rain sounds outside. The heavy downpour pattered heavy on the window, mixing with sense of the doom she was filling in the pit of her stomach.

Tupile remains the place of sanctuary for defeated Great Houses.

His words swirled in her mind as Irulan hollered over his scream. “TELL ME!” A last resort, a final place of safety for all our subjects.

It was all a joke. A cruel joke.

No sanctuary. It was no sanctuary, but a trap. 

“It’s no sanctuary!” the man screamed, and for a second, Irulan thought it was her own will. “It’s the Reaper’s slaughterhouse! They have a deal with the Guild.”

Then every missing piece filled in their places, completing the bigger picture. “Gregory thought about it! They agreed!”

Irulan stood up as Tim and Rogue’s backs turned rigid and their faces darkened. Rogue’s hand slipped and her wrist flicked. Her knife glinted in the dark. Rain pattered on their window. Far away, Irulan thought of people who were walking into a trap with their feet, in a desperate hope for a safe place, a last resort away from the atrocities that surrounded them. A place of safety.

The ultimate scam.

The ultimate trap.

The sheep heading into the slaughterhouse with their own feet out of desperation, out of choices. The constant supply of people who didn’t have anything else to be your resources, to become your…livestock.

The thought of Amy and the children in such a place attacked her conscious thought, attacking her every sense and rationality. She imagined Amy in a cage, waiting for her return for harvest. She imagined Tim and Leo like livestock, sold for a higher price. She imagined Rogue used for carnal purposes, she imagined the children—

Her hand moved—and Irulan was holding the slip-tip blade she had never used before in her left hand. It was just a precaution she hid under her cuff, something she had thought she would need to use one day. Just erring on the side of caution, nothing more. She had never believed in the monsters, she had always believed if she could close her eyes they would not be there.

But the monsters were there, waiting in the corner, taking advantage of every weakness. The predators of the jungle. The thing was—they were not the only ones. They would be always a bigger monster than you in the jungle.

Tim and Rogue just watched her as her blade nicked at the throat of this low monster. “Please!” the little monster begged. “I’ve got a family! I need to bring food to the table!” The justification disgusted her as her knife cut a thin line over his neck. “It was nothing personal!”

“Yes,” Irulan said and it finalized her decision. “You’d do this to anyone else, wouldn’t you?”

Dreaded eyes looked up at her with fever, understanding her meaning. Irulan pressed the knife further.

He tried to beg for mercy again, and Irulan shut him up for good.

She drove the knife into his trachea, cutting off his aorta. The blood jetted off her face, washing her over red. Irulan did not even blink, but only watched him as he took his last breath in deep gargoyles.

There was no mercy. Not for animals like him.

# # #

Paul woke up from his restless sleep with deep knocks on the door, impatient and hurried. He sprung from the bed, untangling himself from Chani who too quickly straightened in their low bed as Paul put on his robe with a sense of doom in the pit of his stomach, covering her nakedness.

The door of their private chambers continued to drum as Paul opened it. Such haste in such time, in the darkest hour of the night only meant… Paul thought of the Reverend Mother who had gone with his offer and thought of the countless shards of the vision-memories he had been having since last week.

It was still too early. The Reverend Mother still could not reach Caladan, but Paul still knew it was about her a priori.

“What’s Stil?” he demanded as soon as the door revealed his Naib at the other side, looking fresh out of the bed, as bedraggled as Paul, only wearing his bed-trousers and a robe, the belt undone.

“It’s a comm from Caladan—” the man quickly revealed what Paul had already sensed with his prescient. “It’s the Princess Consort, Muad’Dib. She asks for you.”

Chani gave him a look, calling from the bed as Paul tied his belt. “Usul?”

“I’m coming right back,” he told her, stopping her with a raised hand when she attempted to follow him. She had learned what Paul had asked from the Bene Gesserit—consequently from his wife in the earlier night, and of course, she wanted to follow him now. Paul decided to be alone for…this confrontation, for whatever it could be about.

The sight of her in the rain, soaked and frayed came over to his inward eye as Paul told his beloved, “You rest, love. I’ll talk with her.”

“Usul—”

“Go back to sleep,” Paul ordered, voice soft but firm, decisive.

Chani sat back, accepting it as Paul left their room and followed Stilgar. When he was in the communication room of the Keep, the whole room was emptied, Stilgar removing everyone from his presence. He tipped his head at his former friend and devout follower, appreciating the gesture.

The older man bowed his head in reverence, giving Paul a measuring glance before he also left. Paul moved his jaw, looking at the screen before he reached out and brought up the holo-image.

There she was, looking quite like from his prescience, clad in a simple dress and a cloak, but soaked. Her blonde hair was loose and clinging to her face, and there was a delirious look in her green eyes. Feral.

She looked even more feral than his prescience, and Paul had never seen her like this, not even at the night she had confessed to him. Briefly, he wondered if this was before or after—she had come to call him after she had gone to see her Professor, kissing him and walking inside his house—or was it going to be after?

Was she going to find the man after their talk?

Was Paul making her now to seek the man?

His prescient didn’t give him a clear answer, his oracle somehow clouded. But one thing was clear. It was the same night.

“Irulan—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Did you know it, Paul!” she asked, her voice raising. “Did you know about Tupile?”

Chapter Text

The blood stuck on the skin, did not leave despite how hard Irulan was scrubbing it clean. Her skin had become raw from scrubbing under hot water. She rubbed the small brush she had found as hard as she could manage to get rid of the stain, determined to clean her hands.

Her hands were clean. She had not caused this.

The way she had stabbed the man in her neck came back at her as her hands picked up speed, breaking her delicate skin before Irulan collapsed in the hard dirt floor of the Pit’s common bathroom and knelt in front of the washbasin and cried and rubbed as she had never done before. Her hands were clean, yet the red stains were not going!

“Stop!” A low but firm order echoed in the small bathroom, and then strong hands grabbed her ruined hands and stalled her frantic scrubbing. “Stop,” Tim told her as Irulan lifted her head from where she knelt on the dirt floor and looked at the teenager. For a second, she even wondered if the teenager had used the Voice on her.

She let out a shuddering breath as Tim gently squeezed her hands and took the scrub from her grip. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Irulan tipped her head and looked down at the crimson water inside the washbasin, mixed with the blood she wanted to scrub clean from her hands and her own blood from her broken skin. Swallowing, she spoke through her croaked throat. “It doesn’t go away.”

Blood stuck on the skin, sipped into their cells. Irulan saw it better now. She didn’t regret her decision, she didn’t regret killing that animal, but she wanted her hands clean.

Tim nodded, their gaze meeting, and said, “It gets easier.”

It gets easier—killing or meeting the monsters, Irulan couldn’t be sure but she felt scared to ask for. She swallowed through the hard lump in her throat, nodding back although she wasn’t also sure what she was giving her agreement. What got easier?

Without a further word, the teenager left her then and Irulan stayed in front of the washbasin, trying to regain something remotely akin to the renowned Bene Gesserit composure. She didn’t know how long she had stayed inside the bathroom, but the night had aged well when she returned. It was time for sleep, but there was no sweet escape for them tonight.

It was also time for her to return to the Keep, but Irulan still stayed, still didn’t care. Let them think whatever they wanted to think, whatever they wanted to assume from her absence. It was hard to rub herself clean from the blood on her hands but she rubbed herself clean from her worries. At least for tonight. The man’s sunken face appeared over her mind’s eye and Irulan shoved it away. It was going to get easier, she repeated to herself.

There was a big bonfire in the middle of the hearth, loud flames cracking and dancing in the darkness and silence of the night. The gang was around, faces somber, shoulders hunched. And they were burning. From all the bungalows, the street kids were coming out, carrying boxes and throwing them inside the bonfire.

When Irulan saw Rogue in front of the fire, holding her vision board, Irulan realized that they had built that bonfire. Tupile was their hope, and they were burning it now.

Slowly and silently, Irulan made her way toward the teenage girl. She was as still as a statue from stone, the fire casting shadows over her face as she looked down at it. The board was supported against her legs as Rogue stayed motionless, only watching their hope burn away, her chin still tilted up with defiance. The haggard and somber look covered her expression, but the defiance in her still lingered.

She let out a shuddering breath and spoke so lowly that for a second, Irulan couldn’t even tell she was speaking at all. Her gaze was still fixated on the cracking flames, her head tilted up, her eyes cast down. She wasn’t looking at Irulan but she was speaking to her.

“When Tim brought us here, I couldn’t even unpack. I slept on the floor for a whole month, and couldn’t even sleep on the bed. I was afraid of raising my hopes again. Tim had promised us a home, a safe place, and we believed Tupile was that place. One night, he caught me sleeping on the floor. He asked me why I was sleeping on the floor, and I told him I didn’t want to get habituated to a bed. Losing something after knowing it is harder than never having it. I told him I knew we were going to lose this place one day. One day people will come and kick us out. Not tonight, perhaps, or tomorrow, but one day. They will discover us here and they will kick us out. I told him that and he told me back it didn’t matter because we had Tupile. He told me… ‘it doesn’t matter, Rogue. We have Tupile,’” she quoted, finally looking at Irulan, turning her neck.

“I didn’t want to believe him. I accused him of soothing us, I even smacked at him once. Punched him. I told him he was giving us false hope. He then asked me what life would mean if we didn’t have hope. I didn’t know what to tell him. He kissed me that night. It was my first kiss. We unpacked my stuff together and slept on the bed together. He held me close all night, kissed my hair, told me everything was going to be okay, told me we were going to be okay, and I believed him. He believed Tupile, and I believed him. I knew him since I was six, I couldn’t survive in this world without him, but I’d never believed him before like I believed him that night.”

“On the morning, he told me about the vision boards—he knows that kind of silly stuff, told me to do it, and I did, too, just because he told me. We had many, many fights since that night, I smacked him many times since that night, but I’ve never stopped believing in him. Until tonight, I believed in Tupile even when he had qualms, and it was for nothing.”

Her expression got angry with her fury, hardening and then suddenly she bent down and smacked the board on the ground. “It was for nothing!” she smacked the vision board again and again, letting out angry, guttural sounds, but she wasn’t crying. “It was all a lie!”

When the board was broken into many pieces, she picked up all the pieces and started to throw them into the fire. Irulan felt as if someone stabbed her in her chest with a crystal knife, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t make a voice. She didn’t want to say for such an anguish. For the first time in her life, the words felt empty.

“Whoever you are,” the teenage girl told her after she was done, seizing her up and down. “Welcome to our world.”

She left without a word then, also leaving her hopes to the flames. Irulan strode toward a tree in the grounds and sat under it. The earth was wet and muddy from the rain, and Irulan didn’t care. The chill seeped through her layers of the fabric, reaching her skin, giving her goosebumps. The smells of the forest assaulted her senses as she tried to meditate with Prana Bindu exercises, trying to reach equilibrium. All her universe was a pendulum, swinging wildly.

She sat and sat and sat and understood after an hour, it didn’t soothe her inner turmoil. She stood up and looked around to find Tim. He was sitting under another tree in the darkness, knees bent down and rested against his chest, his hands clasped between.

“We need to warn as many people as we can manage about Tupile,” she told the teenager. “The word needs to be out.” Even though Irulan was going to need to do it person by person, she was going to do it. She wasn’t going to let any children fall into that vile, cruel trap.

Tim nodded, glancing at her up and then looking down again. “I called a meeting with the other gangs in the city for tomorrow night. I’ll tell it then. But this’s bigger than us,” he continued. “Reapers and SD-9 will hunt us down after they realize we’ve outed their conspiracy. We need to treat carefully.”

Then Irulan felt she was hit by another laser beam through her chest, staring back at him, stunned. How could she be this stupid? Of course, this was bigger than street kids! These children could not go against the intergalactic crime organization. She had been sulking and feeling sorry for hours whereas she should have done something productive with her status and connections.

 Her status and connections brought other thoughts that had missed her in her anguish as well, feeling a bonfire as high as the one the children had put up raising inside her.

Paul!

Paul should have stopped this!

It was his duty, his duty to protect his subjects. He was the Emperor. He was supposed to rule and protect his humanity. The way he had accused her father echoed in her mind, telling how her father had lost almost all touch with the humanity he was supposed to rule and protect.

What would they call this?

Her father had neglected his duties and his fears and ambitions had won over his common sense, but what excuse Paul did have? Had they become so…absorbed with each other, with their own endless intrigues, had they become this deaf and blind?

How Paul wouldn’t have even seen this?!

Her own thoughts hit her like another projectile, almost knocking her out. Tim was watching her with narrowed eyes, but Irulan could only focus on the voices in her mind. They were everywhere, seeping through her every cell, her every atom, her every fiber.

It’s the Reaper’s slaughterhouse! They have a deal with the Guild.

They have a deal with the Guild! The words swam through her and Irulan closed her eyes. They have a deal with the Guild.

All her doubts and his incoherent reactions regarding Tupile returned to her, mixing with the words of the man she had tortured to speak before killing him. His insistence not to look for the place, always giving her reasons for his reluctance even when Irulan insisted something was amiss, something wasn’t fit. Every time she had pressured and had been repulsed by some yammering that didn’t even make sense.

Did Paul know about this but kept silent? Allowed it? Let the children and desperate people who wanted to escape from his holy war suffer like this?

Tears threatened to break over from her eyes, a part of her feeling so broken with the possibility that even the pain she felt with his continuous rejection paled next to it. Could the man she had come to know—even had come to…admire whenever she didn’t hate do this? Allow his people to suffer like this?

Her heart and common sense told her no, Paul would not do it, but the seed of suspicion and doubt lingered, the hushed whispers echoing in the recess of her mind.

Paul used his allowance for Tupile to remain secret as leverage in his dealings with the Guild and the Great Houses for the issue of the constitution. The Guild insisted on keeping Tupile’s existence away from him, and Paul accepted it because he would use it against them with the heated discussion for the constitution. Irulan had always reviewed the exchange as a win-and-win situation as he had been so adamant about not allowing a constitution that would limit his executive, legislative, and judicial powers.

Did Paul allow the Guild’s secret deal with the Reapers so that they would get off his neck with this constitution?

The question scared and angered her at the same time, lightening up her fire even higher, painting the world red.

He could not do this! He could not let his happen!

The man she had fallen—Irulan stopped, couldn’t even complete that thought. She couldn’t think that. She was ready to face such a thing.

She let out her ragged breath and realized she had fisted her hands. Her nails were digging inside her palm, drawing blood. Her raw flesh ached with her hard scrubbing, throbbing. The pain dulled the ache she felt inside her, but her anger remained. She spun on her heels and started to run toward the gate.

He couldn’t do this!

Oh, please, Gods! Don’t let him do this!

She was running and crying at the same time, and she was begging inwardly. Paul couldn’t be such a monster. He was ruthless, he was callous, he was even crueler than her father when he needed to be, but he couldn’t be that beast. He couldn’t be what he had always accused her father of being.

Irulan had made the trip from the Pit to the Keep many times, but she had never made it this quickly. She ran all through the way in the darkness, didn’t even feel scared. A man tried to intercept her way when she entered the city and with her heightened reflexes and feral outburst, she threw him off her way. Her blade was in her hand, and she would not hesitate to take another life today.

But her absence had become clearer as she neared the city center, the guards filling every street even in the heart of the darkness, looking for her at every corner. Gurney was turning the city upside down, looking for her. Irulan quickly found one of the Bashars of the Imperial guards and ordered her to transport her back to the Keep. The man stayed stunned for a moment, and his eyes didn’t even light with recognition as if he couldn’t recognize her in her simple soaked and muddy clothes.

The reveal of her face and wet hair under her cloak made it certain and Gurney and Lady Jessica were waiting for her at the top of the massive, majestic staircase that led to the Palace. Lady Jessica’s tattooed face was so pale that Irulan could swear she had never seen the older woman like that before. Gurney looked even worse as if he had gotten older a decade over a night.

Irulan still didn’t care.

“IRULAN!” Lady Jessica cried out as Irulan ran over the stairs to reach them. “Where have you been?” She got closer, and the woman saw her better. Her expression became so shocked that Irulan also thought she might never see her like this before. “What happened to you?”

“Princess!” Gurney spoke at the same time with his lady and lover. “Did you get attacked? Did someone try to kidnap you?”

Kidnapping was a tradition for royalty as common and mundane as poisoning. Irulan wasn’t surprised to see them drawing that conclusion with her unkempt appearance but she didn’t even bat an eye.

“Round up all your soldiers and secure all the ports of the city,” she ordered as she stopped beside them, working on her labored breathing before she continued with her orders. Both Lady Jessica and Lord Gurney gave Irulan a look after glancing at each other and Irulan continued unfazed:

“No ship—small or big—leaves the planet tonight. I want every port to be closed. Track down the smuggler routes and close them up, too. No ship leaves tonight,” she repeated with emphasis. Gurney still stared at her wildly, not moving. Not still done, Irulan went on.

She could not do anything with Tupile right now, but she was going to cut off all their supply routes. “And gather a team and look for Simon yourself. He’s the contact of SD-9 on Caladan. He works undercover for the Red Cross. Ask Madame Marry’s girls. They know where he is.”

Gurney was staring at her stupefied, not following her orders. Irulan could understand him, but not tonight. Lady Jessica was still shocked as well, but it was her lover who spoke first.

“My Lady, how do you know about SD-9’s contacts? And why do no ships leave tonight?”

In other times, Irulan would have also explained, but she had lost all her patience too tonight. “Do not question me! Follow my orders!” she flared with the Voice, as powerful as she had used it on the man tonight. Lady Jessica’s eyes got so widened, her eyebrows lost behind her hairline as Gurney spun on his heel with the compulsion and strode off to carry out her orders.

Lady Jessica turned to her after her lover disappeared through the massive entrance. “Careful, Irulan. You’re stepping ahead of the line.”

She scoffed derisively, marching away from her toward the entrance. She was done here so she needed to make a call now. Paul Atreides had a long explanation to make.

“STOP!” the Voice hit her from behind, faltering her steps even when Irulan tried to fight against it. But it was so powerful even in her augmented powers that her anger felt useless against it. She stopped, breathing loudly, and waited for the woman to arrive at her side.

“Where have you been?” she asked, her pitch gone. Irulan stayed silent and even though she could walk away, she stayed. “What happened, Irulan? Look at you. You look like a wet rat. This isn’t only about your lover, is it? There’s more.”

She still stayed silent, looking directly at her in the eye. The woman let out a low breath but warned, “If you don’t answer me now, you’re going to need to answer Paul.”

That only made her laugh this time. “Oh, I’m going to call him now, Lady Jessica. Your son and I,” she went on, “surely need to talk.”

 She started to head off to the communication center at the top quarters of the Keep, running up the marble stairs. Realizing her intentions, Lady Jessica started to run after her. “Irulan! Stop! You can’t call him like this! You look like you’ve been kidnapped by a gang of bandits! Change your clothes at least!”

As if she would care!

Irulan didn’t even falter to give her a retort but quickly ran to the communication center. When she barged in, the communication officer was so startled to see her, for a second, Irulan couldn’t be sure if it was because the Princess Consort who was supposed to be lost had just stepped into the room in the middle of the night, or because she was looking as bad as everyone told her.

Lady Jessica stepped into the sterile room with planet-range devices and the commands of the planetary satellites as Irulan ordered tersely, “Call the Imperial Palace at Arrakis at once.”

“Your Highness—” the young man uttered, “It must be the heart of the—”

“Do it!” Irulan ordered with the Voice, having enough of people questioning her orders. Without a word, like a puppet, the man quickly started to procedure and placed the signal for the connection over the planets. The reception was going to take a half hour until it was connected, so there was nothing to do but wait until then.

The common sense told her she should go back to her room and change her outfit like Lady Jessica kept telling her, but she still didn’t do it. She felt so brazen and so tired at the same time that she feared she would collapse the moment she had entered a safe haven, or she would lose that brazen fire that was still burning inside her. It was such a wildfire that it feared Irulan, yet at the same time, she also feared losing it. She needed that fire now.

She started to pace the room like a caged animal, ignoring the looks she was receiving from her companions. “Irulan—” Lady Jessica started again, and the Voice blossomed out of her chest and ripped itself out.

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

 Whether it was the power of her Voice or screaming curse words to leave her at peace, they finally agreed to her wish and departed from the room. Even when she was alone, Irulan couldn’t find peace, though. The anxiety built in her further with every passing moment, fear of the questions she didn’t know how to face if she had been wrong.

The world turned around with her, and Irulan called for one of the handmaidens and asked for wine to soothe herself. There was a small figure of Vorian Atreides on one of the consoles that supported the communication devices, the founding father of the Atreides dynasty and the hero of the Battle of Corrin. Her hand moved and her fingers circled the figure as her blood echoed through her ears and her heart thumped against her ribcage.

Your father was and is a beast, she remembered him telling her through echoes. We both know he’d lost almost all touch with the humanity he was supposed to rule and protect.

They have a deal with the Guild!

Tupile remains the place of sanctuary for defeated Great Houses. It symbolizes a last resort, a final place of safety for all our subjects.

They have a deal with the Guild.

He’d lost almost all touch with the humanity he was supposed to rule and protect.

Her eyes jerked open and her hand raised, hitting the bottle of wine on the console. The bottle crashed on the wall with the figure in her hand, smashing together. A splash of red painted the wall as the broken pieces of glass and ceramic fell on the ground. Irulan breathed out raggedly, feeling faint, the world turning and darkening… Irulan bent down and placed her hands on the console, her head dipped.

A ping rang in the silence.

Irulan straightened back, lifting her head as the screen in front of her turned to the color of a dead channel first and the images followed—and there he was—the man she had gotten married to, the man she had started to question if she had truly fallen in love with despite her best efforts like the fool she was.

Irulan wanted to ignore it, she didn’t want to have this confrontation with herself, but she also knew it was too late. She had to ask it now to herself, see the truth in her. Loving him would be the worst thing that ever happened to her, but destiny still wasn’t working in her favor.

He was only clad with a robe over her bed trousers, his slim but toned chest revealed from the slit of the robe. Irulan could even spy a fair hairline over his chest to his navel through the slit, something Irulan had never seen before over the decade. And he looked—terrified. Scared he had never been, and Irulan understood it was because of her. Because she had called him in the middle of the night. He must have come out of his bed, out of the arms of his beloved and the thought made her want to throw another bottle at the wall.

She stared at him, everything turning through a turmoil in her. She wanted to scream at him, throw something at the screen and she wanted to drop to her knees and cry at the same time, ask him—begged him if he knew about the Tupile.

“Irulan—” he started but Irulan cut him off, her fire inciting.

“Did you know it, Paul!” she asked and she was sure she had started to scream, the same raw feeling ripping itself out of her chest once more. “Did you know about Tupile?”

# # #

Paul blinked through the tumultuous feelings, the brazen question not registering at him fully. She looked like she had been kidnapped by the pirates and then dropped into the sea to escape, looking like a feral wild cat who had gotten her fur all stand up for a fight—and she was asking him about Tupile.

More precisely, if Paul knew about it. A way to dispense him.

“I’m afraid I do not follow you, Princess,” he told her, trying to sound calm, not irritated, “And what happened? Where’s Gurney and my mother?”

“Stop halting me!” she flared, her feral green eyes burning more with ferocity as she leaned forward toward the screens, placing her palms on the side of the console and Paul saw them clearer.

They were stained chafed raw and covered with rashness as if someone had bound her hands. The fear peaked in his heart in a way Paul had never felt before toward her. Irulan had been always safe behind the Keep, Paul had never felt…afraid of her safety before.

“Who did this?” he hissed. “Who did this to your hands!”

She swallowed, her head dipping as she looked at her cut hands. “It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head and lifting it again. There was that feral look again in her eyes, but Paul sensed the fear in them this time. Irulan was angry—and she was also afraid.  

“Why don’t you answer me?”

“About Tupile?”

She nodded. “Because I don’t understand,” he answered sincerely. She paused and even through the screen through the miles apart them, Paul could tell she was trying to read him with her Truthsense. “I don’t understand what you’re asking me, Irulan.”

Her green irises flickered, and she asked tentatively, “You don’t know about Tupile? The Guild’s deal?”

He shook his head but answered it too so that she could sense his sincerity. “No.” Paul had also expected his sincere, direct answer to soothe her down for whatever this was, but it didn’t.

She narrowed her eyes and started to pace the room and she truly looked like a caged wild cat now. “And you haven’t sensed anything amiss at all?” she fired, sending him a hard glance through the screen. “Anything unordinary? I was trying to tell you something was amiss with it, but you never listened to me! You wanted to broker a stand-off agreement with the Guild instead so that you’d get them off your neck for the constitution!”

Her angry tirade was so off the chart that Paul didn’t even know where to start. His prescient abilities were caught off-guard once more, Irulan’s unpredictably shadowing his oracle. Something had happened—about Tupile, something that had made his wife like this, and Paul couldn’t see the details. His intuitions told him it was more than Tupile, about the man she had started to get closer, to and…possibly the children Paul had seen her going to visit.

The children would even punch Paul in his face one day in the future.

“You know my reasons for letting Tupile stay hidden,” he explained again. “It’s a safe haven—”

A derisive, almost hysterical laugh cut him off, “I’ll tell you what it’s, your Majesty!” she screamed at him, her injured hands rising in the air in front of her. “It’s a trap! It’s a slaughterhouse! The Guild and the Reapers made a deal! They created this fabricated safe haven for those who try to escape from you to lure them in it with their own feet!”

His jaw clenched and Paul knew she was telling him the truth even without his Truthsense. He gave her a look, understanding truly now what he had asked her. “And you thought I was a part of their scheme?”

She stopped her pacing and turned to face him. “You were objecting to the constitution too heatedly and the Guild was pressing down on you too greatly. Forgive me my suspicions, my Lord.”

Paul moved his jaw and raised his hand. “You’re too stressed out tonight. We shall have this conversation another time.” He almost turned off their connection but her screaming order halted his hand.

“NO!” she shouted. “We’re not done yet!”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Irulan—”

“How can you not see it?” she demanded with the same ferocity that had taken over her and raised her finger at him. “And do not tell me the prescience does not apply to natural law. I want answers, reasonable real answers.”

“Then I cannot give what you seek, wife of mine.”

She looked at him daggers. “Have you really not seen anything about Tupile?”

“I have not.”

She shook her head, averting her eyes from him. “I reckon I forgot again how self-centered you can be,” she muttered and faced him again, her chin tilted up. She swept her wet hair off her neck and asked him, “Do you honestly want to know what I think of your powers?”

“I suspect you’re going to tell me despite my answer.”

“They’re as useless as you, Your Imperial Highness,” she snapped. Paul stayed rigid, letting her words wash him over. He sensed no false from her, either. He could’ve even shouted out a hysterical laugh. Irulan didn’t have any idea how useless he was even with all his powers, then she continued:

“You think they would make a difference, but they don’t. I used to think you would make a difference. Everywhere I turned in the last twelve years, I witnessed your power. You’re the mentat whose computational mind surpasses the greatest ancient computers. You’re the Kwisatz Haderach, the one who can be in many places at once. You’re the Mahdi whose merest whim is the absolute command to your Qizarate missionaries. Everywhere around me were your powers or your fanatics, shaping the universe at your will. But it wasn’t real.

“I despise you. All your powers, all your intelligence, all your beauty, and yet you still do nothing! You keep whining about your destiny, about the parts we’re playing, the roles that were supposedly assigned to us, but do you also want to know what I think about them? Pretty lies to make you feel better with the decisions you make. You told me once my father was a beast who had lost almost all touch with the humanity he was supposed to rule and protect. What would you call yourself now, Paul?”

She stopped and gave him another derisive look, her lips slowly parting and she looked like she truly despised him. “Another good question, huh?”

She shook her head, reaching out to the console. “I’ll send you the coordinates right away. Be kind and be useful this time and burn that vile planet to the ground with your atomics at least.”

“How did you learn about the Tupile?” Paul stopped her before she cut off their connection, speaking through his clenched lips.

“That doesn’t concern you,” she replied serenely. “Go back to your bed, your Majesty. Your beloved must be waiting.”

His jaw clenched, ignoring her derisive jab. “Irulan, how did you learn?” She stayed silent. “Did your Professor tell you?”

Since the first time their connection, she looked fazed, a panicked disposition entering into her mannerism. Paul stayed still and rigid, staring at her, waiting for her answer. His powers were not all useless.

Her startled panicked only survived for another second. Her face became unreadable and she reached the console. “That doesn’t concern you, either,” she said and turned off their connection swiftly before Paul could reply with anything.

Paul stared at the grey screen for a full minute with his clenched jaw, everything about their confrontation leaving him with more discord in his sternum. Tupile was a hard blow, another important detail he had missed, but it worried him as much as her stubborn resistance to revealing how she had obtained her intel. That doesn’t concern you, either.

The vision-memory came back at him, Irulan showing up in front of the Professor's doors, kissing the man and entering his house. His ragged breath caught inside his chest, making him feel trapped.

What would you call yourself?

I despise you. All your powers, all your intelligence, all your beauty, and yet you still do nothing!

That doesn’t concern you, either.

His wife lunging forward and kissing another man.

Paul lunged and started to fix another connection to Caladan, something feral and raw awakening inside him. Placing a connection between Arrakis and Caladan took thirty minutes, and Paul felt every minute of the duration, counted every minute as he paced in the room. His mind flew over Chani, knowing he was wasting precious time now from his beloved, but he still couldn’t move away. He couldn’t let her stay with the man. He simply could not. Not anymore.

She was going to carry his child. Irulan did not know it yet, but Paul did. Despite everything that occurred between them tonight, Paul could not allow this. His license had been expired. Irulan was his.

It was Gurney who answered him when the connection was made. Paul was going to ask it even though he already knew the answer. His prescient was clear without interference, cloudless. His former Warmaster also looked like he had aged a decade over a night, and Paul did not blame him.

He bowed his head as soon as Paul appeared on the screen. “My liege.”

“Did the Princess Consort leave?”  Paul asked without further ado.

“Yes, my Lord,” Gurney accepted, dipping his eyes. “We tried to stop her but she’s…she’s very adamant tonight.”

Paul moved his jaw although he was expecting this answer. “My Lord, she gained intelligence about the SD-9’s inside middlemen. She sent us tonight to retrieve him. She also banned all the ships leaving the planet.”

“Do as she orders,” Paul replied stiffly, knowing the reason why she had banned the ships leave the planet’s orbit. She was trying to stop the human traffickers from leaving for Tupile, but the knowledge about SD-9 intel surprised him too. Paul put it aside for later and gave Gurney the Professor’s address in the city.

“Go there and retrieve the Princess. Tell her my license has expired.” Gurney stared at him. “You tell her that, Gurney. She’ll understand. If she declines, you’re allowed to bring her by force. I begrudge her any male alliance now. She isn’t going to stay there.”

“M-my lord?” he stammered. “D-did you know about it?”

Paul let out a sigh. “Just go and get her back, Gurney.”

He cut off the line and slumped back in the chair in front of the screens. He dropped his head backward over the headrest, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply.

 He stayed there like that until dawn, trying to filter through his feelings and what was happening with his enigmatic wife who was never short on schemes.

Chapter Text

Imperial Diary. Year 10,194, Kaitain. Third comment.

The battle for Arrakis had taken everyone by surprise. There were no witnesses. The Harkonnen operation was perpetrated overnight, without warning or declaration of war. By morning, the Atreides were no more. All died in the dark.

And the Emperor said… nothing. I still remember that night as if it happened yesterday. The somber silence of my father as we played chess or I watched him in the Throne Room. Since that night, my father has not been the same. Nor have I. His inaction was difficult for me to accept. For I know he loved Duke Leto Atreides like a son. A shadow had taken residence in my heart with his somber silence.

Now three years later, news arrives us from Arrakis and the shadow in my heart grows.

I fear…though I know not what I fear. Even my strict Bene Gesserit training cannot dispel the fear that shadows me. There is a gloom ahead of us, questions waiting for us to be asked. Questions I fear to ask. I shall keep myself afloat, remember who I am, and trust the blood in my veins. Trust my father.

Seventeen-year-old Crowned Princess looked at her father who sat on the majestic Golden Lion Throne, the fears that had been festered in her heart for years in secret made her lips part, the question she could not keep inside her anymore. Her father could not do it. He could not do it. Yet, he still did not answer.

“Did you know it, Father?” she asked again, standing at the feet of his throne, feeling so small as she looked up at his father who still kept his silence. “Did you know about the Harkonnen attack?”

Silence filled the room as her tears won over the intricate Bene Gesserit control she had been taught and they leaked from her eyes. Irulan did not do anything to stop them. “He claims you’d even given them Sardaukar for the attack.”

The man they had been fighting for three years, Muad’Dib of the Fremen Prophet who turned out to be the last remaining son of House Atreides. Paul Atreides was alive and he was accusing her father of a great conspiracy together with House Harkonnen, asking him for a kanly dual and her father was still not answering.

And Irulan—Irulan was crumbling. She wanted to drop to her knees and beg him—beg him to say something something—anything. She wanted him to deny it, she wanted him to plead his innocence, she wanted him to say he hadn’t done it. She wanted him to say he loved the Duke as his son and he couldn’t have done it, but he wasn’t still speaking!

“Father….” she said, her voice breaking much like her tears. “Say something…please.”

Even if he had done it, she wanted him at least to accept it and say he was sorry. She would haven’t believed in it but she would have accepted it at least. She would bear the pain.

Her father stood up from the throne, slowly climbed down the Golden Lion Throne, and left the throne room. When she was alone in the room, Irulan looked up at the throne.

She felt like she was stabbed by her heart with the Gom Jabbar needle, couldn’t move, couldn't even make a voice. Her intricate Bene Gesserit control slipped further, her lips trembling, her tears hastening down her cheeks.

 The universe was slipping away from her—the ground she was standing. For the last three years, Irulan had tried to run away from the truth, from her father’s somber silence, from his inaction, but here she was—hearing the truth in his silence.

There was no escape from it now. Not anymore. So Irulan spun on her heels and went to find the Reverend Mother. To ask another question she had been afraid for three years.

Fear is the mind-killer, she repeated the axiom to herself as she strode off the corridors toward her quarters, wiping off tears and trying for serenity and calmness. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.

She stood in front of her doors and knocked after a last breath, her heart still aching as she murmured for the last; I will permit it to pass over me and through me. Only I will remain.

Irulan opened the door and stepped in.

“Did you counsel my father to exterminate the Atreides, Reverend Mother,” she asked, charging the room, and instead of somber silence of her father, the Reverend Mother was open and honest.

“Of course I did.” And unapologetic. There was guilt in her father’s silence for his betrayal of the man he used to love like a son but not the Reverend Mother. She was stout and stoic as always, certain. Sometimes Irulan hated her for that. “Why else would it have happened?”

The mocking question slapped her like a blow and Irulan wanted to croak out a laugh. Of course…why else would it have happened unless this old crone whispered her schemes in her father’s ears?

“You tried to sacrifice an entire bloodline!” she flared, perhaps for the first time toward the woman who had raised her as much as her own mother. Irulan could’ve never thought of herself speaking in this manner toward the Reverend Mother, but the claim freed from her chest like captured birds flew from their cage.

In other times, Reverend Mother would have gotten her backside flogged secretly for her disobedience and clear show of emotions that always angered her, but this time, she only reprimanded her, “Stop acting like a whining shrew, Irulan. You’re the Crown Princess.”

It was another blow to her pride and Irulan took her in silent obedience, letting out a shuddering breath as she collected her frayed nerves.

“And I was right to do it,” the Reverend Mother continued, voice still as hard as steel, still unapologetic. “The Kwisatz Haderach is a form of power that our world has not yet seen. The ultimate power,” she continued like Irulan had heard many times before, words etched in her bones and skin. “For ninety generations, we have supervised House Atreides. They were promising, but they were becoming dangerously defiant.”

And defiance was never tolerated by the Bene Gesserit. “Their bloodline had to be terminated. That is why we have put many bloodlines at work. Several prospects.”

“But it’s backfired!” Irulan replied, a small fragment of defiance seeping into her voice, calling out the most powerful woman in the entire universe for her mistake. Something Irulan had never thought herself of doing before today. Before she had seen the message that had come to her father from Paul Atreides.

“Paul Atreides is alive. And if he defeats Feyd-Rautha, my father–”

“Your father will lose the throne no matter who prevails,” the Reverend Mother cut her off, this time her stoic voice so matter-of-fact in curt acceptance, Irulan felt a shiver down her spine. In a snap of her finger, she had disregarded her father. Her shiver made her tremble and the older woman certainly noticed her small reaction.

She had spent years beside her father, standing beside him almost as much as her mother did and she was disregarding all those years like this? This easily? Like it didn’t mean anything? Irulan wouldn’t have expected tears from the stern woman, but this coldness, this total indifference chilled her to her bones.

Irulan shuddered and even though the woman also noticed it, she did not react to it. At that moment, Irulan also realized it did not matter to the woman. Her reaction—her feelings—they did not matter.

“There is one way your family can remain in power,” she continued, looking at Irulan hard and without compassion. “And, through you, the continuation of our stewardship.” It was what that mattered to the Sisterhood, after all. The Reverend Mother was lying for that, at least.

“One. Way,” she spoke with the finality that Irulan felt like another stab in her chest, driving into her heart. “Are you prepared?”

The pain was incredulous, yet Irulan bore it as the Reverend Mother had trained her. She had never been tested in Gom Jabbar test and perhaps this was the test of the Crown Princess. To see if she was cut for the throne or she was a whining shrew that could not endure the task that was laid ahead of her.

Slowly, Irulan regained her composure. She was the Irulan of House Corrino, the trained Bene Gesserit to sit on the throne. The Reverend Mother was right on that. She had to endure the pain, do her duty as she had been taught. She could not succumb to her anguish; she could not yield. Even if her father had made a mistake, it was also her duty to carry the consequences as Reverend Mother always counseled her. It was also the duty of the Crown Princess.

For the glory of Her House and the Imperium.

For the people she had sworn to rule and protect.

She bowed her head demurely in control and murmured slowly with acceptance, “You’ve been preparing me my whole life, Reverend Mother.”

Year 10,203, Caladan.

Irulan swept up the shoulders of her still-wet dress over her arm and zipped up herself, reaching to her back. She would have asked the man who had taken it off in hazed haste, but she didn’t want it. After everything had come to pass and Irulan started to put herself back together, drawing up from the coach she had given her womanhood, asking the Professor to help her to get dressed came to her too…personal.

She had found herself coming to his door after her confrontation with Paul, knocking on his door under the rain that had started again and then lunging at him in a desperate urge she could not. She looked at the small red patch on the crimson couch where she used to lie down, red on red. She felt…nothing.

She wasn’t sad. She didn’t regret it. She didn’t even have any guilt. She felt like…what had to happen had happened, and there was nothing else.

The Professor turned to her, clad in his clothes once more too. His gaze was trained on her face, deliberately averting his eyes from the red patch on the crimson. He hadn’t even understood before he was done and climbed up from her. Irulan hadn’t made a noise, had told him nothing. Now he looked in terrible guilt, couldn’t even look at her in the eye, either.

“I-Irulan, I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, swallowing hard. “I-I didn’t know. I didn’t understand.”

“I know,” Irulan replied placidly, dropping her hands off her back when she zipped herself. She stood up from the couch. There was still a poignant ache between her legs, the only real reminder that had remained from what had happened between her and a man who wasn’t bound to her. It wasn’t unpleasant, it didn’t hurt, but it felt…strange.

He finally looked at her when Irulan stood up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged and looked away. “Because you wouldn’t have accepted it if I did,” she answered him truthfully. She wanted to bed him. It was what had to happen at the moment, so she didn’t want any complication, any qualms, or any second thoughts from her one only possible option. One could even say she had used him, but she didn’t feel regret for that, either.

“Everyone knows the rumors about me and the Emperor,” she went on. “That I was still a virgin. If you believed it was true, you wouldn’t have accepted to bed me.”

He racked his hand through his pepper-and-salt hair, letting out a sigh and shaking his head. “When you said he was a tolerant man…” He paused and looked at her, a sudden fear appearing on his features. “W-was it true? His…license,” he repeated what she had told him. “His license for allowing you to take a lover, was it true?”

Irulan nodded, not taking any slight for not believing in her this time. She reckoned she deserved her words to be taken with a grain of salt now. “It is true,” she assured again. “I just didn’t do it until tonight.” She paused, averting her gaze from him once more. “I-it was a hard night for me.”

He let out a small laugh. “I’ve noticed.”

Irulan returned to him. “I don’t expect anything, Professor,” she said. “I’ll not…” she swallowed and continued openly and sincerely, “I’d understand if you do not want to see me again. I’ll not disturb you again if that’s your wish.”

The rejection would have hurt her after what had happened between them, but Irulan would understand it. She had lied to him by omission, perhaps even trapped him by something he would not have preferred otherwise. She didn’t want him to think of her as if she would…cling to him out of desperation like a desperate woman for affection.

She readied herself for his response, too, but when he quickly jerked his head, almost panicked, raising a hand as if he wanted to clear some…misunderstandings, Irulan forced to keep her face placid, forced herself from smiling.

“No. No. It’s not that,” he quickly said, walking closer to her. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I-I just…” He trailed off again, heaved out another sigh, and laughed lowly, dipping her head. “I’m just blown away, I guess.”

Irulan allowed herself to smile this time. “Not every night a Princess throws herself at you, you mean?” she jested.

He lifted his head and smiled back at her. “No. Definitely not.” He took her hand and tilted his head and kissed the corner of her lips affectionally. Irulan trembled, closing her eyes. Being touched this way… She wondered if this was a sort of running away from her problems, from her realities, from what had happened between her and Paul, from what it meant, but she didn’t care. It felt so good that she didn’t care.

“Do you want to talk?” he murmured over her lips and Irulan swayed her head before catching his lips.

She didn’t want to talk, she didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to remember… she just wanted to kiss him. Her arms circled his neck and they started to head back toward the interiors now, toward his chambers.

I despise you…They’re as useless as you. Her words swam through her mind and Irulan silenced them kissing the man who wasn’t her husband harder.

That doesn’t concern you, either.

Nothing about her concerned him at all! Nothing!

Irulan was done getting hurt by the men in her life. Disappointment was the only thing she had inherited both from her family and from her marriage. No more. Irulan was done with it, either. She didn’t have any expectations from the Professor, so she wouldn’t be disappointed. It was liberating in a way. Not having any expectations.

 I despise you. All your powers, all your intelligence, all your beauty, and yet you still do nothing!

Father…say something…please. Trust my father.

She started to unbutton his silk undershirt quickly, silencing the ghost of her past. Only I remain…she muttered to herself inwardly. Only she remained now. Her own decisions, her own fuckups.

Rogue threw the broken pieces of her vision board into the flames… Whoever you are, welcome to our world.

Irulan stopped, a chill running down her back, and pulled away.

The Professor looked at her, his eyes hooded with desire, but worried. His hair was tangled in a way she had never seen before because of her hands. “P-Princess…” he muttered.

Irulan dipped her head, shaking it. “I-I have to go.” She didn’t know where, but she had to go. This wasn’t her place, either. She turned around and walked back to the door. “I’ll see you later.” Perhaps later, but not tonight.

Before she arrived at the door, there was a knock on the door, certain and heavy in the night. Her stomach coiled as the man came beside her, facing his door. There was no way for her to know who would have darkened his door at this ungodly hour, but Irulan tensed, also feeling the same trepidation from her lover. The word also felt strange on her tongue as much as the ache between her legs.

Glancing at her with a sideways look, the Professor approached his door. When he opened it, it revealed Gurney behind. The downpour had stopped again, but Gurney was as wet as she still was. It hadn’t been more than one hour since she left the Keep. Was he here on his own or was it Paul?

Irulan swallowed but held her head high in defiance. From his last question, calling the Professor as her Professor it was clear that Paul had been aware of her alliance with the man, but sending Gurney after her that would be…a scratch. Had she hit a nerve that much with her suspicions that he sent Gurney to her lover to collect her?

Gurney was looking at her behind the Professor’s shoulder silently with an expression that spoke openly what he thought and taking the hint, her lover took a step aside but stayed where he was. The protective gesture warmed a coldness inside her, the way the man did not step back.

Irulan approached and addressed him directly, “What are you doing here, my Lord?” He was alone, so she could tell he didn’t want to take any witnesses with him. To catch her with another man.

“Princess Consort,” he replied placidly, his eyes trained on her, still ignoring the Professor’s presence as if they were both not standing in front of his door. The Professor—Noah—she corrected herself mentally. She had bedded him; she surely would call him by his first time.

Noah was standing silent, only watching them. Gurney cleared his throat, glancing at him, an awkward disposition entering his body language as he noted the undone buttons over his neck and his unkempt hair. There was a slight bruise at the junction of his neck and chin on his left side, something Irulan had just noticed. Suddenly, her visible pleased him, giving her a vigorous satisfaction. She did not know much about how she looked, but by the way he looked, there was no doubt about what they had been doing before he arrived at the scene.

“Princess-wife, His Majesty asks you back at the Keep,” he finally spoke, returning to him, and Irulan raised an eyebrow. “We shall leave at once.”

Despite it having been what she was about to do a minute ago, Irulan stayed firm. “No. I’ll not return.”

“Your Highness, I beg your reconsideration. You will not stay here for the night. It’s the Emperor’s direct order.” He paused. “I’ve been told to inform you that his license has been expired. He orders you to return.”

Stunned with the message, Irulan stared at him and almost croaked out a laugh although the Professor beside her paled, understanding what the remark meant. His license had expired, and she was not allowed to have male alliances anymore.

Too little, too late. She had already made use of his license. His backing from his words surprised her, too, raising many questions, but Irulan felt too tired to deal with them right now.

She let out a sigh and still jerked her head. “No. I’ll stay.”

“Princess, please—” the battle-hardened man almost begged. “I’m ordered to bring you back by force if it’s necessary. Please, do not make this harder than it is already.”

“Did Paul tell you this?”

“Yes.”

She let out a derisive sound and looked aside to her love affair that had survived less than a mere hour, but spoke again, her easy goodbye now sounding like a promise, “I’ll see you later.”

“Did you close all the ports?” she questioned the man after they stepped outside the house. The older man nodded confirmative. “Found the man I ordered you?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Irulan nodded back. “All right. Bring me to him,” she ordered sternly. “I want to see him.”

Gurney halted as they stepped out a main street in the city center, turning to her, and his look told her he was refraining himself from sighing deeply. “Princess, your lord husband wishes you to return to the Keep.”

Irulan pursed her lips mockingly. “I thought he just didn’t want me to stay there.” She tilted her head to the south where the Professor—Noah’s resident was. “But I’m not returning to the castle. Bring me to Simon.”

For the rest of the night, Irulan stayed at the garrison where they were keeping the man in the holding cells and Irulan questioned him until dawn.

When she was done, she was holding all the SD-9 connects in Caladan in her hand. She handed Gurney her list, ordered to collect them all, and she finally returned to the Keep and she took a bath, washing away the stains of blood from her inner thighs this time with her injured hands. They wiped away from her skin easily unless the blood of murder, though the poignant ache between her legs lingered.

She would have called Paul again and had another confrontation. She would have called him out on his childish behavior, taking back his license and sending Gurney after her, she would have demanded an explanation, she would have even mocked him for his horns, mocked they looked good on him. She wanted him to know she had cuckolded him to her heart’s content like he had told her. He hadn’t cared then, so he didn’t have any right to care now—for whatever reasons he might have.

All those were possible actions she would have made, especially the last part was very very tempting, revenge was a dish best served cold after all, especially Corrino revenge. It would serve him right, but Irulan just felt…so tired even for mocking so she stayed in her bed still wrapped in her towels, her hair wet from her bath, between her legs aching, and in her hands, there was a broken piece of Vorian Atreides’s figure, his head.

Paul really looked like his ancestor, she thought idly as sleep and tiredness of her vivid day pressed on her, her eyes fluttering close. She slept with the figure’s head in her hand until the next dawn.

*

The next three days passed uneventfully, compared to her vivid day. Irulan stayed inside as Gurney’s garrisons turned the city upside down to look for the contacts she had given them. Both he and Lady Jessica had tried to question her many times and every time, Irulan refused to talk and stayed silent like how his father used to keep his own secrets.

The only remaining artifact from her dalliance with the Professor had passed the following day, leaving her with an acute missing between her legs. It was hard to explain. Their coupling had happened in such haze and feral zest that Irulan couldn’t even remember much of anything, only fragments from the event. The way she felt as he pierced through her womanhood lifting off her skirts and pushing down her underwear, the way it felt when she felt his member inside her. The kisses and rocking off their dance, trying to reach a peak, a relief. It was a frantic race, yet fulfilling in another way, her hands pulling him on her more, wanting him to crush her with his weight. Irulan had been taught of arts of seduction and how to please, but it was entirely something else. It was wanton, it was pure on lust, and Irulan would have felt disturbed with the low pleasure, but she found herself looking forward to having that experience again more coherently, experiencing it at her fullest. At least fully naked.

It was a wonder and a wish that was constantly in the back of her mind as if she had taken a bite from the forbidden fruit like in the old stories and got cursed. Still, she didn’t mind. She knew she had to face her husband first to experience it again in the way she wanted to, yet even the wildest promise of bodily pleasures was not enough to make her answer his calls.

Paul had called every day in the last three days, wanting to talk to her, asking for her presence, even ordered once, and every time, Irulan refused. The thought of mocking him for his horns was still very seductive, yet Irulan didn’t feel ready after their last encounter. There was a part of her that wished he would never call her again, yet she knew it was a naught wish.

For her feelings, Irulan simply decided she could not love someone she despised, and she despised him, she despised his inaction—she despised his lack of communication, she despised his self-absorbed self. He was just like her father! No more, no less.

She felt she had finally reached a clarity with her feelings and where she stood with Paul Atreides, and it freed her more than her exile did. She had hidden the Vorian Atreides figure she had stolen from the communication room and had never touched it since then.

Though in her self-appointed recluse, she started to snitch a lot of stuff from the Keep and even almost got caught by Lady Jessica once. Irulan reckoned her…habit had become her own only outlet from the stress of her situation, and she had missed Amy and the gang terribly.

The uproar in the city made her unavailable to leave the Keep to go to the Pit, and it was what stressed Irulan the most. She wanted to see them, make sure everything was going to be okay, they must have heard the news of the uproar in the city and if they connected the dots to her, her absence would have cost her dearly. Whoever you are, Rogue had called her three days ago, clearly stating she knew Irulan was hiding something.

Yet, she still couldn’t leave because Gurney was watching over her now like her shadow.

The coordinates she had given to Paul had already been sent throughout the galaxy and they had been trying to evacuate the victims who were still on the ground before Paul started his assault.

So Irulan stayed inside the Keep and waited.

A knock interrupted her writings in her self-appointed recluse. “My lady,” her lady-in-waiting announced herself, walking inside her room. Irulan continued to work, tilting her head to continue. “His Majesty calls you.”

Her hand halted and she spoke serenely, “I’m not available.”

“My lady—”

“Tell him!” she ordered with the Voice, sending her away. In the last three days, it had also become a habit. She sighed loudly when the door closed and the girl left her demurely as she had been ordered. She knew she was dragging it too hard, yet, she just didn’t want to see him.

“Irulan!” Lady Jessica’s voice blossomed in her room exactly five minutes later and Irulan closed her eyes and allowed herself another sigh. “Stop this at once! How long would you keep this up?”

She returned to the woman serenely and replied calmly, “As long as I wish to.”

“On what basis?” she barked.

“On the basis that I don’t want to talk with your son,” she shot back with the same calm mock, returning to her writing. “I have nothing to talk with him.”

“Aside from the fact you somehow became very acquainted with the gutters of the city.”

She stood up from her seat with the same composed serenity and started to leave the room. “Where are you going?”

“To the sea,” she replied without turning to her but continuing to walk. “You and your son have bored me.”

The way the older woman hissed behind her made Irulan smile as she closed her room.

The seashore or the cliffs had become her best haven to stay hidden from the others again, to stay alone and undisturbed. It had rained again last night but Irulan didn’t mind the wet earth and sat down along the edge of the cliff, swinging her legs. The waves crashed against the cliff edges below her, their song mixed with the wind’s ever-presence soothing her nerves. She watched water boil over the caldera that remained from the volcano that used to stand millennials ago with undercurrent, waves disappearing under the secret sea caves.

As she watched the sea caves and waves, Irulan straightened, remembering her studies about the Caladan’s geography. The sea caves were under the Keep all around. Her heart beating at her throat, Irulan got up from the edge and spied the sea closer. She didn’t remember the map of the caves but the current would lead her to an exit surely if she let herself float with the flow.

She was at least 50 ft. above the sea level, but she knew she could jump without hurting herself. Irulan Corrino was not a child of a desert, but she was a great swimmer. It was madness perhaps but to see Amy and the rest of the Gang, she was ready to take the risk. She watched the caldera, then she took off her shoes, shredded off her robes, and then closing her eyes, Irulan jumped.

*

Fear is the mind-killer, she murmured to herself in the dark caves, letting the current flow carry her, her eyes still tightly closed. If she opened herself, she feared she would have lost her mind in the places no sane person would have ever possibly visited. She was hearing the fluttering wings above her head, her frayed senses registering life around her in the depths of the caves. Irulan ignored them, muttering to herself their axiom.

She was a harmless passenger, floating over the flow. Let me pass, she murmured, letting herself to the will of buoyance and the caves.

Sun fluttered over her eyelids and she slowly opened them, realizing she had found an exit. She laughed, beating her legs as she turned around and started to swim toward the shore. She was as wet as a rat that fell into the sea once more, seawater dripping off from her every inch and leaving salt stains on her skin and clothes, but Irulan didn’t care. She had escaped once more from her trap!

She laughed and started to run toward the fisherman's cottage she had spotted by the shore. The small cottage was empty, the dwellers of the house had gone to their work. In the front yard, there was a small orchard and nets, and in the backyard, there were newly washed clothes, hung to dry off under the sun. Irulan quickly picked up a dress from the rack and threw a shawl to cover her head and face. She picked a few figs from the fig tree for Amy into a cloth from the rack and hid it inside her pocket. She made her expensive dress into another bundle and slung it over her shoulder. She would have left it behind but her silk dress would have gained too much attention. She left a golden coin instead in the little bucket that held fishing gadgets and nets.

There was nothing she could do for her wet hair so she hoped the sun would dry it too until she found the Pit. It took her almost an hour to get her bearings but when she did, she quickly spotted her way. The doors of the Pit opened for her even before Irulan arrived, the scouts at the trees picking her trail. They must have doubled the watches, Irulan surmised, and it soothed her worried heart.

“Ru!!!!” Amy jumped on her like the little tornado she was, linking her arms and her legs around her as Irulan took her up in her arms. “Where were you been?”

“Where have you been?” Irulan corrected her grammar smiling and avoiding answering. Amy’s grammar wasn’t always the best so Irulan tried to correct her whenever she heard a misusage.

 “Where have you been,” the girl quickly rectified the question. “Everyone was talking about you! What did you bring to me?”

“Grapes,” Irulan answered, dropping her to the ground as she took the grapes, mulling over her remark. Everyone was talking about her because Irulan had been absent.

 She bent down and kissed the girl’s head before she left her to find Tim and Rogue. “Where have you been?” Rogue asked at the moment she saw Irulan as well. Tim started to walk toward them, spotting her. “Do you have a hand in what happens in the city?” she also asked openly without beating the bush. The life at the Pit had been always open and direct unlike the court life Irulan was habituated. Everyone spoke directly and told what they felt without filtering openly. There were no intrigues, no hidden remarks, no misleading.

“Everyone talks about Tupile now,” the teenage girl continued. “The ports are closed and the SD-9 men are picked from the streets.”

“I have,” Irulan admitted openly like them. “I know a man in the higher places. He used to know my father.” It wasn’t a direct lie. Gurney used to know her father. “I found him in the Keep and told him about Tupile. I also have a friend from the Red Cross and he told me about this Simon who works for SD-9. I was investigating them.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re bad people,” Irulan answered honestly. “I don’t want them on the streets freely.”

 Rogue watched her long and then nodded. “All right.” She then turned to Tim. “You tell her about the Madame’s offer? I need to get prepared.”

Tim nodded as she moved inside her bungalow and Irulan turned to the teenager. “Madame’s offer?”

“Madame Mary came to us yesterday, to look for you.”

“Me?” Irulan asked, confused.

Tim gave her a look and suddenly Irulan realized he also looked very alike to Vorian Atreides. As she was pondering on it, the teenage boy said, “The word on the street. They know a rogue Bene Gesserit helped us to discover Tupile.”

Irulan stared at him, stupefied, a stark fear in the deep of her stomach, her back turning rigid. She was leaving too many traces behind. She had covered her trails well so far, but if the word leaked on the streets, she was going to gather more attention to herself.

“Did you tell her about me?” she asked in a whisper.

“No. We won’t until we talk about it with you.”

  Irulan let out a small sound of relief, her control slipping. Tim walked closer to her. “Look, we both know there’s more to you than meets the eye, and we understand if you don’t want to share it with us yet. Your secrets are your own.”

Irulan gulped, feeling incredibly guilty and relieved at the same time, her eyes prickling. “I just know this. Ru helped us, protected us. Protected the group,” he said, tilting his head around them. “I would’ve led my family into that trap without you. And that’s what matters to me, not who you are.”

“T-thank you,” Irulan replied, dipping her head because she felt like she was going to cry.

“And you just know this, too. I don’t know what you’re running away from, but we will protect you, too. Whenever you need us, from whatever. You’re one of us now. You can even stay here with us if you want.”

Irulan lifted her head, gnawing at her bottom lip, a part of her just wanted to accept it and be Ru—leaving Irulan behind. They were offering her a true haven, a place in which she wouldn’t be a deadweight, an undesired necessity, but a place that would need her as much she needed them. A place she would contribute to, a place she would truly belong to, be loved and loved. A home.

Her voice shattered and croaked as she declined, “I-I can’t,” she said—openly and sincerely. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Tim looked at her again but nodded simply. “I understand—” And he smiled, sincere and honest. “The offer doesn’t have a deadline.”

Irulan laughed throatily through the lump that sat in the base of her throat. “I’ll keep it in my mind.” She cleared her throat. “Madame…what does she want?”

“There’s a killer on the streets,” he explained. “He targets her girls, rips them apart at their stomach.”

Irulan’s mouth almost hung open, understanding who they were talking about too. Even she had heard the news from the Keep. “Jack the Ripper?” The copycat was an infamous serial killer from the Old Terra, his bloodied story was passed on to them for countless generations. Every now and then a copycat of his work resurfaced.

Tim nodded. “Yes. They have a lead, but he doesn’t talk. She’s afraid the nightguards would let him go if she gives him to them.”

“Why?”

He gave her another look. “Bribe. And people hardly care about the prostitutes.”

Her jaw clenched. “They’re the part of the Imperium, too.”

“Yeah, tell it to the guards,” he said “Madame heard about your rumors. Hence, she came to look for you. She offered to pay for your services, to see if you’d get him to talk. One thousand solari.”

Well, that was…generous.

 She imagined the dangers, showing off her face more on the streets. There weren’t any portraits of her or the Imperial family as Paul’s new religion forbid it and she hardly imagined any of these people would have ever been accepted to any royal court. Their faces always had been covered with veils whenever they were outside on the streets, so the likelihood of anyone recognizing her was very slim.

Yet, she was still leaving so many traces, and how many Bene Gesserit would have been on Caladan? People did not know her, but they knew the Princess Consort was here who also happened to be a Bene Gesserit. Someone was going to notice it soon if she kept doing this.

Yet, one thousand solari was also good money—something that would help the Gang tremendously. “You don’t need to do it if you don’t feel comfortable,” he remarked as if he had felt her inner conflict.

For the first time in her life, someone was telling her she didn’t need to do something, wasn’t putting some expectations on her, some obligations—duties. It had been always the opposite of it, expectations, obligations, and duties, and the first time it had happened, Irulan nodded her agreement decisively.

“I’ll do it.”

*

She walked back to the seashore before it was dusk, the lead taking them to a dead end this time. Irulan pressed the man in their custody in a brothel she had been inside the first time until he passed out, but she had taken everything out of him. He wasn’t the man they were looking for, and he didn’t know anything. Yet, she had learned he had raped three girls, one of them around Amy’s age so she didn’t feel like it was for naught. One monster less from the streets.

Madame Mary was a just and kind businesswoman and she paid Irulan what she had promised, one thousand solaris which she had given Tim. He had insisted she would have taken a part, and Irulan insisted back she didn’t need to, but she secretly took a coin from the payment, just for…her collection. Rogue had seen her, but she didn’t say a word, taking her behavior as a memoir she supposed.

And it was a memoir, Irulan also reckoned.

She twirled the coin in her hands as she climbed back up the cliff so that she would have returned from where she had left the Keep in the morning. The day passed in activity and the climb tired her beyond exhaustion when she reached the castle, wanting nothing more than to take a bath and then sleep.

The somber gloom in the castle hit her as soon as Irulan entered the Great Entrance, a chill running down her spine even before she saw Lady Jessica above the staircase.

“We have a visitor,” the woman announced and Irulan felt her heart started beating so hard so suddenly that it would fly over her chest.

The old castle looked even more threatening in the dusk gloom as Irulan tried to control her responses, tried to calm herself. He wouldn’t come. Paul wouldn’t come to Caladan just because Irulan was refusing to talk to him, yet Lady Jessica’s icy expression told her a different story.

Irulan closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she didn’t see Paul but she saw—

“Reverend Mother?” she asked, shocked.

Chapter Text

Slowly, Irulan grasped her porcelain teacup with a delicate pinch and took a small sip from the mix of her herbal tea. They were alone in the drawing room, and the Reverend Mother was watching Irulan with the Bene Gesserit way, beady eyes staring at her with intention attentive, noting every little nuisance as she looked like an old owl dressed in all black, perched on her chair.

Her tense, rigid muscles almost ached with the controlled way she comported which also reminded Irulan how much…freer she had been with her comportment since she arrived in Caladan. She had been trying to keep her cool, poised imperial façade without hesitation, but the effort had already taken an effort on her that Irulan had not expected. Especially after the days she had been having.

While the woman peered at her owlish without blinking, there was a part of her that even wished her visitor had been Paul instead of the Reverend Mother. Irulan would have never admitted it aloud, or how frantically her heart had beat against her ribcage when she had thought it had been Paul when Lady Jessica announced they had a visitor. She had been foolish once more, expecting him to come all the way to Caladan just to see her. Her foolishness truly knew no bounds. Her silence and her refusal to talk to him must be troubling him, but not that much.

Everything concerning her attached to Paul would have been summarized with those words, Irulan reckoned. Not that much. He worried but that not much. He got angry with her but not that much. He cared for her but not that much.

Irulan controlled her lips that wanted to straighten into a grimace. She didn’t care. It did not concern her. Nothing about him concerned her, like nothing about her concerned him. What concerned her now was the purpose of this unannounced visit.

She had been also refusing to answer the Reverend Mother’s calls for more than two months now, refusing to talk to her, but seeing her former teacher here on Caladan…it was more than unexpected.  It was almost as unbelievable as her landing on Arrakis.

Paul had not executed the head of the Bene Gesserit after he took the throne, and had pardoned her but she had been exiled from Arrakis on death penalty. The woman had never dared to test Paul with it although he had let her see her teacher. Whenever they met, it had been always either she journeyed to see her on Wallach IX or another planet. When the Reverend Mother came to see Irulan, they had always met on the board of a Guild heighliner just a few clicks away from Arrakis’s orbit as she was not allowed on Arrakis’s atmosphere.

Caladan was not Arrakis, but Irulan still couldn’t have believed Paul would have allowed the woman on his birth planet. Like he had never let his Qizarate missionaries be active on the planet or expand his assault over here, protecting his birth planet from his holy war. His determination not to let his ripple effects touch the place from his childhood was as strong as his will, although Irulan had been discovering how his efforts had been useless in the last days.

Yet, the Reverend Mother’s presence was still…speculative. Irulan refused to believe the woman would have come like this without his permission or without his knowledge, which meant—Irulan paused in her internal musings, trying to decipher what this visit would mean.

Had Paul sent her former teacher to talk with Irulan because she was refusing to talk to him?

Apparently, Lady Jessica wasn’t helping the issue here as Irulan was ignoring her warnings and pleas to answer his calls, so did he think Irulan would have listened to her teacher once more? Despite she had betrayed her and the Sisterhood two months ago, confessing everything?

Did he really think the Reverend Mother would change her mind now?

Irulan almost wanted to croak out a derisive but amused laugh, somehow the notion giving a sinister pleasure although Irulan could not comprehend it fully. The act just suggested a certain modicum of desperation—enough to send someone who he hated with his guts to broker peace between them. She told herself it still wouldn’t matter but she still liked that modicum of desperation.

For twelve years, Irulan had been throwing herself at him to get a reaction, just to make him notice her, and only had met with indifference and was ignored. The first time Irulan had ignored him, stayed indifferent, he had sent the Reverend Mother to speak to her.

The act would have been a scheme to draw his attention, it was one of the oldest tricks in the arts of seduction, something even Irulan had tried a couple of times before—trying to stay away from him so that he would have noticed her absence. It had never worked—Paul had always seen all her attempts at seductions truly. Perhaps it’d been the sincerity of her behavior that had made him…desperate to call for help from the woman he hated.

 This—for whatever reasons would not concern her, either. She still didn’t want to see him, he still didn’t concern her, but Irulan could not help but feel…intrigued by his behavior. Was it just her refusal to acknowledge his presence had caused this behavior? Or was there more?

Her mind jumped to the Professor—the night they had spent together. Gurney had not caught them in a comprising situation openly although the unkempt way the Professor—Noah had been presented must have told him what had happened. Gurney would have told him or perhaps he had seen something with his prescience. He had even called Noah her Professor. Such a slip was very unlike Paul, it must be deliberate. Just after Irulan had mocked him to return to his beloved and continued to be useless.

The notion suddenly gave her a boost again, her earlier feelings to mock him for heeding his words to cuckold him returning. She wondered if he had seen her with another man like she had watched him with another woman year after year. That gave Irulan another satisfaction as if she had won a victory. Perhaps it was childish, and it was all in her imagination, perhaps Paul still didn’t care with whom she would share a bed, but yet—he had also canceled his license.

He didn’t permit her to take a lover anymore. He begrudged her any male affection. And that would have made her furious with anger yet Irulan still felt…pleased.

“Something is pleasing you, Princess Consort?” her former teacher suddenly asked, cutting off the silence that filled between them and also making her realize her control had slipped and the pleased feeling had curved up her lips into a small smile unbeknownst to her.

Irulan quickly arranged the small genuine smile on her lips into a fake poised one and answered placidly, “The weather is very nice today, Reverend Mother.” She took another small sip from her tea, benefitting from the pause to stand more poised. “It’s been raining all day yesterday.”

Small talk about the weather—she had perfected that skill over the years, talking about nonsense all the while they had discussed far more important fairings with their secret hand signals in case they had been spied on. On Wallach IX, they had been safe, but they could have never dared to take the risk anywhere else. Paul’s fanatic spies could be everywhere. Irulan had worked hard and very diligently to create her own network in the court, benefitting from Chani’s dislike for court life, but she could have never taken the risk anywhere else, too. This was also the first time they had been actually having the small talk without any ulterior motives. The notion too amused Irulan, almost caused her to slip another small smile.

“The sun at Arrakis is very cruel. Caladan’s sun is so much more…hospitable.” Irulan sat down on her teacup and looked at the former teacher with her fake, poised smile. “I must confess Caladan is even more hospitable than I’d imagined.”

“You sound very pleased to be sent to exile, Princess.”

“I am,” she replied, letting her read how sincere she sounded from her tells. “Being sent to exile was the best thing that happened to me over a decade.”

Her lips flattened into a line, her sincerity displeasing her and wanting Irulan to see it. Usually, a very hard lesson followed after such a display of emotion to accompany to let Irulan know what her teacher’s displeasure meant but this time, the woman only commented from her clenched old dry purple lips, “My heart is at ease to hear that my former student’s betrayal brought her happiness at least.”

Her own lips clenching, her poised decorated smile disappearing, Irulan looked at the Reverend Mother staunchly. “Shall we dispense with fencing? You must have been sent here for a purpose,” she openly declared. “Paul would’ve never let you on Caladan soil otherwise.”

“The Emperor asked me the same thing when he summoned me,” she replied. “He’s rubbed on you.”

“Why are you here?” Irulan almost hissed between her flattened lips. “Why did he send you?”

“Perhaps he wanted us to catch up?” the Reverend Mother mocked. “You haven’t been answering my calls, Irulan. Did you truly betray your teacher too?”

Irulan paused for a fraction to let the answer sit in and noticed the other woman quickly noted her small reaction. She inwardly cursed herself for her slip as her mind raced. The Reverend Mother had stated Irulan’s refusal to answer her calls, not Paul’s. Was it possible she didn’t know what had happened between her and Paul? That Irulan wasn’t answering his calls, either?

If that was the case, why was she here? Irulan found it hard to believe that Paul would have sent her so that they would have reconciled. He had admitted he had been using her as his link to his enemies so he could get a better insight about them in his prescience. Was it truly the reason why the Reverend Mother was here?

To reset that link so that Irulan could be useful to him again?

Anger flared in her again, being used this way once more—as a means to his ends.

She sprung up from her feet, a fear swelling her chest and a feeling of disappointment filling her throat once more. What kind of a fool she was! Catching into the same trap ever and ever again.

“I’m not doing this—” she muttered, shaking her head, her eyes fixed on the other woman, feverish but stern. “I’m not getting caught in his trap again! He will not use me again!”

The Reverend Mother looked surprised, openly and sincerely surprised. The last time she had seen the other woman like this had been twelve years before he had won his dual, toppled her father from his throne and forced her to marry him. When he had used the Voice on the Reverend Mother herself. And succeeded. Irulan had never seen such raw power before—and she had been as shocked as everyone in the Great Hall.

The Reverend Mother was looking at Irulan with the same shock now and Irulan could not understand. “Did he already tell you about his offer?” she asked. “Do you know about it?”

She blinked. “What offer?”

Her shock waned off and her expression got guarded once more, but there was a pleased undertone in it now at her expense, something she revealed with satisfaction, taking pleasure from her ignorance. “Hmm. You still don’t know what he wants from you,” she stated.

Irulan frowned, looking down at her, fear catching up with her more and more. “What does he want from me?”

The Reverend Mother smiled at her, an open smile for the first time in years, and a chill ran down her spine. “What we’ve been desiring for years, Irulan. A child.”

Stunned, speechless, and shocked, Irulan stared.

 *

Slumped back in her chair, Irulan was still staring at the Reverend Mother, the words swirling through her mind in a haze. It must be a joke, a cruel, sick joke. For what she had done, for her disobedience. Paul must be punishing her now although it still made little sense.

“I-I don’t understand,” she muttered, swaying her head. A child of her…of her own, from him. After everything had happened between them, why would he want that? His beloved would carry his child as he had always desired. Like he had told many, many, many times.

Chani is going to carry my heir. That’s not the task you were chosen for.

How many times did Irulan hear those words, she had lost the count. Now she had finally let him have his heart’s desire, did he want her to have his child?

Was he that desperate to reset her as his link once more that he would allow her to carry his child?

No. It still didn’t sound…right. It didn’t fit Paul. Having her in his bed meant betraying his promise and his promises meant everything to him. He would not break them even for that, especially after what she had done to his beloved. Irulan would not believe that. It had to be something else.

At the moment she thought about it, another thought occurred to her—another possibility she had never wanted to consider. She had been poisoning Chani with contraceptives for years. She had been very careful to choose the contraceptives that wouldn’t cause her permanent damage but what if the continuous usage had maimed the woman’s reproductivity despite her efforts? Had her drugs made Chani infertile? It had been more than two months since she left Arrakis. She had always known it was going to need time for her cycle to recalibrate itself, but what if she couldn’t get pregnant because of Irulan?

Despite she had always felt she was rightful in what she was doing to the other woman, Irulan felt a pang of guilt in her, causing this to another woman. Making a woman incapable of being a mother, making her womb barren. In those times when guilt stuck to her like a succubus, Irulan always used to soothe her heavy heart by counseling herself she wasn’t doing anything they hadn’t been doing to her, that she was still fair—but if she had truly maimed another woman in this way—

She felt short of breath, a terrible ache gnawing at her chest. She remembered Amy, the way she jumped in her arms, desiring her motherly affections, wanting her to plaid her hair, wanting her sweets. She swallowed, stripping another woman of such…fulfillment was cruel. Irulan didn’t mind being considered cruel by her enemies, but this was something else. Something she had always accused of Paul, stone-hearted.

Yet, something still didn’t fit in. If Chani had truly become infertile because of her scheme, Paul wouldn’t have wanted her to carry his heir. No. He would have had her garroted.

This still wasn’t making any sense, so Irulan decided to ask to confirm, although she still didn’t believe it, “Is something wrong with Chani?” she asked. “She can’t get pregnant?”

“No,” the Reverend Mother replied, confirming her last reasoning. “He said she would get pregnant within the month. He saw it.”

Irulan frowned again, losing more sense. “Then why does he want me to carry his child?”

“To negotiate the safety of the child and its mother,” came the short answer, beady eyes fixated on hers as Irulan felt like an idiot. Of course. How couldn’t she think about it? He was trying to protect his beloved and the fruit of their love.

The Sisterhood would claim the life of the mother and child even though Irulan was in exile and betrayed them. They would not let the baby be born. The easiest way to guarantee their safety was by giving them what they wanted. A child from Irulan. The opportunity that would continue the hard work of many generations.

Would Paul really do this?

Break his wow, take her to his bed only to produce a safety measure for the sake of his beloved and the child she carried and disregard Irulan and her child she would carry like it wasn’t his?

He wouldn’t care about her, Irulan knew. To save Chani’s life, he would throw her away without consideration, without hesitation, without even a second thought. Next to Chani, Irulan was insignificant, even with the throne she had brought to him. He would even break his wow after the well-being of his beloved, would sacrifice his own integrity for her, and accept her in his bed.

It must have been the reason why he had reacted that…feverishly of Irulan having a lover, because he was designing her now for this role, an apparatus for the safety of his beloved and her child, nothing being more than an incubator for her, a vessel. It was the new task he had appointed to her, the reason why he no longer permitted her to have any male affections. Her having an affair would have complicated the situation far worse. Irulan wasn’t even permitted with that license anymore.

She was just expected to close her eyes and spread her legs—

She felt sick, bile churning her stomach. Somehow, the treatment made her feel even more insulted. She had lost her virginity to a man who wasn’t bound to her and she hadn’t even felt this…sick with the fact. The humiliation Paul’s expectancy was beyond cruelty now. It was true that it had been what she had been seeking for more than a decade now, but she didn’t want this.

Yet, something still didn’t fit. Despite anything—she still couldn’t believe Paul would have been this…stone-hearted to his own child. He would easily disregard Irulan, but would he disregard his child just because of her, too?

Irulan felt so at a loss, feeling such a whirlwind of emotions that she didn’t know what to think. All her thoughts were conflicting with one another. She wanted to run away and forget what she had heard, focused on finding that serial killer, learning more about the SD-9 and the victims that there were still on Tupile, not—not this.

 She shook her head, standing up again. “This’s madness.”

She was not going to let herself get carried away further with this folly. Whether Paul would not disregard her child or not, Irulan would never let her child live such a cruel life.

The Bene Gesserit would certainly want her to have a boy, to be his heir, and the rest of his life would pass through the bitter struggles for the throne between the Fremen fanatics and the Bene Gesserit's endless demands. Coming from her womb would earn him the title of the Crown Prince by the forms, not Chani’s child, but the forms did not keep a throne. Without the Fremen’s military force, the Great House would tear him apart after what Paul had done to them. Even his Corrino blood wouldn’t have kept him safe from the revenge.

Perhaps Paul would even not allow it for the greater good, not let his Empire have a bitter civil war between her heir and Chani’s heir. The Great Houses would have torn him apart without the Fremen's support, but on the other hand, against the Fremen fanatics, they would also prefer him. There was no easy answer when the game of succession started. The succession from different mothers usually ended up in blood, as well.

Irulan had no misguided sentiments about which child he would support at such a crossroads.

He would always favor Chani’s child over hers. To bring a child into such a cruel world, bound herself to him and his schemes once more, returned to his trap…

Never return to the Pit again, never see the children. The vision of Amy jumping into her arms to greet her came at her unbidden, smiling and asking what Irulan had brought for her. She imagined Tim telling her she was one of them now no matter who she was because she had protected them. That they could have gone to a terrible place without her. She imagined Rogue with her vision board and teaching her how to twirl her butterfly knife with a wooden replica so Irulan wouldn’t hurt herself. She ate the stew Teo prepared with the rest of them, Amy sitting beside her. She braided her bird-nest hair as the girl comforted herself across her lap, playing with a doll that Irulan had also found for her, her chest panging with a deep ache.

Then she remembered another memory—Paul asking her if she wanted to have an heir or a child.

Do you want an heir or a child, Princess?

Irulan couldn’t have found an answer in her that day, had told him he would give her neither, but now, Irulan knew the answer in her heart with clarity. She knew what her heart desired.

She didn’t want an heir to found the Imperial dynasty, she wanted a child. She wanted a little sweet human to take care of and to protect, to cherish and love. Paul Atreides could only give her an heir and Irulan loved her unborn child too much to condemn it to such a cruel life. Always knowing its birth wasn’t because of human arguments, wasn’t because of love but was out of necessity. Her child would be an unwanted consequence like Irulan, knowing its place would never be like Chani’s child.

She would never let her child live through what Irulan had been living through for years.

Never.

 She would rather run after serial killers who were targeting prostitutes instead for the rest of her life and take care of the children of the Pit. She was one of them now, and she would not abandon them like everyone else did so that his beloved and her child would be safer. The Mahdi was going to find himself another safety measure to get rid of the Bene Gesserit.

“I’ll take no part of it,” she concluded. “You can tell him I decline his offer.”

“Irulan, be reasonable, this could be our only chance to have what we have desired so long,” the Reverend Mother said, too kindly, a gentle softness touching her vocal. Irulan paused, twisting aside. She never talked with Irulan in such a way. Being kind and compassionate was in her arsenal in dealing with her. Irulan let herself another frown at such an open display of gentility, trying to see her hidden agenda. There must be something that caused her to behave like this. She hadn’t even called Irulan a shrew yet.

“You must have already understood by my silence that does not concern me anymore,” Irulan serenely replied. “The Sisterhood’s great designs are not my concerns anymore.”

 “You’re still one of us!” she snapped, words lashing at her, but it was only words, nothing else.

Her eyes narrowed into a slit, trying to see what lay beneath. “What is it, Reverend Mother?” she asked. “What holds you back? You’ve never refrained yourself before from using your…persuasion tactics on me when I deny your orders. What has happened?”

“Your husband doesn’t want me to hurt you,” the Reverend Mother retorted with a silky mocking tone in her voice. “He ordered me to be…gentle. He’s concerned about your well-being.”

Irulan snorted. “Stop acting like a petulant child!” the Reverend Mother snapped again with her unpoised behavior. “This could be our only chance to continue our grand work. Our stewardship.”

“That doesn’t interest me anymore, either, Reverend Mother! His Majesty would find another Bene Gesserit for that. Put another Sister in his bed.” Another woman would spread her legs for him, not Irulan. She was done with him. She would never get herself attached to his designs again. “Any other Sister would gladly do it.”

“Yet he wants you, not any other Bene Gesserit, Irulan. Only you.”

The words paused her, but she shook her head after the next second. “I will not do it.”

She was not going to give him a child to wield as a weapon.

Never.

The Reverend Mother gave her a look, her face now displaying a look of contempt willingly, her disappointment clear. Irulan let it wash over her, not let it touch her anymore. The old crone had poisoned her for years with these looks, making her feel like a failure.

“Don’t tell me you’ve childishly fallen in love with that Professor of yours, Irulan,” she mocked cruelly as Irulan stayed more rigid. “The rumors are wild, but I thought I taught you better than this.”

“I bled in his bed,” Irulan replied, slowly and calmly, her chin raised in defiance and it felt good to tell it to the woman, watch the surprise in her expression despite her iron-willed control. “He took me.”

“You fool…” she murmured, angry. Irulan smiled with satisfaction at her revenge, basking in it. Perhaps it was childish to goad it like this, she was ruining her reputation, and she didn’t care about it with the Reverend Mother, either. She had been dreaming of this moment with her husband, telling him that she had heeded his counsel and taken a man as her lover, but the Reverend Mother would make do, too.

“So, I really can’t carry his child,” Irulan continued to mock. “I’ve given him horns. He cannot accept me in his bed now.”

To ever think that he had reacted that way—had expired his license because of her—to think that he would’ve ever been…jealous of her. Gods, what kind of a fool she truly was! He had told her. I’d be stupid to feel otherwise given the circumstances.

Paul wasn’t stupid, Irulan was. He didn’t have any…hidden feelings to stop her from finding affection and compassion from another man. He was just secretly grooming her for another task.  

Irulan was glad that the luck had worked in her favor this time at least, and unbeknownst to her, she had fenced off another trap, but the Reverend Mother stayed calm, not even bothered by her claim that she had lost her maidenhood to a man she wasn’t bound to and cuckolded the Emperor.

“He’ll look the other way,” she remarked, almost certain, then her lips pulled out into a smile, and Irulan felt cold. Her own smile disappeared and her breath caught in her throat. Something was wrong, she felt it in the air between them, into her smile.

“On the matter of accepting you in his bed…You don’t need to worry about that.” the Reverend Mother slowly remarked, taking her time now and she looked as pleased as Irulan had been a second ago. Irulan knew what the woman was going to tell her was going to hurt her, and the Reverend Mother enjoyed it. Irulan had seen that smile countless times before—before she made her beg for mercy through sobs and whimpers of pain.

He ordered me to be…gentle.

That might be his order because of some misguided feeling of debt towards her, but Paul did not the Reverend Mother the way Irulan did. She was the cruelest when she was gentle.

So Irulan steeled herself, turning to cold marble before she asked, “What do you mean?”

“He won’t have you in his bed,” her former teacher stated. “He offered the artificial way. He will give us his seeds and we’ll get you inseminated. There will be no mating.”

Chapter Text

She must have heard it wrong. A malfunction, a misunderstanding because Irulan could not imagine even Paul would have stooped that low. After rejecting her year after year, after not accepting her to carry his child because of human arguments, did he—did he want her to carry his child in artificial ways? Disregard everything about the highest aspiration of humankind in this way?

Her strict Bene Gesserit training was repulsed by the mere idea that she would breed on the level animals. Like she would whelp for him! The atrocity of the suggestion had not appalled her very existence but repelled by it. She abhorred it.

How could even dare to suggest to her something so low? Something so demeaning? It was true that Irulan had lost her virginity to a man she was not bound to because of bodily pleasures, chasing after carnal pleasures but this was beyond acceptable. Procreating a life in this way—creating human life this way.

How the Reverend Mother would even utter this to her?!

The thought repelled and appalled her at the same time as much as her husband’s demand, her mind reeled from what she had heard. To a small degree, Irulan would even perhaps see why Paul had asked for this—wanting her to whelp for him! He needed her to give him a child, but he also couldn’t betray his oath, so he decided the artificial ways, not minding the human arguments that had always bound his hands toward her. He would not care to diminish Irulan in this way as long as he could keep his oath to his beloved.

Irulan had always known she was expendable compared to Chani, but this was a new low. Still, Irulan could understand. But the Reverend Mother asking her this? Being his accomplish?!

It was outrageous!

This was everything that the Sisterhood stood against. For the Bene Gesserit, procreating was more than mating. Mating aimed more than mingling the sperm and ovum. How could one capture the psyche in artificial ways?

This was egregious!

“How dare you—” Irulan started but the Reverend Mother cut her off.

“That was what I also asked him when he told me about it first, Irulan,” she replied, her voice disinterested in her appalled outrage and disgust. “He told me we would not discuss the things our Sisterhood forbid. He told me he would listen to no talk of sins, abominations, or the beliefs left over from past Jihads.”

Her expression soured with repulsion visibly, staring at the woman with contempt. “And you just let him?”

The Reverend Mother kept her expression impassive. “The Emperor carries his messages through gaucheries and gross actions.”

“This is not a mere gaucherie,” she clipped. “This is desecration.”

“The Atreides genes are too important!” the woman snapped again. “Need goes deeper than proscription.”

Irulan let out a sharp breath. Need also went deeper than common sense and human decency, life had taught that Irulan. Ends justifying the means. It’d been always the same. When an Emperor needed something, he would just find a way to justify it.

The way she had asked her if he knew Tupile came back at her, the bleak desperation in her thinking he would have been just her father too. He had not known Tupile, but Irulan had been right. They were just the same. No more, no less.

But Irulan was not. She was trying to be different now. So she steeled her back and shook her head sternly in defiance. “The ends do not always justify the means,” she replied, “I will take no part in such desecration.”

“Irulan—”

Irulan could not keep it inside her anymore. “I WILL NOT WHELP FOR HIM LIKE AN ANIMAL!” she shouted as she sprung to her feet. “I refuse to demean myself in this way!”

If they thought of her as a chip that they would spend in these inhuman ways, Irulan would prefer dying instead of agreeing to it, yet the Reverend Mother was still impassive. “I reckon you prefer demeaning yourself rolling in the sheets with old scoundrels!”

Her arm raised as her face grew red with thunderous rage, “GET OUT!” she shouted, banishing the Reverend Mother herself from her presence. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

The Reverend Mother still serenely sat in her seat, watching her as if Irulan was the shrew with a bad temper she had always belittled. “This is not your house, Princess Consort.”

The remainder of her title, what she was would have spurned her anger into another furious fury, but Irulan shook her head. “I will not do it. Do you hear me? I will not.”

“Do you truly want us to restart all hard work from the beginning, Irulan? Does the Sisterhood mean nothing to you now? Did you fall from us even deeper than Jessica? Will you even betray us further?”

“Stop doing this!” she snapped, seeing right through her intentions again. “Don't try to play my conscience. I owe you nothing! You’ve taken from me everything! You just trained me to be a chip to be spent all my life.”

There was no shame or regret in the woman’s face. “We all have parts to play, and that was your part, Irulan,” she remarked placidly and Irulan hated it as much as when she heard it from Paul. “But it’d also be the chance for you to gain what your heart secretly desires so too, Princess Consort,” she continued. “The love of Paul Muad’Dib Atreides.”

“I HAVE NO SUCH SECRET DESIRES!” Irulan shouted again, outraged.

The Reverend Mother smiled and Irulan barely kept herself from attacking her this time. “Don’t you?” she asked. “Do you deny that your heart does not wish his love?”

Irulan fixated on her with an icy but mocking look. “Did your spies miss the hearsay, Reverend Mother?” Her lips curved up in an icy, mocking smile too with her jab, sharp and cutting, refusing to let the woman cut a chink in her armor and influence her. “I hold no love for him. Even he says it. We all know she holds no love for me.”

She held no love for him. She despised him. She was adamant, yet the Reverend Mother pointed out, “Yet you betrayed us for him like his mother betrayed us for his father. Do you think he’s unaware? Can’t make the comparison?”

“There’s no comparison,” Irulan insisted, her chin tilting up. “I do not love him. I despise him.”

“Yet you still turn your face from us because of him,” the Reverend Mother pointed out again and Irulan saw red. “You confessed our conspiracy. Your heart could not accept it.”

“I did it for myself!” she flared. “To set myself free. Not for him!”

“If we succeeded it and destroyed him, you’d have cried in despair you loved him but you didn’t know it, girl,” came the amused answer with a low chuckle, but then she grew serious.

“But your silent love wore off his defenses, Irulan,” she continued. “This child would make you establish a stronger connection with him. A bond that nothing would undo despite how it’s conceived. Do you think he’s also unaware of it? Ignorant? Why do you think he only permits you this…privilege but no one else?”

Irulan sensed the insidious trap in the words, words to entice her further. To make her feel she was…special, privileged to make her see this beyond whatever it was at essence.

“A privilege?!” she asked, her voice thinning with disdain and contempt. “You want me to breed for him like an animal and call it privilege?”

“In his mind, yes,” came the stiff and certain answer. “He insists this’s his only offer, and only for you, you alone. No one else. He doesn’t trust anyone else. Do you see it? You’re the only Bene Gesserit he still trusts.”

Irulan jerked her head in silent object a little, still refusing to fall into an enticing trap although her Truthsense deciphered no falsehood in the words. The Reverend Mother was trying to manipulate her like she always did, and Irulan stayed resilient and unaffected. She would not fall into the same trap again. Fool her once, shame on them. Fool her twice, shame on her.

“He did not confide in his mother but called me to talk to you,” the woman added, and Irulan let out a low scoff, very unladylike and unpoised. In other times, it would earn you another lesson but Paul must have truly warned her former teacher not to use her usual persuasion tactics to break her.

The way she was trying to manipulate Irulan also made that certain. “Because you were my teacher,” she replied. “He knows I hold no love for Lady Jessica, neither does she toward me.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, though, Irulan realized she had been fooled once more, too blinded by her stubborn refusal not to fall into the obvious trap and missing what lay underneath it. Plans within plans, traps within traps. The Bene Gesserit way.

The Reverend Mother smiled victorious.

Her lips pulled into a grimace, her heart searching through her feelings. Did she still hold love for her former teacher? She had sensed it was Paul’s motive to send the woman to speak on his behalf, but was it true?

Love…love was inconceivable. Irulan hated the older woman for what she had caused to her family and her father, for what he had caused to her, for training her for all her life to be an obedient, demure porcelain doll to sit on the throne and do the tasks that were assigned to her. She had prepared her all her life for this role, yet as she looked at the woman, she could not help but feel a stir in her heart.

The Reverend Mother had been the only mother figure in her life after her mother deceased. She had been always with her. Irulan did not want to sympathize with her from the misguided feelings or the nostalgia of the older days, yet the emotions in her heart persisted.

The heart had mysterious ways, and love was incomprehensible.

Do you deny that your heart does wish his love? The question echoed in her mind as she remembered herself telling him she could have loved him. And Paul’s answer too, admitting he knew it and was keeping himself distant from her because of it.

Yet you still turn your face from us because of him… Your silent love wore off his defenses.

Irulan shook her head, refusing to the words fool her, yet another question arose in her despite her best efforts. Would Chani do this for him if Paul asked her to? Would she accept like she always did just because Paul wanted her to? Like sand absorbing water, submitting to his will.

Irulan shook her head inwardly, refusing to submit. She was not like Chani. And she did not love him. She had even given him horns. Chani would have never done it.

“He told me if you decline him,” the Reverend Mother spoke in the brief silence between them, watching her, “My life is forfeited. He’ll take my life, Irulan.”

Irulan returned to her, her astonishment forcing her mouth ajar an inch, hearing it, then she grimaced. “That’s blackmail,” she clipped.

“Nothing’s fair in love and war, Princess-wife.” Her grimace dug deeper with the moniker she hated although she kept herself firm and rigid. “You drugged his beloved year after year, and yet he still let you live. Sent you to exile in this paradise because he knew nothing’s fair in love and war. He did his part, and it’s your turn now. You should not resist. He’ll take what he wants. Like he always does.”

“And I’ve resisted him before, I’ll do it again. I’m not like Chani,” she said, her chin raised in defiance and determination, feeling all the pride of her blood. “I don’t do things just because he asks.”

She paused before making her final decision and then spoke with the same stern clarity. “If he wants my child, tell him to be a man and tell it to my face. You tell him that, Reverend Mother, and thank me the last time if he lets you live but look for no more. I don’t serve the Sisterhood’s purpose anymore. Even if I yield to his wish and give him what he wants, rest assured this child will not buy you a throne. I’ll never let it.”

Her former teacher smiled at Irulan openly but knowingly, and then asked, “And you think he is also not aware of it, Princess-wife?”

# # #

In his restless sleep, Paul dreamed of his wife.

His vision-dream was obscure, not filtered through light as he used to see Chani even before meeting her. Her was shrouded in the dark as if his conscious mind was trying to protect his self-ruh from what Paul was witnessing. His wife...with another man. Gurney could not determine how further his wife had taken her fury with him, despite the tells he had witnessed, but his abilities did not need further proof to see it. Irulan had bedded another man. His wife had cuckolded him.

Cuckold me all you wish… His words haunted him in his mind’s eye as Paul watched the scene. I'd be silly to feel otherwise under the circumstances…

Irulan with another man…under another man.

Writhing and making soft, small gasps. He could not see the man, but he could see her face through the wisps of shadows that shrouded her…the way her face crumpled as she moaned and gasped in the throes of pleasure Paul had never witnessed before.

A sharp acute feeling cut his chest, his nails digging into his palms as his hands fisted. I’d be silly to feel otherwise given the circumstances. Yet silly or not, the feeling stayed, almost mocking him.

She was half-clothed, her loose blonde hair swept across the cushions. Her simple bodice was only loosened through the ribbons over her cleavage, the collar of the dress swept off her shoulder to shed her smooth, porcelain skin. Her skirts were drawn upward and pooling around her waist. Her legs were bare underneath, circling the man’s hips. It felt so wrong that even in his prescient dream Paul reacted and tore off the man off her, away from her…out of her.

No man should touch her like this! She was his! The mother of his child! No man should touch the mother of his child like this—no man should make his wife moan like this!

His blood roared, asking for blood and retaliation.

She moaned louder, her fingers clawing at the man tighter, bringing him down on her further on the couch. The atrocity of what he saw carved into his chest deeper as his nails dug deeper, drew blood. His wife was losing her virginity to another man on a couch!

On a damn couch!

His feet moved—and the scene moved—escaping from him before Paul stopped it.

It had been too late, he had been too late to stop it. He should have never let it! Never let her get under his skin, never told her she would do whatever she pleased. He had never wanted to be cruel to her, but this was not the answer. It had never been. Challenging her this way. He kept making his mistakes one after another.

They’re as useless as you, her voice mocked him as his consciousness swam in the dark. I despise you. She had certainly proved to him how much she despised him.

His fury lightened the darkness like a lightning bolt, and Paul saw her again. She was standing on a cliff now, gazing down at the chasm beneath her feet. She was standing tall and rigid, but something scared Paul…the same scare he had felt when he had seen her all wet and feral, and her hands chafed and red.

“Irulan!” he screamed as he fell through his storm but she did not hear him. She shed off her robes and took off her slippers, and…she leaned forward—

Paul raced to her, fear clogging his throat and his chest, screaming for her without any sound.

Irulan! Irulan! Irulan!

The old fear Paul had never let blossom in him…Irulan taking her own life. Instead of staying with him, the gilded golden cage he had built for her, choosing the death. He was running after her in the vision-memory, to stop her, but he was still too late.

She was beyond his reach.

She did not hear him.

Paul ran faster—Irulan jumped.

Paul screamed—no words leaving his mouth.

With a scream, Paul jolted up from his dream, his heart still drumming against his chest, his blood echoing in his ears, his mouth open—but this time his scream was echoing in his chambers—

IRULAN!!!!

Her eyes widened, Chani straightened in their bed, untangling her naked form from his nest, staring at him, shocked and appalled. Then without a word, she jumped from their bed, still staring down at Paul, but there was no longer shock on her face, but there was fury.

Unhinged, red fury. Mixed with betrayal and hurt.

 # # #

Leaving the drawing room, Irulan swept down the great staircase, not even pausing when Lady Jessica tried to stop her, her lover standing beside her. She left the Keep, keeping her head cool and levelheaded. She had made her decision.

If Paul wanted her child, he was going to need to come and deal with her. Stay in front of her and tell her right to her face, not sending his…minions to broker a deal. Then Irulan was going to show him she was nothing like his beloved. That she didn’t bend to his will easily. She wasn’t going to let the Reverend Mother confuse her mind with her manipulations, with her intrigues.

She was never going to let anyone manipulate her again. They all had set on her a purpose, but Irulan had given herself another purpose. She should go to the Keep and see how things were. Irulan quickly strode to the cliffs, careful of any tails or spies. The craze of their day and the Reverend Mother’s arrival would make it easier for her to disappear, but Irulan still took no risk.

When she was on the cliff, she quickly shed her robes and took off her shoes again before she jumped into the sea. The weather was sunny and warmer than yesterday like she had discussed it with the Reverend Mother, warm sunlight caressing her face. Irulan looked down at the sea below, the caldera lazily boiling with the undercurrent.

A gentle wind bristled over her hair, wafting through her loose strands and airing it over her shoulders. A stir caught her attention, tingling over her spine, pinging a sudden unrest in her.

Eyes…watching her.

Irulan held her breath, quickly focusing her awareness, and tilted her chin. Her neck twisted an inch and she peered a glance over her shoulder. The wind cracked—and Irulan saw nothing.

She turned back, looking down at the sea. Her day was catching up, tension rising in her. She drew in a deep breath and closing her eyes, she jumped.

The waters below surrounded her as she dived in, Irulan letting herself float. The flow carried away toward the sea caves, taking her away. The darkness in the caves was the same, but it was more friendly now, familiar. She journeyed with eyes closed, but with no fear anymore.

She came out from the caves from the same spot, the fishing cottage on the horizon. Irulan quickly sprinted toward it and did what she had done for the last time, covering herself with dry clothes and boots, making a bundle of her own, and leaving another golden coin in the bucket beside the nets. She went toward the fig tree and picked figs for Amy for the last before she left.

The seabird echoed above her as she approached the wooden gates of the Pit. The silence of the woods was more poignant now, attentive. Then Irulan felt it again—at the back of her neck---behind her. Eyes watching her.

She gave another covert glance behind her shoulder and saw nothing again.

Irulan let out another sharp breath, closing her eyes. The wooden gates were closer and the shadows were shifting in the trees above her. Tim’s lookouts. She approached the doors. She was not followed—

Then it happened all too quickly.

The children jumped down from the trees, swiftly and purposefully and Irulan whirled around just as Tim jumped from the tree and Irulan stared, stared, stared—

“PAUL!” she cried out, eyes widened in shock.

“Do you know him?” Tim asked her as Irulan was still staring at him wildly in complete shock. He looked the same and unaffected, not even blinking. The Gang of Pit surrounded him, but he stayed oblivious to them, his eyes—the deep blue-within-blue eyes only staring at her.

Only her. As if nothing else existed in the world. The eyes of Ibad were clouded with contained anger, electric blue and sharp, but there was no malice or shock in them.

Irulan shuddered with a tremor, but she could not form any other coherent thought. She could only nod her admittance at the question, her tongue still tied with her shock, her eyes glued on him.

What did he do here?

How did he find her?

When did he even come?

The questions swirled in her in her hazed shock as she only could continue to stare at him. Paul was still in the same disposition, only looking back at her and ignoring the children that circled him. Rogue came beside her, and in a second, her butterfly knife was in her head again, whirling in her hand as she gazed at Paul.

The same contained danger Irulan always felt from the teenage girl glinted in her dark eyes, regarding Paul carefully. Paul finally diverted his blue-within-blue eyes from her and they held Tim and Rogue.

The eyes of Ibad measured, but Irulan still saw no flicker of display of emotions. Irulan felt another shiver run down her back, wondering if he had seen this moment. Her heart galloped in her chest, drumming against her ribcage. She wondered if she was scared, but she could not tell. She swallowed, her throat dry and catching.

“Who is he?” Rogue asked and Paul returned his gaze from them and looked at her again.

Irulan shivered. His eyes almost held a challenge. “H-he’s my husband,” Irulan finally muttered.

And she could swear Paul almost smiled—the curve of his lips twitching. Irulan still could only look at him dumbfounded. Then Tim and Rogue shared a glance, the silent communication that Irulan had seen them doing many times now, sharing what their tongues did not tell.

Rogue gave her another look, her features getting sterner. Irulan knew she could open her mouth and explain now, but she still could not find her voice. Tim tilted his head, his jaw moving.

The same smirk flickered over his lips, and Paul tilted his head back at him. Tim marched, scoffing—his hand pulling into a fist.

Paul did not even move. Irulan opened her mouth to shout No!, but before she could do so, Tim pounced on him and punched the Emperor of the Universe right across his face.

Irulan screamed, her hands flying over her mouth, her eyes widening even further as Paul fell back, knocked out, but before he lost consciousness, Irulan could swear she had seen him smile again.

The rest passed through a confounded haze after that, Irulan followed them as Leo shoulder Pau’s slim but toned figure. There was nothing on his simple robes and tunic jacket that would disclose his real personality, no imperial crest or any other decoration, Irulan registered as they all trekked back inside. Rogue and Tim were still silent. Amy looked at her scared yet curious behind the gate, rushing to her side. Rogue sent her away, and Irulan also saw one of Madame Mary’s girls inside the perimeters. All the curious onlookers were staring at them in the same way, understanding that their leader had taken someone…captive.

Irulan registered it better when they brought Paul inside Rogue’s bungalow and secured him against the beam that shouldered the whole structure, his hands bound tightly against his back. Tim knelt in front of his legs as Paul stayed unconscious, binding his ankles together. It was then Irulan also registered that Paul had not activated his shield although he was carrying it on his wrist. Irulan never wore hers when she came here, afraid they would see the pricey protective gadget that kitchen maids could not afford.

Tim tilted his head to give her a look as he noticed the shield device on Paul’s wrist, revealing it with the tip of his knife as Rogue took Paul’s slip-tip from his other wrist and then loosened his crysknife from his back. The teenage girl looked at Irulan.

“That’s a Fremen blade—” she stated, swirling the blade in its scabbard. Her own blade had disappeared inside her wrist and she was holding Paul’s blades now. “A Fremen blade with the Fremen devil eyes.” Her dark eyes found Irulan’s, direct and inquisitive.

Irulan saved from an answer as Paul started to stir and come around. She let out a silent breath as Paul opened his eyes, growing his awareness and his eyes quickly fixated on her as if he was not surprised at all. He was in bounds, taken captive by the street kids, and Irulan was standing in front of him with simple clothes stolen from the fishermen's cottages with her loose wet hair that flowed down on her back, and he still looked so impassive and unaffected that Irulan felt her lips flatten.

Tim and Rogue’s eyes flitted between them as they stared at each other silently, both not making a single sound.

“Does anyone want to explain what’s happening here to us?” Tim finally asked, breaking the tense silence in the room.

Paul tilted his head and continued to stare at her as his mouth opened. Fear filled her chest and clogged her throat as he asked, “Would you like to do it, wife of mine?”

Chapter Text

Three days ago

Her blue-within-blue eyes alight with her fury, the look of betrayal and hurt shadowing her face, his beloved was staring at him. “Chani, beloved—” Paul raised his hand but she pointed back at him, cutting him off.

“Does she haunt your dreams now?” she asked, her anger catching her voice, blue-spirited eyes accusing with everything Paul could not tell her. “Have you missed your wife that much, Muad’Dib, that you scream her name in your sleep?”

 Accusatory question sharpened his eyes, the image of Irulan throwing her off the cliff, the way Paul was trying to catch her but couldn’t manage. “I saw her jumping off the highest cliff of the Keep,” he clipped and watched his beloved as Chani paused, taken aback by what Paul had disclosed. “She was trying to kill herself.”

There was another pause and the anger slowly left her as she slumped back on the edge between the blankets. She covered her nakedness as Paul still watched her before she inquired with a smaller voice, “Was it a vision?”

Paul nodded a brief yet firm confirmation. “Is she going to kill herself?” Chani asked in a whisper, her voice having doubt and suspicion. Paul had confirmed it, yet Chani still took it with a grain of salt.

What his oracle saw was always open to interpretation, but Irulan was jumping off a cliff. Paul had seen it. His jaw clenched. “I saw it.”

“Why would she do it?” Chani inquired, her words now tinged with a derisive mocking. “You’re giving her what she’s always desired. Your heir.” The same accusing quality and betrayal entered both her voice and her gaze once more. “She prevented me from carrying your heir for years, and you first sent her on a summer excursion and now you’ll make her carry your heir.”

Paul decided to ignore the jab, looking away from her as he rested his back against the majestic headboard of their imperial bed. Chani had always hated this bed, hated every imperial surrounding them that did not fit in the desert no matter how much Paul tried to mingle them together to make her feel more at home. The Imperial Palace had never been her home. Just a station before she went back to the desert.

He had already had this fight after Chani learned the topic of his meeting with the Reverend Mother. She had accepted it in time because Paul had asked it from her once more, without giving her a good reason once more, sand absorbing the water, yet the mud had become murkier between them.

“Why would she want to kill herself?” she prompted further, her derisive mocking getting heavier. “She must be the happiest.”

“I’m asking her to breed for me like an animal, Chani,” Paul finally spoke, returning his gaze to her, his voice slow but deliberate. “How would you feel if I did it?”

“You know I always do what you ask, Usul, regardless of how I’d feel,” she clipped, her vocals getting sterner, something new coming to it. The accusing returned to her gaze, but it was too darker now. “Your wife has always defied you, and now she’s haunting your dreams.”

Paul moved his jaw, not liking where this conversation was leading to. “You advised me I should let her carry my heir,” he reminded her.

“I let that because she was preventing me from carrying your heir, Usul,” she reminded him back again. “Does that really mean so little to you?”

The words came to the tip of his tongue, the visions of the future that awaited them, the bleak future that clung to him like a succubus, never leaving. Paul opened his mouth and told his beloved his silence gave her his consent, that she would only do it because Paul had allowed it, and she only did it too because he caused it with his decisions. He would have prevented it, yet he had chosen to stay inactive.

All your powers, all your intelligence, all your beauty, and yet you still do nothing!

His clenched jaw moved, his teeth gritting. It was too late. His seed was in her, conceiving his daughter, his sperm mating with her ovum. The procreation was on the horizon, and it was too late to return. This was the fate that had been chosen for him. Chani’s fate was beyond his reach now, beyond his powers, and Irulan was teetering on an edge of his own doing. Paul could not let her fall.

“You also thought it was the best idea to bind her loyalty to me,” Paul said at last, voice placid yet still firm, “I’ll still need her, Chani.”

“For what?” Chani snapped, her voice developing a defying note that was unfamiliar to her. Chani had been always spiteful; they had always had fights—especially about his wife but Irulan’s defiance was also affecting her. More than Chani was admitting. “For what designs did Muad’Dib choose her?” She shook her head. “You still don’t tell me everything, Usul.”

Paul tried to reach her hand, but she took it back from his grasp. “Chani, beloved, I told you. An heir from Irulan will keep our daughter safe.”

Her eyes widened in shock, for Paul was revealing it for the first time. Their daughter. “Did you see it?” she blew out. “I’ll give you a girl?”

Paul nodded his confirmation, “Yes, my love. A girl that looks like you.”

She swallowed, her hand creeping over her stomach over the blankets, and then her face got clouded with another concern. “And Irulan will give you a boy?” she asked.

“I did not ask for it,” Paul admitted. “But she will. Neither her ambitions nor the Bene Gesserit would let her do otherwise.” Although his conviction was certain, there was a shadow that lay over his heart, his wife teetering over the edge.

Paul saw her on the couch with the Professor again shrouded by the shadows, bedding a man who was not bound to her. She was walking in the darkened streets purposefully with the children he had seen in his visions, questioning a man whimpering between her feet. Her feral appearance blinked in his mind’s eyes, asking him if Paul had known about the Tupile, and then standing on the cliff. His awareness tried to catch her but every time, Paul tried, she slipped from his oracle.

 “Then what if I also bear you a son, Usul?” Chani asked, cutting through his awareness and the thoughts of his wife, “What will happen then?”

Grief seared his heart again, but Paul still could not tell her. “You won’t,” he only could say. “You won’t give me another son, beloved. This is the last time you’ll carry my child.”

Her eyes widened again but they were glinting with tears. “Did she make me incapable of giving you more children?” she asked, hurt and angry, and she was giving her tears now in her mourning. Paul felt the piercing sear deepen in his heart, but he shook his head.

“Irulan did not cause this, beloved.” I did, he added inwardly, grief swallowing him. I’m so sorry, beloved.

“Then what will happen to us, Usul?” she asked, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Your promise…will you still keep it?”

His head snapped at her, his grief dispersing with the questioning. “Have I not proven my word to you over the years, Chani?” he asked, his solemn oath swirling in his mind.

Yet that princess shall have no more of me than my name. No child of mine nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire.

The way the Professor touched her came at him--Nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire. She moaned… I'd be silly to feel otherwise under the circumstances…

Chani gave him a look. “Things are not the same now, Usul. And you’ve already found a loop in your oath to break it,” she challenged him. “To give her your child.”

“I’m not bedding her!” he refused, his voice rising.

“Not yet,” Chani replied, her chin raising, her eyes were now dry. “You’re not the same since she left, either, Usul.” There was no softness in her voice, only the sternness of the desert. “Do you miss her?”

The question caught him unaware, the directness and simpleness of it. Do you miss her?

Irulan’s presence in his life… Paul had accepted it twelve years ago before making his decision and making his promise to Chani. He had taken her as his wife that day because it was a political thing and they must have welded peace out of it and enlisted the Great Houses of the Landsraad. He had obeyed the forms. They had always known it, Irulan the most.

Yet she had been always a part of his life too—a constant part of his life, always there.

Let us not play these silly games, his words came back to him when she had called herself his wife in a whisper. You play a part, no more. We both know who my wife is.

And I am a convenience, nothing more.

I have no wish to be cruel to you.

Do you miss her, Chani asked again in his mind as Irulan looked at him with contempt and disappointment. I despise you.

Paul heaved out a deep breath, Chani’s eyes still on him, waiting for his answer. “We both never thought a child would have solved anything with her, Chani,” he reminded her and repeated. “Only a fool would think that.”

And she answered the same, “I’m still not a fool, Usul.” The last time she had called him my love, Paul recognized. “And you’re avoiding me. Do you miss her?” the question came again, insistent and demanding, as relentless as the desert. Sand could absorb the water, but Chani was also the willow that bore the storm. She could bend but she would never yield.

“My powers are slipping,” Paul confessed. “Irulan has been always my link. She’s always stayed at the center of many intrigues. Without her, I’m also slipping.” The admittance would have cost him greatly but Paul felt—relieved. Saying it aloud. “Tupile was a scam. Irulan was trying to warn me something was off, but I didn’t listen to her. No one of us did. Now, she uncovered it. She uncovered what I should have done. That was my responsibility. There’re shadows that cloud my prescience.”

Chani laughed, humorless. “So you do miss her,” she replied.

Anger possessed him. “You’re putting words into my mouth!”

She stayed unaffected and made that sound again that didn’t sound like a true laugh. “Your mouth does not speak at all, Muad’Dib. Do you think I’m a fool who also cannot see it? Perhaps your powers are missing you because you’re not the same man you used to be.”

His anger died, his heart heavy with twelve years, “No one of us is the same.”

“And that’s what I’ve been trying to say,” she replied, her blue-spirited eyes staring at him openly, still demanding. “Will you take her into your bed?”

“I will not break my promise.”

She leaped from the bed, shaking her head as she gave him the same answer twelve years ago when Paul had made his promise to her before wedding his wife.

“So you say now.”

The news came to him during the day that she had left the city for the Sietch.

Paul did not follow.

*

“She says she’s not available, Paul,” his mother told him later in the day when Paul called, demanding her presence and she was refusing him. She was teetering on a cliff, and she was still defying him. Both women in his life were slipping away from him further and further these days.

“Is she in the Keep?” he asked to confirm and his mother also nodded.

“Keep her there,” Paul ordered. “She’s not to leave the grounds without my permission.”

*

The next day, Chani did not return. Paul called again and Irulan refused to see him again.

“Is she in the house?” Paul asked once more, making sure she was safe and guarded.

Lady Jessica nodded her confirmation again. “Yes. She’s not left her chambers since the morning.”

Paul tilted his head back, reaching to the console to turn off the connection just as his mother asked, “Paul—” her voice came with hesitancy as if she was weighing the words. “Is everything all right? Have you seen something?”

Paul stared at his mother, her blue eyes with spice, her disconcerting tattoos, and the white touched her copper hair. The Reverend Mother in pension. Leaving Arrakis twelve years ago and never returning.

He jerked his head. “Get me Gurney, Mother.”

Her face clouded for a split second, the Bene Gesserit displaying her emotion—worry and sorrow crossing her features before it quickly dimmed and disappeared into the Sisterhood’s practiced placidity. “As you wish.”

“My liege—” His former Warmaster greeted him, glancing at the ghola that wore Duncan’s face before it returned to Paul. Gurney’s unease was still clear with the Tleilaxu gift. “I’ve been digging the Reapers as you’ve commanded.”

“What did you find out?” Paul demanded, her back straightening rigid.

“You’ve been right, my lord,” Gurney replied in reverence. He was not one of Muad’Dib’s fanatics but he carried the same faith they had for the Atreides Emperor.

“They’re shipping more men to Caladan. There’s a rumor in the streets.” He faltered for a second, looking at Paul. “About a rogue Bene Gesserit.”

Paul halted, his breath catching. “A rogue Bene Gesserit.”

Gurney nodded. “Yes. They say she’s the one who uncovered the Tupile’s scam.” Paul sucked in a sharp breath, swallowing down a curse. “They’re looking for her.”

His prescience was still clouded, and this time Paul suspected the Guild’s involvement too, shielding his oracle. Oracles were blind to each other. Paul had no doubts about whom they were looking for. The Rogue Bene Gesserit. If they also knew about her—

Paul almost shuddered, fear alight in him. Irulan…why are you always this difficult? “Gurney, don’t you ever let her leave the Keep,” he spoke aloud, his order certain and his conviction absolute. “They’re looking for her.”

One of the strongest and meanest criminal organizations of the Imperium was looking for her, and Paul—Paul was going to take her hide when he saw her! He thought of leaving right away to find her but the Reverend Mother was going to arrive soon. Paul still didn’t need to wait.

“Has that man ever tried to connect her?” he asked further, trying to keep his voice as aloof and indifferent as possible, and although he did not mention his name or his title, Gurney quickly understood.

“No, my lord.”

“Has she tried?”

Gurney shook his head and repeated. “No, my lord.”

Well, that was at least no less thing to worry about. Irulan was listening to him. She wasn’t trying to connect with her lover.

The sight of her standing off a cliff came back at her—and Paul halted, a new thought rising in his awareness, something sharp cutting him. Would she try to take her own life because Paul had forbidden it? Because he wasn’t allowing it anymore?

Did she care about this man that much?

His ban did despair her that much?

Did she love him?

Irulan loving someone sincerely…it did not fit. His ambivalent feelings clouded his mind eye further, shrouding him with doubts and uncertainty. Do you miss her, Chani asked through the turmoil in him, and his jaw clenched.

The next day, he called her again, and she refused once more.

And, Paul made up his mind. He could wait no longer.

“Ready my heighliner at once and connect the Guild’s ambassador, Stil,” he ordered his Naib. “I’m going to Caladan.” He returned to the ghola. “Have you missed home, Hayt?”

Because Paul did, had missed home. And he also missed his wife.

The thought of asking Chani to accompany her came to him—finally to show her the seas of his home, and briefly wondered why they hadn’t done it before.

You’re not the same man you used to be.

No one of us is.

Paul left Arrakis alone.

This was between him and Irulan now.

Paul closed his eyes, letting his awareness flow—his oracle adopting the essence of the Timefish. He found Irulan on the edge of the cliff once more, shedding off her robes and slippers, but his vision was clear now, no shadows clouding his mind eye.

And then Paul knew just as he looked at her face, staring at the below sea, the caldera with boiling waters, her gaze measuring and watchful, calculative. Paul almost laughed in his chambers of the Imperial heighliner, chuckling silently.

She was not taking her life.

Of course not.

That was not the Corrino way. Not the ever-defiant Princess Paul had wed.

She was trying to calculate if she would find an escape route because Paul was not letting her leave the Keep’s perimeters. His chuckle got smothered in his throat, clogging in his throat.

To find a way to see her lover.

She jumped without hesitation, sleek and graceful. The waters of his home surrounded her and Irulan yielded without defiance this time, letting the current carry her into the sea caves beneath his Keep.

The way she uncovered his home’s secrets in a few months made him respect her intellect begrudgingly once again, her natural talent for plots that had caused him many headaches.

For years, she had managed to drug Chani with contraceptives under all the watchful eyes that followed her every step. She had managed to take control of the court at her beck and call over the years so diligently and patiently that Paul had hardly even needed to cover her tracks. Plotting was natural to her as writing her stupid histories.

That's a real princess down the hall. She was raised in all the nasty intrigues of an Imperial Court. Plotting is as natural to her as writing her stupid histories! That woman has many plots -- plots within plots.

His own words about her taunted him, how accurate he had been. Give into one of her ambitions and you could advance another of them.

“What plots are you advancing now, Princess-wife? What do you aim?” Paul murmured to himself as he pulled out of his awareness and focused on the time-space fabric that was moving around them in the spaceship, but in his mind's eye, he only saw her with the Professor on the damned couch.

*

When he arrived, he found his home planet unchanged and changed at the same time, much like him. And much like his home was buzzing.

His mother was staring at him with the Sisterhood’s placidness and poise in the drawing room, her face and tattoos open, but Paul could sense the tension vibrating underneath her like a heartbeat. She had received his news, and she was displeased.

Paul didn’t give a damn. The air in the drawing room crackled with the same tension. He looked at Gurney. “I told you she was not to leave the Keep, Gurney,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“You don’t know how she is when she puts something on her mind, Paul,” his mother cut in between them and Paul fixated his look on her.

“I know how my wife is, Mother,” he clipped. “You’ve only known for two months,” he reminded her, his voice pointed. “I’m married to her for twelve years.”

Her jaw tensed and clenched but she didn’t reply, stayed silent. Paul glanced at the Reverend Mother. “Did you speak to her about my offer?” he questioned, although there was a part of him that already knew the answer.

“Yes,” the old crone confirmed. “She declined, of course, but I managed to…persuade her to accept to talk to you in person about it.” Paul looked daggers at her, the word choice lashing further at his temper.

The Reverend Mother read it from his disposition and quickly assured almost as if he sensed Paul was not to mess up with at the moment. “I followed your orders. She’s unhurt.”

Paul gave her another stern but quiet look and started to leave the room to look for her. She must have escaped through the sea caves like Paul had seen her. If he hurried, he would catch her. He turned aside to make his way out but the Reverend Mother’s voice stopped him.

“Did you see her response?” she questioned. “Is it why you’ve come?”

Because no one of you can deal with her, he answered inwardly, but outward, he said nothing.

The cliffs of his home looked unchanged again, wind whipping at his face as he climbed, finding the spot from his vision-memory. It had been fifteen years now. He had left his home as a teenage boy who did not know his place in the world and returned as an Emperor who had found it and then lost it again.

I used to think you would make a difference. Everywhere I turned in the last twelve years, I witnessed your power. Everywhere around me were your powers or your fanatics, shaping the universe at your will. But it wasn’t real.

This was real now—the course of their life. His visions blinked in the edge of his perception and through it—ahead of him, Paul finally saw her after two months.

Just like in his vision-dream, she was standing tall on the edge, shedding off her robes and slippers, preparing to jump. Then her back straightened as if she noticed his gaze on her. Paul quickly jerked away, covering himself at the corner of a boulder. She glanced back over her shoulder, sharp green eyes peering, wandering—searching.

The thought came at him unbidden, without warning. She looked more beautiful than his visions. More…real. Her loose blond hair lifted in the wind of his home wind, free. Irulan usually wore her hair this loose, letting fall over her back without interference. Even that told Paul now how much she had changed since she left Arrakis, another thing he had missed in his prescience.

His eyes took the sight of her in full, her slender, slim form, certain and deliberate, but there was a hurry in her movements. Haste. The Reverend Mother had informed her he wanted her to carry his child, and the first thing she did was to look for her lover.

The Reverend Mother had disclosed she had asked him to come and see her in the end, but the notion still clenched his jaw and flattened his lips into a grimace. Was she going to ask her lover’s permission to carry his child? If they were still together, if that man was still touching her, Paul was going to give him the desert!

He had kept his word and had not touched him because of his promise, but if they had done it—if they had given him horns even after Paul had banned it, he was not going to be merciful. He still didn’t wish to be cruel to her, but she was not going to bed with another man anymore.

Will you take her into your bed? Chani’s question came back to him and Paul shoved it away,

When she was done with her robes, she jumped into the waters gracefully with no hesitation. Her great urge to see her lover did not even let her have a simple second of hesitation to jump from a cliff.

His clenched jaw moved and Paul left his cover and started to stalk toward the cliff’s edge. The waves surrounded her and carried her away. There was no haste in her this time, she was letting the flow of the current and the buoyance swim her, her agile, deft body surrounding.

When she disappeared into the sea caves under the cliffs, Paul gazed down at the waters and then jumped without hesitation, either. When the flow carried her into the dark caves, Paul realized he had underestimated her again, the things she could do when she put her mind to it.

Corrino willpower, daunting and relentless. The same fierce determination that had given them a throne ten thousand years ago before Paul had taken it away. There was a part of him that even understood at that moment as he passed through the dark, cold caves why the Sisterhood so desired to mix their bloodlines, Corrino and Atreides, the heroes of the past Jihad before his.

When he came out from the caves, Paul picked her distinctive form over a fisherman’s cottage ahead of the shore. And she was naked, her elegant yet wet blue dress pooling over her feet, and she was even shedding off her undergarment, and for the first time in twelve years, Paul truly saw the woman he had wed as naked as the day she was born.

He willed his eyes away, not to stare at her wet glinting naked form under the Caladan sun, it was wrong for him to look at her this way—his oath—

No child of mine nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire.

He should look away but he found himself not being able to as if he was ensnared in a trap. The curves of her body took his glance captive, the way seawater slid down her skin, her wet hair clinging to her spine. The softness of her curves and thighs and the firmness of her buttocks and calves.

No instant of desire…Paul murmured as he steeled himself away from the clutches of forbidden desire. The throaty way she moaned and gasped in throes of passion under another man haunted him as well, mixing with the naked sight of her in front of him in the distance and Paul shoved it away, too.

The traps of manhood—Paul had managed to resist it many times, and he would continue to. This wasn’t the first time he was tested with desire—Irulan was a beautiful woman, her beauty genetically engineered with careful breeding over centuries like how the Sisterhood had engineered him. Her beauty was almost unprecedented and unapproachable, the effect she also crafted even further to cast a divine unattainable quality in it, making her inaccessible to everyone but—him.

Many times in the last twelve years she had appeared in his chambers when he was alone to show that unapproachable aloof beauty was also accessible to him, giving a hint of what else she could offer him other than her throne and her calculative mind and her intrigues.

It had been always easy to deny her in those times, her beauty, as unprecedented as it was, was also a shield, an armor she wielded to protect herself when she didn’t wear it to fool as her façade. Paul had never been fooled, but her naked wet figure now missed that guarded quality.

With a grudge, Paul noticed it was close to the woman Paul had witnessed with another man on a damned couch, and it angered Paul.

It angered him so much that he almost shouted at her, drawing her attention to him at the shore and letting her see him. Letting her know he had found her. Letting her know she could not fool him.

She could fool everyone, but not him.

He opened his mouth, then snapped it close—noticing something else—the same haste in her fluid motions, no awkwardness or unfamiliarity. She took a dress from the cottage’s backyard and quickly passed it over her wet body, letting her wet hair still loose to dry. She found boots and slipped them on, and her motions were so familiar and fluid that Paul quickly realized it wasn’t the first time.

Paul had not seen the future in his vision but had seen the past. There was no hesitance or doubt in her because she had done this before. She had escaped to find her lover before.

She had truly given him horns.

The truth blinded him with anger, fury possessing him with complete shock. There was a part of him that felt so shocked that Irulan had already done this, Paul only watched her as she purposely strode to a fig tree in the yard and picked figs.

Paul blinked.

Figs?

Did she even carry gifts for her lover now? An image of her appeared in his mind, the way Chani gave him fruit in his arms after they had worn out themselves, their sweaty bodies entwined. The image showed him Irulan this time with her dear Professor, feeding the older man figs with her own hand, their sweaty naked bodies entwined.

His hands pulled into fists and he opened his mouth but Irulan had already started to head toward the woodlands beyond the shore.

With a guttural growl, Paul followed, his anger winding.

The trees surrounded them as she headed East, but she was keeping a linear path, not diving further into the woods to cross the forest to reach the edges of the city. She traipsed with the same purposeful haste, no hesitant or pause. She quickened her pace as she dived a bit further away from the shore, but the sea was still to their left, the seabird circling above their heads although they were surrounded by the trees.

Irulan kept walking.

A seabird dived toward him, circling above the sky.

Paul stopped, the familiarity of the moment catching up with him, his anger suddenly fading.

The vision hit him as Paul finally understood where his wife was going. The Professor lived in the city, but Irulan was not going to see him.

Paul continued to follow her. He knew now where she was going.

Irulan paused for a fraction, sensing him again behind her. Paul hid himself again quickly behind a tree this time, spying on her covertly as she glanced back. She continued when she saw nothing and soon the wooden gates of the ramshackle beach resort loomed ahead of him on the horizon.

The oracle of his visions linked to the fabric of reality, allowing him to see.

The shadows stirred above his head in the trees and Irulan jumped before she knocked on the door as the teenage boy Paul had seen in his visions finally appeared beside her too.

The boy truly looked like an Atreides. “PAUL?” Irulan cried out, her green eyes widened in shock.

Paul almost smirked.

“Do you know him?” the boy asked as the other children surrounded them, and Paul looked at his wife. Her shock gave him a smug pleasure he tried to contain, waiting for her to answer although he knew what her answer would be. He waited to hear it.

Yet, his wife still could not say it aloud. “Who is he?” the wavy-haired girl Paul had seen too before came beside her, repeating the answer.

Paul saw the tremor that passed over her, his eyes still staring at her, waiting for her answer.

She swallowed, her eyes could not leave him, either. “H-he’s my husband,” she finally whispered.

And, Paul smiled a little, the words pleasing him more than they were supposed to.

The boy and the girl looked at each other, not understanding what was happening. Paul understood them this time. He could not understand it either, even with his powers, but soon he was going to.

The girl gave the boy another look, and he tilted his head. Paul swept his look at him, trying to see what lay beyond. He was shrouded in a similar way when Paul tried to look at Alia. Oracles were blind to one another; he passed in his mind. The Atreides blood was powerful in the boy.

Paul smirked, tilting his head back at him. Perhaps this was also…fate, he reckoned, his wife finding this Atreides boy in her exile and then making Paul find him.

With a growl, getting angered with his smirk, the boy pounced on him. Paul did not even react before his fist collided with his jaw, Irulan staring at them, astonished, her hands flying over her mouth.

Before he lost consciousness, Paul smirked, pleased.

*

When he came around, they circled him inside a wooden bungalow, his hands tied behind his back and his legs the same. His bounds were tight, the knots expertly done. Paul registered the lack of his knives at the second breath, and the corner of his mouth was bleeding thin.

The girl and the boy were flanking Irulan who was still staring down at Paul with the same astonished disposition, shock and wariness mixed with trepidation. Paul lifted his head and held her stare.

The girl and the Atreides boy’s eyes flicked between them. “Does anyone want to explain what’s happening here to us?” the boy asked.

His eyes never wavered from her as Paul replied, “Would you like to do it, wife of mine?”

His wife swallowed, her green eyes still trained on him but she did not respond. Paul waited for her answer like the other two but the girl turned to her when she realized Irulan wasn’t going to speak.

“Is he the one you’re running away from?” she asked, handing her the crysknife she had taken from him.

Paul tilted his head, intrigued by the question further. The details still missed him but became sure that they didn’t know her for true. And they thought she was hiding from something. Someone. Paul wondered what she had told them, how she had explained herself and her abilities, and the way they protected suggested closeness that Paul had not seen in his visions.

So, Paul was not surprised the girl started to pounce toward him, the butterfly knife appearing in her hand once more, flicking open when Irulan stayed silent, words still failing her, her mind reeling from his presence. Everything concerning this moment was shrouded in mysteries, but another thought suddenly occurred to him as he regarded his wife once more, his eyes wandering over her.

Was it the place she was seeing her Professor secretly? Had she come here to see her lover? By the look of things and from the man’s absence, Paul could say it was not, but the curiosity still lingered in him.

“What kind of a husband would stalk his wife secretly?” the girl asked as she rounded him and stopped just behind his back. Paul stayed silent against the provocation, looking staring at his wife. A man who believes his wife is giving him horns came to the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it, staring at Irulan. Her back went rigid as the girl behind her caught a handful of his hair in a tight grip and yanked his head backward, baring his neck.

Irulan drew out a sharp breath as the violent girl leaned toward his ear, still clawing at his hair, her other hand was also holding her blade on his pulse.

“A nasty creep? A wife beater?” she whispered to his ear, but her eyes were trained on Irulan. “Shall we get rid of him, Princess?”

Her title surprised him more than the sharp blade pointing at his aorta, but the next second Paul realized the girl used her honorific as a moniker, not her formal title. The boy was still watching the scene impassive, not interrupting. Irulan still looked at a loss, her mind still reeling from what was happening, from his presence and how they were treating him.

The blade pressed on his vein an inch further. “No one would miss a wife-beater asshole.”

“Rogue!” she finally reacted when the blade nicked his skin, “Stop!”

Paul looked at her from his still reclined head by force as she shuddered a long, ragged breath out. “Leave him be.” A pause. “He’s never laid a finger on me.”

There was another tension after her declaration, their eyes finding each other. She stayed impassive as Paul held her look, the others also noticing the tension between them also they could not comprehend the true extent of her declaration. Only Paul could understand that.

He’s never laid a finger on me.

Nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire.

For twelve years, he had never touched his wife.

The girl she called Rogue glanced at the boy and released Paul only after seeing his nod. Paul straightened as Irulan turned to the boy.

“Tim…” she spoke, her voice still rasping, “May I stay alone with him?”

The boy—Tim—stayed hesitant, still not trusting Paul and Irulan added, her voice clearing to assure, “He won’t hurt me.”

The girl rounded him backward but stopped in front of her as the boy started to head toward the door to leave them alone as requested. Her dark eyes glanced at Paul with a sideway look as she handed her butterfly blade to Irulan.

“Just in case,” she said, her eyes fixated on Paul.

Irulan took it. Paul arched an eyebrow at her as the door closed on them and finally, he was alone with his wife.

“Do you know how to use it?” Paul asked.

In answer, she flicked her hand and the blade whirled in her fingers. “She taught me.”

“I see. What else they taught you, Princess?”

She gave him a look, and Paul held it. They stayed like that for a long second, their eyes glued on each other, and then she shook her head, her still moist hair swaying.

“What are you doing here, Paul?” she asked in a whisper. “Why are you even here?”

Paul stared at her, astonished. “I would’ve asked the same, Princess-wife!” he hissed back, his anger returning because he still couldn’t understand.

“What the Princess Consort of the Atreides Empire is doing here with these kids? Escaping from the Keep jumping from the cliffs and stealing dresses from the fishermen’s cottages? Did you come to see your Professor?” he fired. “Is this all a set-up to meet your lover? To give me horns again?”

His last question angered her, her face flushed thunderous, flaring. “What are you talk—”

A loud booming thud stopped her, cutting her off as Paul stared at the little form of a child as she rolled down from the chimney across the room and landed in the small hearth in the cabin.

Irulan spun on her heel, her eyes widened, and fixated on the same girl. Blood hair looking like a bird nest. Paul recognized her from his visions at first glance.

“Amy?!” Irulan cried out and Paul heard the real concern in her voice as she rushed to her side to help her out of the hearth. “Are you okay?”

“Ru!!!” the small child shouted energetically, holding her hand as Irulan took her out, grinning from ear to ear.

“Are you a real Princess?” the small girl asked in wonder, eyes widened in astonishment and his wife cast off to a stone.

Chapter Text

“Are you a real Princess?” Amy gasped in wonder and excitement, her eyes widened in her delighted amazement, and once more on the same day, Irulan felt the rug under her feet pulled. She stared at the small girl covered now with cold ash from the hearth, not knowing what to say.

On the same very day, Irulan had seen her former teacher, had been confronted with an offer that had completely pulled the rug under her feet, offering her what her heart had desired so many years in the most animalistic way, then she had been also confronted with the source of the humiliating offer that somehow had stalked her to the Pit, quickly assuming Irulan was escaping from his home to meet her lover. Assuming Irulan wanted to cheat on him for true. She had no idea how Paul had come to believe that, or how he had found her—but here they were now.

Facing a little girl who had literally dropped into their argument, falling from the roof, learning the truth about her. The naked unfiltered truth about her. A scare caught her heart even heavier than when she had seen Tim punching Paul.

Amy heard Paul calling her the Princess Consort of the Atreides Empire. Her amazed mind couldn’t understand what that meant in detail, had only focused on Irulan being a real Princess. Her breath shuddered, her hands started to tremble, and tears prickled inside her eyes.

Everything was falling apart…everything she had built here—trying to build, it was falling apart. The Gang was going to learn who Irulan was truly now, and they would refuse to see her again. She was going to be cast out again. Unwanted.

Anger hit her as she glanced sideways at the source of her all misfortunes. He had come and ruined everything again! What she held dear…Whatever she held dear, he always came and ruined it! He had first taken away her permission to have a lover, assigning her a new task, and now this!

The bane of her existence was staring at Amy too, the moment also caught him surprised, and it angered Irulan further. I have no wish to be cruel to you.

Liar!

Everything he did brought her nothing but pain and humiliation!

“Do you have a real tiara, too?” Amy gasped, holding her skirts, her amazed expression alight with her delight, and Irulan stared down at her, nodding her head.

“Y-yes.”

“Can I see it?” she cried out, pulling her skirts now energetically, almost bouncing with her excitement, “Can I have it, Ru? Will you bring it to me?”

The lips and hands trembled more with tremors, her eyes hurting. “I-I can’t.” Amy’s giddy excitement damped at the moment her refusal came, Irulan denying her wish for the first time they met. Paul’s gaze became heavier as he watched them and Irulan ignored it as she knelt in front of her little friend and took her hands.

“Amy, sweetheart,” she started softly. “You can’t tell anyone I’m a real Princess, okay?” She paused, remembering their little...secret. “It has to be our secret again,” she whispered. “The others cannot know it yet.”

Her disappointment fading, Amy gasped giddy again despite Irulan’s attempts to keep their conversation between them. “We’ll have another secret!”

Sighing inwardly, noticing the way Paul’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, Irulan nodded. “Yes. I’ll tell Tim and Rogue…soon,” she went on. “But I need you to hide it for me until I do. Is it okay?”

Amy nodded with the energy, not bothered at all, enjoying their secrets. “Okay,” she bubbled out and glanced at Paul. “Is he a Prince, too?”

Behind her, Irulan heard a low chuckle.

With a snare, Irulan glanced at her husband who was still sitting poised against the wooden with his hands and legs tied despite there must have been ways for him to get out of his bonds, only watching her with Amy, amused. What he witnessed amused him again, his lips holding that smirk she wanted to tear off his face.

Irulan returned to her little friend, shaking her head. “No. He’s not a Prince,” she said, trying to find an explanation other than telling her he was an Emperor. “But he used to be a Duke.”

And it was really good that Paul’s new religion banned all the portraits and ego-likenesses that no one from the Gang would recognize him despite his distinctive eyes and other tells. The possibility that the Emperor of the Universe ending up in the Pit was so far-fetched that even Tim and Rogue couldn’t link the hints, despite her being a Bene Gesserit and Irulan had called him already called with his name.

Paul.

She wondered how long it would have taken them to figure it out, but her first priority was taking away Paul here…peacefully. And she wasn’t talking about the Gang letting him go.

“Why isn’t he a Prince now?” Amy asked, intrigued, and Irulan cut her off, revealing her gift to distract her.

“I brought you figs,” she said. “They’re very ripe.”

Figs were very tasty, but Amy pursed her lips. “Why don’t you bring chocolate cake anymore?” she asked even when she took the figs. Paul’s eyes were on them again, attentively watching. “Don’t you bake it in the castle’s kitchens?”

Gods! She was digging her grave herself! “We do,” she replied as Amy started to peel off a fig. “But I had to leave in a hurry. So I couldn’t prepare it. I’ll bring it the next time, all right?”

She bobbed her bird nest but Irulan took the fig in her dirty hands, shaking her head. With a gentle smile, she smoothed her hair and dusted off ash from her skin, clothes, and strands. “Go and wash your hands and face first. You’ve made a mess of yourself again.”

With another bob of her head, she wheezed out of the bungalow, rushing out to clean herself. Irulan stood up, peeled fig in her hand, Paul’s eyes trained on her. Without knowing what to do, she looked down at the fig and started to eat it.

Paul looked at her. Irulan swallowed over the last ripe bit and held his look. “Will you not hurt them, will you?” she asked in a whisper.

“If I wanted to hurt them, I would've already done it,” came the stiff but honest reply. “You know a couple of kids cannot take me captive unless I let it.”

“I know.”

“Untie me.”

It wasn’t a command with the Voice, but it was a command nevertheless.

With a long rasping sigh, Irulan headed toward him. She knelt beside him, flicked open the butterfly knife, and cut off the bounds over his legs first. Paul was still watching her silently, his intense blue gaze fixated on her. When she leaned forward to free his hands, their chests touched each other, for the first time in years. It was the first time they were this close after years. The ridiculousness of the situation filled tears in her eyes again, making her wish for her fury.

It was so much easier when she was angry with him.

She drew back when she cut off his hands’ ties and handed him her handkerchief to clean the small line of blood on his lips and throat.

“How did you meet with these kids?” he finally broke their tense silence when they both stayed where they were, but didn’t talk. Irulan settled on the floor in front of him, knowing she could not run away from him anymore and had to answer his inquiries. There was a part of her that still felt angry at him for what he had caused but anger wasn’t the solution. It had never been. Especially with Paul. Twelve years had also taught that to Irulan.

The Reverend Mother’s statement whirled in her mind although Irulan refused to listen to it. Your silent love wore off his defenses.

How angrily Paul had accused her of cheating on him a few moments ago also skated over her mind but she refused those foolish thoughts too. He was just trying to keep the gossip about her and the Professor because of his offer, nothing more. It would be silly of her to believe otherwise under their circumstances, too.

The timing of his arrival was still speculative, he could not come here because Irulan had asked the Reverend Mother for his presence, the timelines were not concurrent but Irulan did not entertain herself with foolish notions. Paul wasn’t here because he was jealous.

Soon, she was going to figure out the real reason too she was sure so she started as Paul cleaned the blood from his skin. “I met with Amy in the marketplace while I was touring. She was looking at the candies at a stall from afar and I noticed it.” She paused for a second and carefully chose her wording as his gaze fell on her heavily. “I gave her one. We became friends and then she brought me to the Pit.”

His eyebrow rose. “The Pit?”

She made a sound between her lips and tilted her head around. “They found this beach resort deserted and took it. They call it the Pit, and themselves the Gang of the Pit. Tim is their leader. He takes care of them. Street children. Orphans of our war.” She paused again, averting her eyes. “There are many on the streets.”

Paul was silent, then he asked slowly, “Why didn’t you tell them who you are?”

She gave him a look. “In case you've missed it, they’re not very friendly toward strangers.”

He let out a low snickering chuckle. “I haven’t missed.” He held her gaze, his spice-colored eyes intense and intrusive. “They call you Princess,” he stated. “What did you tell them about yourself?”

“I didn’t lie,” she confessed. “Although they’re not trained, they’re very smart, attentive and perceptive. They even understood I’m no commoner by the state of my hands. They could have realized if I lied, and I didn’t want to, either. So I told them the truth…without details.”

“Which is?” he inquired.

“That I’m a high born with her family fallen from grace, her father imprisoned by the Emperor himself, trying to make out in this world on her own.” His intense stare bore through her. “They know I live in the Keep. I told them I’m helping in the kitchens.”

Paul still stayed silent, his silence as heavy as his look, filled with the destiny he and her father had woven together. “They also know you’re a Bene Gesserit,” he remarked, firm.

It wasn’t a question yet Irulan still nodded her confirmation. “Yes. It was about Tupile. They also were trying to find Tupile. Rogue found a lead but Tim was having doubts about his legitimacy. Not about Tupile itself,” she quickly corrected as Paul continued to listen. “But about the man. They fought. The tension was heavy so I stepped in and told them I was a Bene Gesserit and could question the man.”

“Why?”

She paused and then answered truthfully, “I wanted to help. And I didn’t want them to walk into a trap or get robbed if it was indeed a scam.” She heaved out a sigh, shaking her head with bitterness. “Never once we thought the whole thing itself was the scam.”

Her words hung in the air, their eyes locking on each other again. “You were right. I should have seen it,” he murmured. “I should’ve listened to you when you tried to warn me.”

Irulan did not avert her eyes from nor she felt any pang in her chest for his admission of failure or any victory. “You should have.”

His eyes became sharper blue. “What happened to that man?” he asked. “Is he still alive?”

“No. He died,” she admitted and confessed. “I did it. I killed him.”

Clear open surprise colored his face and Irulan understood he didn’t expect that. “He was like an animal so I didn’t let him live like a human.” Her shoulders drew, her back straightening rigid. “Will you tell them the truth about me?”

“No. Not as long as you don't feel ready to face it.”

She held his look. “Do you require anything in return for your silence?”

His eyebrows immediately knitted into a frown. “Meaning?”

“You know what I mean,” she answered. “I wish to know how much this…boon will cost me. Whenever you bestow any kindness on me, you soon come to collect.”

“I’ve never been that cruel to you,” he clipped and she let out a low scoff in disdain.

“You bestowed your compassionate license on me,” she reminded him curtly, “but it expired as soon as you discovered a new way to use me. So don’t expect me to take your word on it, my lord husband.”

“That’s different.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Do you truly want to continue to see him?” he questioned, his voice growing thin and sharp.

“What I want has never concerned you before,” she clipped and shot back at him his own words. “So let us not play these silly games. You’ve never considered me as your wife. You just want me to whelp for you now to keep your beloved and her child safe.”

His clenched jaw moved as he nailed her on a look. “I would never blackmail you for it.”

“You blackmailed the Reverend Mother,” she pointed out curtly. “You told her you’d take her life if I didn’t accept your offer.”

He smirked. He actually had the atrocity to smirk at her. “She’s not my wife.”

“Neither I am,” she seethed out and shot his words back at his face once more. “We both know who your wife is. I just play a part.”

“Irulan—” he said, a warning edging his voice. “This’s not the place for this talk.” She gave him a seething look. He held it unaffected and got up from the floor. “Either way, you can’t continue this farce indefinitely. The word about you is out. The Reapers are looking for you. The rogue Bene Gesserit on the streets. Each day, they ship more men to look for you. You can’t stay here like this. I cannot allow that. It’s not safe.”

Another fright catching up on her, Irulan also jumped to her feet. “But if they know about me, that would lead them here to the Pit.”

Paul nodded, grave but affirmative. “I told Gurney to double the guards and check everyone who looks suspicious on the streets. I’ll initiate a defense circle around here too as soon as we get back. They’ll keep any assault away.”

She swallowed, glancing at him and wondering if he was doing this now because she had called him useless before. Either way, she wanted to thank him for…caring about his subjects this time at least, but her tongue felt too heavy to speak them aloud. She couldn’t even remember the last time she thanked him for anything.

“So that’s why you came?” she asked instead, wanting to learn more and he nodded his confirmation again. “You heard about the Reapers?”

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days, but you refused to answer my calls,” he replied, his irritation with her refusal evident now. “Gurney and my mother were telling you to stay in the Keep but you weren’t listening to them, either. When I realized you were foolishly slipping away, I had no alternative but to come. So that’s why I was following you.”

“You thought I was escaping from the Keep to see Professor Jackson?”

His expression was stern, but he didn’t deny it, either. “Yes. I didn’t like the cause, but I was more worried about the consequences.” Another steel entered into his words. “But mark my words, Princess Consort. I still have no wish to be cruel to you, but I can’t allow that anymore, either. I told you I would’ve been silly to feel otherwise under our circumstances but those circumstances have changed now. You also know it. We have new realities now.”

Her lips flattened. “So that means you would not allow me to see him again even if I don’t accept your offer.”

“I would not,” he confirmed, his tone as unapologetic as ever.

Her anger flared. “That’s blackmail!”

“Call it whatever you want,” he replied. Regardless of her anger, he was calm and poised. “You’re not giving me horns again, Princess-wife. And this’s the last time we’re having this discourse. That man is no longer allowed in your presence.”

“Paul?!” she cried out. “I’m helping him with his studies!”

“Then he should’ve known better than sleeping with his informant.” 

“You can’t—”

“This conversation is over,” he cut her off as Irulan stared at him wildly. “What will you tell them about me?” he asked, tilting his head outside calmly as the abrupt change of topic threw her off, but she could tell Paul meant it. Irulan wondered if he was ever going to mention Professor Jackson ever again, and he had also forbidden her to see him ever again.

She glowered at him, her anger making her hands curl into fists. “I’ll them the truth! That you’re an insufferable hypocrite and I wanted to stay away as far as possible from you!”

She spun on her heel after that not wanting for his comeback and marched to the door all in her fury, his eyes boring through her back but he didn’t stop her, either. In fact, when she left, he also followed her.

Rogue and Tim gazed at her when they saw Paul freed and stalking behind her. They started to head toward her. “Rogue,” she addressed the teenage girl. “Can you give him his blades? He promised me he’s not going to cause you any trouble.”

“Hmm…” the teenage girl hummed, her eyes sweeping over Paul as he stood rigid and placid. “Why would I take a creep’s word?”

Irulan closed her eyes momentarily. “Because I vouch for him,” she said, opening them and fixating her gaze on them. “Will you take my word for it?”

Rogue shared a glance with Tim who gave his okay. Only after that, Rogue finally gave them back. Paul pushed his unsheathed crysknife at his back again, his eyes still fixated on the teenagers. “How come you attained the Fremen’s devil eyes?”

“How come you attained an old Atreides propriety?” Paul challenged back as Irulan’s head also snapped at him. “This beach resort used to belong to the House Atreides.”

“Which is no more,” Rogue replied with a sharp smirk as Tim stayed silent. “Finder keepers.”

Paul’s glance cut over to him, but he still stayed silent. At that moment, Irulan also realized Paul had also noticed what she had, and why he couldn’t. How he couldn’t. Tim shared such a close resemblance to him that he must have picked it at first glance.

And the Pit…belonging to the House Atreides. Irulan had no idea.

“My husband is in the Imperial Army,” Irulan cut in, to ease off the tension and explain Paul’s devil-eyes. “He’s been in Arrakis for over a decade.”

“And you weren’t with him?”

“I was,” she admitted. “But I wasn’t exposed to spice as much as him. After my father’s fall from grace, we wed, but it’s a political matter, a marriage of convenience,” she spoke truthfully and his eyes were on her too, listening to her explanation, how she was going to explain their marriage. “We don’t stay together all the time.”

“Hmm,” Rogue hummed again, still not convinced, tilting her head at Paul. “That still doesn’t explain why he was following you like a creep.”

Irulan still let out a sharp breath and admitted, “I didn’t tell him I was helping you and he thought I was having an affair. He followed me because of it.”

Rogue laughed and turned to Paul. “If your marriage isn’t real, why would you care if she took a lover or not?”

“My marital status is not a public discourse, Rogue,” Paul said, voice serenely calm. “But you might be advised. I did not only follow her because of an affair. The Reapers are looking for her for what she did with the Tupile scheme and they also know you’re involved.”

“Paul has contacts in the Imperial Army,” Irulan quickly cut in, fear growing in her chest stronger and wider. “And they’ll protect the Pit. But you also need to be more careful, Tim. This’s no longer a simple street tug of war.”

“We don’t need protection from those Fremen-devils!” Rogue barked out, anger flaring in her voice. “We can take care of ourselves.”

“Rogue, these people are not mere street thugs, either,” she tried to negotiate with the fierce girl as Paul’s chin clenched. “If the Reapers are looking for revenge, they’ll not stop until they have it.”

“We’ll be okay,” Tim cut in and questioned, “Are you leaving? Or will you stay for the supper? Leo prepared his special stew.”

Irulan glanced at Paul, who shook his head. He leaned toward her ear and did something he had never done before. He lightly put his hand on the small of her back as he leaned toward her. It was barely there, barely touching her, and it seemed so casual in the spur of the moment that Irulan couldn’t even be sure if he was aware he did it.

The Reverend Mother’s words swirled in her mind as her heartbeat hastened, the gesture panicking and fearing her at the same time although his hand quickly dropped after the lightest contact.

“I need to talk with Gurney,” he spoke to her ear, voice placid and even, not affected at all. “We must return at once.”

Irulan steadied herself and tilted her head aside toward him. She knew it was the most logical course of action but she also felt an incredible guilt to leave the kids alone, especially knowing that Leo had prepared his special stew for her because she liked it.

“You go ahead and talk to him, I’ll stay for the supper,” she told him.

His heated eyes found her. “Have we not fought too many times in a single day, Irulan?” he hissed to her ear, his hand this time catching her wrist, touching her at full contact. “I’m too tired for another round. Can we go at it another time?”

“I’m not trying to pick a fight with you,” she replied, sincere. “Leo prepared that stew for me. It’s not good manners.”

“Fine,” He blew out a long dragged-out breath, closing his eyes as he let her wrist go. “Fine, Princess. Let’s eat your stew.”

She contained the smile that wanted to break over her lips but her tongue loosened as the others started to fan out away from them for the preparation. “Thank you.”

Alone with him, Irulan suddenly found herself holding her breath as his eyes found hers and his gaze lingered. He nodded after a second which felt like eons and slowly muttered, “I told you I have no wish to be cruel to you.”

A shiver trembled her, their eyes still lingering on each other. Then a whirling ball hit from her side with ribbons. “Ruuuuu!!! Can you plaid my hair?” Amy jumped on her, wrapping her arms around her thighs where she could only reach. “Rogue says it looks stupid again!”

The impromptu moment shook off the sudden tension between them as Paul lowly chuckled, his hand raising and stroking the bird nest of blonde hair caked with mud and twigs, and dusted with ash as Irulan flushed red. “This one is a spitfire,” he commented with his low chuckle.

“What’s a spitfire?” Amy asked, looking up at him from her thighs.

“It’s an old bombardment plane from House Atreides,” Paul answered as Irulan also laughed. “They won many battles with it.”

 “I’m a plane?!” Amy gasped.

“No, sweetheart, don’t listen to him,” she cut in, her arm wrapping around her shoulders and sending Paul a warning look. “You’re a sweet little lady.”

Paul chuckled again, and it was the strangest moment that had ever occurred between them. They both stopped at the same time and Irulan averted her eyes as he looked at her, his eyes having another intensity now looking at her and Amy. She quickly excused herself, dragging Amy along her hip, and settled in front of Rogue with her little girl to plaid her hair like they had done many times, but for the first time with her husband watching her. His eyes stayed glued on them as Irulan ignored his intense presence and untangled the bird nest hair and plaided it again with ribbons, Paul silently watching them from the other side as the others prepared the supper.

  When the sun settled, they surrounded the open fire for supper, settling with plates in their hands. Paul took her right side as Amy almost settled herself over her lap while they ate, his eyes always on her as Irulan tried to ignore his not-so-covert glances. The thoughts that might occupy his mind as he watched her with the small girl shortened her breath and Irulan did not want to speculate on it although his offer kept whirling in her mind despite her best efforts.

“My lady—” the unexpected call cut through her hectic thoughts like a blade and Irulan stared at the young girl who sat across her at the fire, holding her plate and looking at Irulan with reverence mixed with fear and awe. Irulan recognized her as one of the Madame girls, coming to visit them.

Then the girl continued to speak, “Madame was asking for your services tonight,” she spoke timidly and all her speculative thoughts left her as her back straightened. Paul’s head snapped at her too, open and inquisitive. “Will you come tonight?”

“Madame Mary caught two other creeps,” Rogue informed as Paul’s stare bore through her. Tim stayed silent as if he didn’t want to get into this this time.

“What’s happening?” Paul asked, voice demanding and developing an edge. “What services do they speak of?”

“There’s a serial killer on the streets targeting the prostitutes,” Rogue answered unaffected as Irulan dipped her head to her plate. “Madame Mary hired Ru’s services to question the men she suspected.” His hands stilled, Paul stared—and from his profile, Irulan saw how he had taken the news. “She couldn’t catch the bastard but she caught a rapist.”

The plate in his hands settled down on the ground with a loud, firm thud. Before he raised to his feet, his hand caught her wrist again, pulling her up, and he started to drag her back to Rogue’s bungalow without a word. Out of the corner of her eye, Irulan saw Rogue quickly jumping to her feet to follow them, but Tim pulled her down with a headshake, letting Paul carry her away.

He only dropped her wrist when they were both inside the cabin, and his face looked thunderous as if anger possessed him, blue eyes firing with a dark intensity.

“Irulan, tell me you didn’t do it!” he barked out, advancing on her as she took steps backward. “Tell me you didn’t go to a damned brothel to question potential serial killers and rapists!”

Irulan stopped her retreat, steeled herself, straightened her back, and stayed adamant. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and she was not going to cave in this time. She was not like his Chani. She didn’t play at his whims and didn’t dance at his strings. She didn’t play by his rules but made her own decisions. 

“I did,” she admitted serenely, collecting all her Bene Gesserit composure and training. “They required my services as you heard and I decided to put my abilities to use again for those who needed it. Like you also heard I caught a rapist.”

He looked surprised for a fraction, the emotion slipping from him, and then his look darkened again. “You decided.”

“Yes, Paul. I decided. I’m a trained Bene Gesserit if you’ve forgotten. I’m not a warrior like you or your beloved, but I’m quite capable of using my training. And I’m quite capable of making my own decisions.” She paused, bobbing her head as she made up her mind again. “In fact, I’ve decided to accept Madame's request again and go to question those men she caught.”

“Those scoundrels are beneath a Bene Gesserit’s attention,” he mocked her.

She glowered at him. “I decide what’s beneath my attention and what’s not, not you.”

“Irulan—”

She started to head to the door. “I’m going, Paul. And you’re not allowed to have a say in this.”

He caught her wrist again and stopped her despite her statement. “I beg to differ,” he clipped. “You’re my wife. That gives me all the allowance I need.”

“I’m not your wife, remember?” she repeated with a cutting derisive smile. “I just play a part. Now, let me go.”

He let out a sharp breath. “Irulan, I know you’re angry with me, but if you act like this, we will never find any common ground between us.”

She let out a croaked laugh, almost amused as she narrowed her eyes at him. “And what makes you think that I want to find any common ground with you? If you forget, allow me to remind you, too. I was conspiring for your demise three months ago. Do you still remember it, don’t you?”

She tried to break free from his grip but he still didn’t let her go. She gave him another look. “Do not fear, my lord husband. If something happens to me, there are still two of us for you to take as a convenient accessory. They will make do too.”

His blue-spirited gaze flared. “And you claimed you weren’t trying to pick a fight with me,” he murmured darkly. He nodded at her and tugged at her hand, dragging her back to the door. “All right then, let’s go.”

Her feet halted. “What?”

“We’re going to see your scoundrels, Princess-wife. Isn’t it what you wanted?”

“Will you come?”

“Aren’t you mad at me because I’m useless?”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him in suspicion. “What games are you planning now, Paul?”

“I play no games, Irulan,” he replied, voice even and simple. “You should’ve already understood it by now. Open your wrist,” he ordered as he raised his own and started to unroll the cuff of his own tunic to reveal his shield.

He unlatched it from himself quickly and grabbed her arm when Irulan didn’t offer it to him. The band of the shield wrapped around her wrist as he let go of his own protection for her because Irulan couldn’t come to the Pit with it, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I’m your husband and you’re my wife,” he remarked as his fingers encircled the shield he had wrapped around her and tightened, his gaze still holding hers, “Whether we like it or not.”

Chapter Text

The turbulence Irulan had created in his prescience must have clouded his abilities so much that even in his wildest vision-dreams Paul couldn’t have anticipated this moment, couldn’t have foreseen this. Going to a brothel to question some scoundrels with street kids.

Shrouded in her robes and cape, the hood covering her distinctive beauty and golden hair, Irulan was walking by his side in the darkened streets in the gutters of the city, yet there was no light shimmer of a shield around her. Paul had insisted that she would turn it on while they left the old Atreides compound, but Irulan had declined, pointing out that the telltale shimmer of the protective energy field would have drawn attention. Seeing the solid logic in her reasoning, Paul had to accept. These parts of the city weren’t any place people usually toured with the body shield.

The gutters of the city had spread out from the fringes of the city’s perimeters too, had made its way toward the city center like cancer spreading over a body. It was another proof that his home planet wasn’t the same as it used to be, despite his best efforts to leave it untouched by his holy war. Another reality—another failure on his part. His lips flattened as they rounded a dark corner, dipping his face to hide his soured expression. His face was hidden behind his hood, too, covering his distinctive devil-eyes as these kids called Eyes of Ibad.

 Irulan’s head shifted toward him as they walked as if she sensed his unease while they somberly walked in silence, glancing at him under her hood. The unrest gnawed at his chest further, seeing her doubtful look as if she still had qualms about doing this with him. As if he would have let her do it alone. He had even shocked himself by letting her do this at all.

He would have stopped her, wouldn’t have allowed her to leave despite her certain statements that Paul didn’t have a say in it. He did have a say in it. She was his wife, and he was her husband, whether they liked it or not. It made them responsible for each other. Paul wouldn’t have let go and endanger herself like this, but he had also quickly realized stopping her would have created more tension between them. He did not want that. He wanted to find a common ground with her. He needed it. Irulan must be in a…haze, feeling…repercussions of the last twelve years. Stopping her would have worsened her condition. Paul would not allow that, either.

Stopping a process, hindering a flow never worked.

So, here he was, following her to some brothel to question some scoundrels.

He tried to relax, counseling himself this wasn’t the first time he had done something familiar. He had fought with Chani side by side for long years, shoulder to shoulder like comrades. She had been always beside him during their warfare against the Harkonnen reign on Arrakis and later in the Battle of Arrakis against the Imperium, and his following Jihad. She had always accompanied him in the battleground, to the frontlines, charging with him behind and beyond. She still accompanied him whenever Paul visited his battalions. It was as easy as breathing for them to fight together, it had always been. What was unfamiliar was Irulan’s presence, not the situation.

It felt like Irulan took another place—a place that Paul had always reserved for Chani, as well, despite they had never even talked about it. It made him feel guilty once more as if he was breaking his promise another way, finding another loop as Chani had accused him of. The remnants of their fight echoed in the recesses of his mind, asking Paul if he was going to break his oath.

I will not break my promise.

So you say now.

Paul quickly shoved away the memory from his awareness, refusing to let it root further in his consciousness, yet anger also flamed in the bottom of his heart for the doubt and suspicion, despite Paul had kept his oath for twelve years after the first time she had spoken to him those words, despite how much hardship and tension it had caused in their personal life. Paul quenched the anger, too, remembering the cause of that doubt, his sorrow and grief entwining, the unrest in him growing.

Irulan glanced at him again as they approached the tall concrete building in the corner in the shadows, two men standing at guard by the entrance. There was no sign on the building, nothing to specify what kind of an establishment was inside past these walls. The concrete was grey and old, left to neglect, and his unrest flared to anger once more for different reasons. His wife in such a place without him!

She did not even hesitate as she stepped past the guards by the door to walk inside the building and lowered her hood. The interiors had a different aura than outside, it was no longer grey and old in neglect, but the halls were cast in the soft light of the globeglows, warm and amber, casting shifting shadows on the clean walls. Along the corridor, there were small chambers and lodges with only thick curtains of beads that offered privacy from the throes of passion and lust instead of doors.

Some of the rooms were already occupied, twisted naked bodies in the silk sheets behind the curtain of beads. Paul glimpsed at the bodies, his anger flaring like a volcano but Irulan didn’t even cast a glance. She was walking with her chin up, staring directly ahead. In front of the unoccupied chambers, there were girls too—barely clothed, inviting and enticing, offering themselves and waiting to…host their customers.

Paul did not look at them nor the sight of carnal desires that should have only been reserved for the lovers who were bound by their mingled spirits and love. The hand of a woman tried to touch him for a call, and Paul quickly twisted away, not letting the touch stain his self-ruh.

He pitied the women and even some men who offered the temple of their bodies in this demeaning way in exchange for credits and debts, but the safety of them still carried on his shoulders. They too were his subjects.

A raven-headed woman whose chest was covered with beads of a large necklace that circled her bosom and cleavage, her round breasts all open and nipples only covered with glinting stone cut off their way, but her eyes were trained solely on Irulan, no one else. Her shimmering skirts that showed off her legs shifted as she neared his wife closer and Paul quickly touched his slip-tip, wishing she had activated her shield. Though, his prescient sensed no danger, no alarm tingling in him.

The woman’s hands raised and caught Irulan’s in a sudden whirl, and she was raising them to her face, squeezing them tightly. “Find him, find him, my lady,” she whispered in a dark prayer. “He cut my friend open, gutted her like a pig. She was seventeen.”

They all froze, Irulan the most, and then her face became resolute, decisive. She nodded at the woman. “I will.” Her slim strong fingers caught hers and she squeezed back. “He won’t hurt any of you again. I won’t let it. I promise.”

 Paul watched her silently, the moment engraved into his gaze and his memory, the woman Paul had never seen before this close. A vision came at him unbidden, a path had never taken—Irulan Corrino sitting on the Golden Lion Throne, all clad in gold, shining under the Kaitain’s sun. The Empress of the Known Universe. A path he had taken away from her.

I’m a highborn with her family fallen from grace, her father imprisoned by the Emperor himself, trying to make out in this world on her own.

Paul had stayed silent in somber acceptance when she had declared herself a disgraced highborn surviving on her own with aloof but placid detachment, knowing the statement’s stark truthiness although it had hurt him. The Bene Gesserit had bred and groomed her to mate and serve an Emperor they had designed, but another way would have been possible if Paul hadn’t chosen the paths he had. His destiny had sealed their paths.

The gone-vision disappeared from his mind-eye as Irulan’s earlier accusing words replaced them…

You keep whining about your destiny, about the parts we’re playing, the roles that were supposedly assigned to us, but do you also want to know what I think about them? Pretty lies to make you feel better with the decisions you made.

Paul silenced them as they walked down the corridor until it opened up into a spacious airy hall filled with glinted, sensual furniture and warm, amber air that completed the sensuality of the environment. The ruler of the House quickly stood up from her plush seat as soon as they appeared in the doorway, flanking Irulan in their middle.

Madame Mary was a tall, middle-aged woman with white in her copper hair like his mother, standing proud but relieved upon seeing them. Her, most likely.

“My lady—” she called with respect and reverence, although Irulan didn’t use her highborn status with the children of the Pit, these women showed her the respect her status demanded.

The vast difference between them and the children she had befriended spoke in volumes again, the way they treated his wife, and his wife toward them. Never once Paul would have thought Irulan Corrino would have been that—unguarded and mellow, almost homey.

He remembered his surprise upon seeing the small girl, their bond deep in affection. The motherly affections Paul had always sensed in her was in the open unfiltered, and it was what had surprised Paul the most despite his institution and senses. Her agency as a Bene Gesserit and the heir of House Corrino had been always resolute to bear the heir for the imperial dynasty, a task, and duty she had wanted to play, but Paul had never let her until now. Now, for the first time, Paul had also seen how she would be a mother.

The mother of his child.

“Do you want an heir or a child, Princess?” Paul had asked her before she had broken and confessed her crimes the last time he had seen her before tonight, and Irulan had refused to answer him, telling him he would have given her neither.

Now, Paul had another wonder, another possibility that he had not thought of before. Even if Irulan hadn’t wanted to bear the heir for him as she claimed, she would want to carry a child for herself. Toward Paul, she was mostly the same, a spitfire shrew that challenged him whenever she got upset, proud and arrogant with a razor-sharp tongue, but something had changed in her. Paul had seen it clearly, without any shadows or doubt.

And that relieved and worried him at the same.

“My lady, thank you for accepting to come again,” the matron of the brothel spoke to her with the same respect. “My girls are getting more afraid. We all are.” She paused and cocked her head backward. “Come, this way. Let me show you what I caught.”

Two of her guards opened and pushed the library on the wall behind her, revealing a secret passage behind. Irulan wasn’t surprised, neither were the children, so they all started to head toward the secret passage that the woman was leading them.

The basement was dark and damp, moist of his home planet’s terrain becoming more evident. “Activate your shield,” Paul ordered in a whisper as the corridor they followed became darker and the air became heavier with humidity. It was also stale without fresh air and windows, and something alerted his senses. Beyond them, the air smelled sour and wicked.

Two men were sitting in a lump in a dark corner, chained to the wall.

His fingers touched his knife underneath the sash beneath his robes. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Rogue and Tim’s backs grow tenser as well, standing beside him. Irulan’s eyes turned sharper in emerald glint, gazing at the men.

“How did you catch them?” she questioned, twisting aside toward the matron.

“One we spied circling the house,” she answered.

Rogue scoffed. “A creep?” she asked in a low voice, glancing at Paul. “Tonight made a hell of lots of stalkers.”

Paul grimaced but did not react to the words. The teenage girl had a feisty streak, but she was protective. It was even a bit of fresh air after those who always scampered away from his sight.

“The Brothers questioned him but he denied,” the matron replied. “He claims he was just looking around, but we saw him checking out Leia many times since last month. Usually, we don’t react to…fans. Everyone now and then, a girl has an admirer, but we wonder if he’s more.”

Irulan nodded. “The other?”

“Well, that’s another story,” she said. “A…friend of us from the night watch found him checking the murder scenes. He brought it to us before taking him to their headquarters. We have until midnight. If we cannot prove something or can’t have a confession, I’ll give him back to our friend.”

Paul’s head whirled at her, surprised. “An Imperial guard gave him to you?”

The woman looked unaffected by his surprise as Irulan also glanced at him. “The Qizarate don’t like what we do,” she spoke placidly. “Our services offend them. To their eyes, we’re worse than heretics. Even with the proof, the Qizarate would set him free.”

“The murder is a violation and crime by the forms and Muad’Dib law.”

“Muad’Dib law is subjective and partial, and these days, Lady Justice’s eyes are wide open, her sight is skewed and biased,” she replied, clipped and dismissive before turning to Irulan. “My Lady.”

Paul grimaced but there was a part of him that knew he couldn’t decline. His law was not objective, and Qizarate was not fair while they enacted the law in his name. They even found Muad’Dib too soft and compassionate. Paul did not entertain himself with any foolish belief that they would feel any compassion for the people they perceived as worse than heretics. The old forms and the imperial institution had been constantly chipped away by the Brotherhood and his new religion in the last decade and his attempts to keep the monster he had created under leash had been as effective as trying to keep a sandworm under a leash.

In the end, Kobra had even conspired against him with the Guild and the Bene Gesserit. Paul had taken the man’s head after Irulan’s banishment although he had allowed the Tleilaxu gift, but the one he had replaced him was no different than Kobra. Only the names had been changed, not the purpose of the Brotherhood.

Irulan stepped ahead, and there was a shimmering light around her in the dark that eased off his heart. There was even a part of him that wanted to step in and question the men instead of her, something he had never felt this starkly with Chani again whenever she put herself in danger. Irulan was capable, but her abilities lay everywhere else. Such dangers still didn’t fit well with Paul when directed at the Princess Consort. Paul had also felt scared for Chani whenever she endangered herself, but the unease in his chest still felt different, unfamiliar.

Paul tried his best to stay unaffected, steeling his confounded emotions.

The first whimpered quickly under her scrutiny and close inspection, coming undone as he faced the intrusive sharp green eyes that bore through him. In a few moments, he confessed his love for Leia and his desire to make the young prostitute the mistress of his home.

“Leia wants him?” Irulan asked, shifting her attention to the patronage of the house, but the woman shook her shoulders in uncertainty. Irulan looked at the guards that accompanied Tim and Rogue. “Take him upstairs, and find Leia. If she wants it, he can take her. We can help them start anew somewhere else.”

She looked at Madame who nodded her approval after a moment of hesitation but wisely decided not to cross her with her decision. Paul did not cut in, either, let her lead the investigation and the verdict. If the girl agreed, they could help them start anew like she had assured. Paul didn’t mind. In fact, he liked it.

After Tim and Rogue carried the man out with the guards, Irulan returned her attention to the other man in chains. The unease pinged in his chest once more as she drew closer, squinting at the man who did not look at her back.

“Look at me,” she commanded in a certain, clear way, but her voice teetering on the edge of the Voice. “How do you feel about people selling their bodies?”

He stayed silent, and Irulan pressed, her vocal reaching through his defense and forcing. “Tell me.”

“They’re whores,” the man spat out with spitting at her feet. Paul almost reacted and stabbed him for the insult. For Fremen, giving body water was the ultimate respect, but in Caladan there was nothing more offensive.

“You hate them,” she stated, voice certain and unaffected, not even casting a look down at the spit.  “Why? They demean themselves. Why would you bother yourself with it?”

“Lord abhors fornication, lechery, and debauchery.”

“Lord also abhors violence,” she encountered the zealot. “Murder.”

“It’s decadence. They’re a disease, an infected wound, filth.”

“And thou shalt kill them where they stand?” she asked, her vocals getting more instructive and picking up his defenses and forcing him to admit. She was standing still, placid although Paul sensed the simmering anger beneath her cool façade as she restrained it. “Did you cleanse the filth?”

“I did not touch them.”

His Truthsense tingled all over his skin and Irulan’s fingers twitched. “You are lying.” Her vocals developed an edge with malice, something darker and oppressive. The Bene Gesserit training was sharp and focused, knowing where to attack. The man screamed, fire on the edge of his nerves. Her Voice took her captive and did not let him go.

Paul almost winced, not wanting to know how she had learned to do that. The man continued to scream and started to shake in his bounds.

Her words lashed at him like welts. “You shalt not lie!” she carved the words on his nerves, making him holler now.

“STOP!” he screamed. “I didn’t touch them!”

“YOU SHALT NOT LIE!”

His screams filled the basement, words inflicting the phantom pain but the body reacted the same. His nose started to bleed, and his eyes followed. Irulan still did not stop.

“TELL ME!” her Voice boomed over his screams. “And I’ll finish your pain.”

The confession came through between sobs, tears, spittle, and screams, begging for mercy. Irulan stared down at the pitiful heap of the bleeding and slobbering man, sacked in his bounds, almost kissing her feet now.

His screams stopped, her fingers relaxed, and then there were only sobs and whimpers.

“I just wanted to cleanse the filth…” he whimpered.

Many times Paul had seen disgust and contempt on her expression, but he had seen her true despise like this as she looked down at the low men. Somehow it also eased off his chest.

“Those women you killed were more human than you’ve ever been,” she said, truest contempt thinning her voice and crumpling her expression as she grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, revealing his neck.

“You killed them not because you wanted to cleanse, but because you wanted to feel powerful again. You desired them and you hated that. You’re a little pathetic envious man who desired something he could’ve never had, and you hated yourself for that. So you killed them because they reminded you of that,” she said for the last before her blade cut off his throat.

Paul watched her as the dark blood ran over her glimmering shield and pooled beneath her feet.

*

He found her in the Pit’s public bathroom, kneeling in front of a wooden washbasin as she slowly scrubbed the blood off her hands. Her head was crestfallen and inclined aside, but she was not still, only her hands moving, slow and dragged. He could sense her gaze was distant, far away as he stood in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still watching her from the doorway. Her hands stopped when he called out to her then she nodded without looking at him before resuming cleaning the blood off her hands. He watched for another moment, then slowly returned to leave.

Her voice stopped her before he disappeared. “Paul—” He twisted aside and looked at her over his shoulder and saw she was doing the same as she still knelt in front of the washbasin.

“I-it gets easier, does it?”

He paused for a second, then nodded his assurance, understanding what she was asking. “It does.”

She swallowed and nodded back. “We should return before Gurney sends a SAR team after us,” Paul told her softly.

Paul returned to go after her another nod, then her voice stopped him once more. Paul turned toward her over his shoulder.

“Would you not let the Qizarate free him?”

He shook his head quickly but in certainty. “I will not.”

A paused followed, a hesitancy, but she asked after a second, her voice small and soft, “Can you make sure Leia and Tom would find a place safe?”

Although she hadn’t spoken plainly, Paul still understood her wish. She wanted to give the couple a safe place where they would start anew. Paul stared at her for a fraction, something…nameless transpiring between them, a secret wish that they also both felt but did not speak of. He remembered himself wishing to escape to Tupile taking Chani before learning the truth of that wish. From the very woman who stood kneeling in front of him now, washing off the murder of blood from her hands. Irulan had wished to escape from him with her confession, burning the bridges, and wishing who she had become with him.

I’m a high born with her family fallen from grace, her father imprisoned by the Emperor himself, trying to make out in this world on her own.

The naked, stark truth of her status panged his chest with guilt and everything stood between them in the past and what awaited them in the future, and the reason she had hidden the truth of herself from these orphans she had found on the streets. The pang in his chest grew heavier, the succubus that had latched itself onto their fate and had taken them captive.

All your powers, all your intelligence, all your beauty, and yet you still do nothing!

Paul nodded solemnly, silencing her words, and promised again, “I will.”

She nodded silently, no words leaving her, but Paul knew she had accepted his promise.

*

She tucked Amy into the bed before they left, pulling the blanket over her and sweeping her hair over her pillow. The little girl stared at her with love and affection, smiling and Irulan smiled back, leaning down to place a kiss on the crown of her head.

Paul stood by the doorway, watching them again, the path their fate had brought them forfeited. He had escaped from this choice for years, had refused it even though he knew by intuition, even ignored her because of it, but what he had ignored for years was laid in front of him even clearer. There was no running away anymore. He had thought himself he had accepted it but witnessing the truth that was in front of him was something else.

Irulan Corrino was going to carry his heir.

And she was going to be a good mother. As he looked at her with the small child, Paul also confirmed to himself internally what he had always known by intuition, that Irulan Corrino would be a good mother who would love her children dearly and fiercely, a lioness who would do anything to protect her curbs.

The nameless doubts in his chest withered into nothingness at the sight of her with the small girl, a fate perhaps Paul would also give her after she bore him a son.

A small spitfire like Amy...and her mother, with her claws and teeth she wasn’t shy from showing, owning her moniker as the shrew, challenging him constantly. 

The vision came at him unbidden, Irulan and a baby girl in her arms in her sunlit chambers at Arrakeen’s Keep, smiling at her baby as she looked down with love and affection, Amy sitting together with them, smiling at Irulan as wide as when Irulan had just tucked her into the bed. She was wearing a flourish pink dress with lace and small pearls, and there was a small tiara on top of her long hair in braids.

The golden-lit vision faded from his sight as Paul kept staring at them in the darkened old cabin. 

# # #

Paul kept everyone and their curiosity away from her when they returned from the Pit in the dark hours of the night and ordered she was not to be disturbed. It was a last mercy for her, giving her some solitude and privacy she needed more than air after what had happened today, and Irulan appreciated silently like everything else he had done tonight.

His presence had shocked her, scared her, angered her, and wearied her, but right now, Irulan felt nothing but a stillness with his presence. An acceptance. She had always believed she had expected his presence in her life like she had accepted her duty as the Princess Heir to wed him and save the last dignity of her House and her father like she had accepted to serve the Bene Gesserit’s purpose and Her House by bearing him his heir. She had never questioned it until that faithful day when she burned down the bridges, but what she felt now—despite knowing what he sought from her now, it still felt different.

This acceptance—felt different. Briefly, she even wondered that was what Chani felt toward him for his every decision that made him unhappy and discontent, like Irulan’s unwanted presence in their life, this serene acceptance, sand absorbing water.

Would love cause this?

The question popped into her mind as they walked in the dark somber corridors toward her chambers, both not uttering a word. Irulan quickly dispelled the wonder from her thoughts although her eyes glanced at his solemn figure, looking like a ghost that haunted the castles, head crestfallen, face haggard, shoulders hunched.

No. Loving him would still be the worst thing that ever happened to her. This ghostly figure would only make her life more miserable than he'd already done. And she did not love, she despised him.

Yet, he was still escorting her to her chambers like a true gentleman, and his shield was still around her wrist. The protection he had forsaken her for her benefit. The notion was small perhaps, Paul was almost invisible even without his body shield, yet, it still felt different. For the first time in twelve years, Paul had acknowledged her as his wife in some context beyond being a title.

I’m your husband and you’re my wife. Whether we like it or not.

It was a strange acceptance, too, reluctance mixed with admission and recognition, but it also felt different. Like he had also yielded to it despite his own feelings, water absorbing sand.

Another question arose in her, but Irulan did not even let herself speculate on it.

No.

He had no love for her. He had proven it to her many, many times. He just desired to use her for another purpose now. Nothing else. His priority was still to keep his beloved and her child safe and alive. Hard to do that if she was dead. He would take one of her sisters as his wife if Irulan died, but Josifa and Rugi were barely at the coming of age. They would wed, but Paul wouldn’t want to father a child with them, despite the artificial ways.

And for another Sister… He didn’t trust the Sisterhood. He had never.

Do you see it? You’re the only Bene Gesserit he still trusts.

Reverend Mother’s statement swirled in her mind and Irulan felt irritated by letting her guards now. She was letting herself be enticed, falling into the same trap. She would not think of it like that. Irulan had sensed the tension between him and Lady Jessica during the small moment when they had returned, and it didn’t surprise her. She had been aware of their estranged relationship, and in a way, Irulan could even say Paul’s station regarding it. After her departure, the woman had not returned to Arrakis even for a short visit, hadn’t even come to see her own daughter. But that was between her and her children, nothing about Irulan. Beyond this tension, Paul’s sudden…closeness toward her meant nothing.

He was just playing nice because he wanted something from her. He had even forbidden her from seeing the Professor again even if she didn’t accept his offer. He had told her to call it whatever she wanted to call it when she had challenged him it was blackmail, dismissing her refusal with ease and without any consideration.

Despite what she had refused to that envious violent animal for killing those poor women who had to sell their bodies and her curiousness for…bodily pleasures that intrigued her, she would not do it if Paul did not allow it. She would not demean herself like that even when she had all the rights to seek comfort and affection. Fornication was beneath her, and it would only bring her a contemporary relief, and the price would be too high.

Even though she would risk Paul’s fury for herself, she would never risk the Professor with it. Paul would not be merciful. All in honesty, she hadn't even believed the Professor would want to see her again after realizing she had been a virgin. Professor Jackson wasn’t a fool or a romantic. And he also knew when to push and when to retreat. Perhaps it was a line that Irulan also needed to learn. More than ever now.

Yet, her anger still returned, the way he was entrapping her into a cage once more, forcing her toward a path she did not wish for herself. Once Irulan could have accepted it, yes, if not as Chani out of love, but as the Bene Gesserit on the throne, doing her duty, but she was not that woman anymore.

Paul was going to understand it, too.

Irulan was going to make sure of it.

“You don’t need to walk me to my chambers, Paul,” she told him snappish as they continued down the corridor. Momentarily, he paused, sensing her abrupt change in demeanor, glancing at her. “I can find my own way. I’ve been here for two months.”

“I know,” his reply came short, calm and even, not triggered by her sudden ire, ignoring it once more. “But I haven’t seen my childhood home for years. I’m…just touring.”

His easy yet placid acceptance halted her steps for a fraction. Despite everything between she wasn’t expecting that, either. “You could’ve visited your mother,” she muttered lowly.

For years, while Lady Jessica had kept himself away from Arrakis, Paul had also kept himself away from Caladan. From his birth planet. Irulan had never thought about it in length, had always thought Paul Muad’Dib Atreides might have come to the world on Caladan, but his home was truly Arrakis. Now seeing Caladan and Paul beside her, she felt deep in her heart that it had been a conscious choice, not a coincidence.

Like how he had always tried to keep his birthplace away from his war, tried to keep it…unchanged.

“I could have,” he muttered back and did not add anything else, but Irulan didn’t let it go this time.

She glanced at him and asked openly as they arrived at her doors. “Were you afraid that Muad’Dib would’ve changed it or were you afraid it would have changed Muad’Dib?”

Paul stared back at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Is this a rhetorical question or an inquiry for your Muad’Dib chronicles?”

Irulan stayed silent then shrugged, and took off his shield from her wrist. “Are you going to let me go to the Pit again?” she asked, handing it back to him without any thank you or anything else.

“That depends,” Paul replied, his blue-on-blue eyes still fixated on hers as he took his shield.

“On what?” Irulan asked back, a challenge entering her voice. “On how much I’ll be compliant and obedient?”

“Let us not entertain ourselves of thinking you ever obedient, Princess-wife,” he told her, that twitch at the corner of his lips reappearing. If Irulan didn’t know better, she would have even called it…fond, but she still didn’t buy this new…amicability from him.

“Even the years of strict Bene Gesserit’s indoctrination couldn’t have tamed you.”

Her eyebrows knitted into a deep frown with the word of taming, although once she would have denied his remark and stated she had always been loyal to the Sisterhood. 

“Do you want to tame me?” she flared, tilting her chin. “You’re done with Chani now, and have you set your eyes on me?”

His small smirk disappeared after that and his lips grimaced. “Chani, too, has never been tamed, nor have I ever wished it. Nor do I wish to tame you.”

Irulan let out a scoff, giving him another searching look, her head inclining aside. Paul held her gaze. “Do you know what I thought first when I heard your offer, my lord husband?” she asked.

“Is it a rhetorical question again?” Paul asked back, thin mocking evident in his voice now without any fondness, and for a split second, it felt like nothing had truly changed. As if they were still the same people who could barely tolerate each other. There was a familiar quality in it, something safe.

“I thought perhaps you were missing me being of your link,” she mocked him back, ignoring his jab. “Perhaps I wasn’t being so off-the-chart, was I? After all, killing two birds with one stone has always been Muad’Dib’s finest skill. The mastermind of the battles and warfare.”

She snickered again, looking at him with contempt. “All’s fair in love and war, eh?”

His grimace tightened his lips further as he gazed back at her, blue-spirited eyes darkened in his restrained anger. “And have you missed it, Princess-wife?” he asked in a low voice, a dangerous low edge sharpening it. “Have you missed pushing my buttons?”

She laughed low and throatily, letting the mocking contempt give her voice a lilt, knowing he would hate it. Perhaps she did indeed miss it. Everything was so much easier when she despised him.

“Noah once told me he would’ve thought he did something wrong if he didn’t make an Emperor not upset with him from time to time,” she shot back, the cheeky retort rolling off her tongue with ease and amusement, she couldn’t help it.

Knowing that her utterance of his first name would get him even more upset also augmented her amusement, and Irulan had even done it specifically for that purpose. Paul would have known she was far too trained by the Bene Gesserit to slip something like this, but she didn’t mind it. In fact, his recognition only added to her content when his grimace tightened further and his jaw throbbed with his contained anger.

“He then must like to live dangerously in his old age,” he clipped.

Irulan laughed again, and the Bene Gesserit in her also didn’t miss how Paul had pointed out the age difference between them. In a way, it amused her even further.

“He wouldn’t admit it, but again, he bedded the Princess Consort of the Atreides Empire. So yes, I reckon he does like it. He’s…adventurous.”

“I’m glad your little privileged indulgence and my leniency haven’t disappointed you,” came the sharp reply through clenched lips, and his mouth twisted into a sardonic smirk. “It can be a fond memory for you now.”

Irulan glowered at him with his veiled reminder that she would never see her lover again nor have his tolerant leniency. “Rest assured, my lord, fondness won’t be the first thing I remember when I think of your kind leniency.”

She made sure to pause for a split second so he would perfectly understand her meaning and then made a quick, small curtsy, dipping her head before she spun on her heel and walked inside her chambers.

The door closed on his face with a loud thud in her anger, and it felt good.

Chapter Text

After their vivid, eventful day, the next morning continued with the same tension, if not worse, as she felt weary beyond belief. She stirred in her bed at dawn, her hopes for a restful sleep already gone even before she banged on her doors at her husband’s face.

Her cheeky innuendo with her bad-tempered behavior would have earned her the moniker of “the shrew” more, but Irulan would have lied to herself if she denied the satisfaction she had felt. Yet, she still knew she wouldn’t have gotten a wink of sleep after she had retreated to the privacy of her chambers, and she hadn’t.

So many things had occurred in the span of a single day, Irulan hadn’t had any idea where to start to untangle them, so she had spent the rest of the night in the bed, the tall windows of her chambers open, the wind swirling inside her room with the chill of the night in the moonlight. Neither the chill nor the solitude brought her any peace and calmness, she still resonated with the anxiety and tension.

She was cognizant of the fact that Paul wouldn’t have let her go this easily tomorrow; he hadn’t pressed her further tonight, sensing her distress, but tomorrow, he wouldn’t have been that…understanding. When it came to her, being compassionate had never been his strongest suit, despite his many claims that he didn’t wish to be cruel to her.

The phantom presence of the band of his shield tingled over her wrist, or the way he touched the small of her back when he accepted to stay for the supper came back to her, the way he wanted to come with her when she wanted to hunt down criminals, but Irulan stubbornly shoved it away. She would not let her mind get confused with his…shenanigans. He wanted something from her, and ever relentless, he would not stop unless he took it.

You should not resist, The Reverend Mother’s advice skated over her mind as Irulan rose from the bed, staring at the new dawn from her open windows. He’ll take what he wants. Like he always does.

Her teeth grated over each other in annoyance, the advice flaring her anger once more. She hadn’t even left her bed yet, and she was getting worked up. The current household of the Keep didn’t help her situation, either. She got cornered with two Reverend Mothers, a bulldog for a guard, and Paul Muad’Dib Atreides in the same Keep, and they all wanted something from her.

The urge to run away hit her strong again as she peered outside from her window, wanting to be away—The fact that she had—a shiver hit her, and Irulan halted her thoughts as she sneezed. She paused, and another sneeze escaped from her lips as her nose ran. With horror and another shiver, Irulan noticed her skin warmness—her hand checking her forehead.

She was having a fever!

The weariness she felt wasn’t caused by her eventful day and Paul’s shocking offer and presence, but because she had been roaming around in wet clothes and hair in the night chill for two nights straight. She had caught a cold!

The notion astonished her so much that she couldn’t even believe it when she sneezed the third time in a row. Her nose ran further and, losing her inner battle, Irulan reached toward her handkerchief and remembered she had given it to Paul to wipe off his blood last night. With an inward swear word, Irulan swept off from the bed’s edge and found another handkerchief and wiped off her nose.

A Bene Gesserit Princess with her running nose!

She was going to make such an impression!

When another shiver hit her, Irulan sneezed once more, her insides swirling into another turmoil. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had a fever; the Bene Gesserit training always hindered them from getting sick, but last night had passed in such a craze that Irulan had missed protecting herself from the cold itself.

When two Reverend Mothers were here and her husband who searched for a weak point for pressure and leverage, Irulan had managed to give herself a fever. She imagined their scornful smirks at her, and suddenly the idea of sitting at a table to break their fast seemed more terrifying than before. She had managed to keep herself away from Lady Jessica when they had been alone in the Keep, but Irulan could hardly lock herself in her rooms when they all were present in the castle.

The formal court gatherings had been something Irulan had endured for twelve years because making herself public was a necessity that she couldn’t turn her back, it was essential to gain power in the court life, but she had always restrained herself from staying with Paul and his beloved’s presence whenever it wasn’t a formality. Whenever her presence wasn’t required or formally requested. She usually broke her fast and dined in her chambers, sometimes even hosting her own private guests in carefully arranged private chambers, again away from Paul and his beloved, and his dear Fremen. The Fremen’s dislike for her was mutual, but they didn’t even try to hide it. So Paul had never minded it whenever Irulan kept to herself; in fact, she was sure he also preferred it whenever the occasion didn't require her presence.

Now, Irulan had another inner conflict with herself, debating whether the occasion would request her presence or not.

There was no court they needed to make an appearance in Caladan. Lady Jessica had kept everyone away in her pension, so there was no real necessity for her to show around. It had been something Irulan had appreciated greatly in her exile, so perhaps she would continue it. Paul’s arrival certainly would require Irulan’s presence at the table, especially when he required something from her but Irulan decided to take the risk instead of showing up sick.

After a moment of self-persuasion, Irulan convinced herself to skip breakfast. She wasn’t even hungry. Irulan scarcely ate anyway, and even if she had been famished, she would’ve preferred to eat grass instead of sitting down at a table with Lady Jessica, Reverend Mother, and Paul while she felt like this. Perhaps it was cowardice, but Irulan also preferred to call it a tactical retreat. So, she had donned a silk dress in golden-lilac, carefully staying away from any blue so that she wouldn’t send wrong messages and put on herself the thickest soft wool cape.

She slipped away from the silent corridors like a ghost, and when she was out, she decided not to go to her favorite places to spend time. The places she went to stay alone were well-known, and if Paul decided to have her presence for some unfathomable reasons for breakfast, she didn’t want to be found. So instead of climbing the cliffs or traipsing down to the shore, Irulan headed uphill in the opposite direction. Toward the Atreides cemetery and memorial, pulling her cape closer around herself against the wind.

If her mind hadn’t been taken away with her fever and her attention wasn’t fully focused on controlling her fever or the urge to sneeze or shiver, Irulan would have comprehended what kind of tactical mistake she was making with her choice. But alas, she was too distracted and she hadn’t realized until it was too late.

Until she saw the familiar back of the very person whom she had been trying to stay away from the most, standing like a stone marble on the cliffs, legs apart, hands clasped at his back, shoulders hunched as he looked at the graveyard of his ancestors.

Irulan held back her sigh as she approached uphill, noting the slight straightening of his back as he quickly sensed her presence. It was too late, too late. His reflexes and senses were so alert that no one would have approached him unbeknownst to him. His face twisted aside to check her over his shoulder, a little surprise displaying on his features. In other times, the expression would have satisfied her as much as his annoyance pleased her last night, but she was too far upset now to feel any pleasure.

Once more, he was ruining one of her well-thought-out plans!

She controlled the urge to sneeze as it hit her when she stopped close to him, her nose itching so bad that she pressed down her lips tightly. Her shiver ran down her body, and it was harder to control then the urge to sneeze.

“Princess-wife,” he greeted her, formal and distant, and Irulan realized he was still annoyed with her after last night. That pleased her despite the unwelcome coincidence.

She tipped her chin, mostly to hide her pleased expression. “My Lord…” she muttered. “Well—” she stopped before she completed the greeting, her nose itching so bad that she couldn’t keep it anymore.

She sneezed.

Paul stared at her, and raising her hands, Irulan sneezed again, the reflex impossible to tame or restrain. The back of her hand rubbed against her still-itching, moist nose, and with dread, Irulan noted her running nose. The rashness she felt against her skin made it even worse as she felt like a silly peasant girl.

Then Paul smiled, one corner of his lips tugging with mirth and amusement, and it was genuine and well-meant, not derisive. Irulan still glared at him. His hand disappeared under his cuff, and he gave her his handkerchief. It was a clean one, the edges trimmed and his initial embossed on a corner. P.M.A.

Irulan accepted it because the alternative was standing in front of him like a silly with her running red nose, and dabbed it against her nose with decorum. “I thank ya,” she muttered as his eyes squinted at her.

“Are you well?”

She nodded, dismissive. “Yes. I just sneeze.”

His gaze became more inquisitive, examining her. “You look like you’ve caught a cold.”

“I’ll be fine,” Irulan replied this time because it was futile to deny it now. He would know she lied. “What are you doing here?” she asked to change the topic.

Paul chuckled again, lowly, and he didn’t look like he was mad at her anymore. “What one would do in a cemetery?” he asked, a certain rhetorical question to make her feel sillier. “I came to pay my respects.” His hand reached out toward her. “Do you have a fever?”

Irulan flinched away even before his hand touched her. After years of indifference, ignoring her presence, never touching her even once, he wanted to check her fever!

She glared at him. “I’m fine.”

His lips flattened into another grimace, but Irulan couldn’t be sure for a second if it was her vivid reaction to his touch or something more. “What are you doing here?” he asked, cocking his head to show the Atreides household cemetery, and Irulan swallowed another inner swear word.

“Um…” she mumbled, averting her gaze from him as she clutched the cape around herself closer and tried to control her shiver. The wind at the cemetery was as bad as cliffs, slipping through her cape and dress and finding her burning skin. “I-I was touring,” she said finally.

His lips loosened with her reply from last night, his expression easing off. “You should not stay outside,” he replied, calm, but the advice carried a certain gravity. “You’re sick. Caladan’s wind isn’t something to fool around with at night, Irulan.”

“Every action incurs—” she paused for a split second as the urge hit her again and she sneezed before completing, “a cost.”

He gave her a look. “It sounds more like an incurred loss.”

“Incurred but not reported losses can easily be overlooked,” she retorted with an icy voice, sending him another glower.

“Overlooked losses are negligence,” he said. “You cannot neglect a fever. It’d trap down even the healthiest.”

“You do like to preach, don’t you, oh you so divine, Muad’Dib?” she mocked.

“Isn’t it too early for mocking, Princess-wife?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I haven’t even broken my fast yet.”

Irulan quickly bobbed her head, dipping it, and commenced the exit strategy, “I’ll leave you to your own, my Lord.” She turned on her heel, but his hand gently touched her elbow. The sudden moment caught her off guard, and Irulan swept toward him again.

“No. Stay,” he told her, his hand dropping, his face still placid and impassive, no expression betraying him even when he added with a straightforward voice, “Keep me company.”

Staying alone with him further in a cemetery—in the Atreides cemetery was the last thing Irulan wanted at the moment, but when his request came, there was little else she could do. It was a command again, hidden in the guise of a request, although Irulan did not cater to his every whim she also chose her battles to fight wisely.

She nodded her acceptance again and stayed silent beside him as Paul stared at his ancestor's resting places. He walked away from where they were standing inside the graveyard, and dutifully, yet in silence, Irulan followed. He looked like he was also searching for something, and there was a part of her that was curious, checking him over under her tipped head despite herself.

When they stood at the edge of the cliff, he turned his back toward the chams and looked at his ancestors again, his face shadowed and haggard. In pain. Irulan raised her head and stared at him in open curiosity as his gaze cut over to her.

“I should’ve brought my father here to rest with the rest of our family,” he finally spoke in a low voice, and pain etched on his features became open as Irulan realized what ailed him. The sincerity and openness in his voice also caught her off guard as much as his confession, and Irulan thought of Duke Leto’s shrine—across the Empire, pilgrims, zealots, and fanatics worshipping at the altar of his skull.

  The scene always made Irulan shiver in a fit of trepidation that she couldn’t name, and it was the same raw emotion that made her tremble again, not her fever.

“Sleeping with the rest of your kin would bring him more peace than being worshiped at Arrakis,” Irulan agreed. There was so much sorrow and sadness in Duke Leto’s shrine, seeing it being worshipped had always made Irulan nervous even looking at it.

“Yes,” Paul confirmed, his gaze glancing at her again before he also declared. “There are two missing Atreides in our cemetery.” She stared at him as his eyes moved away from her and spotted another stone grave with markings beyond it. “I shall retrieve them both.”

“Two Atreides?” Irulan asked in a low voice, and Paul bobbed his head and strode toward the stone grave. Dutifully, Irulan followed him once more.

“Here’s my grandfather,” he said, and Irulan looked down at the engraved figure of Duke Paulus Atreides, the man for whose honor Paul had been named, his grandfather. The lid of his stone casket depicted his monumental fight with the Salusan Bull that had also claimed his life.

“Paulus Atreides and the Salusan Bull,” she murmured against the wind, clutching her cape tighter around herself, recalling the infamous tale about his grandfather and how he had died.

Irulan looked up at him when Paul let out another low chuckle, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Did you see the bull’s head in our grand hall? I had it transformed here after taking the Governor’s Palace.”

Her back went rigid, the question swirling back to the days she did not wish to. By habituation, Irulan never allowed herself to remember the days between his duel with Feyd-Rautha and the first days of their marriage. Burying those horrible memories in the dark recess of her mind and off her recall was the only way she could cope with the trauma and the nonchalant day he had mentioned those days now flared her anger, the easy way he referred to the darkest days of her life.

Irulan had been always tried to stay just toward him when she thought of those days, telling herself his revenge was just despite the pain and misery it had brought onto her, but that terrible desperation, anger, and fear…culminating into a stark humiliation when she had realized that Paul was not going to consummate their marriage of convenience still lingered in her memory. And no amount of justification would have made it better for her, especially when he didn’t want to make it better for her.

The discovery of his oath to his beloved had reached her in short notice after then through the gossip mill, the revelation of the full context of her situation and status. Followed by the Reverend Mother’s constant pushing to crack him up by all means necessary, met with constant failure at her every attempt, and more failure and more punishment.

Irulan quickly repressed the memories that tried to break over from her depths, did not allow them to resurface because when they came at her, she also found herself hit by a strong impulse to shove him off the cliffs. Perhaps she would follow him later.

“Atreides blood,” she snickered, her tone developing a derisive note again that made Paul return to her, noticing her mood change. “Bold, dauntless, and stupid.”

Her insult washed him over as Paul stayed impassive, angering her even more. “You’ve never called us stupid before, Princess.”

“What would you call men whose ideas of having downtime are fighting with bulls or riding sandworms?”

He laughed this time, bouncing a little on the back of his heels, and he looked…younger than she had ever seen him in years. “Well, when you put it like this…” he murmured, shaking his head with a long mock sigh. “It does sound stupid.” He paused, his expression growing serious. “But I thought you like men who are adventurous.”

Irulan held back her sigh in exasperation, fighting the urge to roll her eyes this time. The Atreides also had a memory of a bull, never forgetting anything. “Adventurous, I don’t mind. Stupidity, I do.”

“I see,” came the reply, his blue electrical gaze fixated on her intensely. Irulan had no idea what he was seeing. But that much silent intensity disturbed her, and she averted her eyes.

“Let us honor then my grandfather’s boldness, lady-wife, not his stupidity,” he asked her with a tilt of his head, again, not a request but a command. Silently, still holding back her weary sigh, Irulan walked to him.

They stood in silence at the feet of the stone grave, their heads bowed. There was a part of her that wondered if this was one of Muad’Dib’s intricate plans in warfare to make her feel worse with her own blood in her veins, because there was two unmarked spot in the family cemetery beside the old Duke, and Irulan knew one of those spots that stayed unoccupied used to belong to Duke Leto.

 Irulan forced her attention away from the Duke Leto’s empty grave and focused on the second place. That one she wondered if it belonged to Paul for one day but when Paul followed her gaze, he suddenly spoke as if he had heard her musing, “That spot used to belong to my uncle,” he remarked, and surprised, Irulan’s head snapped at him.

“Do you remember another famous story about the old Duke?” he asked.

Irulan rummaged through her memory and remembered it. It was so faint from her childhood and was so seldom mentioned that she had entirely forgotten it. “Your father had a brother,” she said slowly from the rumors she had heard in her childhood, bobbing her head.

“I’ve never seen him,” Paul confirmed. “He was gone even before my father met with my mother. He was the firstborn of the Duke, his heir. Then he fell in love with a peasant girl.”

Yes, Irulan remembered the story now, the infamous love story that used to entertain, amaze, and awe all the single women and ladies throughout the Empire, whether a commoner or a highborn. An heir who stood against everything—the forms and the customs for love. The love story that every foolish woman had ever dreamed of.

She pursed her lips, glancing at him. “And then your grandfather threatened to disown him when he wanted to wed her,” she concluded. “And in return, he renounced his rights himself and chose her instead of his heritance and birthright, forsaking his title.”

“Curious, isn’t it?” she asked as her lips turned down in a mocking challenge, and although one part of her knew she should not continue, the other part did not care. “One Atreides chose love over the title, and another chose the title over love. Have you ever told the story to Chani? I wonder how she’d feel about it.”

His clenched jaw moved. “My uncle didn’t need to win a throne,” he clipped. “You cannot fault me for not dying as your father had wished me to.”

For that, she didn’t have any retort apart from agreeing with him. She could not fault him for staying alive, no, but the admission still left a sour taste on her tongue. “What happened to him?” she asked instead.

He let her change the topic. “He married the woman he loved.”

Irulan laughed with a phantom sound, something in her heart panging, her eyes casting at him another sideways glance. “And lived happily ever after?”

“Mostly, I think.” He paused, his eyes catching her covert look. “Sometimes he doubted his decisions, like each of us.”

Almost astonished, Irulan stared at him, wondering if she had heard him right, wondering if it was a sort of admission that he also had doubts like everyone else. About his decisions. Something hastened her pulse, fluttering it, and Irulan composed herself and shielded herself from silly thoughts.

“But in the end,” he continued, “He had a good life. A woman who loved him dearly and a son.”

Something clicked in her and wiped out all the other speculations and silly thoughts in her as she gazed back at Paul who stared at her with another quality in his expression now, another sternness. “A son?” she muttered, the missing pieces of a puzzle swirling in her.

Then they got united. “Yes, Irulan. A son,” he slowly remarked, his intense still holding hers, and Irulan knew now better what Paul had been doing here, why he had come to check his ancestors. “And you know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“Oh.”

# # #

Irulan sneezed, dipping her head and hiding herself behind his handkerchief at the table, ignoring the looks she was receiving from both Reverend Mothers at the table. Paul was seated at the head of the table in the dining room that was adorned for their breakfast, Gurney taking the seat across him as the Lord of the House. Irulan was seated at his right side as Lady Jessica across her at his left side, and the Reverend Mother was beside her, her beaded eyes constantly on her.

Under normal circumstances, seeing the older crone sitting at Paul’s table that would have thrown her off, or the fact that she was surrounded by two Reverend Mothers despite her best attempts, but her mind was so buzzed with the secret Paul had revealed to her, she couldn’t even focus on them.

“Princess-wife!” the archaic voice of the Reverend Mother cut off over the murmurs of the table talk as Irulan hid the soiled handkerchief under her cuffs, drawing her attention. Paul’s head moved toward them, his eyes keen, sending a warning look at the woman. The Reverend Mother schooled the displeased expression on her face into coolness.

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” Irulan lifted her head and tried to control the reflex of sneeze that came over her once more. Somehow, her condition had worsened after Paul had walked her back inside the castle, even giving her his own cape after she had sneezed three times in a row.

He had also refused to talk about his revelation further, refused to explain it further, stating that the other must have been waiting for them to return and forced her to go back with him to the castle. There was no room for refusal this time, so Irulan had obeyed, her astonishment hindering her from protesting.

Tim was an Atreides. That part did not surprise Irulan, she had already noted the tell-tale signs of Atreides bloodline in him, his strong resemblance, but the teenage boy being Paul’s lost cousin—that was entirely different. The forms did not allow him to carry the rank and the title, but if things had been different, Tim would have even adopted the title—the Duke of Caladan.

Paul had refused to explain how it had happened. Perhaps he was still trying to link the events in his prescience or perhaps he just had thought Irulan didn’t need to know that much. Irulan couldn’t fit the timelines. There was at least fifteen years between Tim and Paul, if not more. So, his uncle must have had him after the House Atreides' fall. The historian and chronicler inside her was buzzing with curiosity and unanswered questions, her thirst for knowledge reawakened, but Paul was so impassive now that nothing betrayed his thoughts or emotions.

“Caladan’s weather might look hospitable,” the Reverend Mother clipped, reminding her of Irulan’s earlier words as Irulan stared at her at a loss. “But you should not let the façade fool you,” the older woman continued. “The warmth suddenly vanishes, and cold northern winds arise from the cliffs.” Her beady eyes glanced at Paul. “It’s very temperamental, unsteady.”

 Paul stayed unaffected by the jab as Lady Jessica clipped back, replying in his son’s place, “The Atreides learned how to tame the elements over the years. The House Atreides harnessed the power of Caladan’s fickle weather for generations, as the Emperor harnessed the power of the desert at Arrakis. The Princess-wife is an Atreides of twelve years by marriage. She will make do.”

 Irulan gave the women a darkened look, almost snapping at them not to drag her into their flaring banter. She was so sick and still too astonished to deal with Reverend Mothers giving each other cheeky jabs and sharp retorts. The tension at the table was even worse than Irulan had anticipated.

Paul was not talking to his mother directly, was mostly ignoring her presence and the Reverend Mother. Lady Jessica was upset by the reaction she received, although Irulan couldn’t fathom the reason. After her long absence, Irulan didn’t know what else she had been expecting. The Reverend Mother was upset with Lady Jessica like the first day for betraying her, and was upset with Irulan for defying her, too, and the Lady Jessica—the unsanctioned Reverend Mother was upset with the Mother Superior of the Sisterhood because she had orchestrated the downfall of her lover and almost his entire House, leaving her children fatherless. Even her dislike for Irulan had vanished through the cracks in the face of the Reverend Mother, but even that didn’t bring Irulan any comfort.

And Gurney sat across them at the other side of the table, possibly on pins and needles, praying Paul’s attention would not turn to him.

In other words, Irulan wished to be anywhere but this room. With these people while she barely kept herself presentable and her nose from running and sneezing.

Suddenly, Paul pushed back from his seat. The heavy wooden chair was dragged across the marble tiles with a solemn sound as he stood up. “Irulan, come.” He tilted his head at her to follow him as he left the table, and dread caught her.

She wanted to leave her roots where she was seated, never leaving her place. The fear grappled her chest, gnawing at her lungs, the reason for his somber and direct order growing like a shadow over her heart. He had gotten fed up with this stupid game between them and was taking her away.

Both The Reverend Mother and Lady Jessica gave her looks, silently commanding her to obey as Irulan stayed still where she was. Paul didn’t even look behind to check if Irulan was coming or not, too arrogant and cocky in self-assurance that Irulan would follow. Gurney looked down as if he also wanted to be somewhere else, ignoring the tense moment.

Paul was still heading off.

The Reverend Mother’s voice echoed in her mind, passing through her mental barriers as if she were slicing through butter. Irulan instantly paused, her back turning rigid, flinching and waiting for an attack at guard. What came afterward from this had never worked in her favor. She was tensed like a stringed bow, waiting for her…persuasion. Her gaze swept to Paul…he was still walking away. For an insane second, she thought he was going to let the Reverend Mother convince her once more.

Go—her voice commanded her. Follow him. Give him what he wants. Obey.

Irulan steeled herself and pushed her back. I’ll do what I damn want!

He’ll give you what you want, girl! Do not resist. He’ll take what he wants, she repeated.

I’m not his to take.

Oh, but you are.

Lady Jessica’s lips twitched, and Irulan realized she had also been listening to them. She also joined them. Don’t you wish my son’s child, Princess? His heir?

Irulan pushed her own seat and stood up, too, and spoke aloud, “I’ve already answered this. But if you’re curious, Lady Jessica, the answer is no,” she replied cooly, fixating on her eyes on the woman’s blue-on-eyes irises. “I do not wish to breed like an animal for your son.”

  Anger swept over the fever she had been trying to fight internally and control, replacing it with its own fire. Without a look back, she left the table and followed Paul. He was serenely waiting for her outside the dining room, propped against the cool wall. He looked so at ease as he watched her approach him, his arms tied under his chest, and a sudden urge in her arose—to hit him. Like his cousin. Right across his face.

  He left the wall and then started to pounce in the corridor when Irulan stood in front of him silently. He didn’t talk while he led her, and still silently, Irulan followed. She readied herself for their confrontation, wishing her mind would be more coherent and less dizzy with the fever she had been trying to fight. Yet, like the Reverend Mother used to tell her, if the wishes were nets, they all would be fishermen.

She enforced her defenses, trying to decide the best approach to defend her standing to resist him, but suddenly, her steps halted as they rounded a familiar corner. She had no idea where he had slept last night, but where he was leading her was familiar. More than familiar. It was the same path they had done last night. Her quarters. He was taking her to her chambers!

Another kind of dread and panic filled her, twisting her stomach and hastening her pulse so badly that Irulan even felt it stutter against her skin on her throat despite her efforts to control it. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring wildly. Paul realized she wasn’t following him the next beat and stopped likewise and turned to face her.

Panic surged through all her being as Paul gazed at her. “Why are you bringing me to my chambers?” she asked in a low voice, trapping the tremor in her voice into steel as she tried to stand like an unyielding marble statue against her panic.

Beneath her icy demeanor, combined with her fever, her panic was still winding at her, a million thoughts jumping at her at once. She had denied the artificial ways so badly after learning about it, she had never thought what she would have done if Paul decided to forsake it and found another…middle ground between them.

No middle ground, she repeated herself as she forfeited her shields. She would not give him an inch. If she let him conquer a part of her, he would not be satisfied until he devoured everything else. He was a conqueror, and Irulan had witnessed many times how he conquered. She would not be one of his conquests. Not again.

She raised her chin in defiance, facing him in open challenge as he looked at her, then the urge hit her as the chill of the cold wall came over her, and before she knew, she sneezed again.

Her carefully constructed stand shattered as her body shook with the force of her reflex, her hand blocking her running nose. Paul smiled again, holding back his chuckle, and handed her another handkerchief to wipe her nose. She swallowed her humiliation and took it, fleeing her gaze.

“You should rest, not deal with two Reverend Mothers,” he told her. “You truly cannot neglect a fever.” And here he was, mocking her once more. “The cost here is needless.”

Irulan sent him a glare although he was right, and repeated, “I’m fine.”

“Irulan, you barely stand on your feet,” he asked, an exasperation touching his voice. “Do you need to resist everything I say?” he asked, and Irulan almost said yes.

“I don’t need to,” she clipped, sarcastic. “I just want to.”

“And you were the one who scolded me because I wasn’t listening to you when you told me something reasonable and legit.”

She gave him an annoyed look, but he won the logical side of her. She started to walk again, dabbing the handkerchief over her moist nose. “I’m only accepting because I really don’t want to sit down at a table with your mother and Mother Gaius,” she snickered, shaking her head and muttered sotto voce. “I still cannot believe you sent her to talk to me! The Reverend Mother!”

He gave her a look but did not comment, even though he had heard her when they arrived at her chambers. His eyes still lingered on hers as he opened the doors for her, and Irulan let him, deciding she also didn’t want to do it now. To her surprise, she also didn’t expect him to follow her inside, but he did.

For the first time in twelve years, Paul crossed the threshold of a room she was sleeping in. The notion sounded so strange and wild to her that she almost pushed him away and fled out of the room.

His gaze roamed over her living space, noting everything, his gaze watchful and attentive. She felt her skin blush more than her fever as he checked over her things, and suddenly, her back straightened, remembering her drawer, her attention snapped to her study desk. It was littered with studies and writing pieces and her recorder, but her collection—she silently let out the breath she was holding. Her collection was still neatly tucked inside her first drawer. Irulan had known it, but having him for the first time in her personal space still raised the panic.

And her room was so…out of place as his gaze continued to wander around her pieces, she felt another blush coming over her. Paul spotted her mini bar and went over there and started to fix her favorite appetizer to soothe the nerves. Shiraz liquor. She didn’t even have any idea how he knew it, but the way his hands worked to fix her a small shot told her the choice was not coincidental. He knew.

“Will you tell Tim?” she asked, changing the topic and propping her hips at the edge of her study desk, promptly making sure the drawer was closed behind her thighs in secret, just in case.

He glanced at her sideways as he prepared the Shiraz liquor. Finishing with the drink, he walked over to her and handed her the small drink. Irulan accepted it. “In time,” he replied. “But I need to be sure at first. His presence would create…a stir.”

She nodded, trying to imagine the backlash it would create throughout the Empire. Another Atreides. Then a fear awakened in her heart. A male Atreides. If Paul accepted him and restored his status, it meant—she gulped, remembering Alia.

“If you restore his status, it means—” she muttered and trailed off, but Paul did not hold back from saying out aloud.

“He’d be the next in the line of succession, surpassing Alia,” he declared.

Her mouth opening ajar, holding the liquor, Irulan stared at him in shock. She had known what his admission would have meant, but hearing it…she blew out another…oh.

“Yes,” Paul replied, holding her gaze. “He’d be my heir to the throne. Until my heir is born.”

Irulan quickly averted her eyes from his intense gaze, watching her so attentively now that Irulan felt another gigantic wave of panic rise in her, washing her over.

Until my heir is born.

The woman from whose presence Irulan had run away swirled in her once more, telling her it would have been their only chance to have what they had desired so long—an heir from him, clashing with everything else within her. It’d also be the chance for you to gain what your heart secretly desires so too, Princess Consort, the low, alluring voices whispered in the recesses of her mind, and Irulan shook her head to shove them away, the world around her literally spinning.

She blinked a few times, closing her eyes, but she still sensed Paul’s gaze on her.

He wanted this from her—it still didn’t make sense, but it was so solid and legit in front of her, she couldn’t run away from it. She swallowed and opened her eyes and tried to stabilize her world, but it still spun.

Irulan let out a long rasping sound, clutching the edges of her study as she gazed at the small glass of liquor in her hand behind a haze, red and glistening. She blinked again to clear her sight and then understood it when her legs started to feel like dead weights.

She raised her eyes at him with difficulty as he took the liquor glass from her and set it down on the desk. “What did you give me…” she murmured over her heavy tongue as he grabbed her by the waist and started to walk her to the bed.

“Just a sleeping draught,” he replied, no abashment or chagrin in his voice. “You need to rest.”

Her body inclined toward him completely as her heavy legs couldn’t keep her straight, but Irulan still kept fighting with the effects of the drug. “You…” she muttered, her body completely welded against him and he was carrying her to the bed now. “you, sonofabitch,” the curse word rolled off over loose tongue in a murmur.

 He laid her to the bed like a child and covered the blankets over her lightly, but through the haze that vaporized her sight, she saw that small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Her hands raised to hit him, and missed. He caught them in a tight grip and then tucked them under the blanket.

“I hate you—” she mumbled as her eyes fluttered to close, but she connected to her body and resisted the effects of the drug, not letting herself drift into sleep. Although there was also a part of her that whispered there wasn’t any legitimate reason for fighting, a treacherous part of her. The tiredness of last night caught up with her, luring her like a sweet lover, her sweet liquor warming her insides with the sleeping draught. The cost was truly needless, perhaps even pointless. Yet, she still didn’t want to yield to him. Despite her tiredness.

“Close your eyes—” his voice told her, flirting with the edges of a command, compelling. “Do not resist.”

You should not resist…. the Reverend Mother told her through the cobwebs that covered her mind. He’ll take what he wants.

Her eyes fluttering close, Irulan jerked her head or tried to—it felt so heavy, forced her eyes to stay open. “Do not resist,” the power of his Voice licked over her consciousness, commanding her to obey, but still holding back. “Close your eyes.”

Irulan tried to reach her blood cells, found the molecules of the drugs, breaking the covalent bonds between the elements, forcing their deconstruction inside her blood. The transmutation was easier when the molecules were broken down.

A low chuckle filled her ears as he realized her attempts to fight with the sleeping draught.

“Do not resist, Princess.” The power of his Voice hit her like a tidal wave, shaking her very essence, and Irulan knew there was no escape this time. Her control slipped, the molecules slipped, her eyes fluttered—

“Close your eyes.”

Irulan went to sleep.

Chapter Text

On the cliffs of his home planet, Paul watched the sunset with the ghola who wore his childhood hero’s face. Paul had always admired his father, but he was scared of his legacy with trepidation and worried if he would carry the mantle of his name like he did. Carry the responsibility of their family. Destiny had tested him in a way even his father would not have, but to a child's mind, Duncan Idaho had always been what inspired it the most.

A hero, a ladies’ man, a best friend. Loyal and proud. Wise but guileless. Elegant but unsophisticated. Canny but innocent. After meeting with Chani and Stilgar, the Fremen people, Paul had understood why Duncan had easily broken the ice with the desert people and could have befriended them. He glanced at the ghola of the man Paul used to be inspired by, and wondered how he felt right now.

Irulan had caused so much turbulence around him since his arrival, Paul couldn’t have found time to speak with him in private, observe his stance and nuances. Irulan was still sleeping now in her chambers, and it was time for Paul to see his childish hero, the ghola, and the mentat.

The gift of the Bene Tleilax.

The tool that would still bring his downfall. The conspiracy had withered away when Paul had sent Korba to the desert, but he did not entertain himself with thinking the Bene Tleilax had forsaken their plans. The face dancers Irulan had admitted to meeting on Wallach IX might still be around him, waiting to advance their new plans. Likewise, Paul too was waiting. The hand was dealt, and they all were waiting to play their hands. New occurrences in his life—the whirlwind of the destiny that Irulan had caused to him wouldn’t erase their existence.

His attention skipped to his lost cousin he had found—more unraveling to his sight with the links he had made in the past. His father’s memories had shed light on a lot of lost mysteries even from his own past, long forgotten in negligence and indifference. The link connected him to another family secret which ironically was also tied to his present. Destiny was calling to him again, his oracle foreseeing the paths of his ancestors and reshaping his own path. Paul shouldn’t have been surprised, but despite everything, there was a part of him that was still perplexed.

From his lost cousin, his focus drifted toward the woman who was still sleeping in her chambers with the effects of the sleeping draught he had given her. Paul had not planned to do it. He had ordered the draught after returning from the cemetery because she was sick, but was denying it out of stubbornness and possibly because she was ashamed to admit to her sickness in front of two Reverend Mothers. Sensing her chagrin, Paul had readied it so she could take it in the privacy of her chambers, rescuing her from his mother and the Reverend Mother, but when she admitted primly she would resist everything Paul did even when she knew his suggestion was fair and reasonable out of spite, Paul had just given it to her in secret.  Gross actions carry their own messages.

Paul supposed it wouldn’t have been worse than making an old Reverend Mother walk all the way from the ports to the Keep.

You dare such gaucheries with a Bene Gesserit?”

Gross actions carry their own messages.

Paul wondered how much this gaucherie was going to cost him, recalling her futile attempts to fight against the drug in her blood and resist his Voice, refusing to go to sleep, even murmuring her hate for him. Paul had also not entertained himself convincing her to carry his child would have been easy, but Tupile had increased their tension more than Paul could afford anymore.

He should be done with this and should return to Arrakis. He hadn’t seen Chani since their fight. The longer Paul stayed here, the angrier Chani was going to be. He heaved a sigh as he sensed Gurney’s wary presence behind him.

“My Lord—” his old Warmaster spoke behind their backs, approaching him and Hayt. “The Reverend Mother’s vehicle reached your Guild heigliner. They’re shipping her back to Wallach IX.”

Paul nodded. Irulan at least should feel glad that Paul had sent the old witch away now. He was done with her. The old crone had served her purpose for now, sowed the seed of his plan in her. Paul had no use for her. He would deal with the rest. He still didn’t trust the Bene Gesserit with his seeds, so the woman sent away was also to Paul’s advantage. Her mother was going to make do as the Sisterhood’s witness. She was still not sanctioned, but Paul cared about the formalities as much as he cared about the taboos.

Gurney stood between them, his wariness increasing as he gazed at Hayt. Saying Gurney looked confused and wary would have been an understatement. Seeing his former best friend’s ghola had thrown him off so badly that Paul had been sensing his ambivalent feelings and tension since their arrival.

“Hayt—” Paul spoke as they stood on the cliffs, watching the sun slowly dive into the waters of his home. Paul briefly remembered his promise to show Chani to waters of his home before he pushed away the thought when it raised his guilt, panging his chest. Another failure of another promise. “Do you miss home?”

Hayt did not have a home; he had been bred inside an incubator in a breeding facility in the hands of Bene Tleilax, but Duncan used to have a home. The same home Paul had lost.

“I do not have a home, my Lord,” the ghola answered the same thought, watching the sunset like him, and it panged his chest. “I was raised inside an incubator.”

There was a part of him that hated the word, the feelings it stirred inside him, and made him remember the woman who he had put to bed a couple of hours ago, guilt gnawing at him. She was not an incubator. She was not an artificial mechanical womb to host clones, nor wasn’t a vessel. She was flesh and blood, not mechanical at all.

With thought, his thoughts shifted, and Paul remembered the docile body that had welded against his side with the drugs. She was soft—softer than Paul had expected. When he carried her to the bed, Paul felt her curves for the first time in years, felt their softness. Irulan had always been tall and proud, rigid in her composure. Her stance didn’t have the elegance of a desert warrior, but she carried the unattainable, unreachable beauty of her bloodline with all her might. Seeing her losing her aloof composure had amazed Paul when he had spied on her, but that was a façade he had never seen before.

He turned to his older Warmaster. “Has the Princess Consort woken up, Gurney?”

The older man bobbed his head. “Yes, my lord. She’s in her chambers.” He paused. “She’s charged me to seek you, my lord…to ask for your permission to visit the old beach resort.”

Paul let out an amused sound. “I’ll give it to her. She doesn’t lose any time.”

Gurney looked annoyed, his lips flattened, openly sharing his remark. “She has all the Corrino’s stubbornness, my lord.”

Paul fixated on him with a look, tipping his head. “Go and tell her I wish to have her company for sunset. Do not tell her about Hayt,” he added to his order, and returned to watch the sunset. The ghola stayed silent beside him as Paul clasped his hands at his back at the edge of the cliff, watching the swollen sun on the horizon painting the waters of his home in a golden hue.

The serenity of the moment did not fit his tension, nor the silent but curious disposition of the ghola mentat. Yet they still didn’t talk. Moments passed in the same pregnant silence, then her annoyance prickled at the serene existence before Paul heard her marching footsteps uphill.

Paul didn’t return. Following his example, the ghola also didn’t.

Her footsteps stopped a couple of feet away from them, glaring at his back. “Are you trying to test my patience, Paul? Do you wish me to push you off this cliff?!”

Paul turned to her. Hayt only glanced over his shoulder, but Irulan’s attention was solely fixated on him, ignoring his presence. “No,” Paul answered calmly and sincerely. “I still have no wish to die, Princess-wife. My path has not yet finished.”

There was a part of him that still grieved because of it, because Chani wasn’t going to be with him on this path anymore, but Paul was also starting to accept it. Perhaps he had accepted it on the day he had told the Reverend Mother about his offer regarding the woman who stood in front of him and glowered at him with hatred as if she was really considering pushing him off the cliff instead of carrying his heir.

He recalled Alia’s words telling him not to grieve for those whose time had not come yet, and then he thought of his lost cousin. The thought almost made him heave a weary, deep sigh, but Paul did not allow it to himself this time.

Her eyes narrowed in anger as her glower deepened with his retort. “Then why do you keep pushing me?” she asked. “Why did you drug me?!”

“Because you were being irrational and childish,” he replied calmly. “Objecting to me out of spite.”

“And you thought you would have drugged me?” she flared and sneered, “The Mahdi carries his messages through gaucheries and gross actions, doesn’t he?”

His eyebrow almost raised, displaying his surprise. So, the Reverend Mother had told her about that, too, he surmised as Irulan continued to glare at him with defiance mixed with contempt.

“You will find out my will as persistent as yours, my lord,” she clipped.

“I do not doubt that, Irulan,” Paul quickly retorted and tipped his head at Hayt. “This is why I brought my mentat.” He almost smiled. “Hayt, meet with the Princess Consort.”

The ghola turned toward her fully, his metallic eyes meeting with hers as her eyes first stayed on him, narrowed and then widened with recognition and realization. Stupefied, she stared at the ghola who wore Duncan’s face, her mind racing and the results drawn.

When she did, her head whirled at him. “Is-is he the ghola?” she blew out. “You accepted the Bene Tleilax gift?”

Her stunned surprise told Paul openly she had not known it as Paul had meant. The discovery pleased him as he bobbed his head. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Paul paused and then answered after a heartbeat later. “I’ve missed my childhood friend.”

His sincerity threw her off further as she stayed still and stunned, gazing at him with the Bene Gesserit way, trying to observe his nuances, make sense of him.

“I’m also still curious about the Bene Tleilax plan,” Paul admitted as her observant gaze continued to sweep over him. “I unraveled the Qizarate participation, discovered who was plotting with you, but the Bene Tleilax’s involvement is still missing me. Hayt is good to keep. He functions as my mentat now.”

Her glance skipped toward it, shaking her head, and she looked less upset, her anger winding down as Paul had calculated and predicted. Bringing Hayt here served his purpose for more than one reason. He wanted the ghola to see their birth planet, curious about his reaction, and also Irulan’s reactions. For the plot that she had conspired against him before confessing her part.

“Scytale had mentioned they were building him as a mentat,” she murmured, averting her gaze from the ghola, but she wasn’t looking at Paul, either. And Duncan’s ghola’s presence must have truly shaken her because it took her another few seconds before she whirled back at him, her eyes widened again.

“The Qizarate,” she cried out. “They also conspired against you?”

Paul nodded stiffly, his gaze observing her diligently now. There were no lies in her voice or gaze, no insincerity. Irulan and the Qizarate hated each other profoundly. Irulan hated their sternness and dogmatism of the religion, and Qizarate hated her because, to their eyes, Irulan Corrino was the personification of all the hardship and suffering the Fremen people had been subjected to under the old Empire’s regime. There was no love between them, always a cold war, but the confirmations still eased Paul’s heart.

“I—I didn’t know,” she said. “No one from them was in the meeting at Wallach IX.” Paul nodded his acceptance, knowing she was telling the truth again.

“They didn’t want to put all their eggs in the same basket, I reckon,” Paul sneered, and his sassy retort earned him another look, but he was still not upset. She looked as if she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes at him, though.

“The conspirator you caught,” she spoke after another second, regarding him carefully and sounding curious, a glint in her sharp green eyes. The news he had given her pleased her, as Paul had also calculated. Any failure from Qizarate would only bring his wife joy and happiness.

“Who is it?” she inquired.

Playing on their silent truce, Paul quenched her thirst for power and second-hand revenge. “Korba.”

Her face bore her surprise for a split second again, his news amazing her openly, the job it brought to her before she collected herself. “That weasel is no good news,” she berated. “I already told you. He just wants more power without any regard for checks and balances.”

“Accusing a man like Korba for not heeding the intricate designs of power dynamics is like accusing a bull for destroying a china shop. It’s not in their nature to be careful. Or subtle in that matter.”

“What did you do with him?” she inquired further.

“I exiled him to the desert.”

Her eyes narrowed at him as she regarded him, concluding as she swayed her head slowly. “Was it your purpose, wasn’t it? You already knew about me conspiring against you, and you let it because I could’ve allowed you further to weed out your opposition.” She paused and nailed him with a familiar, derisive look with hatred. “Did I perform my duty as your link to your satisfaction, my lord?”

“Yes, Princess, you did perform well,” Paul clipped, getting angry. Whenever he tried to breach a truce between them, she made sure to return to the same point.

And what makes you think that I want to find any common ground with you? he recalled her question, gazing back at her. Perhaps Paul had been a fool, believing they would find a middle ground. Irulan still seemed adamant to stay where they had been for the last twelve years.

She tipped her head at the ghola. “So he’s your link now?” she mocked. “To replace me?”

“No one can replace you, Princess, but you cannot fault me for trying to refill a…missing function,” Paul answered calmly, and for a second, he truly thought she was going to strike him. Or push him off the cliff. “Nature abhors a vacuum.”

Her face reddened with anger, all her Bene Gesserit composure forgotten, stripped away from her walls and shields, as she did shove him an inch. “Gods! You’re insufferable, Atreides!”

Paul skidded a step over the edge, then quickly regained his footing, his lips threatening to break into an amused smile. Irulan’s temperament, which she barely could control, usually frayed his nerves or wearied him down, filling him with guilt for the fate he was binding her, but lately he felt like something had also…changed, evolved, perhaps. Apart from his anger or weariness, there was a new quality Paul hadn’t experienced before, a…fondness that Paul found hard to resist.

And it raised an alertness inside him. A sense of danger—a line he should not cross. He would not cross. His mind swirled with how she had challenged him, the memory of her dalliance he had permitted would not be anything fond, and Paul quickly repressed it and shoved it away.   

His expression stiffened, somber. “I brought him with me because I thought we needed a mentat for our discussion,” he remarked placid, calm yet firm. “He was also present when I discussed it with the Reverend Mother.”

She glowered at him. “Just a wonder…really, how many people were present when you discussed it, Paul?” she snapped. “I start to feel like the whole Empire knows you want me to whelp for you! How many people did you tell this?”

 Her preferred word choice quickly made him aware that they were whirling into yet another argument, a very heated one. The way she called his offer bugged him, as well, despite his decision and determination, whelping for him. Paul had known how she would receive his offer, but calling his heir whelping was a stretch.

His clenched jaw moved. “We should get back to the Keep,” he clipped. “You will catch a cold again.”

“You’re not answering me.”

He turned to ghola and ordered this time firmly. “Hayt, escort the Princess Consort to my mother’s study room. Keep her company until I return.”

“Her Majesty—” the ghola spoke quickly, but Irulan’s attention was solely on him. “I’m not going back to Keep. I want to visit the Pit.”

“Irulan—” Paul replied, barely keeping his anger restrained now. “I’m asking you to go back to the Keep civilly,” he stressed the word with a pointed look, but did not give in to his anger. “Please, wife, heed my request.”

“Did Gurney establish a perimeter around the Pit?” she demanded, still not moving an inch.

Paul nodded his confirmation. “Yes. I’ll leave with him to check it now,” he also revealed to soothe her further. “A garrison from his detachment circled the area. They’re all in deep cover in the streets. We’re also still looking for the Reapers’ contacts. Everything will be okay. But I need you to return to the Keep now. When I come back, we will talk.”

She heaved out a deep breath, looking as if she was making a decision, then nodded. Without a word, she swept on her heels and started to head off toward the castle. Paul watched her as Hayt gave him a curtsey and followed her. Then Paul also turned around and headed off downhill, silencing his thoughts.

*

When Paul returned, he found her in his mother’s study like he had ordered, in the company of his mentat ghola, curled up on the couch in the room. Hayt had built up a fire in the hearth, and Irulan had wrapped herself inside a warm blanket. Hayt was sitting in the chair across the desk as Irulan comfortably lounged on the red couch, drinking from her tea and reading the book in her hands. Hayt was also reading, following her example, and the small cracks of embers from the hearth were the only sounds in the otherwise silent room.

The silent, calm atmosphere surrounded them surprised Paul. A part of him was taken aback seeing her almost…demure now, but overall, he was pleased that she had at least listened to him this time. There was a notepad beside her with her old-style pen, taking notes as she read.

Irulan was a very old-fashioned woman when it came to her passion, preferring to make her studies and notes by hand. The cluster of her room had not surprised Paul, although he had not expected her to be…that untidy. It was a different side of her that Paul had witnessed. Irulan Corrino was always so well put and composed that her personal space being in disarray didn’t fit, but in a way, it also suited her.

As foreign as it was for him, this serene docile air also suited her, Paul decided after a second as he approached. Irulan lifted her head from her book, sensing his presence, her attention drawn toward him from it. When he was closer, he even noticed the faint paint marks at her fingertips from her pen, smeared all over her notes. His eyes moved toward the leather-bound book she also preferred in reading, and stopped, his back going rigid as he recognized the title and the author.

His jaw clenched as he glared at the boo, Irulan staring up at him.

Treatises of Government, by Professor Noah Jackson.

The sight of her on another couch, on another position flashed in his mind’s eye as she serenely stared up at him from the couch, reading the damn book of his damn lover. Paul almost reacted and snatched the book from her hands and flung it into the fire. He had let the Qizarate burn all the copies of the damn book, and here she was—his wife—reading a copy that had somehow survived his fanatics’ purge.

She was doing it on purpose. Paul knew. Of course, she wouldn’t have sat down demurely and waited for him. She just had to find a way to upset him once more, get under his skin, and she damn well knew how to do it.

“That book is banned, Princess-wife,” Paul clipped, fixating stern eyes on her. “You must know it as you penned the degree in the council.”

She smiled sweetly. “We keep copies of all the banned books for the Imperial archives, my lord, as you know it.” She raised her hands, closing the book, and showed him the hardcover. “This is one of them. I took it with me from the archives when I came here.” Her smile enlarged, mocking. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Paul clipped. “No problem at all. It’s a…appealing read.”

“Very adventurous.”

His fingers twitched and Paul barely kept himself from flinging the damn thing to the fire like he desired. He turned to the ghola. “Hayt, have you read this book?”

“No, my lord.”

“Read it and explain your thoughts to me,” he ordered. “The author accuses me of being a sociopath despot. I wish to hear a mentat’s point of view.”

“As you command, my Lord.”

“Noah doesn’t accuse you of being a sociopath, Paul,” Irulan cut in as Paul held on to his anger further and clipped, cutting her off:

“It’s Professor Jackson, Princess-wife,” he warned. “His name is Professor Jackson for you.”

She laughed, putting the book aside on the couch, and standing up. She wrapped the blanket around herself as she stood in front of him, her expression truly mocking now. “You almost sound jealous, but then again, it’d be silly of you, given the circumstances, wouldn’t it?”

“Mentat,” she addressed directly to the ghola, returning to him, facing his metallic eyes without deterrence this time. “Professor Jackson accused the Emperor’s regime of being sociopathic, but he admitted he had the victor’s apathy and hubris. Recalibrate your perspective accordingly.”

The victor’s apathy and hubris.

Did she think Paul had hubris caused by his victories, accompanied by apathy? Was it the reason for her anger toward his inactivity?

Thoughts swirled in him, but Paul also kept himself restrained from engaging in the discussion further although his intellectual side was piqued by the comment. He also wondered how many hours they spent together discussing Paul and his regime, the thought flaring his anger almost as much as the vision of them together on the couch.

Almost.

“As we started to discuss my standings,” he announced, taking the couch she had vacated as she stood up, still clutching the blanket, and looked up at her. Her nose was still red, but she looked…healthier. “Explain to the Princess your perspective on my offer, Hayt.”

Her eyes bore through his, watching him silently. “Perform your function as a mentat,” Paul continued, holding her gaze as he spoke to his Mentat. “What do you think of the artificial ways for reproduction?”

She raised her eyebrow, Paul patted beside him on the couch for her to join him. Instead of doing it, Irulan headed toward the seat across the ghola and sat down in front of the study desk, keeping both Hayt and Paul in her sight.

Her attention turned to the ghola then, preparing herself to listen to a Mentat’s reasoning. Perhaps this was a risk, perhaps the Mentat was not going to agree with him, but Paul had also been trained as a mentat and predicted the answer he was going to hear. Irulan’s attention was fixated on his mentat, but Paul’s attention was still solely on her.

This was for her, after all. Paul was already convinced.

“It’s a taboo that was generated under the principle of human life’s sacredness and uniqueness,” the ghola started with a plain and mechanical voice, impassionate, but informative, performing his duty with precision. “You shall not create a mind that resembles to human mind, and you shall not procreate via unnatural ways, demean the highest aspiration of humankind with base primal animal instinct for breeding. The doctrine is based on human life superiority and the uniqueness of mating for procreation. Yet neither animals nor humans only mate for procreation. Sexual drives and needs are beyond the realm of procreation. Humans engage in mating for…entertainment purposes.”

Paul watched her during the whole speech, keeping his calmness, only observing her nuances. Irulan had managed to keep herself composed, but with the last comment, her lips twitched, and her eyes glanced at him with a covert look. As she had also engaged in mating for entertainment purposes, she knew she would not disagree with the remark. No, she would not.

And neither Paul. It had been his own mentat reasoning that had allowed him to make his offer, telling the Reverend Mother he would not listen to any talk of sins, abominations, or the beliefs left over from past Jihads.

Mating was more than intercourse. Paul knew and accepted that, when they mated, their ruh-spirits bonded and became one, creating a unity that no action between two people would have allowed otherwise, two souls merging and creating another. Yet, mating wasn’t only for procreation’s purposes; they also performed it for intimacy, for sharing and bonding without…the end product. The proscription indoctrinated artificial ways as demeaning and animalistic, but by that definition, mating without the purpose of procreation would have also demeaned their humanity.

The proscription went both ways, yet the Bene Gesserit and C.E.T. saw only one side of the coin and ignored the other. He would have never allowed his seeds to impregnate a woman he didn’t choose or know, but he knew Irulan. If he could mate beyond the purposes of procreation, then he could procreate without mating, as well.

She watched the ghola for a long while, then turned to him. “So is this how your mentat reasoning justifies me serving as an incubator for you?” she asked, almost reading his thoughts, and Paul restrained himself from flattening his lips with the word.

“I do not think of you as a mechanical womb, Irulan.”

“Do you not?” she challenged. “Because from where I stand, it looks like you do. You treat me as an organic womb.”

He jerked his head. “Hayt had called my offer a high order of business when the Reverend Mother asked him to function as a mentat for her,” Paul replied, still trying to sound calm. “The highest inspiration for all living entities is survival, not the mating itself.

“Bees carry pollens, fungi leave spores, and animals and humanity mate. Breeding is a tool of evolution to conquer death. The evolution’s solution to death. And evolution does not care how the species procreate as long as they create their offspring. It looks at the end product, not the process. Evolution is the process.”

He paused and turned to the ghola. “Would you call this proscription on artificial ways fair, mentat?”

“No,” came the quick and certain answer.

“Explain,” Paul ordered.

Irulan returned her attention to the ghola, listening to him and observing with her utmost focus and precision, and Paul watched her once more.

“Fairness comes from justice. The ban strips away the rights for individuals’ decisions, which is also another highest inspiration of humankind, what separates them from animals.”

“You mean free will?” she asked. Paul stayed silent and watchful.

“A bee carries pollen to a flower with instinct, but a human mates knowingly,” Hayt answered. “A man can decide to…pull away during intercourse and does not leave his seed. Bees aren’t even aware of that choice. Isn’t it what you call free will, m'lady?”

Irulan turned to him. “Would His Majesty like to answer this?” she inquired, but the familiar taunting had touched her voice and expression once more. “Does free will exist?”

Paul held his look. “I do not know, lady-wife,” Paul replied primly. “If you ask an apple that’s fallen from the tree, it would surely tell you it’s done it by choice.”

Every being liked thinking they had power over their own life, but most of the time, Paul felt free will was an illusion, a sick joke of the universe. They made choices without even knowing or realizing what the consequences of their choice would be, sometimes not even understanding that the choices had already been made. The prescience was chaotic and unpredictable, a vast, endless amount of many probabilities all at once, a coin flipping in the momentum without knowing how it was going to end. But the possibilities were already set, destinations inevitable.

The pretense of choices was the pretext, veneering the charade.

Sometimes Paul wished Irulan would have understood it.

Perhaps she was right for blaming him for being useless, but Paul was also right. He had always tried to play the hand he was dealt, but he wasn’t the one who had set this game and shuffled the cards. He was just a player, too, much like her.

She shook her head, looking at him. “I’m still not convinced, Paul.”

Paul nodded. “I know.” He stood up and looked down at the ghola. “Hayt, you may leave us.”

With the dismissal, the mentat ghola quickly rose to his feet. “As you command, my lord.”

When they were alone in the room, Paul went to fix them another drink. Irulan gazed at his offer—Shiraz sherry this time—suspiciously, and Paul smiled briefly and took a small sip from the glass he offered her. “Here. Happy?”

She rolled her eyes at him this time. “You can easily transform that, Paul,” she pointed out, still not accepting the drink.

“You’re not sick anymore,” he said, still offering the drink, too. “Your body healed itself in sleep, which was why I wanted you to rest,” he explained. “I have no reason to drug you anymore.”

She scoffed very unladylike, but accepted his offer for a drink. “Likewise. I also have no reason to accept your offer, Paul. Perhaps you might even say I…owe it to Chani, for what I did to her for years, and there were times I also felt guilty. Believe me or not. I felt very bad sometimes, hindering a woman from being a mother. Yet, I have to be honest. I don’t feel that guilty. I can’t bring a child into this world out of guilt.”

Her easy acknowledgement and acceptance of what she had done surprised him so profoundly that Paul stared at her for a long second, stunned. Sometimes, she really surprised him like no one else had ever done.

“I don’t expect you to accept my offer out of guilt, Irulan,” he answered sincerely.

“Then what else do you expect, Paul?” she challenged, rising to her feet from the seat and slowly walking toward him. “What arguments do I have? Even though I might reclaim the political arguments that I renounced to myself before leaving Arrakis, I’m afraid you were right about the human arguments. I still don’t have any human arguments to carry your child. I hold no love for you, as we both know, and I’m not like Chani at all. I don’t do things just because you ask.”

His jaw clenched further, and not knowing what else to say, he took a sip from his drink. His ire was rising, but there was also a part of him that knew she was right in her argument. She had no personal reasons to accept his offer, only political ones. Paul had denied her because of it before; now, she was taking her revenge on him. Just out of spite, Paul realized then, she would not accept this, even beyond the artificial ways. Just not to give him what he wanted.

Irulan came closer and tilted her head aside, her eyes watching him as she took a sip from her sherry. “What does Chani think of your offer?” she inquired at last.

Paul held her look, trying to see her angle, but decided to be honest although he hated how smug she looked now. “She doesn’t like it,” he said and paused before correcting it, “She hates it.”

She laughed lowly, narrowing her eyes at him, but she was mocking once more. “Are you trying to convince me again?”

“No,” Paul answered. “I just answered your inquiry.”

“Would she do it if you asked?”

Paul held her eyes again and answered truthfully, “Yes. She’d hate it, but she’d still do it.”

She scoffed and twisted aside from him. “People do stupid things when they’re in love.” She sat back on her seat and looked up at him. “As we’re open to each other here, I want you to be sincere with me, Paul. Do I really have free will here, or will I get on that operation chair and go under the procedure regardless of my choice?”

His lips flattened into a stern line. “Do you think I would force you to carry my child?”

“You forced me to wed you, forced me to play a part only you chose,” she replied evenly, sounding as calm as an ice block. “If this is a farce like our marriage, this is the time you stop playing.”

“This is not a farce,” he clipped. “If you don’t give your consent, you won’t have my seeds.”

“And you will forsake the idea?” she pressed further, “Will you not allow another Sister to carry your safeguard?”

“My child,” he corrected, sending her a glare. “If you accept, this child will be mine, Irulan, despite how it’s conceived. I’m fathering a child, not a safeguard. And, yes, I will not allow another Sister to carry my child,” he admitted openly, his gaze staying on her. “My offer is only for you.”

“Why?”

“Because whatever passed between us, you would never let this child be a pawn for the Sisterhood. I became sure of it when you betrayed them. Your child will not buy the Sisterhood a throne.”

She swallowed, her surprise betraying her composure, and Paul knew he had finally managed to break her walls. They were still there, standing in front of him tall and proud, but Paul had finally managed to crack an opening just as he had forced an opening in the Shield Wall.

By comparison, this felt even harder than blowing up a mountain with atomics. “Do you really think the artificial ways aren’t fair?” she asked in a low voice, the inception of his seeds for his offer was sowing over her cracks and deeper into her.

Paul nodded his head. “Yes. It’s a taboo, but I fail to see the reason behind the taboo.”

A taboo was also a tool of evolution on a bigger scale, a way for society to protect itself. A taboo couldn’t become a taboo without a very certain and profound sociological reason that endangered the group.

The ban on the Thinking Machines was born from the very simple yet understanding reality—humanity’s children—what they created almost wiped out their existence, becoming a sentient and more advanced and smarter species. The superiority of the Thinking Machines over them necessitated the ban. In essence, the ban was nothing but humanity’s survival instinct.

At the last corner, they had won and then banned all the Thinking Machines simply because if the other side had been allowed to survive, they would have ended humanity’s superiority over all the other beings in the universe. Evolution armed with their survival instincts knew this because humanity had done it to other species countless times before.

Incest was a taboo for the same solid logic because, over the long millions of years, humanity had seen and suffered from the results of a limited gene pool. Even the Bene Gesserit had to constantly groom their breeding program to eradicate the very severe side effects of the inbreeding from the same limited gene pool over centuries in the program, which allowed them to refine their ability to alter the molecules and genes. The needs of their program necessitated progress.

There was a part of him that sensed the ban for the artificial ways was also involved with them, another necessity for the Bene Gesserit, although he could not see it fully yet. But the Sisterhood’s intrigues did not concern him at the moment. Irulan’s interest was piqued, although it still carried doubt. That was what mattered to him now.

“It’s pointless,” Paul continued. “Unfair. Chani believed for years she was infertile, but she always chose to stay away from the artificial ways because of this taboo. Without it, our child would have been born years ago even with your hindrance.”

And Chani would have died years ago, but Paul didn’t tell her that, either. “This taboo hinders a lot of couples who love each other and wish to have a child from attaining their wish. This taboo made my uncle unable to have his child with the woman he loved, despite even forsaking all his inheritance and birthright for her love.”

The sherry glass in her hand shattered over the expensive carpet on the floor beneath her as she stared at him in stunned shock. “What?” she blurted out in a low voice, standing up from her seat and repeated, “What?”

“My uncle is the firstborn of my grandfather, Irulan,” Paul said calmly, “But Tim is fifteen years younger than I, and he’s the only child of my uncle. You’ve always been smart, Princess. How do you think it happened? Why do you think it happened?”

She still stared at him, stunned. “Tim was born via artificial ways, Irulan.”

Chapter Text

Her stunned shock wouldn’t have still allowed her to register what Paul had unraveled, because his Princess-wife blurted out another time, “What?”

Slowly, Paul seated himself on the couch, nodding, a part of him content that he had finally grasped something she had not expected, making his way further through the crack he had carved in her walls. She was still standing in her amazement as Paul readied himself for a tale. There was the other part of him that felt the same astonishment she had after linking all the clouded dots in his prescience and saw the past of his father and the secrets of his family.

“I told you I’ve never seen my uncle,” he started with a calm voice. “But it wasn’t correct. I realized it today while you slept. I saw my uncle, although I didn’t know it.”

Irulan slumped back on her seat, still staring at him, but she was listening to him attentively now.

“Two years before your father’s imperial decree for ordering us to move to Arrakis arrived, a visitor came to see my father,” Paul continued, his vocals developing a familiar preaching and storytelling tale nature on their own.

“I was fifteen at that time. It was even before my Gom Jabbar test. The visitor was an old man, clad in common folk’s attire. I thought he was one of the fishermen tribe leaders, although he didn’t look like a fisherman. My father saw him personally, which piqued my interest, but he never introduced us. He stayed one night and then left with my father. My father came back a week later, and he never mentioned the man again, who he was, or why he had come. I know now who this visitor was. He was my uncle, Alexius III Atreides. And he had come to seek help from his brother to father a child via artificial ways, Irulan.”

*

In his prescience, Paul remembered his fifteen-year-old days, spotting the specific day of his uncle’s arrival. A fifteen-year-old young adult did not easily forget, but his life had been too…adventurous to remember every detail, until Paul had a reason. He could still remember his piqued interest upon seeing this mysterious visitor, or his father’s stern and certain decisiveness for his silence. His mother was the same, as well, not speaking of the mysterious visitor, although Paul still was not sure how much she had known. How much his father had told her. It did not concern Paul—not at the moment.

His seer swirled back in the sands of the past, and Paul found the memory he was seeking. The only time he had seen his uncles in person was from far away. His mind-eye merged with his father’s ego and memories inside him, and Paul relived the moment from his father’s perspective.

His uncle returned to Duke Leto, who was staring ahead with his set jaw, looking distraught and in disarray as they stood on the cliffs in front of their family cemetery. Two brothers met after long years, under circumstances that no one of them would have predicted.

His uncle started to speak:

“I know you have questions, Leto, I know your dignity and integrity tell you it’s wrong, it’s low. Against the highest aspiration of our kind. It tells you animalistic, breeding like animals, but I still ask you to help me, brother.

“I’ve never asked you anything, Leto, even after Father’s death. I stayed away. I made my decision, and even to this day, I don’t regret it. If Gods gave me a second chance and made me choose again, I’d still choose Valerie, choose my love. But we have waited long enough.

“We prayed to the old Gods enough. They’re either not listening to us or they don’t care. I won’t wait anymore. Valerie is already forty, and our time is running out. I promised her when I decided to renounce my rights that I would never disappoint her, brother, and I would not.  I would’ve never come here, too, if seeing her like that hadn’t killed me inside. I will not see her unhappy anymore because of talks of sins, abominations, or the beliefs left over from the past Jihads—”

Surprised by his father’s ego’s memories, Paul listened to his uncle, his words mixing with his own as he realized his uncle's state of mind had merged into his subconsciousness unbeknownst to him as Paul tried to make his decision, his uncle’s memories affecting him and giving him the solution he was seeking. 

“I will not let them hinder us from what our hearts desire. You’re a father, too, brother. Would you deprive yourself of fatherhood if you had a chance?” Their eyes met, and a fragment of understanding passed between them as his uncle slowly remarked, “If someone told you this was the only way to have your son, wouldn’t you want to at least try?”

His father swallowed, but then said, “I can take no part in this. If anyone learned, my head would be rolled over, too. There’s a tension growing between me and the Emperor. I cannot take the risk.”

Alexius Atreides nodded gravely. “No one will hear it. I’ve made contact with the breeding facility on one of the planets under Ix's influence. Completely hidden. They will not trace it back to you. We’d bounce the solaris through the CHOAM system. I already fixed that, too. I just need…money,” he accepted as Paul confirmed why his uncle had come to seek your father.

The secret fertility operations’ costs were astronomical. His uncle had fixed everything, but he lacked the budget, so he had come to his brother.

“All right,” his father confirmed. “How long would it take?”

“We’d need a month or so, but you can return after a week.”

His father nodded again. His uncle paused, their deal already set, but there was another curiosity in his eyes, another…worry this time. It startled Paul. “How bad things are between you and the Emperor?”

His father’s jaw clenched. “How much have you heard?”

“There’s the talk even among us, small folk,” the former Duke commented. “You’re growing popular in the Landsraad. There are even some who have started to say you’d make a better…ruler, brother. Small folk like you. That’s a very dangerous thing. Especially for an Emperor. He used to love you like a brother. Paul is already of age, so is the Crown Princess. She’s at least old enough to be engaged. Have you made an offer?”

Paul quickly realized what offer they were talking about now. By that time, he was fifteen and Irulan was twelve. Not old enough for marriage, but old enough to have an engagement, as his uncle had pointed out.

“I was at Kaitain last month,” his father accepted. “I suggested it informally, but the Emperor was not…warm to the idea. He even alluded to the fact that I would’ve been more suited to sit on his throne than a son from a Bene Gesserit out of wedlock.”

The worry in his uncle’s eyes grew heavier as Paul confirmed one of his older suspicions. He had never bothered himself to look at it before, had thought it was pointless now, but the truth was in front of him without any misunderstandings. His father had wanted to wed him and Irulan to cease their growing tension, but the old Emperor thought Paul’s status wasn’t suited enough to take his throne. From the way his father had spoken, Paul also accepted that he preferred him to his father, that he had preferred his father to wed Irulan.

It was a knowledge that Paul didn’t know how to feel, so he pushed it away from himself, the thought disturbing him profoundly. His wife, whom he had never mated, was being the woman of his father.

“He wants you to wed the Crown Princess?” his uncle voiced out the inquiry in the air in a stupor.

“He alluded to it, yes,” his father confirmed.

“Your son is fifteen years old, but you haven’t married your Bene Gesserit companion yet,” the former duke pointed out. “What do you think?”

His father looked torn and in conflict as he admitted, “I know not, brother.”

“You know what this means, little brother, don’t you?” his uncle asked. “You would be the Emperor one day.”

“I know.”

His uncle’s gaze became more inquisitive, observing his father’s hesitancy. “Then what ails you, brother?”

“My word,” Duke Leto replied and added with a sincerity that Paul had missed from his childhood. “My love for my son and my woman. You should understand that better than anyone, brother.” There was a heavy silence between them as they regarded each other, silent but in understanding. His father exhaled a breath heavily. “When Jessica gave me a son, I gave her my word, brother. That I would’ve never let our son be in the second place, nor would I let any other woman take her place in my bed. What kind of a man would deny his word for the promise of power?”

“A man who wants to be the Emperor, brother,” his uncle replied. “But do not ask me that. I’d made my decision a long time ago, renouncing my birthright. You shall make your own, too.”

His father nodded, certain this time. “I already did, brother. I’m…just talking to my brother now. Someone who would understand me.”

His uncle clasped his father’s shoulder, and his gaze cut over the cemetery where their father lay. He chuckled lowly. “Father would have been so pissed at you if he saw you now, too.”

“I know.” Duke Leto paused. “Yet, we’re still his seeds. He taught us how to be men of our words.”

They started to walk away from the cliff back to the Keep. “That he did.” Far away, Paul saw himself down at the seashore, in his fifteen-year-old skin, his gaze upward spying on them as they looked down at him. He looked so…different in his father’s memories that for a second, Paul couldn’t even recognize himself.

Fifteen, young and still…naïve. He tried to remember those days…the young man who used to be. The memoirs of those days swept back to him with remembrance, he recalled himself that day on the beach, walking at the seashore, wondering about the mysterious visitor that had come to see his father, and the last rumors he had heard from his friends, teasing him perhaps one day he would have been the Emperor. His father’s aspirations for him had been a wild topic during those days between Duncan and Gurney, as Paul kept seeing Chani in his dreams.

The truth of his past made his chest pang as his uncle and his father slowly walked up from the cliff, and him below the seashore as Paul contemplated what the future held for him.

“He’s a good boy,” his uncle slowly said as they headed off, watching him from above. “Looks like you, Leto.”

*

A year later, his uncle returned, though Paul had only realized it this time through his father’s memories. Paul had never seen him return.

“He’s a healthy little boy,” his uncle informed his father, youth coming over his aging features, happiness and the joy of fatherhood making him look young again. “He’s already strong, though. Valerie is stressed that her mother's milk wouldn’t be enough to satiate him. Though he never cries, even when he’s hungry. We named him Timotheus.”

One who honors the Gods. 

The chosen name made Paul, the defiance behind the preference. Many would call him an abomination, but to his father and his mother, his presence was an honor.

His father nodded. “It’s a good name. A strong Atreides man. May the Gods bring him valor, honor, and glory.”

“May the Gods bring him valor, honor, and glory,” his uncle murmured and clasped his brother’s shoulder. “I thank you, brother. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

His father’s acceptance was silent. “You shall return to Caladan and raise your son in our forefathers’ lands, brother. An Atreides belongs to Caladan. The old beach resort—” he spoke after a second. “It’s not used anymore. I’m giving it to my nephew.”

“I’ve already asked too much from you, Leto.”

“An Atreides belongs to Caladan,” his father repeated with firmness and decisiveness. “The forms bind my hands to do further, brother, but my heart does not let me allow an Atreides raise away from our waters and winds.”

*

The beach resort was not how it was now. It was still old, but the bungalows were not in shambles, the hearth and the pit in the middle of the compound were new, constructed by his uncle. There were a few men with him, the men who had followed him in his chosen exile, men who would have fallen to their deaths.

His father took his two-month-old cousin in his arms from his mother, and his baby cousin looked up at them, raising his hand from his bundle. “Welcome to your home, little Atreides. May the Gods bring you valor, honor, and glory.”

Smiling, he looked up from his cousin and looked at his uncle. “He looks like you, Alexus.”

*

One year later, his father returned to the beach resort, telling him the news.

“No,” the former duke said. “No. My place is Caladan, Leto. I will not go to Arrakis. I have returned home after years, and I will die here.”

His father looked chagrin, but he accepted it. “Very well, brother.”

“Be careful, Leto. The Emperor has not forgotten your refusal, nor will he ever forgive. This move…it stinks. There are rumors of the Emperor and Harkonnens getting…friendlier.”

There was no objection to his declaration. “I know. I’ve accepted it. They’re sending me to Arrakis to get rid of me, but they forget that an Atreides never accepts defeat without fighting. There’s something in that dune planet, something more than spice, brother. I feel it. It’s gonna change us forever.”

“Or it’s gonna ruin us, brother,” he murmured as they walked toward the entrance. “Perhaps we Atreides are fools, after all. Always choosing love over the title.”

*

Paul returned to the present and looked at the woman whom his father had refused to marry because of Paul and his mother, and her father didn’t let her marry him because Paul’s status as a concubine son out of wedlock hadn’t been enough for her. He still didn’t know what to make of their family history, how the history would have changed if his father had made a different choice and chosen to wed Irulan. The thought of Irulan being his stepmother was still so disturbing that Paul quickly shoved it away from himself once more and quickly recounted the rest of his story without details.

The rest was another tragedy, as well. He wanted to spare Irulan further details that would have brought her more pain because of her father’s sins.

After their move to Arrakis, his uncle had stayed in the old beach resort with his son and wife, and the rest of his men. When the Harkonnen attack came at Arrakis, another attack also hit Caladan, slaying the remains of their people who had stayed at Caladan. His uncle and his followers had managed to escape his cousin and his mother from the planet on the night of the attack, as no one still knew they were on the planet, nor did they know his cousin’s existence.

His uncle and many of his men had been slain on that day, watering their ancestors’ soil with their blood as his uncle had wished to, dying at home. Tim and his mother had been shipped to Ecaz and had stayed there under the radar until Paul’s Jihad started three years later without anyone knowing their existence.

When his Fremen battalions arrived on Ecaz to conquer the planet, his four-year-old cousin and his mother escaped the planet again, going into another planet and another until his Fremen legions reached there, running away from him as fiercely as they ran away from the Old Empire. Two years later, his mother died on Ginaz in an uprising with the rest of the men who were still with them, and thus his six-year-old cousin had become a war orphan and ended up on the streets on his own.

Paul briefly mentioned to Irulan what had happened to them after they escaped Caladan, letting her surmise the rest of his tale on her own, but he remarked, “He must’ve remembered the beach resort here from his memories. So he brought his clan here.”

“He was a baby when he was here, Paul,” Irulan said, and Paul gave him a pointed look in return.

“All my life, I’ve had prophetic dreams, Irulan,” he replied. “Tim carries the same blood as I. We’re the same generation of the Bene Gesserit design.”

She jerked her head. “Her mother is a peasant, not a Bene Gesserit. He can’t be as…gifted as you or me.”

“Yet he still managed to find a place from his infant memories, managed to survive on his own in the streets at six years old, even managed to build his own clan. How do you explain this?”

She was silent for a while and slowly shook her head. “I-I don’t know what to think,” she finally admitted in her low voice, words stuttering. “I—I just—” she trailed off, still astonished both with the discovery and the story Paul had revealed to her.

“Do you feel any different toward him because you know now how it’s conceived?” Paul asked, staring at her and letting her go. Her walls were crumbling, and Paul needed to have her confession before she started to rebuild them. “Do you feel like he’s an abomination, Irulan?”

Her head whirled at him. Paul still didn’t back down but pressed further, “An animal?”

“No!” came her fierce reply. “Of course not! But it’s not the same thing, Paul! Don’t ever try to act like it was. Our circumstances are far different than your uncle and his wife.”

Despite her refusal, Paul still stayed calm. “How is it different?” he asked.

She gaped at him in astonishment once more. “We don’t love each other!” she cried out, leaning down in her seat, waving her arm between them as Paul still sat rigid and calm on the couch. “You’ve denied my child for years, didn’t want it! We’re not a couple who is desperate for a child and accepted a desecration out of desperation and love!”

Paul’s lips flattened, but he pushed from the opening, and stated calmly, “So you do think Tim is desecration?”  

She jumped to her feet in her flaring anger. “Don’t put words into my mouth! I didn’t say that. You know what I say!”

“What you say suggests that you don’t object to having my child, but you object to the artificial ways, is that correct? Do you still wish my child, Princess?”

Her face shifted with anger further as they both knew Paul had caught her. “Do not do this,” she warned in a low voice. “Don’t try to lure me into your trap. You damn well know what I mean!”

“And you’re still avoiding answering me.”

“There’s nothing between us to justify a child!” she cried out. “Nothing!”

Paul stood up as well and walked to her. “Nothing, you say, Irulan? Do you remember what the Bene Tleilax assured you of their conspiracy? They assured you that something from me would’ve remained you to father a child, and you accepted it. I’m offering the same thing.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion of the twelve years, “Something of you?” she asked. “What’s your angle, Paul? Why do you want my child?”

Because I need a male heir, because I want Chani and her baby be safe until death claims to her, because I will have no other chance, came the tip of his tongue and he almost told her everything before settling with, “There is no love between us, but we have passed twelve years together, Irulan. I didn’t want that before, but circumstances have changed now. Those twelve years are enough for me now to father a child.”

Her gaze became more suspicious as she regarded him. “What’s changed?”

Paul stayed silent. “What’s that you don’t tell me, Paul?”

“I tell you what you need to know, Irulan. That’s enough.”

Anger hit her again, Paul sensed and observed it from the way her control slipped and the emotion displayed on her features.

“Has it ever occurred to you what’s enough for you would not be enough for me?” She paused and let out a bitter scoff. “Of course, you have not. You never concern yourself with my needs and wants. If you ever did, we wouldn’t have been here having this conversation after all.”

“I cannot change the past, Irulan,” Paul replied, sincere. “But I can make the future.”

“Your future,” she pointed out.

Paul stayed silent again.

“I still don’t understand what you expect from me,” she remarked in a low voice, averting her gaze from him, and Paul was not surprised. She wasn’t the only woman who couldn’t understand him.

“I don’t understand myself, either, sometimes,” he admitted in a whisper, perhaps being the sincerest with her like he had been with Chani. “But I still ask you to…”

“What?” she prompted when he trailed off.

“To trust me, I reckon,” he also admitted.

Her eyebrow arched. “Trust you?”

Silently and tersely, Paul nodded.

Irulan blew out a ragged breath. “You’re really one of a kind, Paul Atreides.”

“So you expect me to accept what you want just because you ask it, even if I do not understand?” she asked, her tone developing the familiar taunt quickly, and Paul restrained himself to stay impassive.

“Yes.”

“And I told you I am not like Chani. I don’t do things to make you happy.”

“A child would also make you happy,” Paul replied, remembering how she had seen him with his child and Amy. “I’ve seen it.”

That surprised her, making her swallow. “Have you?” she asked in a whisper. “Have you seen me with your child?”

Paul nodded, firm. “I have. There was even Amy with you, sitting beside you and my daughter. She was looking very…Princess like. She looked happy.”

She trembled, and Paul knew she had stripped away another layer from her shield, knowing he had spoken the truth. “I can give that to you, Irulan,” he said, softening his voice and nearing her closer. “You can even have Amy, you can adopt her, she would be your little Princess. I like her. She deserves a real family.”

She shook her head. “Don’t do this,” she warned again, but her voice came out in a shaking whisper, not sharp. “Don’t bring them into this.”

“I’m telling you what it’s possible, Irulan, if you accept it.”

She trembled, exhaling another shaking breath, but when her eyes got fixated on his, she faced him straightforward. Her shoulders straightened before she started to speak with a calm voice:

“My child—if I agree to this—will always come after Chani’s child. You’ll always favor Chani’s child over mine. Despite its status, even if I gave you your rightful heir, you would still always favor Chani’s child over mine, Paul. We both know it. Chani’s child would be a child of love, but my child would be a child of convenience like me. I would not do that to my child.”

And this must be her sincerest with him as well after their fights, bearing her fears to him openly, what kept her now from accepting his offer, and it panged his chest with a deep ache that Paul had not expected. He had never thought Irulan would have this fear, afraid that her child would also live what she had lived through.

The guilt stuck in his throat, churning his stomach as he swallowed hard through a thick lump in his throat. “I would never do that, Irulan,” he said, clearing his throat. “I will not favor one of my children over the other. I swear to you. They will be equals.”

 “Equals?” she asked, her gaze developing another heavy quality. “I’m your legal wife and the Princess Consort of the Empire. My child—if it ever were born—should be your rightful heir, Paul.”

His back tensed, his softened composure steeling. At the moment he felt compassion for what he had caused her, the Crown Princess and the Bene Gesserit had returned.

Despite it also confirming his thought that her personality felt obliged to give him a boy as her rightful heir, his jaw still clenched as he clipped, “Like I said, all my children will be equals. Thus, I have spoken.”

A boy to inherit his throne, make his passing away the most bloodless, and stabilize his Empire and the Qizarate was necessary. Alia—Paul had started to fear his sister more and more each day, and only his male heir would make his Fremen fanatics and Qizarate support him against the St Alia of the Knives. The delicate situation of the Empire necessitated his male heir, but all his children were still going to be equals, despite their mothers.

Paul could not walk away from that path.

“Do you accept?” he asked, cutting off the chase and wanting to hear her answer now, but Irulan gave him a long look, still in doubt.

“I still need time to think,” she finally spoke. She wasn’t agreeing but she was no more refusing it straight away, so Paul also took it progress.

At the moment.

He bobbed his head. “All right. Sleep on it. But I expect your decision tomorrow, Princess-wife, whether affirmative or negative. You need to decide now.”

She curtly nodded in return. “I will.”

She started to make her way out of his mother’s study room, but before she left, Paul made his decision, too. “Do you want to go to the Pit?”

Her steps halting at the door, she whirled toward him. “What?”

“Do you want to see the kids?” Paul asked again.

Her eyes narrowed in her familiar mistrust, and Paul held back his sigh. “I want to see Tim again. I just checked the perimeters for the night, but couldn’t visit them before you were waiting, and I didn’t want to go without you. I will need to make up my mind about what I will tell him, and your presence makes me welcome among them.” He paused and gave her a small smile. “Rogue might spit into my water if you’re not there with me.”

She scoffed. “You’re lucky if she just spits.”

“Hear, hear,” he said and walked to her. “So. Will you bring me to them?”

She heaved out, but bobbed her head. “Will you not tell Tim about how he was conceived, will you?” she asked after a pause as they walked in the hall.

Paul glanced at her with a sideways look. “Why would I do that?” he asked, but shook his head. “It’s not important, Irulan.”

“And will you bring him to Arrakis?” she questioned.

“If I decided,” he answered shortly. They were alone in the walls, but he still got closer to her before adding, “Either way, he can’t stay here like this. I would not allow any Atreides to live like this. His mother should have brought him to me a long time ago.”

She gazed at him with the same distrust and suspicion as if she could understand the woman’s feelings for escaping his son also from Paul, but Paul did not want to think about it right now. There were swirling memories in him, but he was getting spread too thin, too distracted. He had come here to convince her to have his heir. He hadn’t foreseen finding a missing cousin, hunting down serial killers, and engaging directly with one of the most powerful cartels of the Empire.

Irulan left him to go to her chambers to change her clothes so she would look like Ru before they left the Keep, and Paul wondered how far she was truly going to keep this farce. Paul was still wearing his old black uniform while he had gone to check the perimeters undercover, so he simply waited for her to return in the massive marble foyer. His mother had retreated to her rooms, and Gurney was still out, guarding the perimeters. He had a direct link to him via Satellites in orbit, which would pinpoint his location at any time if the need arose.

When Irulan came back, she was clad expectedly in another simple dress, a grey wool cape with the same simplicity covering it. Her hair was in a long but loose braid, sliding down her shoulder and back. She was holding a small bundle in her hand, and Paul was sure that inside it there were her gifts to her little girl.

Paul had thought seeing her…friends would make her happy, but when she looked at him, she looked so distressed that Paul sensed it emitting out of her. Paul stopped her beside the massive entrance of his castle before they left the Keep, understanding what was ailing her now. Before he spoke, he held her wrist and lifted it to bare it to his sight. Under the cuff of her dress, like Paul had suspected, she still wasn’t wearing her body shield.

“Irulan…” He let out a small sigh. “Whether my decision about Tim is positive or not, you still need to tell them the truth about yourself.”

She gave him a look, accusing and upset at the same time, pulling away her wrist from his grip. “You said you would stay silent until I felt ready to face it.”

“Yes, I did,” Paul replied firmly, holding her gaze. “But I also told you you couldn’t keep this secret anymore. This’s dangerous. You haven’t worn your shield again.”

Her lips set in a grimace, but stubbornly, she stayed silent. Paul started to uncinch his to give her once more. “What if you accept my offer?” he asked, taking her wrist once more. “What would you do?” he prompted her. “Will you leave them without saying goodbye?”

As Paul cinched the shield over her slim wrist, she gave him a look. “You said I could adopt Amy.”

“Yes,” Paul replied and paused, his hand still holding her wrist, almost laughing. “You can adopt Amy, but—” His lips broke into a small smile despite his best efforts, notion somehow coming to him…fond. “Do you want all of them to come to Arrakis with us?”

She looked perplexed for a second, and despite his humoring question, she jerked her head after a second, pulling her hand away from his grip, looking upset. “We’re just talking nonsense. I haven’t even decided to return to Arrakis myself yet. And why would I need to return to Arrakis if I accepted your offer? Why can’t I stay here?” she demanded with a heated flair. “Why do you require my presence back there? Isn’t Chani already pregnant?”

Taken aback, Paul stared at her for a second. Were they already going over the details of his proposition? Smoothing over the fine details? “Yes, she is,” Paul confirmed.

Her eyes widened. “And do you expect us to stay in the Keep together while we’re both pregnant?!”

“Um…” Paul faltered, feeling his cheeks almost reddening, the notion throwing him off more than her question. He quickly collected himself and muttered, “Chani has gone to the Sietch before I left. She might choose to stay there if you returned.”

“Might choose to stay?” she repeated curtly, and scoffed. “That means you would not stop her if she wanted to return, Paul.”

His jaw clenched, but Paul replied, “She will stay at Sietch if you return to the Keep with my child, would be okay for you, now?”

“Yes,” she snapped through her grimace. “Barely. If I accept your offer, of course.”

“Of course.”

They left the Keep and started to make their way to the city, but they weren’t on foot. Paul lifted his ‘thopter to land in the city center. Inside the cabin of the small vehicle, the only sounds of the whirls of the blades of the vehicles and the deep reverberation of the engine. As Irulan watched the skyline of Caladan from above as Paul flew the vehicle, Paul realized this was the first time he had ever been inside a vehicle that he drove alone with her in twelve years. What was so mundane had never happened with her, going to some place with a vehicle that Paul drove. He imagined how many times Paul had done it with Chani, but the number was so big that Paul couldn’t even single out one anymore. Even doing the most mundane things with his wife was something so unfamiliar that it filled the air of the cockpit with silent tension.

Paul called in Gurney to break the silence and inform him of their departure. “Gurney, we’ve left the Keep.” Irulan’s attention cut over to him for a split second from the windows as Paul spoke. “I’m on my way to the beach resort with the Princess. Double up the watches.”

“As you command, my lord,” came the answer as Irulan shifted her attention back to the windows, continuing to ignore his presence.

“Do you think I have the victor’s downfalls?” Paul suddenly spoke over the engines and whirls of the blades, raising his voice as she whirled her head back at him. He didn’t even know where the question came from, what had made him speak. Perhaps he just wanted to break the silence again.

“Your comment about me having apathy and hubris?” Paul clarified as she regarded him long in silence. “Do you think they’re my faults?”

“What would you call a man who expects people to do what he wants even when they don’t understand, if not ever over-confident and arrogant?” she asked in return.

Paul chuckled wryly and repeated when she had questioned if Paul was hated less than her father, “Another good question, my Lady.”

“Don’t you worry, my lord,” she retorted, her voice developing that familiar derisive tone immediately. “Professor Jackson and I also decided you’re the lesser of the two evils,” she mocked. “Feyd-Rautha was an animal worse than my father. If he had been the Emperor, the Professor wouldn’t have been so lucky in escaping with a few burned books. Even my father imprisoned him once back in the days.”

Surprised, Paul turned to her as they approached the landing port in the city center. “Why, Princess, for a second, you almost sounded as if you were glad that I won the dual.”

She paused and gave him another look before murmuring, looking away. “Like I said, you’re the lesser of two evils, my Lord.”

Paul looked at her, but she refused to meet his eyes. Paul silently landed the ‘thopter, and they started to make their way toward the beach resort on the shores of the city from the city center. Irulan handled the road with the air of someone who knew where she was going, even finding their way when Paul confused back streets a couple of times. The city had changed in twelve years, Paul was not surprised, but Irulan’s knowledge was something else. She had been wandering in the city more than both he and Gurney had realized.

An image of her walking in the streets and checking the stalls appeared in his vision, a wanderer of the streets, and Paul saw her giving Amy candies. The moment of their meeting, he realized as he inwardly smiled, watching the little girl snapping the candy from her fingers and then running away without a word.

They approached the beach resort under the moonlight and trees, the imitations of seabirds uttering above their heads, signaling their arrival. The thought made him briefly think of Stil, the first time he had approached a Sietch. They walked through the gates within a whirl, and as soon as they were inside, Irulan was swept away from his side, Amy and the other children tugging her away.

Irulan moved with them, but her eyes were on him—behind him and with the corner of his eye, Paul saw his lost cousin was approaching.

He really looked like his uncle, Paul thought for a second as the boy stood beside him, tipping his head at Paul for a greeting. The visions of Timotheus Atreides' first memories bombarded him through the other memory, egos of his past taking over, he saw his own father with him, holding his arms, he saw his uncle and his wife taking care of him. He saw the attack on the night their life had changed, the fires that had taken the trees surrounded them, and the bungalows, leaving everything in shambles. The kids had tried to make the best of what had remained, but Paul could still see the remains of the fire mixed with his memories.

The flames rose, his cousin crying, his mother crying, and fleeing.

Paul focused his conscious awareness into the present, silencing the echoes of the past. So vivid, so lucid. He let out a slow breath, his attention focusing on the young man who stood in front of him. A young boy of six staying on his own, but still surviving, keeping his humanity and dignity intact, even if it meant scavenging from the junkyards to feed his family.

Welcome to your home, little Atreides, his father's voice echoed from the recesses of his mind. May the Gods bring you valor, honor, and glory.

At that moment, Paul made his decision. He knew what he had to do. Perhaps he had not observed enough, but he had to trust his instincts, his oracle, the destiny that had made Irulan find these kids.

Like always, Rogue also appeared beside him from nowhere as they stood in front of him. Away from them, Irulan was playing with the kids. They were throwing stones in the air and catching them. Five stones. Seeing the Princess Consort playing five stones was something wild for Paul, but the other two didn’t even blink.

“We already know she’s not what she claims to be,” his cousin spoke, his voice so calm and low that Paul almost needed to lean toward him to hear it. “And you don’t look like you’re only a Bashar in the Imperial Fleet. I told her before that we don’t care who she is. We only know Ru cares for us, and that’s enough for us. She protected us, so we will always protect her, too.”

“What he means, creep,” Rogue added when he stopped, giving him a malicious smile and walking closer. “If you hurt her, we’ll hurt you, too.”

Paul held their look, and replied truly, “I have never wanted to hurt her, Rogue.”

Rogue’s eyes narrowed, and she proved herself to be smart once more as Tim’s jaw clenched. “You sound like someone who has still done it unintentionally.”

“Intention and outcome seldom meet,” Paul intoned, and they glared at him.

The vision hit him at the same moment—fires rising from the compound again, with screams. The bang of the slow explosives rang in his ears as the vision took him. Paul pushed himself to awareness as the radio in his ear whizzled.

“My Lord!” Gurney wailed over the radio. “The Reapers—”

“—are coming…” Paul muttered to complete him, and without a word, he threw the girl and boy to the ground before the blast hit.

“EVERYONE! TAKE COVER!” he shouted together with the blast, fire, and debris, and trees raining down on them. “WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!!”

Chapter Text

The whirls of the blades and the motor engine’s revibrating were the only sounds that filled the tense air between them in the cockpit as Irulan silently watched the nightscape of Caladan’s skyline for the first time in two months. The view from the Keep had already taken away her breath, a mesmerizing sight as much as the dunes of Arrakis under the moonlight, but Caladan’s bird-eye view from the cockpit was even more breathtaking.

So much that as Paul drove them to the city center, she didn’t think of the absurdity of this being their first time alone in a cockpit of an ornithopter with her husband after twelve years. She didn’t even think of their last talk for a few seconds, what Paul had revealed and offered to her.

I cannot change the past, Irulan, but I can make the future.

His future, like Irulan had pointed out, his design, what he desired, but Irulan didn’t even need her Trustsense skills to know that what he had told her had been true. The future that Irulan couldn’t understand and Paul didn’t elaborate on purpose also held true happiness for her.

A child of her own, with Amy as her adopted daughter, and the rest of the kids. Paul had given that happiness to her, he had accepted it after twelve years, accepted to give her something of his, admitting the twelve years they had passed together would justify that much at least now.

The Bene Tleilax assured you something from me would’ve remained you to father a child, and you accepted it, she recalled his words again as she watched the night skyline. I’m offering the same thing.

Something of him. His seeds.

Had the Bene Tleilax truly offered her to the same thing without Irulan’s recognition? Irulan had been afraid that they would've ruined Paul so much that he couldn’t father a child, and they had told her exactly that. Irulan had never understood the words then, but after Paul’s comment, perhaps he was right. The Bene Tleilax must have also aimed for Irulan to get pregnant in artificial ways, giving her his something.

The sinister plan disgusted her and enraged her further, wondering if the Reverend Mother had been aware of it, as well, or if she hadn’t known. It wasn’t important now, but she still wondered. The woman who had accepted the conspiracy to carry his heir would have accepted this, too? The question was turning inside her, and Irulan was afraid to find the answer.

Paul’s assurance that they had something now to justify a child from artificial ways gave her pause, but Irulan still didn’t know. It still felt…wrong. Paul’s reveal about Tim had shaken her to her core, and she did not think of him like an abomination, she did not, but their situation was still far different despite what Paul kept telling her.

It was not the same thing. It wouldn’t justify this end.

Yet what he offered was real, and the thing he said about them developing something in the twelve years. She almost shook her head, recalling how he had admitted to keeping Chani away from her if she consented to his wish and agreed to carry his child. For the first time in years, he had prioritized her needs above Chani's. Perhaps he had thought it would have been also Chani’s wish and the best thing for her, so perhaps it wasn’t only for Irulan, but she still felt prioritized.

She also shouldn’t let one small favor cloud her common sense and make her trust him like a fool and do what he asked without any questions like a good, demure girl—Gods! He really did expect her to behave as how Chani always behaved, and that part confused her even more.

Irulan shoved the thought away from her, did not let his…inconsistency confound her more, did not let his enticing words promising her happiness sway her mind. She was not blind to his…seduction, the manipulative way he was trying to convince her, trying to acquire her consent.

His revelation that he had foreseen her having his daughter had swayed her mind possibly the most, with Amy beside her, but Irulan had understood his prescience enough to know that his foresight was as inconsistent as him. Even if she believed his word to treat all his children equally.

Paul took his promises seriously, twelve years had taught her that, but Paul Muad’Dib Atreides was also adaptable, twelve years had also taught Irulan that. He adjusted to the new circumstances and environment quickly, bending them to his will.

 Paul was a beast when it came to winning wars. He broke down resilience relentlessly. He had given them hell for three years with his guerrilla warfare before winning the throne, and Irulan had also seen it countless times in twelve years. He had even worn down her shields, made her…quit. Was it what he meant when he mentioned their circumstances had changed?

Your silent love worn off his defenses, the words spiraled in her mind as well as her heartbeat accelerated, her throat feeling dry and clogged.

Was it true?

Did Paul also believe this? Was it that something he had mentioned? Her silent love?

Did Paul believe Irulan loved him?

She almost jerked her head at the thought. No. No. She did not love him. She could have loved him. That prospect had long passed now.

And, although Paul might believe it, and in consequence, his defense might have been worn down, it still didn’t make any difference. He wanted something from him for a design he did not bother to explain fully, but only expected her to give her consent. After all, a Messiah did not care about explaining himself; he only expected people to follow his word. The path he showed.

The Muad’Dib. The one who showed the path.

And despite everything, despite all her wariness and suspicion, there was a part of her that felt already sold to the path he showed now, what he was offering to her, Irulan could not deny it, but even if she had accepted it, she could not foolishly believe it meant anything else.

I just ask you…trust me, I reckon.

Trusting him?

Irulan did not lose her common sense that much yet.

Then she remembered how she had felt when she learned about the Tupile, how his possible involvement had devastated her. Even though she had been angry with him for his inaction but there had also been a part of her that had felt so relieved that he hadn’t disappointed her like her father did.

Father…say something, please, she remembered herself almost crying in whispers to her father after learning the truth, so desperate to hear he hadn’t done it, so desperate to believe in him. The same desperation had made her call to him four days ago, had made him ask if he had known about the Tupile.

Her whirlwind emotions and thoughts were so much in disarray that Irulan even thought for a second if she had made a mistake by going to the Pit with him. Perhaps she should have stayed in her room and thought about this over, slept on it like he had commanded. She had wanted to see Tim and Amy, but staying alone with him was making her more tense and nervous.

He waited for an answer for tomorrow, and Irulan didn’t even know what to think, let alone find an answer.

How could she make such a big decision in one night?!

Why was he in such a hurry?

He had waited for twelve years. Could he wait for a couple of days, at least? The Reverend Mother would not try to kill Chani or her baby as long as Paul’s offer was on the table. Why was this urgency? Irulan still couldn’t comprehend it, and Paul wasn’t offering any real explanation, either.

I tell you what you need to know, Irulan. That’s enough, she almost sneered with remembrance, getting upset again. No, it wasn’t enough. She had to have more. If she was going to accept this…desecration and carry his child, there had to be more than her own…selfish needs. Irulan wanted a child, yes, she could not deny her heart’s wish, but their arguments still didn’t solely justify their needs. They were not a couple who had wasted every opportunity to conceive a child like his uncle and his wife. If Paul had truly believed, he would have already tried to conceive a child with his beloved. But no. For years, Irulan had given Chani contraceptives, but never once had Paul ever thought of artificial ways. He had kept his integrity toward his beloved intact. It was Irulan’s integrity that he didn’t care. Irulan would carry his child via artificial ways, not Chani.

In consequence, if Irulan accepted his offer, there had to be more arguments, both political and human. And, if Irulan was going to break her own integrity and accept the artificial ways, then Paul also had to break his own. Otherwise, Irulan would never allow this, even at the cost of her own happiness.

It was exact that moment as she made up her mind, though she still didn’t know what further arguments she could ask from him to justify this desecration beyond her own happiness, Paul broke the tense silence between them.

“Do you think I have the victor’s downfalls?”

The question startled her as her head whirled at him, and Irulan looked at him long, the scope of the inquiry swirling in her mind as she tried to focus on it out of her heavy, confused thoughts. His fixation on what Irulan had briefly shared with Professor Jackson also skirted the edge of her awareness, drawing her attention as much as the inquiry itself.

“Your comment about me having apathy and hubris?” he elaborated, misunderstanding her silence with confusion. “Do you think they’re my faults?”

She almost laughed in a scoff, but restrained her control to intone calmly, “What would you call a man who expects people to do what he wants even when they don’t understand if not ever over-confident and arrogant?”

She had told Professor Jackson hubris and apathy were the victor’s prerogative, and Paul was carrying the mantle exceptionally. He had become so habituated to people obeying his will, taking his every whim as a command it had become a norm for him. Perhaps that was the reason her disobedience threw him off now. Something unfamiliar…unexpected.

He chuckled in a low, wry voice, apparently her defiance amused him again, like she had seen a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched her futilely fighting with the effects of the drugs he had given her. “Another good question, my Lady.”

And that moment, Irulan just wanted to hit him again.

“Don’t you worry, my lord,” she sneered, her taunting voice turning silky, knowing what she was going to comment was going to upset him more, but he had asked for it this time.

Perhaps she just should ask him to let her keep her lover once more even while carrying his child to break his integrity. The thought gave her a sinister satisfaction, knowing that forcing him to accept it—giving him horns again—would truly break his dignity. Yet, she could not do that to the father of her child, despite everything. Even the act of fornication with his permission had given her ambivalent feelings, but when their child was involved, she could not do it.

She could not cheat on the father of her child.

Besides, the rumors of the father would be deadly to the safety of her child, too, so Irulan just couldn’t do it. Her brief love affair was going to stay only as a fond memory for her for the rest of her life, like Paul had already mentioned, and even though she agreed to it this time, it made her more upset with him. 

“Professor Jackson and I also decided you’re the lesser of the two evils,” she mocked, just because she knew it would upset him even further. Apparently, her remark about his personality hit a sore spot, enough to make him ask her about it. So, Irulan did not back down.

“Feyd-Rautha was an animal worse than my father,” she went on. “If he had been the Emperor, the Professor wouldn’t have been so lucky with escaping with a few burned books. Even my father imprisoned him once back in the days.”

She had commented to get him riled up, but when Paul turned to her, he looked… surprised. “Why, Princess, for a second, you almost sounded as if you were actually glad that I won the dual.”

The comment threw her off for a split second, and Irulan looked away, remembering her confession to the Professor, remembering the nights she thought of being that animal’s wife with a dark fear in the deep of her stomach and heart.

“Like I said, you’re the lesser of two evils, my Lord,” she murmured and didn’t say anything else.

When they arrived at the Pit, she was quickly surrounded by the kids, getting separated from Paul, and it was a relief. Amy quickly clenched her hand and started to drag her away, and Irulan quickly swept her up in her arms, imagining a life with her as her own daughter, her heart getting swayed once more despite the decision she had made on the way.

Out of the corner of her eye, Irulan checked her manipulative husband, but she didn’t have it in her heart to get angry at him while Amy was in her arms, and the kids were surrounding her. She could truly help these kids. It sounded…enough. But taking these off the streets was just like killing the flies. The swamp was still there, producing more flies every day. Handling the results wasn’t going to solve the problem, but it would only make her feel better, just like killing that bastard. A momentary satisfaction, and then feeling guilt and heaviness. Irulan didn’t want that. She needed to get deep in the root cause. She needed to dry off the swamp.

She thought of those as they started to play five stones, throwing stones in the air and catching them. She had become remarkably good at this, catching all five stones in her hand at once for the first time. It was when she also noticed Tim and Rogue suddenly surrounded Paul as he toured the camp.

Her attention sweeping toward them, Irulan watched as Tim spoke to him, shoulders tensed and face stiff. He really looked like an Atreides, and Irulan confirmed upon seeing him again that nothing had changed for her about him. He was still the same young protective man who had welcomed her to his home, sharing his bread with her, promising she would always have a place with them. The circumstances of his birth wouldn’t change who he was. Irulan had already known this, but seeing him ascertained her conviction. Despite herself and her personal views on their circumstances, it still gave her a little more hope about her child. If she gave birth to a child, Irulan realized the circumstances of its birth wouldn’t make any difference to who it was for her.

Her child. A part of her. Having Paul’s seeds injected into her womb wouldn’t change it. For that moment, the proscription for the artificial ways seemed rather unfair even to her. Paul would have allowed this with Chani, but if this was truly her only chance to have a child—

Her thoughts drifted toward the future that Paul had promised to her as Rogue advanced on Paul with a familiar disposition, and Irulan just knew they were threatening him on her behalf. Trying to protect her from him, even when Irulan assured them that he would not hurt her.

Their protectiveness made her smile faintly, warming her chest. Paul was still, stiff, but not reacting. He took it silently, although Irulan could not see his face, he knew he was impassive. Irulan returned to the game.

Then something happened, Irulan recognized it as her hand paused, and the stones that she had thrown in the air fell in front of her, as Irulan didn’t try to catch them. In a split second, Paul’s back so rigid that the alertness tingled all over her body, she still had no idea how she could read the differences between his well-controlled nuances, but she still did.

She grabbed Amy’s wrist as Paul grabbed Tim and Rogue and threw them off before his voice boomed around them with the blast hitting. “EVERYONE! TAKE COVER! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK”

Irulan tucked Amy under her and rolled them over down the low steps of the bungalow, protecting her with her body as the wooden debris, fire, and residue of the bomb fell on them. Her ears were ringing and she was shaking so terribly with her eyes shut closed with dust and heat, she could not hear or see anything. She just stayed motionless, hugging Amy tightly.

“IRULAN! IRULAN!” She heard her name shouted above the ringing and screams, but she still couldn’t open her eyes. Irulan had always thought she knew the war, but she understood she had never known it. Not really.

“TURN ON YOUR DAMN SHIELD!” came the shouted order and her eyes suddenly popped open, remembering it, and when she lifted her head, so she saw Paul fighting with four men at once.

Men—men, they were everywhere. Everywhere around them. She had no idea how they had passed Gurney’s men and attacked them, but Irulan didn’t think anymore. She put herself on automatic pilot, reaching her Bene Gesserit training, and quickly jumped to her feet and dragged her and Amy away from the bungalow that was burning behind them.

Paul had killed the men who had surrounded him and started to run toward her, but his way was intercepted by another three. Tim and Rogue were fighting a few feet away from him, and Paul shouted to them to flank him to draw a defense line. His hand touched his ear, and Irulan knew she was talking to Gurney.

Irulan saw Leo a few feet away from her, down on the ground. There was a long splinter that had stuck in his thigh from the blast, covered with dust, slime, and blood. Irulan only thought for a second before she made her decision.

Quickly, she raised her arm, unlinked her shield and grabbed Amy, who was still crying, and cinched the shield over her small wrist and activated the shield. She grabbed the little girl by the shoulder and looked at her with all the seriousness she could muster. Amy’s face was covered with slime and dust, too, and Irulan knew hers was no different, either.

“Amy, go and hide, do not come out until we tell you,” she ordered. “Go! Now!”

Amy nodded, quick on her feet with the years of practice. Irulan spun around herself, picking the children around them, and sent them to hide, as well. Then she ran to Leo. She threw herself to her knees when she arrived and tried to move him away from the battleground. Men were everywhere, and they kept going.

Paul caught her sight as she struggled to carry Leo, and shouted, “Irulan!” He was taking so many men down that Tim and Rogue, and the other kids were looking at him with stunned amazement now, seeing the Muad’Dib of the Fremen legions at the battle, and Irulan wasn’t anything different.

She had never seen Paul fighting again after his dual, she had never seen him at the battle. She had even watched the desert war from their ship in orbit, and she had only seen this man after he had conquered them. He faintly looked like the man who had taken their ship after seizing it during the battle, only his devil eyes visible in his blood and dust-covered attire. He was again covered with dust and blood, slime added to the mix, and Irulan could only stare at him, stupefied.

Chani was his mate, following him even to the battle fronts, but Irulan had never seen him like this. He looked like a beast, unstoppable, unconquerable.

Noticing her, he shouted for her again, his crysknife slicing through his opponents’ throats with ease. “IRULAN!! GO HIDE!!!”

These men weren’t mere street thugs, as they had already expected. They were the best of the cartel, battle-hardened warriors, with one objection: to find the Rogue Bene Gesserit that had revealed their conspiracy.

She swallowed and pulled up Leo, shouldering his weight under her arm. She could not leave him behind. “Ru—” The teenager turned his head to her. “Go. Leave me,” he stuttered, his blood covering both of them now. “Hide.”

“No!” she rejected firmly. “We need to get you to safety first. I—”

At that moment, a man intercepted their way. Irulan held her breath. Leo pushed her back, charging at the man with her wound. Their attacker raised his arm, his blade glinting in the moonlight, ready to strike down—

Her hands raised, and Irulan cried out— “STOP!” Her Voice lashed out, commanding him to stop the attack.

The man, his arm still in the air, shouted, “SHE’S THE WITCH!! TAKE HER!”

Then all hell broke loose as every attacker surrounded them and started to run toward her.

Irulan staggered to her feet and started to stumble backward at the face of the sudden charge.

“STOP!” She tried to use her Voice again as they sprinted toward her, but it was impossible to stop them all at once; she couldn’t command so many people at once. She turned around and started to run toward Paul, but the men who were chasing her caught her before she could. And Paul was still fighting with a dozen men who surrounded him.

Hands grabbed her, arms circling her waist, lifting her to carry her away. She started to scream at the same time Paul’s angry shout rang in the air.

“DO NOT TOUCH MY WIFE!”

But the men who had caught her were already trying to gag her mouth.

“PAUL!! PAUL!!!” she cried out as she kicked one man in front of her as he tried to stuff the cloth piece into her mouth, and in return, the man hit her so hard with the back of her hand that her sight blackened.

For the first time in her life, someone had hit her, and Paul’s angry screams for revenge were in her ears as she was thrown to the ground. She couldn’t even comprehend what was happening through the shock as the man sat on her stomach and another slap hit her face, and another followed. Tears of anger and humiliation flooded her cheeks with every heavy slap that landed on her face as the others bound her hands, her face throbbing with pain.

Hauling her up like an empty sack, they started to drag her, catching her by the hair this time as Irulan threw herself back to the ground to escape from them. They tugged her head so badly when she tried to go toward Paul that she felt her scalp was going to tear off. This time, a punch landed on her jaw, and Irulan truly thought she was going to pass out from pain as the stars exploded over her eyes. Her lips broke with the blow, blood filling into her mouth behind the gag, smothering her worse. She spat blood and spit under the cloth in her mouth to breathe.

“Let her go. Now.”

Paul had killed the last man who had kept him away, and he was standing across them in the middle of the battleground, and despite his sudden calmness as he watched them, there was a murderous look on his face looking at her and the man who had taken her and beaten her. His eyes swept over her, his blue-spirited eyes growing darker with anger as they lingered on her throbbing face. Her cheeks were aching so badly now that she knew she was going to have bruises.

“Let go of my wife,” he spoke with the same calm deadliness as another man attacked him, and Paul killed him, never looking away from her.

“And I’ll let you have a clean death.”

The man who was still keeping her captive laughed beside her head, tightening his grip over her, and pulled her back against his chest. A knife pressed on her jugular vein, and then everyone stopped, even their attackers. Tim and Rogue stared at them like the rest of their group as Paul faced her captor serenely.

The man must have been their leader, because he laughed at Paul’s icy threat, giving him a clean death if he let her go. He looked so menacing as he did so that Irulan thought the man should have thought twice, but he didn’t.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me you would let me live if I leave her?” he asked in a mocking tone. “That’s usually how it goes with a hostage situation. You clearly lack the etiquette.”

“I lack nothing. All of you will die, that’s not negotiable,” Paul replied with the same calmness. The man behind her grew stiff, and his knife pressed on her throat deeper.

“But you, you touched my wife. You hit her. You hit her many times,” he spoke every word like they were a death sentence, and it was. Their eyes caught each other for a second, and his look trembled her more than the knife at her throat.

“For the rest of your men, I can be merciful, let them have clean deaths. For you—” He shook his head. “For you, I will have no mercy. Unless you give me a reason now. Let her go.”

“You don’t count so good, huh?” her captor taunted again, failing to see Paul’s seriousness. “You’re outnumbered. You’ve given a good fight, but it’s not enough. If you trust those guards outside, our men are handling them. You’re alone. And you can’t kill us all.”

“And this chick—” he tutted, his head tilting to touch the side of her neck. Irulan shuddered, closing her eyes. The murderous blue fire in Paul’s eyes lit darker. “—is going to answer some questions. Our boss wants to chat with her. We want to learn who she is. What does a Bene Gesserit do in Caladan’s back streets?”

“She was sent to exile,” Paul deadpanned, and her heart jumped to her throat as her pulse fluttered under the blade. “And I can tell you who she is. You don’t need to point a blade at her throat for that.”

The man laughed.

Irulan closed her eyes. “She’s Irulan Corrino, Princess Consort of the Empire.”

There was a stunned and amazed silence, even no breathing sounds being heard. Irulan opened her eyes and saw Tim and Rogue staring at her wildly with everyone else. Paul still stood calmly facing them.

“And that makes you…?” her captor asked, his voice tinted with doubt and suspicion, but Irulan could see Tim and Rogue’s widened eyes draw the conclusion.

“Paul Muad’Dib Atreides, son of Duke Leto Atreides, the Emperor of the Known Universe, yes. You better let go of my wife now.”

The stunned silence lingered, but then her captor spoke, “This wouldn’t be the first time we tried to spill the royal blood,” he remarked, clinking his tongue. “From what I see, there’s already no turning back from this.”

He pressed the blade deeper into her skin and spilled her blood as if to make her point, and fear and panic surged in her to another level, understanding his point. In a way, it was true, there was no turning back from this. They had already taken captive the Princess Consort. Why would they let her go? Paul’s threat was dangerous, but he hadn’t lied. They were outnumbered.

“And, like I said, Your Majesty,” he went on. “You can’t kill us all. Not on your own. So let us have another deal. You let us go, we send her royal ass back to your royal highness after a generous amount of solaris, and no one gets hurt.”

Paul gazed at them, his blue-fired eyes intense and dark, and Irulan expected another outburst or another charge, but he did something that surprised all of them, Irulan the most.

He shielded his crysknife at his back slowly and deliberately, accepting the offer. Even her captor was shocked because he laughed dryly in her ear, leaning over her closer, her arm tightening over her waist.

“Well, that’s a surprise. I honestly didn’t think you’d accept, Your Majesty. But then again, we also heard the rumors. They say you don’t care about the Princess a lot. Only had to wed her for the throne. You don’t even bang—”

“SILENCE!” his voice boomed all around her, stopping the words that just humiliated her worse, in front of everyone! Everyone!

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks once more, her gaze sweeping toward Tim and Rogue, and there was a part of her that wished that the blade just cut her throat. Even the strong usage of the Voice didn’t faze her this time, or the last time he had done this was the day he had taken the mentioned throne along with her, silencing the Reverend Mother herself.

His face was thunderous now, and her tears suddenly stopped, and for the first time in twelve years, Irulan saw Paul Muad’Dib Atreides without any restraints, unhinged.

“ALL OF YOU WHO LISTEN TO MY VOICE ASIDE YOU—” his Voice continued as Paul spoke, his blue-fired gaze sweeping over their attackers before settling on her captor. “I COMMAND YOU! DRAW YOUR WEAPONS AND KILL YOURSELVES!”

Irulan had known the extent of his powers, the things he was capable of, the things he would do. He was a power that was unprecedented, unseen, so great that it had taken ten thousand years to create it. Yet, Irulan still could not foresee this, could not predict something like this.

The raw, uncultivated power. Even slicing through humanity’s strongest instinct. All at once. For more than a hundred people. Irulan couldn’t even command three people at once to stop, but Paul was commanding more than one hundred people to take their own lives.

 And it happened so quickly they couldn’t even blink.

Without hesitation or reluctance, his powers stripped away all the free will, and their attacks raised their hands and killed themselves with their own weapons, carrying out the command.

With widened eyes, they stared at him. In silence, Paul unshielded his crysknife again and started to advance toward them. His captor was in a stupor as deep as theirs, his blade at her throat frozen, but when he saw Paul approaching him calmly with his knife, he lost it.

He dropped the blade from her throat, threw her away, and then raised his hands in the air to surrender. Paul kept walking, his eyes having no mercy as the man dropped to his knees and started to beg.

Paul didn’t even cast a glance at him a glance anymore as he was heading toward her as Irulan stayed where he had thrown her to the ground in her stupor and shock. He knelt beside her as Irulan tried to compose herself to stand up from the uneven terrain. His hand gently cupped her chin and lifted her head as he unbound the gag in her mouth and untied her hands.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his eyes checking over her carefully, and Irulan still felt so shocked that she could only bob her head, only managing to hold back her tears of shame and pain.

He twisted his head and spotted Tim and Rogue between the others and the men he had ordered to kill themselves, and called for them. “Tim, Rogue, get the Princess Consort inside one of the bungalows.”

The order was low, almost soft, but firm. Tim and Rogue shared a glance, looking as lost as her, but Tim was the one who collected himself first. “Yes—my lord,” he added after a pause.

“Round up the injured,” Paul said, standing up as they held Irulan and pulled her up on each side. “Count the kids. We’ll sweep off the rest,” he ordered, still not taking the account of the man who was begging him for mercy a few feet away.

He touched his ear. “Gurney, I handled it here. You clean up the rest. Send the Red Cross with ambulances. We have wounded.”

Tim and Rogue still stared at him. Paul cocked his head. “Go now.”

They started to move, but Irulan staggered and looked at the man on the ground. Paul was still not giving him any attention as if he were so low that he could not bother himself with him anymore. “What are you going to do with him?”

Paul held her gaze, still refusing to look at the man. “Like I said, he missed his chance for a clean death.”

Chapter Text

Inside the bungalow, Irulan was trying to calm her wrecked nerves and high emotions, focusing on her breathing through her well-practiced mind-body exercises, while holding Amy, whom Irulan had found before she was escorted to the bungalow with her new guards.

The situation was so tense that Irulan still had a hard time processing it; no amount of Bene Gesserit training or self-discipline could suppress the turmoil around and inside her. Amy was in the same way, clinging to her side as Irulan sat in the simple wooden chair in the corner, hiding herself from the brutality they had just survived. Irulan had found her in a small cavity of one of the trees, hiding herself with dry leaves and branches. Irulan had been so relieved that the little girl had listened to her instruction when she had thrown herself at her arms, her body still simmering blue with the body shield that Irulan had put on her before sending her to hide and even though Irulan had turned it off, slowly slipping her hand through the shield, she hadn’t taken off the shield. The band was still on her small wrist. Irulan wasn’t going to remove it.

The room was silent, no one was talking, though the clamor was drifting inside the room from outside. The shouts for help, and loud moans of pain from the injured, and other sounds the soldiers made as they rounded up the dead. Irulan tried to silence them all and empty her mind, but it was a futile exercise. She could still imagine what was happening outside now. There was a part of her that wanted to go out and check the others, to make sure Leo was okay, make sure everything was going to be okay, but another part of her just wanted to leave this battleground and the humiliation and ridicule she had been subjected to.

Her cheeks were still hurting, a remnant of the slaps she had suffered, and Irulan knew she was going to carry bruises from tonight, but that wasn’t even the worst part of her humiliation.

Irulan was no stranger to pain; every time the Reverend Mother wasn’t satisfied with her progress with Paul or disappointed in her failures, Irulan had endured the consequences, but even the Reverend Mother couldn’t dare such a disgrace on her person. It was the first time anyone had ever laid a finger on her, physically harmed her. The thought of someone hitting her was more hurtful than the actual pain, more humiliating, and the thought of everyone witnessing it was unbearable, yet even those paled in comparison to how further those people had ridiculed her, turning her into a joke in front of everyone.

They say you don’t care about the Princess a lot. Only had to wed her for her throne, the taunting words came back at her, burning her with the humiliation she felt as her control almost slipped, a tremor passing over her.

Everything in her life always came to this. Regardless of how hard she tried, she still could not escape from this. Irulan Corrino could not escape from this.

She’s Irulan Corrino, Princess Consort of the Empire.

A wave of anger hit her this time with the remembrance, drowning her as her eyes flicked sideways toward Tim and Rogue, who stood at the other side somberly, giving her covert, wary glances, still trying to process what had happened as hard as her. Irulan could only imagine how insane tonight must have looked for them, getting attacked by one of the most powerful and animalistic cartels in the galaxy, and then finding out the woman they had given sanctuary was no one but the Princess Consort herself, of the Empire that they hated, and then also witnessing the brutal destruction the Emperor himself had rained on their home, whom they also hated.

As her anger flamed, Irulan tightened her grip on Amy to center herself, a part of her wanting to go out and find Paul, have another confrontation. How could he let it happen? With all the precautions he had taken, this still happened. It was also an eye-opener for her that how little control they truly had over the planet, but that wasn’t the only reason for her anger. Paul had always been feral and merciless dealing with his adversaries, but the way he had done it, the way he had given away her secret—letting them know who she was—That wasn’t what they had talked about!

He had been pressing her to confess the Gang who she was, but this wasn’t the way! He hadn’t needed to do it in this way, even when there was a blade pointed at her throat!

She still could feel the slight cut on her throat the man had done, her blood running down her skin from the surface wound, and she focused her awareness on it to control her wrecked emotions and recenter herself, but it was still so hard to do it. He had even told everyone she had been exiled to Caladan! He could’ve at least kept that to himself!

Her insides shook with her anger and all her other turmoil once more, prickling her eyes with unshed tears. She knew she had to talk with Tim and Rogue and explain—explain herself and why she had lied to them, but she had no idea how to do it, either. She didn’t even know where to start. She wasn’t even sure if they would hate her or pity her now.

Irulan had always feared of their reaction if they learned who she was, feared how they would have taken it, feared their anger, but now, sitting in this somber silence, and facing these wary but befuddled glances as if they also didn’t know how to proceed from here, how to deal a Royal Princess who had been taken along with her throne and then sent to exile, Irulan realized she would prefer their anger. She would prefer them getting angry at her for her lies, for hiding who she was, instead of receiving those puzzled looks as if they couldn’t decide if they should pity her or not.

Her back went rigid as she tried to get up, an iciness reaching over her. She didn’t want anyone's pity. She would prefer getting flogged or getting brutally beaten instead of facing such humiliation again.

She remembered the way Tim had taken the order from Paul to escort him, silent but stumped, heeding the order. Irulan knew they had been silently trying to grapple with what happened, what it would mean for them.

Irulan steadied her heartbeat, controlling her emotions, and slowly, letting out a silent breath, she freed herself from Amy on the chair and stood back. She slowly walked over to them as they turned to her, their expressions still somber and puzzled, but as soon as they saw her approaching, they became warier. They both were gazing at her openly now, seizing her up, and Irulan took it as a good sign that Rogue didn’t reach toward her blade.

She swallowed as she stood in front of them, holding their stares. “I know I owe you an explanation and an apology,” Irulan started, “And I know it’s a long one,” she continued, but was cut off as the door opened.

They all whipped at the sound, both Tim and Rogue reaching toward their sides at the same time, Irulan caught out of the corner of her eye as she saw Gurney standing in the doorway.

With the arrival of the former Warmaster, the tension in the small bungalow suddenly raked up so high that Irulan also comprehended the level of mistrust that Tim and Rogue still held toward them despite everything, despite the silent obedience that Tim had heeded Paul’s order.

“Princess,” Gurney greeted formally and firmly after a glance at them, even tilting his head a little in reverence to her status, “We’re to escort you back to the Keep.”

Irulan felt another hot wave of anger sweep over her as she realized Paul wanted her gone now, sending her away to his Castle, waiting for his final judgment. She had no idea what would happen now, where what happened tonight would put them in his proposal to her, the fact that he wanted her to have his child. Irulan couldn’t even think about it right now, but the fear of being tucked into a Guild heighliner and then sent back to Arrakis was so raw and strong in her, she jerked her head curtly, refusing it, “I’m not going anywhere!”

Her voice snapped with all her anger and hatred, shaking her. She wasn’t going anywhere! He would not do this to her once more, take away the little happiness she had found here, something that only belonged to her! He had everything, but Irulan wasn’t going to allow him to take this away from her, too. Even if the Gang of the Pit didn’t want to see her ever again, would never believe in her again, Irulan was not going to abandon them!

Yet, the Lord of Caladan was unaffected by her anger or her refusal.

“His Majesty ordered your safe return, Princess Consort. It’s not safe for you here,” he replied, almost indifferent, though Irulan didn’t miss how he also added “Consort” to her title this time.

Subtle in his warning to remind her status. Irulan had always hated it when they did this to her, using her full title to remind her where she stood.

Princess Consort. Princess-wife.

Her jaw set further as she sent the man a glare. Tim and Rogue were still silently watching the scene, clearly reading the room, but Amy’s sudden blooming childish voice disrupted their tension as she jumped down from the chair and whirled herself at Irulan’s side.

“Ruuu!!!” she cried out, sounding excited in a sudden rush, all her fear forgotten. “They know you’re a real Princess? Don’t I need to hide it anymore?”

The moment was so absurd, almost nonsensical, that Gurney laughed, looking amused as he gazed down at the child who was pressed against her hip, looking up at him with her childhood innocence.

“No, young lady,” he replied. “You don’t need to hide it anymore.”

Irulan gave him a dirty look, her arm wrapping around Amy as Rogue snapped behind her back, “Did you tell Amy?”

Suppressing a sigh, Irulan twisted toward her. “No. She heard me talking with Paul when he found me here,” she explained. Even if the way she addressed the Emperor on his first time must have shaken them, they didn’t show it. “I asked her to keep it secret between us.”

“She’s giving me her tiara, Rogue!” Amy chirped with the same excitement. “I’ll be like a Princess!”

Amy’s exclamation made Gurney laugh again with a deep rumble, clearly enjoying the moment despite there must be still one hundred men lying dead outside their steps, and Irulan felt ashamed, her cheeks reddening despite her control because they all understood she had tried to bribe Amy with her treats.

“I’m staying,” Irulan announced once more to stop the absurd moment, and added sotto voce, her voice clipped, “I’m not leaving them.”

“There’s no need, my lady,” came the firm reply again, indifferent once more, but the drop of Princess Consort told her Gurney had softened his standing with his orders. “They’re coming with us, too.”

She stared at him, stupefied. “His Majesty ordered all of your safe return to the Keep,” he explained. “They’ll stay at the guest wing until further notice.”

Irulan supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but she still was. She had expected Paul to tuck her away to deal with her, but then again, there was also another person he couldn’t leave behind, she remembered. His cousin.

A possible Atreides heir.

Irulan glanced back over her shoulder toward Tim, who stood with his clenched jaw, clearly not liking the order he heard. Something from his rigid back also warned Irulan, he would not heed the order as obediently as the last time.

Tim and Rogue shared a glance and then, he stated calmly, “We thank His Highness for the offer, but we’ll stay.”

Gurney gave him a long look. “That wasn’t a request, boy,” he replied stiffly.

“We’re not going anywhere!” Rogue snapped, her hand slipping inside her pocket.

“That’s an Imperial order, girl!” Gurney hissed this time, his eased back standing disappearing. “You’re not at leisure to refuse.”

When Irulan saw Rogue’s hand come out with her blade, twirling it open, she quickly cut in, “Leave us,” she ordered the former Warmaster. “I’ll talk with them.”

The former Warmaster gave the open blade in Rogue’s hand, and the simple yet certain way Tim stood beside her, and then she looked at Irulan. Whatever he read in the room must have convinced him, too, because he tipped his head at her a second later, “As you command.”

Irulan let out a silent breath in relief, but the man also added, “But you need to hurry, Princess. His Majesty ordered your return at once.”

“What’s he going to do?” Irulan asked in a whisper, wary now. If Paul was planning something, Irulan needed to know. He could not keep her away from this. Caladan was his home planet, but it was the place that had brought joy and happiness for the first time in years, made her feel like she had found a…home. Irulan was not going to let it fall into the hands of the cartels and gangs, and animals!

“He’s taken the command of my forces,” Gurney replied. “He’s going to sweep the capital and look for more cartel men.”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” Irulan replied. “They must have already predicted it after landing such a garrison on the planet.” For a second, Irulan even wondered if he was going to call for his Fremen legions and there was that part of her that wanted to talk to him about it, about what he planned, about how he was going to resolve this and bright peace to Caladan from the influence of the rule of the criminals, or the fact that he couldn’t have foreseen the attack—which also cleared far more worrying alliances.

The Spacing Guild was angrier than they had presumed at the loss of Tupile. Their participant must have blinded his insight, and Irulan also wanted to discuss it, but at the time being, she allowed herself to question the former Warmaster, “Are you bringing Fremen legions to sweep them off?”

Gurney shook his head. “No,” he clipped, his tone impossible to read further, yet Irulan sensed his conflict. “Our garrison will do it.”

 The lack of assistance made the man conflicted, and Irulan understood the reason. Without the Fremen legions, they lacked the manpower to control the situation on the planet which was the main reason how the criminal underworld had managed to take such a strong grip on Caladan below the peaceful surface, yet if the Fremen landed on the soils of Caladan, they would have transformed the planet like how they had done to countless others in the system.

The man left them after another assessing look, and Irulan returned to Tim and Rogue when they were alone, putting Amy back on the chair.

“Rogue, Tim,” she started, coming closer to them, and decided to be as open as possible. Time for holding secrets was done, Irulan was going to be the most sincere and honest with them now, and was not going to hide who she was anymore.

“I know you don’t trust me anymore, and you have every reason for it. I lied to you, I—I tried to be as sincere as possible, but I still hid who I am,” she admitted. “But you also told me you don’t care who I am.”

Perhaps it was a risky movement, but she also wanted to remind them of their own promise.

“We didn’t know you were the Princess Consort of the Empire when we told you that,” Rogue clipped, not buying her attempt to play at their promise, her hatred for the Empire dripping from her hissed voice.

“Yes, but I told you I was a highborn whose family was disgraced, her father had been imprisoned by the Emperor himself. You knew I was running away from someone—”

“But you weren’t running away,” Rogue cut her off to point out, “You were sent to exile.”

Irulan closed her eyes for a split second, a strong desire to hit Paul for also adding that part inciting in her. “Yes.”

“You also told us you were working in the Atreides Keep’s kitchens—”

“I told you I was living in the castle,” Irulan cut her off, “And I am. I also helped the kitchen staff to bring Amy cakes—” she paused, glancing at the girl who sat in the chair, checking the shield band on her wrist, uninterested with the discussion they were having now. “So, I also didn’t lie about that part.”

Tim’s lips almost played with her retort, which relieved her chest, but Rogue sent him a glower before returning to her, “Why did that creep send you here to exile?”

Her face became stiff as Irulan fixated on the teenage girl, fear swelling her chest in a way worse. Rogue was…as rebellious as her given name, and Paul had a peculiar sense of tolerance; what would amuse him and what would anger him sometimes was impossible to predict, calling him a creep now was too risky. He had allowed Professor Jackson to call him almost a sociopathic tyrant, had not gotten angered when Irulan called him the lesser of two evils, after even telling him he was arrogant in his hubris and apathic, but calling him a creep was still too much.

He wouldn’t have been intrigued by it. “Rogue, please,” she said, “Never call him like that again. Paul Muad’Dib Atreides is a tolerant man, but his tolerance has a limit,” she warned all the seriousness she could muster up, “Don’t test it.”

Her lips flattened in a grimace, and she hissed, “Why did his divine Majesty send you here to exile?”

Irulan closed her eyes for another split second but confessed flatly, “I poisoned his concubine with contraceptives for years so that she could not bear him his heir.”

It was also the confession that what they all gossiped about their marriage was true; it was nothing but a scam, a façade as bad as Tupile. They were both looking at her now, and Irulan looked away because she didn’t want to see the pity in their gazes.

“He sent me to exile after I confessed,” she added, although she wasn’t sure of the reason.

“Why?” Tim asked this time, and Irulan glanced back at him, confused. “Why did you confess?” he elaborated, sensing her confusion, and Irulan stared, remembering that night of their confrontation and before it—the way he had denied her his child because she held no love for him, and their talk tonight offering her his something.

She swallowed through a lump in her throat, the words feeling stuck in it. “I-I wanted it to end,” she confessed what she had confessed that night. “I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

They were silent for a few seconds, Irulan still looking ahead at the wooden wall, not wanting to see the look on their expressions. “Why do they call you Princess Consort?” Rogue asked suddenly, breaking the somber silence between them. “If he’s the Emperor, aren’t you supposed to be…Empress?”

Irulan almost croaked a laugh at the question, something ripping off her chest. She nodded before admitting it openly, “Yes, I am supposed to, but Paul doesn’t let me carry the title. My official title is Princess Consort or Princess wife.”

Rogue’s expression wasn’t pitiful now, but was angry. Her lips flattened. “That’s sick.”

“It’s politics,” Irulan replied impassively. “He needed me to legitimize his claim on the throne, and wedding me was enough. The Empress Consort would have portrayed our House as more powerful, and I presume he didn’t want that.” She paused, averting her gaze once more before also adding, “Besides, it was a good way to prove our marriage was just a political formality to his beloved.”

 Rogue’s expression looked disgusted now. “I think I understand why you wanted to run away from him now…” she murmured.

Irulan almost croaked out that raw laughter out of her chest this time, her eyes prickling. “What he did outside,” Tim spoke, breaking the silence, and his voice was almost breaking as he referenced what had happened, “Can you do it, too?”

“No,” Irulan admitted. “I can’t. I’m not powerful enough. I’m a barely adept Bene Gesserit, like I told you. My mother taught me the ways, but I was never trained properly or officially, as I told you. Nevertheless,” she went on, also admitting, “I-I don’t believe any of us, even the Superior Mother herself, is powerful enough.”

What she meant was clear, and Tim questioned, “They say he can see the future. They say it was how he won the Desert War. Is it true? Can he?”

Irulan bobbed her head. “Yes, he can see the paths, but his powers aren’t unlimited, his prescience did not apply to natural law of the things. Some things blur his insight, blind him. He couldn’t foresee the truth behind Tupile, couldn’t foresee I was drugging his beloved.”

This was her way to convince them he was a mythical, godlike figure like his new religion and Fremen had portrayed him, but a man in fresh blood with failures. He was the most powerful man throughout history, but he wasn’t invincible.

“If we go with you,” Rogue asked, staring at her, “they’d let us leave when we desire it?”

“I can’t make a promise for that,” Irulan replied honestly, remembering Tim’s situation, “But I can guarantee to you this. Paul is a hard man,” she said, choosing his first name once more to convince them, “but he’s also just. Instead of ordering me garroted for what I did to his beloved for years, he sent me here. He holds no ill feelings toward you. He wants you safe.”

It wasn’t a lie to convince them, because Irulan believed it. Despite his neglect, Paul cared for his subjects. He didn’t want them to get hurt or suffer.

“You go with her,” Tim suddenly announced, “I’ll stay.”

Rogue protested even before Irulan opened her mouth. “No! I’m not leaving you.”

“Rogue, I need to make sure we’re safe,” he whispered to her, turning aside from Irulan. “I’ll find you at the Keep, and we’ll see what we’ll do.” There was a sudden silence between them, silent glances shared before Rogue curtly nodded.

Irulan frowned, sensing they had come to a decision which they didn’t want to share with her. “Let’s go,” Rogue said, marching toward the door. “Amy, up. We’re going.”

The girl looked at her. “Where?”

“Do you want to see where Ru lives?” the teenage girl asked, slanting a look at Irulan.

Amy whirled at her side in a chirping excitement, wheezing. “Are we going to the castle on the top of the hill?” she bellowed.

Irulan nodded, almost smiling, but the silent looks Rogue and Tim shared still alerted the cautious part of her. If they planned something—Rogue opened the door and left her bungalow, the clamor of the outside, the sounds and smells invading her senses without any barrier.

Outside was still a mess, a battleground that Gurney’s men were still trying to tidy up. There was the smell of blood and sulphur in the air, soot on the burned ground and trees, and everyone was shouting at one another, the wounded moaning and groaning in pain as the first responders from the Red Cross tending their wounds.

Irulan steeled herself not to throw up when she felt assaulted with all, for not portraying herself once more the pampered, shrouded Princess who had always been protected all her life. Although it was true, if she lost her control and threw up, Irulan would have never forgiven herself for proving them true. Chani would have never even blinked in such a situation.

The thought suddenly popped out in her mind as Irulan gazed at the scene, and she didn’t know why, but her expression soured with the truth. She shoved it away, not liking only her thought, but the fact that she had thought of it, too, compared herself to the concubine. She was not like Chani as she had told Paul many times, and she felt proud of it.

Then she remembered how she had been slapped down on the ground, gagged and bound, unshed tears of shame prickling her eyes as her gaze moved toward the spot she had been caught. No one would have ever laid a finger on Chani. They would’ve been dead even before the contact.

Her lips flattened, Irulan used her anger to focus all her Bene Gesserit training to stay unaffected by the ongoing chaos around her. Amy hid herself against her hip once more, her excitement vaporizing at the face of the reality of what they had survived.

Ahead of them, there was a small crowd of soldiers, and in the midst of them, stood Paul, a few inches taller than everyone, looking as unaffected as a marble statue. The leader of their attackers, whom he had taken captive, was nowhere around anymore, and Irulan felt no pity. He deserved what was coming to him.

When he sensed their gaze on him, Paul twisted aside briefly, and their eyes met over the chaos and the sea of people between them. He held her look for a split second, and then divided his people and started to march toward them.

Irulan steeled herself further to face him, her arm tightening over Amy’s small figure protectively. If he expected to find a staggering, whimpering woman like he had seen the last time, he was going to see another thing.

When Paul stopped in front of them, ignoring the scene behind him, his keen blue within blue gaze fixated on her with intent. Irulan didn’t avert hers and held it. “Are you okay?” he asked directly, his voice calm but firm, as unaffected as his demeanor, despite his worried questioning.

“We are,” Irulan answered shortly in plural, clipped.

Paul nodded. “Gurney will escort you back to Keep. I already informed my mother,” he informed further. “She’ll settle our guests.”

“I’m not leaving,” Tim cut in, and he looked as confrontational as an Atreides. “These people attacked my home, my lord, attacked Her Majesty while she was our guest. I wish to stay and find them.”

Paul’s focus returned to his lost cousin, calmly seizing him. Irulan knew then that it had been what the teenagers had discussed silently before they left the bungalow cabin. Although Irulan could understand and believe his reason to stay with Paul to fight their attackers, there was also a part of her that thought there was something else going on. Irulan would have stepped in, but she didn’t. She let it go to find out what they were planning as she also realized they were planning something.

“All right,” Paul nodded his acceptance after a long look, and Irulan sensed his satisfaction this time. He liked Tim staying behind with him. “I would never refuse a man who wants to protect his own.” He slanted a look at Gurney. “Gurney, find a shield for him. Have you ever fought with a body shield?” he asked, his gaze quickly returning to him from his Warmaster.

Tim shook his head. “No, my lord.”

Paul returned without another look at them as Irulan’s teeth gritted over each other, going back to his squad, Tim falling beside him. “The trick is the slow motion,” he continued as they walked away, and Irulan heard him intoning as they stayed with Gurney, “Like how the saying goes. It’s the slow blade that penetrates the shield.”

Gurney watched them go with a stiff expression as if he couldn’t understand how his Sire himself would personally train a street kid. Irulan knew the former Warmaster of House Atreides might live the surprise of his life after years, perhaps even landing another Atreides to train in the art of warfare. The thought paused her for a second as they escorted them toward the small cruiser that would take them to the Atreides’s old stronghold from the old Atreides property.

They left the old beach resort and the battlefield then, quick and without ceremony, carrying over to the safety of Paul’s Keep, and while she looked down, gazing at the Tim and Paul’s dwarfing figures below down as they raised, Irulan felt a strong and imminent feeling as if a chapter in her life had closed down. She didn’t know what it meant—what it would mean, but she still sensed it. Inside her palm, there was a handful of soil, soot, and half-burned leaves, a remembrance of today, of what they had survived today.

A special memoir for her collection, so she would never forget.

*

The Atreides castle on the top of the hill amazed even Rogue, even though she tried to hide the emotion. They were staring at the massive entrance in blue-grey marble that was led by the majestic, elegant blue-marble staircase shining with moonlight, more than thirty children of different ages. Amy was still beside her hip, holding to her, mesmerized as she looked up as Rogue stood on her other side, trying to hide her stunned amazement and failing.

Irulan didn’t blame them. The Atreides Keep was one of the most beautiful strongholds of the Great Houses. It shone brightly under sunlight and moonlight, the wind howling in the wuthering heights above the sea, moors, and meadows.

Lady Jessica, the Holy Mother of the Empire, stood by the entrance of her home, forgotten in the last decade and now occupied by street children. The look on her face told Irulan all she needed to know about how the older woman was taking the recent events—what she thought of the developments that had happened in her peaceful life since Irulan’s arrival.

Irulan had rattled her carefully constructed peaceful bubble so much that the older woman shot her daggers as if this was the last stroke on the back of the camel, like how the Fremen said. She had been a kind host, of course, escorting them to the guest wings as the order had directly come from Paul, not from him. She briefly remembered how Reverend Mother had replied that this Keep wasn’t her house when Irulan had told her to leave, knowing her mother-in-law also shared the same feeling. The truth that Irulan was the reason why these kids were in the Keep now, despite the order having come from Paul, gave her a raw satisfaction as well, as childish as it would be.

After they settled them in the guest quarters at the left wing of the Keep, Irulan was about to head toward her quarters as well to put herself back together, but Amy clung to her dusted and soot-covered skirts so tightly that Irulan stopped and looked down. She was hiding her face into her hip once more, not looking up at her. Irulan smiled, raising her hand to stroke her bird-nest unkempt hair. It was also covered with ash and soot like each of them.

“Do you want to see my room, sweetheart?” Irulan asked, and Amy perked up quickly, lifting her up from her hip and bobbing her head eagerly. Rogue sighed, rolling her eyes as Irulan chuckled lowly. Lady Jessica was watching them now, her eyes holding another interest.

Irulan ignored it as she ignored the woman and turned to Rogue. “Can she stay with me?” she asked for permission. “I’m staying on the west side of the building. In the family quarters.”

“Please say yes, Rogue!” Amy implored, looking at her with big, doe-like eyes, “I wanna stay with Ru!”

The nickname made Lady Jessice cock an eyebrow but Irulan also ignored that. “All right, you can. But you’re gonna behave.”

Amy quickly bobbed her head again. Then she retreated to the rooms they were assigned with the rest of their gang, Irulan staying alone with Lady Jessica and Amy, and a bunch of serving maids. They began walking toward their quarters in the west wing, the serving maids following them a few steps behind diligently as Amy bounced beside her, still mesmerized. She was gaping at the hand-made portraits and landscape pictures on the hall of the entrance of the Atreides family quarters, her mouth so ajar that Irulan realized the small girl had ever seen an ancient picture in her life before.

And how could she?

Painting was a pastime hobby that only the Great Houses took leisure in, a long-forgotten and useless art from the ancient days that no one but the Great Houses bothered themselves with. The old distaste from the old Jahid for everything that imitated the natural thing, combined with the Fremen distaste for art, rendered the art almost taboo like the artificial ways.

The remembrance of that topic almost stumbled her feet, but Irulan quickly shoved it away. Paul had told her to make up her mind by the morning, but even he could not expect her to finalize her decision after what had happened tonight. He was going to have to wait until she could think about it again.

She looked down at Amy, her chest constricting, her fear when she had thought they had come to hurt them. What would have happened tonight if Paul hadn’t been with them breezed over her mind, and Irulan almost shuddered. They were going to take her away and torture her until she broke, or worse, but that wasn’t what trembled her with dread. What would have happened to her was awful, but the things they would have done to Amy, Rogue, Tim, and the others—No. Irulan would have never forgiven herself even if she had survived them. Eventually, Paul would have found her, or they would have realized what kind of a sad mistake they had made for taking her captive, but it would’ve been too late. The revenge wouldn’t have brought her satisfaction or peace. She had been angry at Paul for stalking her, but right now, she only felt grateful.

Her hand slipped inside her hidden pocket under her cape, and her fingers brushed over the soil, the moment when that animal humiliated her—stopping him before he completed his sentence about how he refused to take her into his bed, reacting in a way Irulan didn’t even believe was possible. Something in him must have snapped, triggering him, his potential, whether seeing her getting brutally assaulted in front of his eyes—his legal wife, although it was only in name, or mocking words directed at them, calling him out for it—the mockery of their marriage.

The Bene Gesserit in her would have examined his reaction, the primal and feral way he had reacted to those words after every other humiliation she had suffered, yet Irulan also shoved it away from herself. She didn’t want to think about it, about what it would mean, if it meant something. She was so tired of trying to make sense of Paul Atreides and his reactions, his wants, his needs.

I don’t understand myself, either, sometimes, she remembered him confessing earlier tonight before openly admitting he asked her to trust him. His words had made Irulan only snort in disbelief last night, but she remembered herself calling out for him—screaming for her help—screaming for him as they tried to tie her, the blows running down on her, and the way he responded when he saw that—

A sob she didn’t let get out clogged her throat, and she bit her inner cheeks not to cry so badly that she tasted her own blood. She tried to calm down, forcing the memory away from herself as she relived it as vividly as it happened, and it was the right that moment Lady Jessica decided to break the silence between them.

Perhaps the older woman had sensed her crumpling self-control and growing distress, before she directly asked, “What happened, Irulan? Who did this to you?”

The question snapped her out of her reverie as Irulan stopped and faced the older woman straight in the eye. There was no doubt in her mind that she looked as bad as she felt, and she wanted the woman to see it clearly. The failure she had managed to create on their home planet.

“If you cared about Caladan and her people even an inch, cared anything beyond your own happiness, the peaceful bubble you’ve created here for yourself, restraining yourself from everything else in the galaxy, you wouldn’t have asked me that question now, Reverend Mother.”

Her voice was venomous, and Irulan didn’t hold back, didn’t stop. “You would’ve known who did this to me. Who humiliated me. Who beat me. Paul sent you here to keep peace in his name, you let Caladan become a hive of scum and villainy. This’s on you, too, Reverend Mother. You caused this, too. Do feign innocence now.”

With that, she quickly swept Amy into her arms and started to march away from her toward her chambers. Her heart was racing, her blood was drumming inside her ear, her body was aching from all the beating she had suffered for the first time in her life, and she felt like she was going to faint, but holding herself steady, clutching the small girl in her arms, Irulan went to her room, her decision settling in once more with her determination.

They all had failed Caladan, but Irulan wasn’t going to let it slip away. She wasn’t going to let this planet fall into the abyss they had created, devoured by the monsters they had helped to create.

They had lost something vital. When they lost it, they also lost the ability to make good decisions. They fell upon decisions these days the way we fell upon an enemy, or they waited and waited and allowed the decisions of others to move them*. They had been the ones who had set this current flowing, but had begun following the others’ footsteps.

They let the truth slip away from them, and then what was true and what was said to be true had become an abyss in which the atrocities like Tupile had come forth in their neglect.

Inside her room, Irulan set Amy down and opened her drawer, and poured the soil inside her hidden pocket over her collection—her memories never to forget.

At that moment, she also realized how she was going to save Caladan, how she would prevent any other Tupile happening under her watch. She was going to reset the flow. She first bathed Amy who was mesmerized by her chambers even more, and then put her to sleep before taking care of herself.

Meticulously, she washed herself, her battered body, rinsed her caked, matte hair, and tended her first bruises. She plastered a small band-aid on the cut on her throat, facing the woman in the mirror. She had never looked worse in her life than that moment—barely recognizable. She felt she had walked past another threshold, but there was no fear in her anymore. She felt she had come back home to herself.

She still didn’t know what she was going to say to Paul, how she was going to convince him of her proposal, but she knew she was going to find a way. Perhaps she might even tell him it was her condition to accept his offer to carry his child. She had been thinking about a reason to accept his offer, something to justify the desecration he offered beyond her own happiness, and perhaps that was the answer. The political and human arguments combined together.

Irulan still didn’t know she wanted to give in to his want, have his child despite she wanted a child, but she knew her objective, and she was going to have it one way or another.

Putting on her silk shimmering nightgown that barely covered her bruises, the marks the bounds left on her wrists, Irulan slowly slithered into the bed where Amy had fallen asleep soundly as she had prepared. Carefully, Irulan arranged the bedcovers and the pillows, remembering how excited Amy had been before to sleep with her as she softly smiled down at her.

Leaning down on her, she put a small, soft kiss on the top of her head, her hair clean and loose now after the bath Irulan had taken her, moist and smelling of her oils. She slept so peacefully and happily that Irulan knew she would never leave the girl again away from her. This was where she belonged. With her.

She breathed her scent deeply, closing her eyes as her determination cemented before she settled down on her side to sleep for the first time in her life, not alone in her bed. She carefully moved her arm and tucked her small frame against her as her lips gently curved up, her eyes closed, letting herself drift to sleep, shutting out every thought.

*

When something tugged at her awareness, alerting her consciousness, Amy was still tucked at her side, sleeping soundly beside her, pulling all the covers over herself, leaving her bare in the room. The alertness spooked her further as she sensed the night wind over her skin, giving her goosebumps, but the chill wasn’t what had aroused her awareness from sleep.

There was someone in her chambers. Irulan could sense his presence close by her bed, watching them. Fear clogged her chest so bad—the memories of her assault jumping down on her so badly that she almost jerked up from the bed, screaming for help, for Paul, they were going to catch her again—hurt her—before her semi-awake consciousness sensed it—the realization slowly slipping through the cobwebs of sleepy mind—

The presence in her room was no one other than the man she was going to scream for help.

Irulan quickly shut her eyes, faking sleep as Paul silently leaned down over her bed. Her heart started to race so madly that she feared for a second he was going to hear it in the silence of her chambers or notice her throbbing jugular vein in her throat even in the moonlight.

She held her breath in waiting, although she didn’t know what she was waiting for. She could still sense Paul’s hovering torso over them, his steady breath coming from closer, his musky scent filling her nostrils strongly. Irulan continued to fake sleep, wondering if he would notice the nuances and understand she wasn’t asleep. Fear drummed her heart worse against her ribcage, her breath held.

The next second, his hand moved, Irulan even felt it—tugging the covers free from Amy’s clutch. Then he laid them over her back, covering her against the chill before he swiftly drew back.

Irulan listened to his soft but sturdy footsteps as he left her chambers, her eyes still closed, her heart still racing madly.

Chapter Text

“Gurney—” Paul called out as he finished his conversation with his mother inside the cruiser Gurney had brought, the headache drilling through his temples augmenting after his talk with Lady Jessica.

Expectedly, she was surprised to hear they were going to have guests in the middle of the night, but when Paul had ordered her to arrange all the guest wing, all the chambers, her surprise had only increased. Paul hadn’t answered her inquiries, but closed off the connection, and his headache was growing.

Paul wasn’t sure of the cause of his headache, he was having many picks. It would’ve been caused by what had happened tonight or what he had done. After each session, he used his powers to this extent, he suffered severe headaches, sometimes even stayed unconscious for hours after his spice-trances, again suffering severe headaches. He had never done what he had done tonight, had never used his Voice like that on some people at the same time to cancel the most basic primal instinct of humanity.

The self-preservation instinct ran deep and strong, but Paul had also never witnessed someone from his family being attacked this brutally before—had never seen his wife getting beaten in front of his eyes. The scene played in his mind-eye again—the way they threw her on the ground and beat her, the blows landing on her rapidly as men tied and gagged her as she called for him for help, dragging her away.

As the scene swirled in his mind, his anger rose like a hot wave of a volcano once more.

His wife! His wife being treated that way! While Paul watched!

Telling that sonofabitch who Irulan was perhaps was a risky move, but Paul had wanted it, wanted him to know whom he had beaten in front of him. When that sonofabitch didn’t take him seriously, didn’t possibly believe even Paul was the Emperor but instead continued to mock her, mock their marriage in front of everyone, Paul had snapped. He didn’t even know if he could have done something like this before, but even that didn’t matter. He had to stop them, so he did.

His anger stayed, winding at his edges like a Coriolis storm. The fact that Paul couldn’t have foreseen such an impactful event made everything worse, his adversaries muddying his prescience more, blinding his oracle further. The Guild must have provided them the cover, wanting to find the Bene Gesserit on Caladan. He wished he hadn’t sent Mohiam. Her presence would have provided much-needed intel, but it was too late for that, as well.

His link to his enemies was broken so much without Irulan’s presence that he was more blind than ever. Worse, she had become the one who suffered the most from his blindness.

Paul worked his jaw, his headache thumping against temples worse and worse, his grimace and frown deepened. Gurney looked as haggard as Paul must have looked, also blaming himself, though he didn’t say a word.

“Inform the Princess Consort and round up the kids,” Paul ordered stiffly. They had a long-overdue talk, but Irulan and the kids had to be delivered safely first. Paul had waited long enough to give Irulan time to collect herself. She couldn’t stay here anymore. “They’re leaving at once.”

Gurney accepted his order with a curt, brief nod, but a hesitancy came to him as he gazed at Paul after a second. “My Lord—” he said, “Sire, you may return to the Keep, as well. We’ll sweep off the rest.”

Paul jerked his head. “No. You escort them back,” he refused. “I’ll command our forces. I also will question that sonofabitch before you sent him to Arrakis.” Before Paul landed him to his most devout followers, he was going to squeeze everything out of him. Then the desert was going to take him.

His old Warmaster still looked hesitant, and Paul understood, too. The danger had still not passed tonight. Their forces here were still lacking the numbers if the Cartel had brought more men. They still had no idea how many men the Guild had let the cartel bring to Caladan, how many hidden cells or operatives they might have. Unrooting them was going to take time, and Gurney wanted him to stay in the backline, afraid something would happen to him in this uncertainty.

The prudence also dictated that he should have stayed back, but Paul still resisted. Gurney was ashamed of what had happened to their home planet, Paul could almost taste his shame and anger wafting off him, but he didn’t care about that at the moment, either.

Even his anger for his mother and Gurney for letting things go this deep didn’t seem important at the moment. It wasn’t the time for fights between them. What had happened tonight wasn’t a betrayal, but neglect. Irulan had been right. They all had neglected their duties.

You’re useless—her voice swirled in his mind as she called out to him, and Paul dipped his head—momentarily yielding to his headache, to his failure—this was on him. He should’ve prevented this—had foreseen this. His hand pinched the bridge of his nose, anger and self-blame twisting together in his inner turmoil. The clouds were still there, shadowing his prescience.

“My lord, would you call for your Fremen legions?” Gurney asked in the brief silence between them, the hesitancy in him so strong now that it covered everything else.

His head still tucked, Paul stayed silent, his jaw clenching worse. No. He could not call for his Fremen legions. The suggestion was tempting, but Paul didn’t give in. Qizarate had been waiting for such an opportunity for a long time, like vultures circling over a dying man lost in the desert. Waiting for the day Paul was defeated and let the Fremen legions land on his home planet and bring his Muad’Dib Peace. He couldn’t let that happen. If he let it, he knew he was going to lose the last part of his humanity.

He was losing the last part of his integrity, he was having a child with artificial ways so that he would have an heir who would succeed him without a civil war after his death. Soon, he was also losing Chani, his desert spring. He could not lose Caladan, either. If the Fremen boots landed on his home planet, Caladan was lost too at the altar of Lisan al Gaib. Paul still would not allow it.

“No, we will handle it,” he answered Gurney, voice clipped but certain.

There was even a part of him that got angered that it was Gurney himself who suggested it, the man who had always been cynical of his Fremen followers, the man who had opted to stay at Caladan with his mother to protect their home world.  

His eyes fixated on him, clear and stern. “I might ask for Stilgar, a small legion from his Fedaykin.” No further Fremen boots would land on Caladan. Only his former brothers-in-arms. Paul would only trust them and Stilgar. “But this is our mess, Gurney. No one else.”

His old Warmaster quickly dropped to one knee in front of him, bowing his head, offering him his neck. Gurney in that matter was as quick as Stilgar. “Sire, I’m to blame for tonight. I failed you.”

“Yes,” Paul replied, firm and unmoving. “Yes, you did, Gurney. But you’re not the only one. We all failed tonight. So, get up now. We have a fight ahead of us.”

Gurney lifted his head, his clear blue eyes getting sterner and his face getting stiffer. “My lord—” he said as he sprang to his feet on the command.

“Get Irulan,” Paul said. “I want her at the Keep.”

The more she stayed in this battlefield, the more…strained Paul felt. If he knew she was safe and protected, he would have stayed focused on the things he needed to do now. Irulan’s presence was muddling his insight, making him feel unbalanced. It had only thought he was going to stay here briefly to talk to her, but he had found out the cartels’ presence on his home planet, eating his home planet from inside out, a lost cousin, and there might be more Tupiles in his domain, spreading in his Peace and ruining it like a disease.

He had left Arraken without talking to Chani after their fight, and he was spending their last days before he lost her. He had missed her insight and wisdom. He felt the deep grief in him once more, but everything was so muddled inside him now that he knew it wasn’t only because of the loss he was going to suffer soon enough. Both women in his life didn’t believe in him anymore, didn’t understand him, and he couldn’t tell them what was happening.

For a second, he imagined himself in the Sietch Tabr, lying in their low bed, Chani curled up beside him, her fingers running over his temples, asking what was happening to him—and then the scene shifted, and he was in his chambers in his ancestors’ stronghold, Irulan was there under the soft moonlight, calling him useless, calling him the lesser of two evils. She told him she was not like Chani once more, that she didn’t do things to make him happy, and she was in bed with her Professor, lying in his arms naked—

Paul jerked his head, shoving away the last image, his teeth gritting. It was the last thing Paul needed right now.

He marched toward his men as Gurney stalked toward the bungalow where Irulan was with Tim, Rogue, and the little girl. She needed to go. Right now. A couple of minutes later after Gurney had gone inside, Paul saw him getting out and staying outside the bungalow’s door as he listened to the reports of the injured that were transferred to the hospitals. Gurney stayed there for long minutes as Paul realized Tim and Rogue didn’t agree to go to the Keep. Paul considered if he should step in for a while, still listening to the reports while they swept off the dead around him, but before he made up his mind, he sensed the looks on him.

He turned aside, and when he saw her from a few meters away from him, he held his sharp breath, his eyes narrowed and his anger winding down his edges with more hatred. Even from afar, she looked so battered that Paul felt the raw feeling in his chest swell once more, wanting to hurt the men who had done this to her further. He couldn’t hurt the dead, though. The man he had captured was going to answer for this blasphemy.

For touching his wife, for beating her!

He quickly divided his people and marched toward them. Upon close, the scene was worse.

The cut on her throat was still slowly bleeding, a slow, thin line sipping under her modest cleavage, and her tear-stained and dust and dirt-covered cheeks were still reddened with the blows, bruises slowly forming. A bruise had already formed fiercely at the corner of her mouth where they had punched, her lips split, faintly bleeding too. Her green eyes were moist and red from her tears, and Paul could also see the fingerprints and bruises over her skin, over her wrists.

The sight angered him so much that Paul wanted to howl out—for letting this happen to her, living the same strong emotion when he saw her getting captured, screaming for him…fear and anger clogging his chest, a madness overriding his senses…

Paul was looking at her, trying to control his high emotions, and it took everything in him to stay impassive. Irulan was holding his gaze back, not looking away as if they were in another confrontation, although Paul couldn’t understand the exact reason. He sensed her anger, knowing she was angry with him. Paul didn’t mind it for this instance. He deserved her anger. She was his to protect, his wife, no matter what. Paul had already accepted that, and despite everything that had happened between them after he sent her to exile, at the moment, Paul felt she had also accepted it again.

 Paul tried to take it as their silver lining. They all were silent, the others watching them. Paul finally broke the tense moment and asked, working on his hoarse voice and managing to sound calm and collected, “Are you okay?”

Irulan’s gaze stayed fixated on him, and Paul’s lingered on the bruise over the corner of her mouth. It was going to hurt for a long while, he thought, a sudden strong desire filling him to touch her there, wipe the blood softly away, tend her wounds. The sudden feeling was raw, twitching his fingers as he tried to master his control as a part of him felt angered and displeased because he couldn’t do it.  

“We are,” his wife answered, clipped, and Paul didn’t miss the plural in her answer, refusing to answer his inquiry in person.

Paul accepted it with a nod. “Gurney will escort you back to Keep. I already informed my mother,” he filled her in on the situation. “She’ll settle our guests.”

His cousin cut in between them, refusing to leave, “I’m not leaving. These people attacked my home, my lord, attacked Her Majesty while she was our guest. I wish to stay and find them.”

Paul looked at his cousin. He preferred Tim also leave and stay safe in the Keep, but the other part of him also understood his desire to stay, wanting his revenge. The way he still sided with Irulan and wanted to protect her also pleased him, sensing that they had managed to work out what had happened while they had been in the bungalow. Paul had sent them to stay with her, knowing they would want to talk, although it was risky to have that moment when the emotions were still high and raw, and the secret was so freshly out. He had trusted the way the teenagers had stood with her, even threatening Paul on her behalf, announcing they didn’t care who she was. It must have prevented them from blowing up the bridges, and it pleased him now to see he had been right.

Tim and Rogue still stood with the Princess Consort.

Irulan’s anger toward him now was more palpable because Paul had spilled the beans about her, and Paul also accepted it. They were going to talk about it. The pleased feeling he had felt increased, feeling more assured that everyone now knew who she was, the Princess Consort of his Empire, his wife. And his cousin, a real Atreides, was standing with her, perhaps for the first time.

Perhaps it shouldn’t need to please him this much, but it did. An Atreides standing with her, protecting her. It felt like the tides of change had truly swept over their shores, although Paul could still not see where the tides would bring them. His timefish was following the current, but his landscape was still covered with shadows and hidden traps.

Irulan would get angered again for his inactivity and indecisiveness, and the thought almost brought a soft, tender smile to his lips even at that moment, watching them together.

“All right,” he said, nodding his agreement, “I would never refuse a man who wants to protect his own.”

An Atreides always protected his own, his family. His cousin was a true Atreides, strong in blood, raised with the winds of their home, like how his father had wanted. At that moment, Paul also made his decision. Tim belonged with him. He glanced at his old Warmaster.

“Gurney, find a shield for him. Have you ever fought with a body shield?”

Tim shook his head. “No, my lord.”

Paul motioned for him to follow him as they started to head back to the rest of the squad, feeling Irulan’s eyes following them. She was angry again at him, and Paul still didn’t mind.

“The trick is the slow motion,” he advised his cousin, putting into his mind to train him properly. To face what was coming up for him, he was going to need a lot of training. Irulan might help him with forms and customs that a highborn needed to keep up and follow, and perhaps even a bit of Bene Gesserit training. The rest, Paul was going to handle himself.

“Like how the saying goes,” he commented, “It’s the slow blade that penetrates the shield.”

They watched his sleek air-cruiser take off together, and then they were two Atreides in the old Atreides property that was given to his cousin by his father. “How did you find this beach resort, Tim?” Paul asked as they stood away from the squad. Paul also knew the answer, but he wanted to observe how the young Atreides was going to answer.

He stayed silent for a while, looking at Paul, confusion in his features. “I-I don’t know, my Lord,” he said, and it was a bad lie. “I just did.”

“Did you see it in your dreams?” Paul asked, cutting off the chase. He didn’t have time for mysteries anymore. Paul was on a busy schedule, and Tim needed to learn the truth about himself without further delay so that his training could start. Paul didn’t have reservations anymore, and he didn’t want to prolong the interim. Nothing good came out when Paul delayed his decisions.

He paused for a split second, thinking of his wife flying away now toward his castle. Irulan would have been proud of him now, making an active decision, not dragging his feet in inactivity. The thought almost made him let out a wry chuckle, seeing her in his mind-eye.

“My lord…?” Tim asked, gazing at him, his eyes truly confused and wary.

“Do you have dreams that plague you, Timotheus?” he referred to him with his first full name, which made his young features snap into a full frown, his wariness reaching its limit. Paul wondered when the last time someone had called him by his full name, if he even remembered it. Perhaps in his dreams.

“Dreams that you can’t explain even to yourself,” he continued. “Dreams that made you find this place where you lived when you were an infant.”

He was stunned now, clear hazel Atreides eyes staring at Paul. “Ah, yes,” Paul said. “You used to live here when you were still suckling at your mother’s teat.”

“How did you know?” he blew out in a low voice, gulping, and Paul smiled small and bittersweet, his lips curving with nostalgia, landing a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Because I saw it, Tim,” he said. “My father’s heart didn’t allow an Atreides to raise away without knowing our waters and winds, cousin.”

In their old home, now a battlefield, his cousin stared at him, rendered speechless.

*

When they were back in the Keep after securing their garrison and making sure there would be no raid tonight. Paul had even seen the man they had imprisoned, waiting for his questioning before he sent him away. The man was already unconscious from the beating he had taken while he was away. The night was aged, and he was tired himself, and he had wanted to return. There was a part of him that constantly felt ill at ease without making sure Irulan was okay, was taken care of. His mother would have handled it, but he also knew his stubborn wife.

Irulan was too damn prideful and stubborn to let his mother to tend her injuries. Or anyone else, for that matter. That part of him roused him to return, and he knew Tim also needed a breather from what he had put him through tonight. They all needed a break.

Except for one person.

His look had found the unconscious man in the filthy dungeon. He was going to tell him everything, but the peace he found in sleep didn’t work for Paul. He remembered the slaps he had given his wife with the back of his hand, his lips swirled up with a sinister, sneering smile. He didn’t look smiling now, but it wasn’t enough. He looked at the hand that landed on Irulan, the hands that hit her, tied her, yanked her hair, threw her around. The hatred filled him. He had thought of cutting off his tongue for making that comment about their marriage, ridiculing them as if they were a common joke, but he still needed him to talk.

His hands, though. He needed a hand. He could even take both his hands, but he decided not to. Without hands, he couldn’t survive the desert for even an hour. That would have been too easy.

Paul had looked at the unconscious man as he ordered his captain, “Take off his right hand.” It was the hand that had hit his wife. He was going to take his tongue after he was done.

They had returned then to the Keep, and Tim was staring at the home he had never seen upon close before. The enormity of the truth must have enveloped him heavily, and Paul considered how he was going to feel when he returned to Arrakis with him. Paul still didn’t know whether he would have declared him his heir or not, although the forms dictated it, but he needed to get familiar with the idea first. He, and Alia, foremost.

Paul shoved away that thought and looked at his cousin. “You have our blood, Tim,” he said. “I know you feel overwhelmed, but that’s your truth. There is no running away from it.”

He opened their massive entrance for him, silently waiting for him to get inside. His lost cousin still looked wary, but he accepted it. He slowly walked inside. The castle was in deep slumber in the late night, the guards in their hidden posts. They walked past them like ghosts. Gurney was certainly somewhere there, fully awake, but they didn’t encounter. Paul wondered how his old Warmaster was going to take the news, learning there was another Atreides alive. Perhaps Paul should leave his training to Gurney and Hayt, but leaving him at Caladan after the news was out was too dangerous. Tim was going to need his protection, and Paul could hardly protect the ones who stood beside him nowadays.

The remembrance of what they had tried to do to his wife came back to him, and his utter futility to predict it… No. Both Irulan and Tim needed to be beside him. Paul would not let them stay on Caladan anymore. Irulan still hadn’t accepted his offer, and that was something they still needed to discuss, something Paul still needed to convince her of, but he knew he couldn’t leave her here. Never again would he let what had happened tonight happen again.

Paul led his cousin to the guest quarters in silence, his decision made. For tonight, he was going to stay there. Tomorrow, they were going to see.

When he was alone, settling Tim into an empty house, he stayed in the gloomy corridors, deciding what to do. He was already walking back to their own quarters, but there was that ill-at-ease feeling inside him again, winding at his edges, unbalancing his control. He should retire to his chambers and find his inner peace, but he realized his feet were carrying him in the opposite direction from his chambers.

Toward Irulan’s chambers.

Allowing himself a small weary sigh, Paul let himself. If he didn’t see her, if he didn’t see her peacefully in bed, he knew he wasn’t going to find any peace either for himself. He was just going to have a quick look and then return to his own quarters. Only a quick look, nothing more.

When he was in front of her chambers, he only stopped for a second before reaching out to door’s knob, the marble cold against his touch. The urge in him had grown so strong that Paul didn’t hesitate another second, crossing her threshold another time in the same day after the twelve years.

 Twelve years he had not set a foot inside any place she slept, now, he couldn’t keep himself away from her chambers. The thought halted him this time, the memory of their confrontation on Arrakeen resurfacing from the recesses of his mind.

“I could have loved you,” she had told him on that faithful night. “If you ever showed me even an ounce of affection, if you ever gave me a reason, I would have loved you.”

His answer swirled in him as he stood in her chambers: I know, Irulan. That’s why I don’t do it.

He was playing a dangerous game. He should return to his chambers. She was safe now, he could even sense her presence in her personal chambers behind her living quarters, the peace in the room, he should leave, but his feet still felt planted in the ground, not moving.

His old promise to Chani on their wedding day—the day he had claimed her and her throne drifted over his consciousness as well, mixing with the memories of today.

Yet that princess shall have no more of me than my name. No child of mine, nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire.

Paul jerked his head, shoving away his memories, the ties that bound him. His eyes closed for a fraction, remembering their fight, and then Paul slowly started to move, not leaving her chambers but going to the adjoined room where she slept.

Her chambers looked different under soft moonlight than in the morning, more mysterious yet more enticing. Her rooms were as unkempt as before, but it didn’t surprise Paul this time. His gaze was locked on her king-sized bed where she slept, her figure curving up and down in her bed, shining under the moonlight—Paul stopped suddenly, his jaw clenching as he noticed it, his chest suddenly tightening, his gaze narrowed—she wasn’t alone in the bed. There was someone in his wife's bed, sleeping with her. The images of her with the Professor filled him, his anger flaring like a column wildfire—

He was going to throw him into a forgotten pit this time!

He was going to take off his hands! The hands that touched what was his!

He had warned her—he had warned her he didn’t allow this anymore! His license had expired! She couldn’t take any man to her bed!

The anger blinded him so much that as he marched toward the bed, he didn’t notice the figure in the bed was so small to be an adult man until he reached the foot of her bed, his heart thumping in his chest, blood ringing in his ears.

Paul closed his eyes, trying to control his erratic feelings, standing there silently. It felt even foolish now thinking the Professor would have been in her room, even more foolish to get jealous of it. I’d be silly to feel otherwise, his answer mocked him now, gazing at her and Amy sleeping together, Irulan’s arms enveloping her, tucking her safely against her chest like a mother.

He should have known they would have slept together after tonight, and the scene got him stuck in his place further, watching them. Amy had pulled all the covers to herself, cocooning herself with the soft silk bedcovers and Irulan’s graceful body that lay almost bare, open to the sight. The extent of her bruises was open under the moonlight through her shimmering, almost transparent nightgown. The anger found him again, with the compassion he felt watching them sleep together in each other arms, something clawing at his chest—all the while, another feeling stirred in him—a desire he had long forbidden himself as he gazed at her graceful body that curved in her silk sheets through the shimmering nightgown.

This could be her with their own child—and his child from Chani, the thought found him as his promise came back at him, condemning him to a hell of his own making as guilt and all the other feelings inside him clashed and battled.

A soft night wind blew through half-open windows, breezing over him, reaching toward the beautiful woman whom Paul had denied for twelve years. Her body was aroused with the night chill that carried over with the wind, her nipples perking with goosebumps. Paul wanted to tear off his gaze, but like a man stuck between a rock and a hard place, he couldn’t avert his eyes.

Losing his battle, Paul leaned over her to cover her, not wanting her to catch a cold again, then he noticed it. The slight change in her body posture as she suddenly grew aware and tense, the low hitch in her steady breath. She had woken up. She had sensed his presence, woken up, and she was faking now, pretending she was still asleep, not wanting to face him.

Yet he also noticed the flutter in her throat, just over the cut she had tended, the staccato beating of her heart, increasing. His eyes riveted on her fluttering pulse, almost hearing the rushing blood in her veins in his own eardrums. He heard the hitched breaths she tried to control silently, tasted her panic. When Paul drew closer, her tells increased, and she almost trembled, her eyes still tightly closed, faking sleep.

His lips almost curved up with satisfaction this time, the response pleasing something deep inside his chest, his fingers twitching to touch her—

No child of mine, nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire.

He worked his jaw, reaching for the bed covers from Amy, and covered her. He then drew up and left her chambers without another look back.

# # #

When Irulan woke up the next morning, she decided to continue her play, pretending she hadn’t noticed Paul had come to check on her last night, hadn’t watched her sleep, hadn’t covered her with the covers that Amy had pulled off her. It was easier this way, so she continued the pantomime. Luckily, the morning was so eventful that she didn’t have time to ponder Paul Atreides’s ambivalent behavior patterns.

With the new sun, the true extent of the majesty of the Atreides castle started to resurface, something that had been covered with the dark last night, and it had blown away Amy’s mind. If Irulan had thought the little girl was mesmerized last night, it was nothing next to the morning.

Irulan watched her smiling as she hopped on her bed, wheezing and shouting with each jump. “Wheee!!! RU!!! This is soft! Do you sleep in this bed every night?” she asked out of breath, jumping with each word.

Irulan laughed again, nodding. It was so hard to remember what had happened last night when Amy kept squealing and chirping like an excited bug. “Yes, I do.”

“You’re so lucky!” she cried out, jumping highest in the air and then falling back to the mattress, and laughing madly.

“Okay, that’s enough, Amy.” Irulan stopped her, reaching toward her on the bed. “We shall get ready for breakfast. They’ll wait for us.”

“Can I put on your tiara?” Amy bellowed out, throwing herself in her arms, wrapping her small legs around her waist like she usually did. She reached for her loose hair. “Will you also put one yourself?”

Irulan shook her head. “No. I don’t wear a tiara for daily life, sweetheart. If I have to for an informal occasion, I usually put my hair into a hairnet.”

“What’s an informal occasion?” Amy asked when Irulan carried her to her personal bathroom and hammam.

“Might be a luncheon or a dinner party, something I don’t need to attend to formally,” she answered seriously about the ground rules of etiquette and forms, and Amy already looked bored.

“If I were a Princess,” she commented, “I would’ve worn my tiara every day so that people would know!”

Irulan laughed, but didn’t comment. After the bath, she tried to pick a leisure dress that wouldn’t feel so strange and different from Ru’s simple dresses, which was still hard to no matter how much she tried to stay simple in her own wardrobe. She chose an elegant, white-golden dress with a simplistic cut and modest cleavage, leaving her hair loose over her shoulders without any ornaments, not even using a simple hairnet. The dress had a shimmering radiance trapped in the cloth, woven in fine silk, and it was enough. The dress’s cuffs were covering her wrists, hiding her bruises, but the sliding neckline was bearing the cut on her throat, and even though she had tried to close the bruise in the corner of her mouth and her split lips, they wouldn’t have stayed hidden. The purple color had darkened over sleep, announcing to everyone that she had been beaten.

For a Bene Gesserit and a royal blood, the humiliation was still thick, but Irulan tried to carry it like a badge of a warrior, proud and open, like how Fremen carried battle wounds. She wondered then if the cut in her throat would leave a scar, wondering if Chani had any scars.

An image of Paul tracing a scar along her strong body came over to her, the same old jealousy she had felt toward the woman for years filling her. She imagined Paul doing that to her too, tracing her bruises softly before she quickly stopped the thought, almost jerking her head, her anger inciting. She then remembered last night, Paul checking her, his eyes wandering over her, his glance touching her, despite his promise.

No child of mine nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire.

Her lips flattening, Irulan arranged her attire carefully so there was no ink of blue on her person for her eventual talk with Paul, making sure she only wore her own colors. Perhaps it was a bit childish, but the prudent side of her wanted to assure her standing, without any words needed to be spoken aloud.

Even in her most modest fashion, Amy still gasped openly when Irulan finished and walked out behind her dressing screener.

“Ru!!!” she bellowed. “You really look like a Princess!”

She smiled faintly at the girl who was wearing her old clothes from last night. She held her hand and told her, crouching in front of her. “Close your eyes.” Without even a fraction of hesitation, Amy shut her eyes close with her hand, smiling big.

Irulan brought her to her living quarters where a small child's dress that Irulan had requested from her lady-in-waiting waiting on the couch. Pleased, Irulan dragged Amy toward it and then told her, “Open your eyes.”

The loud squeaking laughter upon seeing the pink and white dress with lacework was enough to make her forget the last night again, the heartfelt joy, so sincere and full, just for a dress. “Do you like it?”

“It’s so beautiful, Ru!” Irulan smiled again and helped her to put her on. She brought her little princess to her vanity and started to redo her hair in the braids that Amy liked the most. She put ribbons with small silk flowers, and for the last, she opened her first drawer, and found her smallest tiara.

“Here it is, a tiara for my little Princess,” she cooed as Amy threw herself into her arms once more and kissed her long and wet, Irulan laughing. They arranged it in her bird-nest hair, adorned with ribbons, silk flowers, and now a simple, golden-pink diamond tiara on top of everything. The colorful chaos of it looked so much like Amy that even Irulan liked the design.

Hand in hand, they stepped outside her chambers and started to head toward the drawing room to break their fast. There was a part of her that suddenly felt nervous for doing it, walking with a small girl after sleeping with her, Paul’s promise and the truth he had revealed to her swirling within her, but nervous or not, Irulan still didn’t stop. If Amy hadn’t been with her, she didn’t even know how she would have passed last night.

The drawing room was sunlit, so bright and colorful with blue flowers and the nicest silverware, and a feast was waiting for them. At the moment, Irulan understood Paul had ordered Lady Jessica to play the benevolent host. Toward the table, the kids were seated, staring around with widened eyes as if they were in a dream. Irulan didn’t blame them. Amy was mesmerized again, starry-eyed. Paul was sitting at the head of the table, watching them enter, his keen blue-in-blue eyes fixated on her.

Irulan ignored him and continued to check the others. Lady Jessica sat on his left side as usual, her tattooed open face a mask of Bene Gesserit serenity, displaying nothing. She had been shaken at their confrontation, but now, she was collected. Gurney sat down at the other side of the table as the Lord of Caladan, somber and haggard, shoulders hunched. The ghola was there beside Lady Jessica, watching everything and everyone, his metallic eyes recording, no doubt for Paul’s perusal. Beside him, there was Tim, who looked tense and nervous, tension wafting off of him like a tightened crystal coil. Beside her, sat Rogue, still, frowning at everyone and everything.

They all looked at her as Irulan walked into the room, the children stricken seeing her like this, even though Irulan tried to stay as simple as possible. Even Rogue was staring at her as if she had seen her for the first time, and Irulan held back her sigh. She tilted her head at Paul before taking the empty seat at his right side, waiting for her. “My lord,” she murmured.

“Lady-wife,” he greeted her back, motioning with his hand in the air for his waiting staff, “Bring a chair for the young lady.”

Tim and Rogue watched stricken as she settled in the chair after the servants squeezed a chair between her and Tim for Amy. She could only imagine how crazy this all would have looked to them, sitting down with the Emperor to break their fast. For a second, Irulan even wished he had let them be at peace together in one of the guest rooms so the children didn’t feel like fish out of water. Perhaps it was the reason why Paul was doing this, too, to throw them out of balance, perhaps her. She glanced at him as they somberly ate, no one talking. The tension in the room was so heavy that Irulan felt even worse than last morning with the Reverend Mother.

When Paul finished, he set down his fork and knife and looked at Tim directly. “Timotheus,” he suddenly called out, and Irulan’s back went rigid upon hearing his full name as they all stared at Paul as he slowly stood up from his high chair.

“Come,” he said simply, and then he looked down at her. “Irulan, you, too.”

They exchanged a look and glanced at Rogue who watched them with her clenched jaw, her expression looking more confused. “It’s okay,” Tim murmured to her as he also stood up. Irulan waited for him to join her before they started to follow Paul to his mother’s study room where she had talked to him yesterday.

 When they were inside, Irulan perched on the couch facing the study desk, Tim staying on his feet. “Sit down, boy,” Paul told him, and gingerly, he took a seat in front of the desk.

Paul looked at her instead of him. “I told him yesterday.”

Despite the inclinations at the table, Irulan stared at him with widened eyes. “You did?”

“Yes. He needed to know.”

Not knowing what to say, still feeling at a loss in her shock, Irulan bobbed her head. Tim looked at her. “Did you know?” he asked as Paul watched them. “When you found us, found Amy, did you know it?”

She quickly jerked her head. “No. I sensed Atreides blood in you when I met you,” she confessed, “but I didn’t know who you were for true until Paul told me.”

Tim stayed silent for a while. “I sent Irulan here and she found you, Timotheus,” Paul told him, “Because our destiny willed it.”

Irulan almost let out a sigh this time, sending him a look which Paul ignored. “Did you tell Rogue?” she asked Tim, but he shook his head.

“No. Not yet—” he said, staggering with words. “I-I don’t know how.”

“You should,” Paul said. “I’ll depart soon, and you’ll come to Arrakis with me and Princess.”

They both stared at him with widened eyes this time. Irulan had not given her consent for that yet! She had not accepted his offer. Paul held her gaze, reading her look. “Yes, Irulan, you too. Whether you accept my offer or not,” he told her, “You’re returning to Arrakis. I hope you don’t expect me to leave you now after what happened last night.”

His heated blue eyes were on hers, stern and clear on his order. He had already made up his decision, whether she accepted or not, like he had said. He was not going to allow her to stay.

Anger prickled her eyes, but Tim protested before her, “Why do I need to go to Arrakis? What am I going to do there?”

“You’re an Atreides!” Paul snapped. “Your mother should’ve sent you to me long before. Your place is with me, cousin.” He paused, winding down his anger. “For what you’re going to do…you’ll get trained.”

Tim’s jaw set. “Do I have a choice?”

“Does a fish have a choice but to swim, a bird fly by choice? Do we have a choice in life?” Paul asked back solemnly. “All the great philosophers of all time always asked the same question, cousin. Does free will exist?” He paused, his gaze slanting over to her for a second before fixating back on the younger Atreides. “I told Irulan yesterday that if you asked a fallen apple, it would’ve told you it’d fallen by choice.”

Tim’s lips flattened further. “That’s not an answer, my lord.”

Irulan smiled openly, and Paul chuckled, clinking his tongue. “No, it’s not,” he admitted. “Let us say then I request your company. My enemies would kill you after they learn who you are.”

“I don’t plan to tell it to anyone,” came the stiff retort.

“What about the cartel?” Paul asked. “They won’t leave you alone now. Not after last night.”

That was true, and Tim also knew it. “We can take care of ourselves,” Tim clipped, certain and decisive.

Paul nodded his acceptance. “You would run away and disappear, I know. I know you’d succeed, too, but my heart does not let me let an Atreides live stray like my father’s heart didn’t let him. You’re Atreides, Tim. Deep down, I know you’ve always known it, felt it. It’s time for you to come back home.”

“With all due respect, my lord, you told me you're going to Arrakis,” Tim pointed out. “Arrakis isn’t my home. I’ve never even seen it.”

“I am at Arrakis,” Paul clipped, his anger rising. Irulan sensed and decided to step in.

“My lord,” she cut in. “He just learned it. Let him have more time, make his decision, talk with his family. You cannot expect people making life-changing decisions overnight every time,” she said, her point couldn’t be any clearer, but she also added, couldn’t help herself, “We cannot see the future like you do.”

Paul sent her a long look in silence, his blue gaze firing more, but nodded at last. “All right. Have your time. Stilgar will arrive tomorrow, and I’ll sweep off the city.” That surprised Irulan even as much as hearing Paul’s admission to Tim about his bloodline. “Then we talk again.”

Tim stood up, understanding he was dismissed. He bowed his head at Paul and her, which took Irulan by surprise as she tried to process what she had heard, staying behind. Paul hadn’t asked her, but he didn’t send her away when she chose to stay, either, which Irulan took as an invitation.

“Does Stilgar bring your Fremen legions?” Irulan asked, trying to keep her astonishment away from her voice but failing. She truly hadn’t expected it, hadn’t believed Paul would have finally done it, allowed the Fremen to land on the home planet.

It hurt her more than she had prepared herself, especially after last night, the decisions she had made. She had thought convincing him of her proposal would have been hard, but if he had already decided to use the Fremen—given up in his home planet—Irulan felt a blade slicing her heart, a loss, but Paul shook his head.

“No. Not my legions,” he said, and Irulan let out a long, shaking breath, her eyes closing momentarily in relief. “Only he and a few Fedaykin from Sietch Tabr who used to battle with me. Chani chose them.” Her lips pressed together after the last comment, but of course, she did.

“I can trust no one else with this,” he added, but Irulan jerked her head—sharper than she intended, although she was glad that he wasn’t bringing down a full legion.

“It won’t be enough,” she clipped.

“I don’t have any alternative,” Paul clipped back, working his jaw, not liking her refusal, although he couldn’t know the reason. “I can’t bring more.”

“I know,” she said. “The Qizarate will take away Caladan from you after years if you bring them. They've wanted Caladan for a long time, we both know it. But you’re also still lacking the numbers, and you can’t take control of the city without your legions. You have a dilemma.”

His jaw set further, his blue within blues narrowed, he looked at her sharply while Irulan summarized his position on Caladan. “The corruption runs deep, Paul,” Irulan continued, not backing down, “and the Guild is working against you, as you already know. They’re blinding your oracle.”

“Lady-wife,” Paul clipped out, stressing the word, “If you aim to make me feel worse with myself, last night already succeeded it.” He paused as his gaze lingered on her bruises. “There’s no further need.”

“I have no wish to be cruel to you, Paul,” she retorted his word back at him, and he cocked an eyebrow.

“I might have…a solution for your dilemma,” she finally said after a long pause in which Paul stared at her unbidden and unabashed.

“A solution?”

Irulan nodded. “A common ground.”

“I’m listening.”

“Your Fremen legions aren’t the only military power you have at your disposal,” she announced coolly. “You have more.”

His eyebrow raised over his hairline, reading her intentions. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” Irulan replied stubbornly. “My father’s personal legion at Salusa Secundus,” she continued as Paul glared at her, knowing where she was going with it. “His police force.”

“No.”

“You know it’s more than a toy!” she resisted, her anger flaring, and stood up from the couch. “You persisted in arguing in this!”

He shot up from his seat, waving his arm at her. “And that’s the exact reason why I’m saying no!  A legion of Sardaukar has never been a toy!”

“They’d be more than enough to take control of the city!” she protested, furious and passionate about her solution. It was a solution!

“They will not set a foot on this planet!” Paul snapped, his anger wafting off of him, darkening his aura. “Never! I’d let the Fremen destroy Caladan before I let that happen!”

Seeing the source of his anger, Irulan quickly backpedaled and came to his side, rounding the study desk. “Paul, be reasonable,” she said, softening her voice. He was still furious, but when she gingerly touched his forearm, he didn’t pull away. “They’re our best option. You can’t let the Fremen land. It’d ruin everything worse.”

She had spoken out of her heart in plural, not to coerce him to her decision only, but because she felt it. Caladan was important to her as much as it was to him. She couldn’t let it disappear in the Muad’Dib religious fervor like everything else.

“I cannot let the Sardaukar land, either, Irulan,” he replied, his anger winding down, and Irulan saw his desperation, thick and heavy, and it hurt her.

“Even now, they still make landing maneuvers, if nothing else, then to irritate me. How many times did we argue about it in the council meetings? About the useless stuff they do just to bother me?” He shook his head. “You’re asking me to trust a lion who wants to rip me off. They’d never obey me.”

Irulan heaved out, straightening her shoulders. Her stomach coiled with tension, nervous, and she told herself she had made her decision. Last night, she had promised herself she was going to do what was needed to be done. What had to be done to save Caladan.

Everything.

The Sardaukar would obey him on one single condition. “No, they’d obey you,” she said, clearing her voice and fixating her eyes on him. “If I carry your child.”

Chapter Text

In the sudden silence that followed her declaration, Paul continued to stare at her in his stunned shock as Irulan held his gaze with the same decisiveness and sternness that Paul had heard from her tone, assuring him again he hadn’t heard her wrong.

Irulan Corrino was truly telling him she would accept carrying his child if Paul accepted her father’s police force landing on Caladan to take control of the city. Paul was cognizant of the fact that how much she had come to care for his planet, and he was also aware of her desire to have a child even though she was reluctant to have his child for the reasons even Paul couldn’t deny completely, but the fact she would accept it on a condition—on this condition made him feel like they were negotiating for something that should not be negotiated.

He was offering her an offspring of their bloodlines, but this could not be negotiated. It felt wrong. So wrong that he worked his jaw, jerking his head curtly. “I made you an offer, Irulan,” he clipped, “but I will not negotiate for it. I will not negotiate to father a child.”

 “Neither will I,” she denied, both her voice and gaze still stern. “This’s not a negotiation. I told you I don’t have any arguments anymore to accept your offer, both political and human, but I do now. This is a political argument for me that has made me reconsider my circumstances.”

She paused for a second, her firm voice breaking, and she let out a deep breath to steady it before she continued, “I was lacking a motive to justify such desecration to accept what my heart desires—something more than my own selfish desires, and this’s it. I can justify to myself having your child via artificial ways if you let me help you save Caladan. It’s very important to me.

“Caladan is your home planet, but it’s very important to me, too, Paul, you know it. I don’t want to see it disappear like everything else we have touched so far. I’m not trying to negotiate for political power. I want to save Caladan.”

Her words were passionate, and there was no lie in them. She had agency, she wanted to save his home planet. His chest tightened with the power of her declaration, tugging at the cords of his heartstrings. Paul knew how much Caladan meant to her now. She didn’t need to say it openly, but hearing it still affected him more than he had thought it would have.

But he sensed something else from her as his gaze stayed on her. She was true when she had assured that she didn’t want this for political ambitions, but there was still something more she had planned.

Give into one of her ambitions and you could advance another of them, Paul remembered himself telling Chani while they discussed her, frustrated and stuck, but it wasn’t like that. That wasn’t the same woman anymore. Yet, there was still more.

Was it a human argument she was thinking now? She had claimed before she didn’t have any other human argument to accept his offer like Paul had rejected her before, that she truly didn’t hold any love for him to justify for them having a child together, and the thought made his jaw clench now, thinking what else she would ask for him. A license?

His license again to see her lover whom Paul had forbidden her to see?

His consent for having her father land on Caladan for political arguments, and seeing her lover again for human arguments, so that she could justify having his child.

The thought strained him, his lips flattening, “And that’s all?” he questioned darkly, stepping into her personal space as his anger flared and she took a step back, reading it, although she didn’t run her gaze away. “There is something else on your mind. Something you also desire,” he almost spat the word. “What is it? What’s your other condition to have my child?”

She swallowed, steadying herself as she propped herself against the study desk, putting some distance between them. Paul stopped his advance and let her have it. “Yes, I have another,” she admitted.

Paul waited for her to let it out silently. She squared her shoulders before she finally did, “I also want a constitution.” That took Paul as surprised as hearing her offer for her father’s police force. “A civil, secular, objective constitution,” she went on. “The Qizarate will not touch it.”

Paul let out a breath, running a hand over his face. He should have been relieved he hadn’t heard what he had been fearing, but this—but this was still mind-blowing.

“Irulan—” he slowly said, shaking his head. “You know I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can!” she objected, her anger flaring again with his rejection. “You have power, Paul. Something beyond the Qizarate or their fanatics! You’re not useless! Why do you keep acting like you are!”

“You know my views on the subject,” he replied, trying to find his ground once more. “The constitution is social power mobilized and it has no conscience. It can crush the highest and the lowest. It has an unstable balance point and no limitations. I, however, have limitations.”

“That’s bullshit!” she cried out, rejecting his explanation fiercer a lot more than the last time they had discussed it the council meeting. “You just try to justify your point. You’re not more objective than a civil constitution, and although you have limitations that you set for yourself, they’re subjective to you. Your point of view. What we need is objective reality, not points of views.”

She stopped in her passionate tirade and let out a long breath, steadying her voice before walking closer to him. “We lost something, Paul, something vital. When we lost it, we also lost the ability to make good decisions. Of all the things at risk, the loss of an objective reality is perhaps the most dangerous*. We let the truth slip away from our hands, and thus, we became vulnerable, useless.”

Her hand almost hit his chest, but she wasn’t hitting him in her anger. She was pointing at them in her passion. “What’s true and what’s said to be true became an abyss in which the atrocities like Tupile resurfaced in our loss of truth, in our neglect. I don’t want that anymore. I can’t take it anymore. We need to make it right. We need something solid, something valid, and we need it now.”

“Irulan—” he started, but she cut him off as if she had already sensed his objection.

“Don’t tell me you can’t keep away Qizarate,” she warned. “You can.” She paused. “You will. They don’t rule over you. Stop acting like they do! You’re the one who set this current flowing, Paul, not them. You’re Muad’Dib, the one who shows the path. Show them the path, make them follow you once more. It’s not too late.”

She paused for a second as his head turned, his mind enticed by what she had said. Perhaps she had been right. For so long, Paul had been trying to keep the status quo, for so long, he had been following a current that wasn’t his own doing, letting the tides carry him.

He had been veneering the charade in an endless sea of possibilities, believing he didn’t have free will in his choices, his destinations predetermined, but this was also a part of his path, perhaps. Irulan breaking free, confessing her sins, and coming to Caladan—finding his lost cousin, finding the truth about Tupile and his home planet, all culminating into this point where they stood now, her accepting to carry his heir, not for political power but because she cared more than her own ambitions.

Perhaps it all had to happen in this way so they could confess to each other, find a common ground—

“Professor Jackson—” she suddenly broke the heavy silence between them with a low voice as his gaze snapped at her from his musings at the mention of the name. “He can do this.”

“What?” Paul echoed in disbelief. Perhaps he’d heard wrong.

“He can write us a civil, objective constitution,” she said, her voice getting steadier again, more certain, facing him openly. “He’s the most equipped one to do it.”

“You want your former lover to write a constitution for me?!”

Her face became stiff. “Not just my former lover, but a history and law professor with enough credibility for such a commission,” she pointed out. “Someone who knows objectivity, someone who is just, fair, and impartial.”

Paul opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him continue, “Remember what Madame said? ‘Muad’Dib law is subjective and partial. Lady Justice’s sight is skewed and biased’,” she quoted. “Professor Jackson can fix that.”

She was at least not referring to him by name, but Paul still refused, shaking his head. It could not be him. Even though he agreed with her on the need for an objective constitution, that man couldn’t do it. Paul wasn’t a fool. Irulan was already involved in this, she wouldn’t stay sidelined, let the man work alone without her own participation. The thought of them seeing each other again wasn’t something Paul could accept.

He had already made his decision on that. His wife wasn’t going to share the same room with the man again. “No, not him. We’ll find another.”

“Paul—”

“Irulan, I said no! That man isn’t allowed in your presence anymore. And I told you before I won’t have this discussion again.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” he asked, walking a step closer to her to invade her personal space again, his head tilted to nail her with a hard look. “Half of the court is already aware of your little sessions, wife. I will not have you start another gossip while you carry my child. It’s out of the question.”

“I’m well aware of the precarious situation,” she said, almost as if speaking to a petulant, irrational child. “I will not stir anything nor will I do anything to fuel the gossip.”

“Don’t act naïve, Irulan,” Paul encountered, holding back a sneer from his voice with his best, “You don’t have to do anything for court gossip. The moment you spend a second with him, the rumors will flare. I will not let it.”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, her chin tilted. “Is it because of the rumors or because you’re afraid I’d not obey your command?” she questioned, the topic suddenly turning into something else than what they had been discussing. “Are you afraid I’d still give you horns, my lord husband?”

Paul held her look, his jaw setting as well. “Would you?”

Her green flared gaze stuck on him, she continued to study him, then remarked with a terribly reasonable voice, “The rumors wouldn’t flare if you stay with us.” Paul’s eyebrows pinched into a frown, wondering if he’d heard her wrong this time. Did she just mention Paul would stay and chaperone them? Him? Stay with them so they wouldn’t…misbehave.

“I’ll not see him alone without your presence,” she prompted further. “No one would have anything to say if we did that.”

His lips pressed into a grim grimace, his eyes glaring at her. “I’ll not chaperone you and your old lover,” he snapped. “You’re demeaning me now, lady-wife.”

She returned his grimace with her own. “You've demeaned me worse,” she retorted. “And I survived. You, too, will survive. No one would die from heartbreak.”

The mocking way she had added the last part to taunt him made Paul glare at her worse, and for a second, he felt she had turned this into another battle of wits between them. There must be others who were enough just, fair and impartial to do the job, but his dear wife would not accept it, if nothing else, then out of spite. Perhaps it was just another way for her to take revenge on him for his own treatment, as sincere as she had been wanting to save Caladan and make a change in what they had done, Paul still could see Irulan Corrino doing this out of spite.

“Thou should not stumble over molehills after climbing over mountains,” he preached.

She gave him a look and laughed. “Really? You start preaching again?”

“This is just a detail,” Paul replied evenly. “I’m letting you land your father’s police force on Caladan and make a constitution, but you’re still trying to fight with me over the details.”

“And you’re condescending,” she retorted. “Professor Jackson’s input and insight would be vital to this project. It’s not just a detail. If you deny it, then you’re also denying my input and insight.”

 Paul arched an eyebrow. “Do you truly believe it?”

She fixated her eyes on him and spoke openly and clearly, “I have no ulterior motives.” Her voice held her sincerity as she claimed. “I’m not trying to make you jealous or extract petty revenge if that’s what you’re believing.” Paul stared at her, a part of him still taken aback by her directness. “I don’t care how you feel. My only imperative is having the best possible option for such a big commission. Someone who is just, fair, impartial, and also very, very courageous.

“Someone who would stand on his ground even against an Emperor. You know the Qizarate would come on the person whom you would appoint for this job. Perhaps they would even try to assassinate him. Noah would never yield to them, never get scared. We need someone like him.”

She smiled, and despite what she claimed, she really looked like she was extracting some sort of revenge on him, “You know how adventurous he is.”

Paul let out a scoff, but admitted, “Yes, I know he likes to live dangerously.”

Her smile grew wider and sleeker, and very, very taunting. “Like I said, my lord, he’s our best option.”

“Fine,” Paul clipped. “But you’re still not allowed to stay alone in his presence without me or someone I’d appoint.”

With the same mocking lilt, she dipped her head. “As His Majesty commands.”

“When does your period start?” he abruptly changed the topic, not wanting to dwell on what he had agreed on further, but wanting to clear out their schedule. It felt more than strange to ask her about her cycle, but he was going to give her his seeds soon. They had left “strange” behind them. “We shall start the procedure as soon as possible.”

With his last remark, another hesitancy entered into her, something deeper than before. The woman who had taunted him disappeared, and she averted her eyes from him. Paul frowned.

“What’s it?” Paul inquired, catching her gaze once more, getting warier of her body language. “What else do you require, Princess Consort?”

His question made her snap, whirling toward him. She looked at him for a few seconds, squaring his shoulders. “We’ve discussed political arguments, my lord, but we have not discussed human arguments for your proposal.”

Paul arched his eyebrow. “Human arguments?”

She nodded, firm and certain. “Yes, human arguments, for me to break my integrity. The political arguments are enough for me to accept your proposal. They’re giving me enough motives beyond my own desires and needs, but I’ll still break my integrity, will accept a desecration, will accept whelping like an animal. For the greater good, I accept that. But I should not be the only one.”

Paul frowned deeper. “Meaning?” he questioned further.

“Rogue asked me today why I’m not called Empress, but Princess Consort if I’m married to the Emperor. I told her the truth. I told her it was because of politics, and you don’t want me to carry the title. You don’t want to send the wrong message. But you also don’t let it because you want to prove to your beloved the truth of your promise. That I’m nothing but a political formality for you.”

Paul surmised what she had all told him. “Do you want to carry the Empress title?” he asked, his voice coming out even. “That sounds more like a political argument, Irulan.”

“And that’s why I don’t ask it,” she confirmed. “I want something else. Chani has been barren for years, but you still haven’t let her carry your child via artificial ways. You didn’t want to break her integrity, but you’re okay with breaking mine. I can’t accept that.” Her shoulder squared further as she held his look steadier. “I will not accept that. If we do this, we have to be equals. We both have to break our integrity.”

“Meaning?” he repeated.

“You have to break your promise to Chani.”

“What?!” His voice was low, but his astonishment still made him cry out.

“You promised Chani I’d have no touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire from you,” she said calmly. “I want you to break it.”

“I’m letting you have my child,” Paul encountered after a consideration in which he had asserted she was quite serious and reminded her, “I also promised her I wouldn’t let that. I’ve already broken my promise, Irulan. You should not worry about my integrity.”

He had even fought with Chani because of it, because even Chani had believed Paul was breaking his promise, but his wife shook her head. “No. You’ve cheated. You’ve found a loophole in your promise. That doesn’t count. You have to break it for real.”

His eyebrows dug into a deeper frown. Was she asking them…to share a bed to accept to carry his child via artificial ways? The notion sounded mad to him, but this was Irulan Corrino.

“Do you want to bed me?” he asked openly, not even knowing what he would do if she confirmed it. He wasn’t prepared for this. Even in his wildest dreams, he wouldn’t have expected this.

She laughed, that silky mocking sound ringing in his ears. “No, I don’t want to bed you. We don’t have to take it that long and torture each other just to break a promise. A kiss would suffice.”

“You want me to kiss you?” Paul echoed, still astonished, and this time his wife nodded, all in her seriousness.

“Yes.”

Paul blew out a low laugh. “This’s insane.”

Her anger flared as she glared at him, somehow his reaction snapping her calm serenity in which she had requested a kiss from him. To break his integrity. “Is kissing me really that repulsive for you that you can't accept it even when you want me to carry your child?” she gritted through her teeth.

“You don’t want a kiss,” Paul pointed out, fixating his eyes on her. “You want revenge. You want to break my integrity so your vanity would stay intact. You ask this out of spite. Should I find this attractive?”

“My dignity,” she corrected, ignoring what else he had said. “Not my vanity.”

“Do you honestly want this, Irulan?”

“Do I look like to you I’m joking?”

No, she wasn’t joking. Paul gazed at her more deeply, trying to see her layers further. Dignity was different than vanity. Irulan Corrino was prideful, like each of them, but Paul saw the sincerity in her words reflected in her eyes. They both stayed silent for a few seconds—heavy with everything else that had transpired between them in the last twelve years, then she shook her head, looking away.

The sound she made was bitter before she said, swallowing, “Forget I asked—” she attempted to move away from the study desk. “I should know you’d never care anything about—”

Paul caught her elbow and didn’t let her finish. His other hand cupped her face gingerly before he tilted his head and kissed her on the lips. She stopped, froze, her words dying under his lips as Paul stayed still, pressing them on hers.

Her split, bruised lips were swollen but full and soft. His other hand was still holding her arm lightly, although she was not moving even an inch. She was cast off of a stone like a marble statue as Paul cupped her cheek with the same precarious touch, his lips on hers. They stayed like that for another second that felt like eons this time, neither of them moving. Neither did he open his mouth to seek entrance into her and deepen the kiss nor did she open hers to invite him in. They just stayed like that, frozen in time and space.

There was a part of him that still couldn’t believe he had done this. He had kissed her—just to make her feel better—to keep her dignity—finally truly breaking his promise to Chani. There were no loopholes in what he was doing now, no cheating. After twelve years, he was kissing her. Because he couldn’t bear the way she had looked, the authentic hurt in her eyes and voice—She wanted this out of spite, Paul still knew, he wasn’t a fool, but—

His head spun in blindness, his eyes closed, her scent filling his nostrils. Her scent was musky with vanilla, having a taste of salt and sea, and moonshade was coming from her hair. His hand twitched to raise and stroke the strands of her loose hair, drifting his fingers inside the sunshine cascade. His fingertips brushed the skin of her elbow lightly, and a tremor passed over her body, and her breath hitched.

Something in him switched.

Paul tilted his head, his fingers on her elbow tightening, and opened his mouth.

She drew in another breath through his lips, trembled again, before she accepted his gesture and opened hers, too.

Chapter Text

“This’s insane,” Paul remarked, blowing out a low laugh in disbelief as if what Irulan had asked was so out of touch, as if she had lost her mental faculties. Perhaps she did, after enduring the long years of humiliation and ridicule that followed the promise, she had lost her sense and sensibility. However, even as her lips flattened into a thin grimace, she knew she hadn’t.

Despite her incredulous demand for her human arguments, Irulan hadn’t lost her sense and sensibility. She had been perfectly sensible to herself, to her own integrity. She wasn’t going to sacrifice another part of her dignity to his altar once again. If they were going to do it, and Paul had given her enough political reasons to accept his offer, yes, he was going to have to do it her way. Irulan was adamant about it.

A kiss shouldn’t have been that unattainable. As if Irulan had asked him to bed him for real as he had been afraid of. His look was incredulous when he had questioned it, stunned and stumped, and no, they certainly did not need to take it that long as it was quite purposeless, or against the purpose, perhaps. They were breaking their integrity, accepting the artificial ways so they didn’t need to procreate in natural ways. Accepting to share a bed because of it would have been a logical fallacy, a paradox.

No, a kiss surely would suffice. This wasn’t anything about love, she was just trying to save her dignity. She did not have any further desire to share anything more personal with him, despite what the Mother Superior believed. Irulan held no love for him.

And Mother Superior’s claim that her silent supposed love had worn off his defenses didn’t look like had been correct because Paul looked unconvinced and reluctant to her demand as if Irulan had demanded him to send Chani away to accept his offer. Even a simple kiss was not attainable between them, insane.

As her anger increased, she fixated on him with a glare. “Is kissing me really that repulsive that you won’t accept it even when you want me to carry your child?”

She didn’t sound like she was pissed by his refusal, reacting as if she had lost her mental faculties, but she still couldn’t control the upset tone of her voice.

Was she that repulsive to him? Someone he truly couldn’t touch even when he wanted her to carry his child. Was it really because of Chani and his promise, or did he find the idea of kissing her for whatever reason just unpleasant, distasteful?

“You don’t want a kiss,” Paul answered her inquiry, his intense blue-within-blue eyes locking on her gaze, and there was a prickled quality in him now, her questioning putting him more on the defense.

They had already fought and defended their standing today a lot, and if Irulan had been honest with herself, she had been surprised how…well the talk she had planned and fretted over since last night had gone. She had been expecting a lot of heated arguments and objections from Paul, but he had been surprisingly…open to her requests more than Irulan had anticipated—feared. He had even accepted Professor Jackson’s involvement in the constitution she wanted, letting her work with Noah on his conditions. That had surprised Irulan the most, but now he sounded very upset.

Just because Irulan wanted a kiss.

“You want revenge,” he continued, his voice gruff and rough as her lips pressed thinner. “You don’t desire me. You want to break my integrity so your vanity would stay intact. You ask this out of spite.” He paused, his blue eyes getting darkened with a dark intensity. “Should I find this attractive?”

His question momentarily paused her.

Irulan might understand if he did not find it…attractive. Her request wasn’t so innocent without ulterior motives unlike what else she had asked from him, and yes, she supposed she wanted him to break his promise so that she would feel better, knowing he was also going to need to tell it to his beloved because of his own integrity would demand it, be truthful to Chani, yet, although she might be spiteful in her demand, it wasn’t only her vanity that she had asked this.

“My dignity,” she clipped, choosing not to reveal how she felt further, but correcting, “Not my vanity.”

Paul gave her another look, long and attentive. “Do you honestly want this, Irulan?”

“Do I look like to you I’m joking?” she snapped.

She deserved it! It was a compensation for all the humiliation she had suffered for years, all the ridicule, all the slights that she had endured, being rejected and rebuffed. She’d earned it.

Her captor’s belittling, humiliating words threatened to break over in her mind, but Irulan quickly steeled herself and forced them away. She shook her head, looking away. She should have known Paul wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have cared anything about her—about how she felt.

She was just expected to bob her head, obey dutifully, and be happy with whatever boons or licenses he saw fit to give her. She made a raw, low sound from the back of her throat.

“Forget I asked,” she gruffly said, moving away from the study desk to head to the door to leave the room. “I should know you’d never care anything about—”

Suddenly, his hand was on her elbow, barely touching, but it was so uncommon and so sudden that Irulan halted her retreat, frozen in her place. He was so close and still so sudden that Irulan could only have a single second to comprehend what was going on before it happened. His hand barely cupped her cheek before she felt his lips on hers.

Her eyes closed as her stupor froze her further, everything in her halting. She did not even know what had changed his mind, why he had done it, nor could she do anything but stay still. He wasn’t different from her, either. He just stayed like that as well, his precarious touch both on her elbow and her face light like a feather, just like his lips on hers.

They were rough after the years under the merciless desert sun and harsh elements of Arrakis, like sandpaper. They were as still as the rest of his body, not grating over her bruised lips. There was no passion in his kiss, no warmth. His lips were just touching hers like she had demanded, barely touching, but definite. Despite his kiss lacking passion or desire, it was definite, as sturdy as the rough feel of his lips.

He was breaking his promise.

And Irulan didn’t know how she was feeling. And she still didn’t know why he was doing it.

For her? To stop her? Because she had gotten upset and hurt, and he had just stopped her—Her head spun more as she breathed through her nose, her lips still covered with his. His scent—that familiar scent that always reminded her of Arrakis and the desert now filled her, spinning her head further, the mix of sand, sweat, and leather, a smell of a body that wore a stillsuit for years. Irulan had always attributed it to Paul as he was the closest person to her who wore a stillsuit, even when he mostly wore his old imperial tunics. Irulan had never…experienced it such this, this personal, this close. Something increased in her, a fluttering that tightened her stomach and quickened her pulse.

A voice inside her mind screamed at her to break their contact and run, but something happened before Irulan collected her wits enough to do it. His fingertips on her elbow brushed over her skin, his touch as light as his lips. A tremor ran over her body, and before Irulan could control her response, a hitched, low breath escaped from her.

Paul’s response was something she would have never expected—would have never believed even when she had asked him to kiss her. It exceeded all her expectations, all her predictions. The reality of what she had asked dawned on her with a crystal clarity as Paul tilted his head aside, his fingers tightening on her elbow to drag her even closer to him, and opened his mouth.

The rough, dry skin of his lips grated across her skin as he slid them over hers. The request was silent but as definite, asking her permission, demanding. Irulan trembled again, drawing in another hitched breath as her head turned worse. There was no reason to continue the kiss now. She had taken what she had desired, she had made him finally break his promise, yet her lips still slightly parted, giving in and allowing him further access.

She knew she was playing with fire now, but she didn’t stop responding to him. She wondered how Chani was going to feel when she learned it—wondered this time if Paul was going to tell her about it or choose to hide. For a second later, she decided she didn’t care. Not the moment because his hand dropped away from her elbow but crept downward over her waist, gingerly holding the side of her upper hip, drawing her even closer to himself. Their chest met with a soft, but definite thud as Irulan roughly let out a soft sound close to a moan before she realized she did it, her own hand raising on its record in the same way and touching his elbow instead.

In response, his lips became more persistent and possessive, much like his hand on her hip. His fingers dug into her through the layers of cloth, dragging her closer, his head tilting further for better access as his tongue touched her lips and slid between them. Her head turned worse as his tongue explored her mouth and found hers, suddenly his other hand moving its way to the back of her head, his fingers fisting through the roots of her loose hair as her tongue clashed with his. His body trapped her between him and the study desk, and they were kissing truly.

Shocked with the sudden desire she sensed from him and the passionate way the kiss had returned, Irulan briefly snickered to herself he was too eager for a man who had just claimed what she had asked wasn’t attractive, but when their tongues touched each other for the first time, she even let that go. He was slow, almost testing her response, waiting to see how Irulan was going to react. When she stopped and waited for him, Paul didn’t hesitate further. His hand inside her hair clutched through her strands tightly as he deepened their kiss, his arm wrapping around her waist all the way around. She was tightly pressed against his chest now, their mouth clashing in their open kiss, battling for dominance in the same way they clashed and battled, and Irulan let out a rough, deep, guttural sound of satisfaction from the depths of her throat liking it, her own hand raising and gripping his upper arm to steady herself.

He was a conqueror, and suddenly it felt he was conquering her once more, yielding her to his will, taking away this from her and making it his own. This should have been about her, her own dignity, making him break his integrity, but even when he was kissing her with a passion that Irulan hadn’t expected, even feeling the half-tightness of his desire pressing at her core that proved it, all of a sudden, all Irulan felt was fear as if she was getting suffocating, losing another part of her to him. If she let him conquer a part of her, he would conquer everything else.

Frozen with her thought, sobering up, Irulan stopped, her hands slipping from his upper arms to his chest before she shoved him away from herself. Her sudden, direct move caught him amid his passion, staring at her wildly and startled.

Collecting herself, and hating to think how she must have looked right now—because even Paul looked rather bedraggled in his stupor, suppressing the strong urge in her to smooth her hair and dress, she spoke roughly as he looked at her, “That’s sufficient.”

More than sufficient, more than what she had bargained.

She hadn’t claimed any prerequisite, but she hadn’t expected battling him with her tongue. Or those other things he had done with his tongue and teeth, and his lips. She felt the remnants of his kiss over her already bruised lips, the ghostly friction on her bottom lip when his teeth grated over her skin.

A sudden fire erupted from her again, remembering what had just happened, and she checked on him. He wasn’t looking at her now but staring at the cold-blue marbles in his mother’s study room, and the handmade silk carpet with an intricate design that had suddenly grasped his attention more than her. He had stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his head dipped, but from his profile, Irulan saw his expression was curt and somber.

It wasn’t sour or upset, though, even after the way Irulan had stopped him rather rudely. She wanted to say something, something snarky, a barb to taunt him, but nothing came out of her tight throat. The heavy silence filled the room, tensing the air. She should have just left. She was just standing a few feet away from him, and he was still gazing at the carpet. Yet, neither of them moved. Neither did they speak.

For a second, she almost asked him why he had stopped her and kissed her, but she couldn’t let the words out, her throat feeling clogged. She cleared her throat, and Paul finally remembered she was still in the room with her beside him, and twisted his head to look at her.

Irulan looked in his expression to catch the sight of embarrassment or anything for what had just transpired between them, the persistence of his lips, his passion, the heat that extruded from him that almost suffocated her. There was none of it now from him, he looked so aloof and unaffected that Irulan couldn’t have believed it was the same passionate man who had just kissed her with a fire that had frightened her as much as the first day Irulan had seen him—still covered with his blood and dirt stained stillsuit, only his blue-devil eyes open, holding his crysknife in his hand. The man who had just kissed her reminded Irulan of the same man, the desert devil, the vengeance for her father’s sins, and the conqueror of their future, all wrapped in one.

The man who couldn’t let her leave his presence bitter and hurt, and stopped her with a kiss. I should know you’d never care anything about me, Irulan had intended to say, but he hadn’t let her.

When their eyes met, Irulan moved away from the desk, the suffocating feeling filling her once more under the intense gaze. This time, Paul didn’t stop her.

“I shall go and find Tim and Rogue,” she announced, half mumbling to find herself an excuse to leave now, and Paul absently nodded, his eyes fixated on her, but he had a faraway look, distant. He was more pensive now, more somber, and Irulan wondered if he was thinking of Chani, his broken promise. The thought should have given him satisfaction, made her feel like the victor for a change as if she had won a battle against him, but Irulan didn’t feel victorious.

In fact, she felt defeated as ever, wishing she hadn’t done it. Against him, even when she won, she lost. She told herself she convinced him to let her father’s Sardaukar land, convinced him to let her make a Constitution, despite knowing how many grievances it was going to bring for him. He had agreed they had lost something vital in the last decade, had finally allowed a change. She should look at her victories, not her failures.

Certainly not spiteful revenge against him so that she would feel better when everything hung on a balance so delicate. She just wanted to keep her dignity intact, and it just turned worse!

Why couldn’t he just have given her a simple kiss and let it go! He hadn’t needed to refuse it strongly, then stopped her just before she left him, and then kissed her like that! All he needed to do was just a simple, bare kiss, just a peck on the lips, and it would’ve been enough! She hadn’t asked for this! Whatever it was!

She was so upset with him now that she almost banged the door on her back while she left the room to him, surely to sulk. Contemplate what he had done, brood, and then ignore what he had done like every time. Irulan just could see it happening, and she was going to do it before he did this time. She halted by the door, her hand on the handle, and returned to him.

“May I call Professor Jackson for an audience and you tell him about the commission?” she asked directly, not wanting to lose any more time. His head snapped up at her as soon as the request came out of her, his eyes slitted in his frown, his dislike evident. Irulan ignored it.

She wasn’t doing it to get a rise out of him, so she didn’t care about his displeasure. “We shall not lose any time, but commence at once. Are you available?”

“No,” he clipped, short but firm. “I’ll transfer my uncle’s remains to our family cemetery on the grounds and have my father’s remains brought here from Arrakis. We’ll go to Wallach IX for the procedure. They will keep the secrecy. Your father’s police force can depart from Salusa Secundus while we are away. Gurney will follow the preparations. You can call in the Professor after our return.”

It took a full minute to digest all the information he suddenly dumped on her, but then she frowned, shocked to learn how quickly he had planned for the procedure, let alone that he was thinking of doing it on the Bene Gesserit headquarters. Irulan hadn’t given it a thought, where they would have the procedure, and although Wallach IX sounded reasonable enough, also tying their hands in the conspiracy like Paul must have wanted, being partners in crime.

Irulan could see the benefits, but there was still a part of her that felt ill at ease. “Can’t you find someplace else?” she asked, walking back to him and swallowing her hesitancy to show him her reluctance to see Mother Superior once more. Paul had just sent her away, now, he was telling her they would go to see them.

“We might go someplace else under Bene Tleilax control, hiding our identities, but I prefer Wallach IX,” he replied, sending him a glance. “The Bene Gesserit are easier to control right now than Bene Tleilax.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him after his remark, but she was glad to hear that he wasn’t taking the threat from Bene Tleilax superficially. She paused before she asked, “Are you seriously going to keep the ghola?” He nodded. Irulan shook her head. That was what she had been afraid of.

“You should not, Paul,” she told him. “I don’t know what they did, but I know they did something to him. He’s a booby trap.”

Paul didn’t deny it. “I know.”

“And you still will keep it?”

“Yes, I will.”

She frowned. “Are you really that desperate for having a link?”

“No,” he admitted openly and unabashedly, “I’ve never been desperate, Irulan.”

For a second, as their gaze met, she wasn’t sure if he had meant the ghola or her, being his link to his enemies, but a second later, as he still held her gaze as if in a challenge, she decided to change the topic. “When are we leaving for Wallach IX?”

The question coiled her stomach, the aloof, indifferent way they were talking about what they were going to do there. It still felt wrong, a part of her still opposing it, but Irulan silenced that part of her. However, the coil in her stomach still stayed, what she had agreed to, the ramifications of her choice. She repeated herself to focus on the bigger picture, repeated to herself Paul’s promise to treat his children as equals. The equal part still bothered her, especially the threats on Arrakis started to loom on the horizon further, but she still tried to keep them away from herself.

She had decided. It was not the time to have cold feet. She had even made Paul break his promise because of it. The remembrance of what they had just done flashed across her eyes for a split second as Irulan forced herself to stay composed.

“As soon as my father and my uncle arrive at their resting place,” he told her. “Then we leave.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “So you are available now,” she stated evenly, resting the side of her hip against the study desk once more. “Why don’t we call for Noah?”

“Professor Jackson,” he corrected her, and she let out an exasperated sigh, but corrected. “Why don’t we call for Professor Jackson?”

“Because I won’t allow him in your presence before you bear my child,” he replied with an incredibly cool, detached voice, his blue eyes on her. “That was our agreement, lady-wife. You can only see him again after the procedure is done.”

“You’re being ridiculous again!” she protested as he moved away from his post at the desk and turned to sit down at his side, also sending her a silent message which Irulan ignored. “We’re losing time!”

“I have spoken,” he only said, dipping his head to the correspondence on the desk to dismiss her before he even added, “If you have nothing else to add, you may retreat to your chambers and rest.”

Irulan stared at him with widened eyes. “Yes! I have something else to add!” she spat and waited until he lifted his head and looked at her. When he finally did, she asked, “Do you really have so little trust for me?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, lady-wife.”

“I asked if my lord husband has such little faith in my fidelity? In my virtue and chastity?” she clipped through gritted teeth, their gaze locked on each other. “Do you expect me to demean myself and throw myself at him at the moment I see him again without your child in my womb? That’s how my lord husband perceives me?”

Paul stayed silent and somber, although he moved his jaw in his somber silence, not answering her. It angered Irulan worse. “If I wanted to cuckold you, I would’ve already done it,” she clipped in a colder voice. “Your permission or the lack of it wouldn’t have stopped me.”

She turned on her heel, seething with her cold anger, and headed to the door to leave him alone, but his voice from her back stopped her.

“Irulan—” she looked at him over her shoulder. “I don’t perceive you as such.” His tone was less strained now, although he was even as if he was forcing himself to talk. Irulan turned to him, still waiting to go on. “And I’ve never thought you would’ve cuckold me without my consent. I know your virtue wouldn’t have let you although I probably don’t deserve it.”

Almost stunned by his remark, Irulan stared at him now. “This isn’t about you,” he said, his gaze finding hers again. “But about me. I cannot allow you to be in the same room with him again without me, and I cannot allow myself to be in the same room with him without you having my child in your womb.”

Her head turned, his declaration making everything inside her further turmoil. There was one part of her that told her it was only about his own dignity and honor, not wanting to share the same breath with the man she had given her virginity to, and that part of her understood his calamity. Although their marriage was a farce, never consummated, and she only played a part, she was still his wife. If she hadn’t believed it herself, she would have already given him horns many times. But there was another part of her that was confused, not understanding what was happening between them. The same part that had gotten so afraid when he had kissed her in that way, made her shove him away from her.

That part of her was also remembering Chani, the years she had been forced to spend in the woman’s company, forced to share…him, worse even demeaned by the woman's company. Even when Paul tried to treat them as equals, everyone still knew who his real wife was. The same fear for her child slipped into her heart once more, making her really reconsider what she had given her permission.

The fear caught her, and she tried to swallow it down, reassuring herself that Paul would have done it at least to his own children. If she didn’t believe it, she wouldn’t have agreed. Irulan was just…different. Less important.

“I-I understand,” she mumbled, mostly just to give herself an easy way out to leave the room now, and what else was she supposed to say? She could mention Chani again, but she felt so tired of doing it, spent.

When she started to head back to the door, he stopped her again. “May you stay for a while if you’re available?” he asked, despite being the one who had just dismissed her rather rudely. He stood up as Irulan stared at him. “Let us share a drink.”

Irulan gave him a look, hesitant. She should leave. Today had already been eventful. It was best they stayed away and cooled off, but reading her reluctance, Paul gestured to the seat in front of him. “I promise I won’t make you uncomfortable further,” he said, and he sounded sincere. “I wish to talk to you about Tim. I need your counsel.”

The open and direct way he had declared his need for her counsel startled her so much that she stared at him, stunned for a second. Paul had always listened to her counsel, let her have a seat in his council, let her speak her mind freely, gave her honest opinions. They usually didn’t take her seriously, her argumentative most of the time was opposed by the Qizarate and dismissed by the others. Irulan knew now she was mostly there because she was performing her role as his link to his enemies.

His sudden request threw her off completely. He had never asked anything like this of her before. There was something new and different in his request, something earnest. She spoke her mind freely, yes, but Paul never looked for counsel and advice from her. That role had always been strictly Chani’s, his true wife.

She swallowed, but nodded her acceptance, unable to decline. She was partly curious, mostly taken aback, but she couldn’t deny it when it was also concerning Tim. She settled down on the seat, her shoulders still tense, as Paul went to prepare the Shiraz wine as she preferred.

Holding the gold wine goblets, Paul returned to the desk study, but instead of going back to his seat behind the table, he settled into the seat in front of her. He handed her the drink as Irulan took it even warier.

“What you said about him needing more time,” he started, referring to their talk before Tim left them alone, resting in the chair. He took a sip from his wine, his eyes fixating on her. “Do you think it’s too early to bring him to Arrakis? I want him with me. His place is with me. But I don’t want him to get stressed out.”

She bobbed her head, repeating what she had said earlier. “You should give him time. Yesterday he was a street kid, a war orphan, today he learned he was the first cousin of the Emperor,” she continued. “A male heir to the House Atreides. He’s not a fool. You don’t mention it, but he can figure out where this would lead to on his own.”

His jaw clenched worse with what she had declared, but he stayed silent. “And, they hate us, Paul. They hate the Empire. They forgave me for my lie because they knew Ru before they met Princess Consort. They forgave Ru, not Irulan. But your case is different,” she said with simplicity. “For them, you’re nothing but a stranger with insane powers.”

His clenched jaw throbbed. “You’re not making it easy for me, Irulan.”

She sent him a cool look. “You asked for my counsel, so I’m giving it. If you look for someone to make you feel better,” she sneered, “ask for a concubine.”

It was a low blow as Paul never took concubines to his bed to feel…better, he had never bedded any other woman than his beloved in the last twelve years, but her jab still made her feel better.

“Besides,” she added as he nailed her with a stern look over the rim of his goblet, “Neither Qizarate nor Alia will be happy to see him, don’t fool yourself if you do think they would accept him easily. Whether you make him your heir or not, Qizarate still wouldn’t like a street kid from Caladan who knows nothing about Dune and the Fremen to stand in the line of succession.”

“That’s why I want him with him at Arrakis,” Paul reasoned, “So I can start his training. I can train him in the ways of the desert, and you can train him about the decorum and forms, and other stuff he needs to know.”

Irulan shook her head. “Paul, you’re pressing too much again. He can’t do everything at once. Even you weren’t trained on everything at once. And you were raised knowing that you would bear your father’s title one day, not in the streets of broken worlds.”

His lips pressed together, he almost sulked. “Shall I leave him with Gurney and my mother here?”

Irulan sighed. “Might be better than putting him through the mill all at once,” she murmured. “You talked with your mother?” she inquired as she wasn’t still sure, and she realized she hadn’t been wrong when he shook his head.

“No. Not yet.” Lady Jessica’s absence in the last twelve years must have affected their relationship so much that Paul was still dragging her feet to tell her something about it like this, having qualms leaving his cousin within her company.

He jerked his head, setting down the goblet with force, his anger evident. “They couldn’t even protect Caladan on my behalf, let it slip away,” he seethed, looking away. “How can I trust them to protect my cousin now?”

Almost shocked he had let it out in her presence, Irulan stared at him, but understanding better his dilemma. It was even more personal than allowing their Sardaukar to land on his home planet to save her, much more complicated, filled with secrets.

And despite all his powers, all his insight, all his abilities, he was still in the dark. Something put her ill at ease, a conflict she had never sensed for him. In her last twelve years, she had been constantly keeping secrets from him, had been conspiring behind his back, had been lying to him, but she had never felt this conflict. It disturbed her, although she wasn’t sure of the reason, Irulan could observe her own emotions enough to recognize that she didn’t like that disturbance in her.

It almost felt like…a betrayal, as strange as it sounded. She didn’t owe him anything beyond what she had promised, what they had bargained for. Even when she had betrayed him, she didn’t feel guilty. She wasn’t feeling guilty now either, but the disturbance still prickled at her edges.

She didn’t owe him anything, but he had asked her to stay earnestly and give him her honest counsel for the first time in twelve years. He had listened to her with the same sincerity as well. Something felt like shifted between them more than before, more than the time she had felt his lips on hers.

She remembered the way she had cried for him without any thought when she was captured, looking for him. She then remembered the way he had stopped her before she left this very room, cutting her off as she muttered to herself that she should’ve never thought he would care about her. She looked at him again, feeling that conflict drilling through her chest. Then another thought resurfaced from the depths of her mind, wondering what Chani would have done if their position were reserved.

Lady Jessica must have kept the gossip bound to Caladan, but if Chani had ever learned about the affair, Irulan knew what she would have done. Ever the faithful one, the Fremen woman would never have hidden it from Paul.

Her lips flattened, her conflict arising, and she felt torn. If she did it, she was going to open a war between herself and Lady Jessica, putting more strain on their relationship. Lady Jessica had mostly ignored, but if Irulan had told her son about her affair… She wouldn’t get away from it as easily as Chani would.

No.

She touched her bruised lips, playing with them in her indecision and ambivalent feelings. There was a part of her that wanted to tell him the truth, as the other part advised it wasn’t worth it. In the solemn silence, Paul stood up and walked to the tall windows, staring outside at his landscape.

Making her decision, Irulan got up from the chair and started to leave the study room. Still facing the window, looking outside, but surely seeing her ghostly in the reflection, Paul didn’t stop her this time.

Something gnawed at her chest in another way as she stepped outside the cooler corridor, and Irulan shoved it away. She walked down the hall, her chin tilted, knowing she had made the right choice for herself.

His beloved wouldn’t have kept secrets from him, would have told him the truth no matter what, but Irulan wasn’t his beloved. He had spent twelve years to make sure that was clear to her.

Chapter Text

The three days passed eventless, and it was a relief to Paul. So many things had occurred, so many things he had discovered that Paul felt they needed that breather before his father’s remains would arrive from Arrakis, and together with his uncle’s remains, Paul would lay them to rest where they belonged.

Stilgar had arrived yesterday, his arrival postponed because Paul had ordered him to bring his father’s remains, which had also caused unrest among the Qizarate. They were still treating very cautiously after Paul had unearthed their conspiracy and executed Korba, but even Alia had sent him a message, clearly siding with the Qizarate for Paul’s decision to remove his father’s altar. His shrine was one of the most divine places in their Empire, as holy as Paul’s Imperial gardens. Alia’s displeasure or choice of standing didn’t surprise him, but just made him warier.

Everything had begun to make him warier since his talk with Irulan in this very room where he was standing. His fears regarding Alia and Qizarate were getting heavier in his mind in the shadows, the paths he still couldn’t see. Paul wasn’t concerned about his lack of insight for that, though. He had never been able to see Alia’s paths clearly, their oracles blinding them to each other. But perhaps Irulan had been right about pressing too much, bringing so many changes all at once.

But he was Muad’Dib. He had changed the course of time—reshaped the known universe. Tim belonged with him, should stay at his side. Paul had taken Irulan’s counsel to give him more time, and had kept himself away in the last three days, but for the last, he was still carrying his qualms. Even Irulan, despite advising him to give his cousin more time to process the tide of change, hadn’t answered him when Paul asked her if he should leave him at Caladan.

Paul had sensed her qualm, a disturbance in her, and her avoidance of answering him. At first, he had given her qualms about what had transpired between them, their heated discussion, and then their kiss. At the moment the remembrance crossed his mind, the memory of it swirled in his mind, the feel of her lips, her warmth. Since that night, Paul had tried to forget what had happened when he stopped and kissed her, forget how he had acted—how he had reacted.

The way he had deepened the kiss, pulled her closer. His lips asking for entrance as his arms wrapped around her. The way he held her head to deepen their impromptu kiss even further, clutching her hair like a passionate lover would do until Irulan literally stopped him by shoving him away from herself. Shame burned him with the memory, and guilt followed quickly like how it happened since that day whenever he allowed himself to think it, remembering Chani, remembering his promise.

He wondered if Irulan felt better now, her dignity or vanity—whatever the cause that had made her demand a kiss from him had been satiated, pleased. She had taken her revenge, she should have felt better, but after she had stopped him, even stating it was sufficient, Paul had sensed her as shaken as him, her silence loud and heavy. Paul couldn’t have spoken, couldn’t have made any words as they just stayed silently, then somehow, they had just spiraled into another fight. Until Paul had confessed his discomfort for letting her see her former lover without carrying his child. The confession came out of him, partly upset by her questioning and reminder that she would have cheated on him if she had wanted to, no matter what Paul said or ordered, and partly because he didn’t want her to believe he thought of her that lowly as she questioned.

He shouldn’t have let things go that far between them, shouldn’t have…yielded to whatever feeling that had made him stop and kiss her. He should have resisted, but a stir found his chest again, remembering her leaving him angry and hurt, the way it had made him feel—and the softness and warmth of her lips, not like the imperturbable, untouchable Royal Princess he had wed.

His only relief was that it had shaken it as much as it had shaken him, her avoidance of seeing him in the last three days, giving them this breather from each other. They still needed to discuss many things, but it could wait.

When Paul had asked her counsel about how he should proceed with his cousin, trying to act ordinary, his request had surprised her. Paul knew it was mostly because of the request itself, asking her opinion, ready to heed her counsel. Paul knew it was not a common occurrence for him, actively seeking her counsel, but there was a part of him that still felt annoyed by her wariness, her distrust. Paul had always tried to act just toward her, had never had a council meeting without her, had always demanded her presence along with Chani whenever he held important meetings. It wasn’t only because he was trying to keep up appearances or needed her presence as his link. Despite their mutual distrust, Paul had always heard her opinions.

He had thought the first time he had asked it openly and in private, giving her a part of the dignity she had just requested from him would have pleased her as well, would have…broken the ice between them, would have helped him and his cousin, but it seemed his spiteful wife was still only interested in regaining the dignity that had been had been strapped away from her by their marriage in breaking his honor or insulting him.

Perhaps it was fair, yet Paul didn’t like it. She had given him her counsel to give more time to his cousin, but she was still not completely honest with her, was hiding something from him.

Even without his own Bene Gesserit training, Paul would have recognized the signs, would have recognized the nuances when she hid something from him. Paul had spent his last years, observing those tells and pretending he hadn’t noticed so that she could continue to drug Chani with contraceptives.

With a long, weary sigh he had allowed to himself in his solace, Paul walked to the tall windows and stared out at his home planet. His chest felt so heavy with all the mistakes he had made, with guilt that there was a part of him that wanted to confess. Everything.

He was going to need to tell Chani what had happened, what he had done. He couldn’t keep it secret, not this one. He had broken his promise and kissed his wife, and he needed to tell Chani. Perhaps Irulan also knew it, sensed it, and that was another reason why he had asked him to kiss her, twisting the blade she had sliced in his heart, taking her revenge.

No one would die from heartbreak, her mocking words to taunt him came back and haunted him, and he felt he had just walked into her trap. His anger rose, setting his jawline in his grimace, inciting his fury, the angry part in him demanding another confrontation, wanting to seek her out, but the weary part of him just wanted to confess everything.

The door of the study room opened suddenly, and Paul sensed his mother’s presence even before he saw her, also sensing a boiling anger from her. “This has to stop, Paul,” she told him as he turned to face her. “Whatever game you two are playing, you need to stop it,” she repeated. “You’re drawing too much attention.”

Paul sighed inwardly, already knowing what was coming next. He was also already aware of it, and surely Irulan was, but they both had ignored it. Paul wasn’t even sure if he was ready to face another obstacle that was demanded of them before Irulan’s pregnancy was revealed.

“You plan to make her pregnant, and if that’s your wish, you need to spend the nights together,” his mother continued when Paul stayed silent. “You cannot let anyone suspect the nature of the pregnancy, Paul. She needs to stay with you at least in the same room. Yet she hasn’t even breathed the same air with you for three days. She’s keeping herself tucked away with those street kids, and you’re letting her!”

“We’ll do it later at Arrakis,” Paul told her primly, not denying the need, but also not confirming it. After what had happened, Paul couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not before he confessed to Chani. He had already broken too many of his promises. He couldn’t sleep with her, adding more weight to his burden. This time, even Irulan was avoidant of that fact, despite how much it would have satisfied her spite.

But her mother was persistent. “No. Her affair is already in the gossip mill. The servants here need to see you together alone, need to see you together spending quality time. Otherwise, people would talk, Paul. They will say it’s not yours.”

“She’s a Bene Gesserit,” Paul encountered, pressing his lips. “She would give me a child who looks like me. She has recessive genes, I have the dominant genes,” he went on further, stating the facts, aloof. “Our child will inherit my dark hair and Atreides features.”

His mother gave her a look. “The small folk would not know the difference between the recessive genes and dominant genes. They will only know the Princess Consort has spent a lot of time in private with her Professor rather than her husband, and then got pregnant.”

If it was a ruse to rile him up, it worked. He worked his jaw, not liking the statement as worse as hearing his mother calling the damn man as her Professor. Was that how the people here called the man here? Her Professor? The possessive pronoun annoyed him, prickling the same anger that he wished he could have contained better.

“Fine,” he clipped, giving in, accepting another defeat. “I’ll see to it.”

“Good,” his mother said, and then her beady Fremen-blue eyes got fixated on him, her tattooed face clearly displaying her unrest and questions in her mind. “What’s this about those kids, Paul?” she asked finally, voicing them out. “Why are they in the Keep?”

“Irulan will adopt the little girl,” Paul replied evenly, still having his qualms about confessing Tim’s bloodline to her, the shadow that had grown between them in the past twelve years binding his tongue. “And they’re her friends.”

“Street kids,” she pointed out.

“Yes.”

“There’s more, Paul,” she insisted. “I can sense it.”

And of course, she could. She was a Bene Gesserit, of course. There were always more with them. His lips pressed together, but Paul finally admitted, “The boy is an Atreides, my cousin,” he said before telling her the whole story.

His mother was stunned, speechless. “Your father never mentioned it,” she mumbled, and there was a wonder of disbelief in her voice, further than what Paul had disclosed, another male heir to his throne, but his father had kept it secret even from her. From his beloved.

There were even secrets that his father had kept from his mother, and it made Paul feel slightly better about himself, breathe easier. There was even a part of him that wondered if he would keep what he had done secret from Chani as well, the desire that had incited in him in the kiss he had shared with his wife, the desire that he had forbidden himself for so long.

Paul had always known it, acknowledged it, although it had brought such bitterness and hurt, Paul had never wished to be cruel to her, had never wanted to hurt her without any reason. Irulan had been a victim of their destiny as much as Paul had been, and Paul had to keep her away from himself because he knew this would have happened if he didn’t. His failure still shamed him, leaving him stark and open in guilt, but he had known it. He had known why he had to keep her away at a distance.

“You’re going to take him to Arrakis?” his mother questioned, breaking through his conflict and guilt.

“I don’t know,” Paul answered truthfully, focusing on the topic, pushing the thoughts of her away from himself. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. Irulan will bring a lot of changes with her constitution, and Qizarate’s dislike only increased after she also outed their conspiracy. Another Atreides now would make them even more prickly.”

Lady Jessica was silent for a while, looking at him, and then she shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re letting her do it,” she murmured. “A constitution. With her former lover.”

His jaw clenched. “We’ve come to an understanding.”

“Paul—” his mother suddenly called, walking to him closer, closer than in years. “I-I think you just need to consummate your marriage,” she said in a low but heated voice as he frowned. “What you’re doing is insane. She should have your heir by natural means, not like this.”

His frown got deeper, hearing the unsaid remorse in her voice. “I made my choice, Mother,” he replied, but he didn’t reveal if he meant the choice he had made years ago, or the choices he had recently made.

Either way, his path had already been laid out for him, and the only thing Paul could do was walk like he always did. Irulan believed in free will, refused to be shackled, but they were never free.

His mother’s gaze found him. “Will you leave him here?”

Paul stayed silent for a while, letting his mind float until the answer—the path found him. “No,” he replied, finding it, and his voice getting certain. “He’s an Atreides. His place is beside me.”

Next, he left the study room and went to find his wife.

# # #

Seeing the Fremen Fedaykin up this close, escorted by them, did not help nothing to reduce Tim and Rogue’s growing tension. They were escorted back to the Keep from the Red Cross hospital that they had visited to make sure Leo and all the other injured kids in the Pit had all the medical attention they needed, but closely followed by Stilgar’s Fedaykin that had newly arrived at Caladan on Paul’s orders.

 Irulan had accepted the protection details without a word, knowing she would win that fight with Paul. She didn’t even blink or try to fight. Perhaps she had become too accustomed to Fremen warriors’ presence around her that she hardly got bothered by them anymore, and she also didn’t want to be in his presence once more because of it.

Three days had passed since that morning in the study room, and Paul had withdrawn to himself, ignoring her presence, and Irulan didn’t have any desire to remind him this time. That disturbance was still in her, although she kept her silence regardless of her feelings, but she didn’t want to see him again. Not yet. Everything was still too fresh. She still regretted asking him to kiss her, and mixed with that strange disturbance in her for her silence created a further unrest in her. Irulan didn’t need his dominant, powerful gravity to pull her more into this turmoil.

Paul had also left Tim alone, silently heeding her counsel and giving his cousin time, but Irulan had sensed tension increase from Rogue and Tim, especially this morning when they visited the injured kids. Rogue had leaned over Leo longer while they said goodbye, hovering over him as Irulan observed the slight changes in Leo’s body language as the teenage girl whispered to his ear. Irulan couldn’t hear the whispered words, but she had seen the way the teenage boy tensed, his gaze finding Tim.

They were planning something. It couldn’t have been any clearer to Irulan. Fear of the upcoming days seized her chest worse, but she knew she had to deal with this first. With Stilgar, his father’s remains had also arrived, causing a loud protest that had even reached her ears here from Arrakis, and although Irulan still didn’t know whether he confided in his mother about his uncle or not, Irulan was aware they would soon leave for Wallach IX.

She needed to make sure nothing would have happened while they were aware. The distress of going to Wallach IX and having the procedure was even lessened by the tension she had sensed from Tim and Rogue, making her unable to concentrate on what she was going to face soon.

Perhaps Irulan just found it easier to focus on the other problems than concentrate on that, how the insemination was going to take place. She didn’t know the exact forbidden procedure, but things she imagined made her as tight as a coiled barbed wire whenever she had let herself ponder it. Irulan had seen the images of those clinics, although she had never seen the insemination process.

A syringe was going to invade her most personal places and was going to give her Paul’s seeds?

The thought shuddered her, the desecration and unnaturalistic aspect of such an act, and she repeated to herself that she had accepted this for the greater good, not for herself. Perhaps she would have gone unconscious and let them have a complete forbidden in vitro method to put a fertilized egg in her womb, she would have been at least unconscious in that way, not awake and feeling everything, but having a child like that was even more unnatural, more…blasphemous.

Having her eggs and his seeds sterilely mate inside a petri dish in a clinic, no human touch involved. Insemination, at least, would allow her a small piece of humanity in their union, would allow his seeds to find her egg in her womb. The thought of having her child that unnatural came to her unbearable. Besides, if she weren’t allowed in the process of their mating, the Bene Gesserit would have never given her a choice but placed a male fertilized egg in her womb.

Paul still hadn’t demanded anything for the gender of their child, and Irulan still hadn’t made up her mind. She couldn’t leave that choice to the Sisterhood and let them have what they had been dreaming of for so long on a silver platter—or rather on a petri dish. Paul’s reasons for wanting a child from her were still so ambiguous that there was a part of her that still thought having his male heir would have been just an invitation for more tension between them, and everything else.

Her eyes cut over to Tim, and Irulan imagined her own child in his shoes, facing the same problems the teenage boy soon would face. Paul’s male heir would save him from those difficulties, and although Irulan hated to think like that, was she truly ready to place her own child into that nightmare?

Paul had promised her equity, but Irulan still didn’t know, still couldn’t decide. If Chani also had a son…? That question still filled her dread as much as thinking Alia and the Qizarate did.

She needed to make a choice. She needed to decide if she wanted an heir or just a child.

Time was of the essence, yet she had been wasting it as if she had it in abundance. She hadn’t even finalized her decision about the Sardaukar and written to Sir Lance. Irulan had been debating on it, too, whether she should have brought her father’s police force under the command of Sir Deckard, who had always been loyal to her father the most, or should she give the command to her former sworn guard?

She had known Sir Lance since they were both in their early teens, a newly minted guard who had been chosen to their Royal Sworn Guard squad, swearing on their honor to serve and protect them beyond life and death. Sir Lance had never disappointed her, and Irulan had always trusted him. There was no other man Irulan would trust more with protecting something important to her. He had always protected her, but still, Irulan couldn’t have written the order.

Not when Paul was acting so…weird toward her affair with the Professor.

Duty had always separated them as they both knew their place, but Irulan had been always aware of Sir Lance’s feelings toward her, had accepted it as genuine love of a man who would never have any other woman to love and cherish, and to protect as it was the way of the sworn guards. The affections between them had always been platonic and unspoken; they had not even shared a kiss, but it was no secret that Irulan had always returned his affection. Some even would say she used to fancy him, and it wouldn’t have been incorrect.

The old gossip would flare if Sir Lance left Salusa Secundus if Irulan appointed him to take the legion’s command over his superiors, but she still felt it should be him. She also wanted to take him away from their dreadful prison planet when she had the opportunity. She had managed to ship him with her father’s Sardaukar to Salusa Secundus shortly after their wedding so that he could be safe. Away from her, but safe.

Irulan had seen him a couple of times afterward on the rare occasions Paul had allowed her to visit her father, and seeing him there had always been worse than seeing her own father. Her father had at least deserved the punishment for his sins. Sir Lance had taken no part in the attack against House Atreides. Irulan knew it because he had been with her, like she had always known.

Perhaps if Paul had questioned why she had chosen him over her father’s former Bashar General, Irulan would have told him that. She wondered briefly if the old palace gossip had ever reached his ears, but was she exaggerating in her fretting? Perhaps Irulan was worrying herself over nothing. Paul Atreides would really care for her platonic old flame? When Irulan asked herself, it sounded quite insane. He didn’t like her affair because his claim on her—on his war prize like how some Fremen called her, but a childhood fancy was nothing alike.

Paul was not silly, not letting himself take more seriously the farce of their marriage than it was. The way he had kissed her suddenly assaulted her after her thought, clashing with what she had just thought, the persistence of his lips and his fire, the way he had kissed her until Irulan stopped him by force. A fire arose in her too with her anger, for doing this to her, for making her feel like this, torn.

She shoved those feelings away from herself in the same way he shoved him away from herself. And even if he got angry, bringing her old platonic flame, why should Irulan care about his feelings?

Like she had told him before, he had demeaned her worse. She didn’t want this out of spite or to break his integrity like before, but if he took slight on it and felt like she did, Irulan also didn’t care.

A sly, pleased smile almost touched her lips as Irulan closed the doors of her quarters, leaving the Fremen Fedaykin outside and making up her mind. Sir Lance was her choice. He needed to lead the force that was going to land on Caladan, whether Paul liked it or not. In this way, they would make sure the Sardaukar would stay loyal to them more. To her.

As soon as Irulan closed the door and crossed the threshold into her living areas, Rogue suddenly caught her elbow. “Princess, get ready. We’re leaving tonight. We’ve set everything.”

And Irulan stared at her at a loss, suddenly all the thoughts of her old flings and Paul vaporizing in her. “What?” she echoed, remembering the secrecy and whispers they had exchanged. She should have seen this coming. She should have.

“You should come with us!” Rogue whispered at her heatedly, clutching her arm. Her eyes were as heated as her tone. “You don’t have to do that yourself anymore! We’d bring you to places even he can’t find!”

Escape from Paul?

The words echoed in her stupor as Irulan would still only stare back at them. There was no escape from him, nowhere to hide. She turned her look at Tim, letting out a shaking breath. “You can’t escape from him, Rogue. Sooner or later, he sees everything.”

“You told yourself he can’t see everything,” the teenage girl insisted. “He didn’t see Tupile. We can find a real Tupile, be away, and safe from him. How long would you endure this, Ru?” she asked, and Irulan swallowed hard, hearing the short name, the woman she had been happiest the most. “The Ru we’ve known is no political formality. She’s the most courageous and caring woman we’ve ever met. Don’t do this yourself!” she cried out again. “Leave that douchebag behind! You deserve more.”

 She sucked in a hitched breath, shaking her head. If only it had been that easy, would have been that simple. Even if not by fate as he believed, they were tied together by duty. The absence of the Corrino bloodline on the throne would create chaos across the Empire of whose ripple effects would unsettle the fragile peace that had cost them more than a decade.

Irulan had never understood Paul’s plans for his succession, but even though he could not see all, he could see many paths that they could not. And, now, he also wanted her child. Irulan didn’t know what this all meant, and Paul refused to clarify, but she still knew their paths had merged together years ago.

“I can’t leave,” she said. “My absence isn’t something he can tolerate, and I have agreed to have his child.” She let out a breath, accepting it. “Our paths are entwined, merged together. I’ll never be his wife for true,” she confessed. Even when she had his child, Irulan still wasn’t going to be his true wife, was only going to continue to play her part, but— “But I still will be the only wife he will ever have,” she completed with a bitter but accepting smile.

I’m your husband, and you’re my wife, whether we like it or not, his words swirled inside her, but Rogue was still stubborn, resisting.

“No! That’s not right!”

“It’s our duty,” she replied sincerely. “I accepted to have his child because he let me protect Caladan, and something even more important. I will not back down from my promise. I can’t,” she repeated, swallowing again. “I can’t leave him, Rogue.”

Her eyes turned to the youngest Atreides, letting out another sigh in resignation. She was sad for doing this to him, but there was no other way, either. Paul had been right. He had to accept who he was.

“And you can’t, either, Tim,” he said. “You know he was right. You belong with him.”

Rogue’s eyebrows clenched in confusion, and Irulan realized what she had missed. Tim still hadn’t told her about his bloodline. They had just conspired to escape from the Keep in the last three days, but Tim hadn’t told her everything. From Rogue’s flare, Irulan had assumed the girl had learned about it, but she still didn’t know.

“What does it mean?” Rogue asked, her eyes turning to Tim. Momentarily, Irulan felt bad for outing him, but perhaps it had been the best. She nodded at him. “Tell her,” she said softly, as encouraging as possible.

The youngest Atreides dipped his head. “He says I’m his cousin.”

“What?” Rogue all cried out. “What does it mean?”

Irulan fixated on her eyes on the teenage boy and spoke clearly and firmly, laying it out, “It means Tim is the only male heir to House Atreides, Rogue.”

*

After leaving the young couple alone to talk and work it out, Irulan went to look for Amy. She felt exhausted after their talk, but Amy wasn’t in her quarters, and her worry won over her tiredness. The Atreides’s stronghold was protected now better than anytime with Stilgar’s Fedaykin, but Irulan still wanted the girl in her sight.

In the gardens, she found her, with Paul and his Fremen Naib, leisurely lounging in Paul’s lap as they sat on a stone bench that looked over an intricate blue marble fountain. Stilgar was amazed as much as he had first seen Paul’s special gardens like all Fremen, Paul was indifferent. Amy was lazy, looking at the pictures in a book in her hands, sitting in the Emperor’s lap.

The scene caught her so unguarded, Irulan froze as badly as when he had kissed her, staring at them with widened eyes. Amy was wearing a blue-white dress today, still carrying her tiara over her bird-nest like in the last three days. She had never taken it off before going to bed. The dress was new, something Irulan hadn’t given her off, and the color might have made her frown, but she was still so shocked to see them like that, she could only stare at them dumbfounded.

Paul’s head was dipped, also looking at the book Amy was reading, assisting her to hold her, and Amy lifted her head and told him something, and Paul smiled—and he looked someone else altogether. Someone Irulan had so seldom seen in the last decade. Someone she had only seen in glimpses from afar, in seldom moments of happiness in the company of his beloved. Certainly not in Irulan’s presence.

Something in her chest constricted, seizing. Irulan exhaled a sharp breath. Then they noticed her.

Amy jumped from his lap at the moment she saw her, rushing to her with the thin book in her hand. “Ruuuuu!! Look what Paul was showing me!” She jumped at her as Irulan knelt in front of her, ignoring the other men or how Amy was screaming his first name around, and calling her Ru in front of Stilgar.

A page filled with the ancient Atreides war plane shook in front of her eyes. “Spitfire!!!” Amy squealed. “Paul found it for me!”

Despite the incredulousness of the situation, Irulan laughed softly. “I see.”

“He said they still have one in their hangars! And he said it still flies!” she cried out. “And I asked him to give me a tour, but he told me I should ask you first.”

Surprised, Irulan lifted her head and looked at him. He had promised her Irulan would adopt Amy if she agreed to his wish, but the way the remark made her feel was something unexpected, the tightness in her chest in another way.

“That plane is very old, sweetheart,” Irulan replied. “It might not be safe.”

“But Paul said it still flies!”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s safe, Amy, and you should not call His Majesty by his name in others’ presence,” she added, lowering her voice, her eyes casting a look at Stilgar. Surely the man had found Paul quickly after they came back and gave him a detailed brief about their visit while she talked with Tim and Rogue. Momentarily, Irulan even wondered if he was even aware of Tim and Rogue’s plan for escape, but had waited to see what they would do.

It wouldn’t have been the first time Irulan saw him doing it, just waiting to see what people who opposed him would choose to do. Like when she had betrayed him.

“Why?” Amy asked, sounding at a loss. “Isn’t it his name?”

“Yes, but you still can’t.”

“Why?” the girl asked again, getting irritated, and Paul stood up, approaching them.

“She’s very stubborn,” he said, looking down at Amy.

Irulan made a sound, and Paul let out a soft chuckle, and it was still strange hearing him doing that in her presence. “Where did you find that dress?” Irulan asked, mostly to break the silence, feeling even more strange.

The Fremen Naib’s intense blue eyes watching them didn’t help her, either. The Fremen man had never been outwardly cruel to her, he was always respectful and diplomatic, but always wary. The wariness in his gaze had intensified as well, knowing he was witnessing something he had never seen before. Irulan wondered what he was going to think about it now, what Fremen would think about her now, having Paul’s child.

The fears constricted her chest as Amy smiled large and happy, entirely disregarding what Irulan had told her. “Paul brought it to me when he came to show me the plane! Isn’t it pretty, Ru?”

Her lips pressed thin, wanting to say no, it wasn’t pretty, and she wanted to grasp her little Princess at her side, snapping at him to stay away from her little princess. Amy belonged to Irulan. She had found her, but she feared Paul would steal her away like he had stolen everything from her. Her possessive response wasn’t logical, she knew. Amy wasn’t a belonging, and Paul must only have tried to be nice and make sure that he didn’t mind her presence, but Irulan still felt it.

And Paul read her body language, his lips pressing into a thin line by how Irulan had pressed the girl at her side as if she was trying to protect her from danger. Amy sensed the sudden tension between them and looked at them, confused.

“How were the kids?” Paul asked, breaking the tense moment.

“They’re okay.”

Paul nodded, and they ebbed into another silence. “Ru, will we make chocolate cake?” Amy suddenly chirped as if she had just remembered it. “You said yesterday we could!”

The intimate blue-in-blue eyes found her as Irulan bobbed her head, looking down at her, welcoming the excuse, although the Emperor still looked like he could not fathom Irulan Corrino would prepare chocolate cakes for a small girl.

If only he knew what else Irulan had done for Amy, from the moment they had met, stealing candies and ribbons. Her collection in her drawer made her square her shoulders, making her feel like she still had something of herself he would never conquer and take away from her.

“Yes, sweetheart, we will,” she replied, tilting her head, a pride filling her chest with relief. But when she tried to leave his presence, his hand suddenly stopped her again.

A sudden panic hit her, her stomach recoiling at what had happened when Paul tried to stop her like this. She looked at him, but he was looking down at Amy. “The Princess needs to stay with me for a while, Amy. You’ll go with Stilgar, and he will find you chocolate cake.”

“Stil—” he called out to his Naib, who quickly rose to his feet from the fountain’s stone bench and gave his order, not even looking at the man who stood behind them. “Find chocolate cake for the little lady from the kitchens.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Stilgar was quick, retrieving Amy from her side as Irulan let her go this time. Paul’s order for her to stay was unspoken but quite evident; no room for disobedience.

He cocked his head at the stone seat Stilgar had vacated. “Let us have a seat,” he said and turned around to head it, without even checking if Irulan followed him.

She remembered for a split second her words to Rogue as she perched gingerly on the stone bench beside him. Our paths are entwined, merged together. They stayed silent for a while, too, staring at the lush garden and pretty fountain, the intricate masonry and beauty of stone and marble work. Irulan remembered the marvel of Imperial gardens, feeling an unrest fill her more in the silence as Paul watched her silently. In twelve years, they had never sat before in any garden like this, sitting in quiet and peace. Another privilege that had been reserved only for his beloved.

Sometimes Irulan had also glimpsed them from afar, sitting in the Imperial gardens like this, sharing the quiet and peace, holding hands. Irulan used to force her eyes away from those glimpses, erase them from her memory, refusing to acknowledge how peaceful and serene Paul looked in those times, how much younger and more handsome. Knowing they would have never been like that, the pang in her chest had turned to anger first, hate, then bitterness, and then resentment before acceptance came.

Now, there was no peaceful expression in his features, although his face was impassive, he held a certain amount of wariness. Holding her own wariness, Irulan simply waited in silence until he spoke, not wanting to be the first one who broke it.

“I’ve tried to imitate our gardens at Arrakis,” Paul spoke when he understood Irulan wasn’t going to, “But I reckon it's a futile example. The Imperial gardens are never going to be like this, no matter what,” he said, and there was a real remorse in his voice.

“Arrakis is a desert planet,” she pointed out primly, exactly feeling it was a futile effort much like he had just announced, although she also enjoyed the gardens from time to time. “Their purpose is to amaze onlookers who witness Muad’Dib’s strength,” she reminded him.

Paul let out a low scoff. “And get bitter how I wasted their taxes.”

Irulan stayed silent, knowing it was also true. “I talked with my mother today, told her about Tim.” Surprised, Irulan twisted aside on the stone bench to face him. “I’ve given him enough time. He’s coming with me to Arrakis. I can’t leave him here.”

Irulan nodded. “Yes, my lord.” His eyebrows furrowed an inch, studying her demure response watchfully. “Have you contacted your Sardaukar?” he questioned further. “My father’s remains will arrive in two days, then we’re leaving for Wallach IX. You need to write to them before we leave.”

Irulan nodded again. “I will. I’ve been trying to decide who should take command of the force. Sir Deckard has always been loyal to my father. He would obey you after I have your heir, but I still wanted to explore all our options.”

His eyebrow cocked. “Options.”

“I believe my former sworn guard is a better candidate than him,” Irulan spoke plainly, facing ahead at the fountain. “He’s always been loyal to me. I’ve known him for years. He took his oath after I turned fourteen. He’d serve us well.”

“Hmm.”

She looked at him, wondering if he had also heard the rumors about him and Irulan from years ago, but Paul said after a pause, “If you believe he’s a better candidate to protect Caladan, you have my permission.”

Surprised by his quick allowance, Irulan looked at him. She had awaited a strong protest from him, and the easy acceptance put her on guard. She attempted to raise to leave him, feeling they had spent the conversation, but Paul put his hand on her knee this time and stopped her.

“No, sit,” came his quiet but firm order, his touch on her knee light but as certain as his order. Irulan frowned, feeling like she was missing something.

“P-Paul?” she whispered, looking at his hand on her knee as he still hadn’t pulled it away.

“They’re watching us,” he only said, and then Irulan understood why he was keeping her with him in the gardens. She picked up the errand boys and servant girls in the background, the gardeners and footboys running on their errands, all sneaking a glance at them as they sat beside the fountain in the gardens, his hand on her knee. The Emperor and the Princess Consort sharing some quiet, leisure time together for the first time in years.

She swallowed down a sigh, wondering if this had also been Lady Jessica’s advice. The Reverend Mother had been nagging Irulan to spend more time with him before they went to Wallach IX, which Irulan ignored, but it appeared she had finally also done with her son, and Paul had agreed.

Caught in the act, knowing it was also needed, Irulan simply sat beside him, his hand light and steady over the silky fabric of her dress. Irulan also made her best to ignore it and let him create whatever scene he wanted to create. The little voices in her mind sounded like Reverend Mothers whispered to her they were going to need to do more than sit on a stone bench in the gardens before the news of her pregnancy surfaced, but Irulan wasn’t ready to face those yet.

Yet, after the silence between them, Paul said, staring ahead. “I’ll ask for you tonight. You will come,” he spoke with the same firmness and certainty, silently underlining that Irulan didn’t have any say in it. “I’ll sleep on the couch, you in the bed.” Her jaw clenched. “Before the servants enter the room in the morning, I will come to the bed. You will shed off your chemise under the covers and will drop it to the ground and will give them the scene they need to see.”

At her other side, her hand fisted, her eyes still on his hand on her knee, burning her. “Do I have a choice?” she seethed, although a part of her already knew the answer now. They had never had a choice.

Chapter Text

Clad in her shimmering white nightgown that embroidered sunlight with the threads of gold inside the sheer fabric, Irulan waited alone in her bed chambers with a sense of doom awaiting her on the horizon. The feeling had swollen her chest as she perched gingerly on the edge of her bed between the billowing thin veils of her bedpost, her gaze focused on the way moonlight shone palely on the golden threads of her nightgown.

She didn’t allow herself to think about anything else, yet his voice still swirled in her mind in the heavy silence despite her efforts. I will I’ll ask for you tonight. You will come.

The rest of his words, Irulan could not think even now, the dread and apprehension taking hold of her worse if the words slipped further, the doom that was waiting for her. There wasn’t even any part of her now that snidely marveled at the fact that this had once been all she had requested for him, being called to his chambers in the deep of the nighttime, spending the rest of the night in his bed. Even the spiteful part of her that had asked a kiss from him didn’t care how Chani would feel when she had learned about this, the hurt and heartbreak the other woman would suffer. Right now, even that came to me as unimportant, pointless.

All Irulan was thinking about was Rogue’s offer she had denied, the way she had asked him even knowing the answer. Do I have a choice? A little voice whispered to her in the dark recesses of her mind, she would have been on a ship tucked away secretly right now instead of doing this—waiting for his call to arrive, but Irulan shooed away that whisper, jerking her head adamantly.

Running away and hiding herself, only caring for herself?

No. That wasn’t the answer. She had done it for the last twelve years, only had cared about herself, about the duty they had imposed on her, only making herself care to continue the bloodlines as if she were nothing but a tool for reproduction. No. She had let them steal the most vital part of herself, but no more. She was doing this for a purpose.

Her jaw set with determination, Irulan stood up from her perch and went to her library. She wished she hadn’t been alone at least until the call arrived, but she couldn’t keep Amy here as she waited on edge. As she stood in front of her small library stack, she remembered the gardens, but not how they had sat side by side on the stone bench in tense silence, his hand on her knee, light but definite, giving the onlookers the sight they needed to see. Irulan didn’t remember that, but the scene she had seen first when she had walked into the gardens, Paul sitting Amy in his lap, showing her the pictures of Spitfire.

The remembrance caught her as unguarded as the first time, making her swallow hard. Out of a sudden, she imagined a girl around Amy’s age with Paul’s real eye color and Corrino sunshine hair, sitting in his lap. The future he would allow her to have.

Something stirred in her chest tighter, remembering him asking her once more. Do you want an heir or a child, Princess?

I cannot change the past, Irulan, but I can make the future. I saw her sitting with you and my daughter, his words continue to spin in her mind as she stood motionless. I can give that to you, Irulan.

Irulan imagined them then, Amy and their daughter sitting with Paul as he read to them. The image was so powerful that Irulan felt breathless, a tremor running over her body, but then other images followed, another small girl with fiery red hair and blue specked eyes in Fremen grabs, Chani following her. Paul smiled at them softly and widely, in a way he never did in her company, his arms enveloping them. He held their daughter against his chest close and kissed his beloved on her lips with true love and affection, and Irulan watched them afar with her own daughter and Amy—

She quickly stopped her imagination, stopped herself imagining such things. An Emperor might have divided love, she advised herself, but divided loyalties. Paul was always going to favor Chani over her like he had done for years, but he had promised he was going to treat his children equally. Irulan shouldn’t start to torture herself with these fears even before she gave him the heir he was insisting on.

Perhaps he was truly wanting an heir from her, an heir that would allow the succession following his death without chaos, but he couldn’t admit to her. They all knew the mix of their bloodline would have secured his claim on the throne much better than his heir from Chani, despite aiming that child with one of her nephews. Something must have happened that had made him change his plans, wanting to have a child from Irulan as well, insisting on it. Insisting on it rather fiercely and determinately enough to allow this.

The book she had picked—Professor Jackson’s treaty—slipped from her hand and dropped to the ground as Irulan froze, extruding a sharp breath that sliced her chest.

Had—had he foreseen his death?

Was it the reason why he was persisting in having her child along with Chani?

Had he seen his own death in the Bene Tleilaxu conspiracy?

Irulan almost dropped to the ground as well, thoughts racing in her mind and filling in the missing pieces that she couldn’t understand. His wariness of Qizarate and Alia, his insistence wanting her child, his insistence wanting his cousin to be at his side, his strong belief that it was destiny that Irulan had found him. Even though Irulan had never been happy with his arguments about predestination, Irulan could never deny his destiny. How could she? Her path had entwined with his.

But now, Irulan was shocked and—feeling something…she didn’t even know how to name under her shock, more than disbelief. He was the Kwisatz Haderach, the powerful mind that had been engineered in a hundred generations. He had been such a pivotal and grave figure in the universe in the last decade, imagining a universe without him now came to Irulan as incomprehensible.

He was still a man, not a godlike figure, and one day, he was going to die. Irulan had always known it, but she had never thought or believed she would see it. Even when she had conspired against him, Irulan realized she had never believed they would have killed him.

Everywhere I turned in the last twelve years, I witnessed your power, she remembered how she had told him in their confrontation after she discovered the truth behind Tupile.

You’re the mentat whose computational mind surpasses the greatest ancient computers. You’re the Kwisatz Haderach, the one who can be many places at once. You’re the Mahdi whose merest whim is absolute command to your Qizarate missionaries.

And was that man trying to prepare the universe for his death?

Was it the reason why he had agreed to her wishes that easily? Let her land her father’s force on Caladan, let her make a Constitution with barest protests. Paul, a few years ago, would have never allowed it. They were not the same people anymore, Irulan knew, they had both changed, but was that the real catalyst behind that change?

His death?

Irulan held the bookshelf, her head spinning, her chest constricting in that weird way she couldn’t comprehend. Was—was she sad? A life without Paul….

She had been trying to escape from him in her last two months, but when she thought about it, Irulan also felt it was incomprehensible, unimaginable.

The knock on her doors cut through the turmoil in her, and her servants appeared in the doorway of her bedchambers. “Her Highness—” the maid called as Irulan stood by the bookshelf, her head bowed, trying to compose the whirlwind in her.

Through her turmoil, she barely managed to notice the astonishment in the maid’s voice, making her aware that the woman knew that she had witnessed something that had never happened before. Something so rare.

“His Majesty asks for you,” came the request. “At once.”

Irulan swallowed, steadying her trembling hands and inner turmoil, and pivoted her body to face the woman. It was one of Lady Jessica’s lady-in-waiting, not one of his Fremen warriors who had arrived with Stilgar. Irulan tried to stand as regal and aloof as the Princess Consort usually stood, unattachable and unattainable.

With a tip of her head, she sent the younger woman out and strode back to her bedpost where the matching silk white and golden robe of her nightgown also waited for her. She slipped it on and went to her vanity table for the last time to check her appearance and applied a bit of blush on her already rosy cheeks and draped a few dabs from her musky parfum on her neck, wrists, and her bosom like she was supposed to do after such a request. The treasures of a wife that were hidden for her husband, and smoothed her hair over her loose hair after a small dab of her perfumed oil, moonshade, and lilacs. When she was ready, she stood up from the vanity table and left her chambers.

Paul’s chambers weren’t far away from hers down the hall. The blue marbles of the hall were shining with a ghostly light from the suspended glowglobes above her head, casting gloomy shadows on the cold walls. The blue marbles looked as if it was made of ice and moonlight, and Irulan tried to keep her mind on the light and the shadows as she headed toward a room where he slept at night for the first time in twelve years.

She was still too confounded for what had happened, what was going to happen, and what might happen—her last turmoil and the thought of Paul’s possible demise swirling in her mind.

Minutes ago, she had been mostly occupied and concerned about sharing a room with her for a full night, and what he had explained—ordered her to do. Shedding her nightgown after he joined her in the morning before the servants entered and staying naked under the covers with him. The prospect had worried her so greatly, occupying her mind so much since the gardens that now against the thought of Paul’s possible demise, Irulan even wished that preoccupations instead of this.

Was he really going to die?

And why even the thought of that made her feel like this, as if someone had sliced her chest and clutched her heart, and was squeezing it. She had conspired for it! She had backed down and bailed out, couldn’t proceed, but she knew what was going to happen. What would remain from Paul? Only able to father a child. Barely. Irulan had even accepted that, perhaps because she had never thought they would have achieved it, but if that was real, if Paul really was conducting in this strange and unusual manner because he was going to die—

Irulan stopped the line of her thoughts, didn’t let herself continue, and pressed down her tremor. She could not think of it, not now, not like this. Tonight was hard as it was; these preoccupations wouldn’t make it any easier. Paul wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. A universe without him didn’t even make sense, didn’t even seem…possible anymore.

Composing herself further, calming her racked nerves, she smoothed her unwrinkled silk robe in a nerveous gesture that also thinned her lips, arranged her hair and made sure there was no askew sight of her, nothing out of place or showing off more skin than intended before she arrived in front of his doors that now had two Fremen Fedaykin stand at guard like usual. The sight had been missing them before Stilgar’s arrival with the selected few Fedaykin, and being present in front of Fremen people in such a status was more than perturbing. They must have already given the order because they didn’t stop her when Irulan advanced on the doors, nor even glanced at her.

But their expressions were curt and haggard, displeased. Paul had asked for her for the first time since they wed, and the Fremen didn’t like it. Despite everything and the confused high preoccupations that invaded her mind, the dislike of the desert warrior still pleased her, that spiteful part of her twirling back toward Chani.

How was the woman going to act?

Was she going to confront Paul? Paul had sounded like she had given her permission for what Paul had demanded, like every time she did, yielding to his wish, but Paul had also told her he was going to do this? It was apparent they were going to have to spend more time now, but how was Chani going to feel?

Was she going to get angry at him, give her a cold shoulder and be catty? Be a shrew?

Was she going to cry like Irulan did countless times in the cold, lonely nights when she was sure none could hear her? Because there was no one to hear her. She was always alone. Since they became wife and husband, Irulan had always been alone. Being the heir to the Golden Lion made anyone alone, but Irulan had never known such loneliness before.

There was even a part of her that understood Lady Jessica, recognized the loneliness she must have felt after losing her Duke, loneliness and depression that had made her look for companionship in the same way Irulan had sought out Professor Jackson after learning about Tupile. Paul had never known such a kind of loneliness, always had his beloved. Irulan would never forgive Lady Jessica for the bitter life that she had caused Irulan, siding with his son and then hiding herself here, but she still could understand. Not forgive, but understand.

Paul, on the other hand, would neither understand nor forgive, and it angered Irulan once more, and she latched onto that feeling to shove away other emotions in her that she could not understand yet. The Fremen warriors gave her another glance, which Irulan ignored, tilting up her chin an inch, and knocked on his doors once, short but firm.

His allowance for entrance was as short and firm as her silent request, the Fremen quickly opened the doors for her as Irulan stayed still in waiting. Irulan allowed her a brief, sharp breath intake before she crossed the threshold and entered the room.

The doors closed behind her with a thud that echoed in the silence. Paul was ahead of her, facing the tall windows, his back to her, his legs strongly apart as his hands clasped behind. He didn’t return to face her even when the doors closed and they were alone. Instead of making a sound, Irulan silently observed her surroundings.

In the room, there was nothing of personal Irulan could tie to him, although she had never seen his chambers at Arrakeen’s Keep or in the Sietch Tabr. She only spied a small coffee pot in the Fremen style in the left corner, and a low divan. In front of the divan, there was a small, low coffee table with silver trays and a few snacks. There was even a book on top of it. For a second, Irulan wondered if he had ordered them for her because the candies were Irulan’s favorites from Caladan’s cuisine, and then she also noticed a slice of chocolate cake inside another silver platter.

A low laugh almost escaped her, surprised. “It’s a bit too late for chocolate cakes,” she said, gazing at the dessert. Paul finally returned when she spoke and faced her.

“It was me who kept you away from the chocolate cake today,” he replied, voice cool but candid, but there wasn’t even the faintest of smiles in his voice or his lips. “I wanted to make amendments.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied on reflex, “but I don’t eat dessert at such night hours.”

“Coffee?” he asked this time, walking toward her as if Irulan had come for a friendly chat, as if she wasn’t standing in front of him in the moonlight with only a silk robe and shimmering nightgown. Even her silk slippers felt like she was floating over the cool tiles rather than she was walking.

Irulan shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Paul nodded. “All right.” He paused, and his gaze finally touched her robes, his head slightly tilted. Irulan held herself still and cursed the night chill that made her almost tremble, puckering her breasts under the silk fabric and giving her goosebumps. She remembered him coming over to check on her on the night of the attack after he returned, watching her sleep before he covered her with the blankets that Amy had pulled away from her. The memory she had pretended she wasn’t awake raised a fire from inside her, threatening a blush to break over her skin.

“Where will I stay?” she mumbled, averting her eyes from him. Paul had mentioned she was going to sleep in his bed and he was going to stay on the couch, but Irulan didn’t want to ask him where his bed was. She could see the adjoined room behind him, and suddenly, being in his bed a whole night even without him seemed like a terrible idea. She would have died—killed for such an opportunity three months ago, but it wasn’t the case anymore.

Paul cocked his head backward. “There,” he said ambiguously, pointing at his bed, and Irulan told herself it wasn’t his bed, just a bed he had been occupying in the last days. It wasn’t the same thing. It wasn’t his bed, his room, his place. In this bed, he had never lain with his beloved, had never kissed her, had never made love to her.

Her spine went rigid with the thought, imagining them mating in their bed back at Arrakis, in the city, or the Sietch, making passionate love. Her lips clenched in a grimace as Irulan decided she didn’t want to touch anywhere he touched, whether he shared it with his beloved or not, as long as she didn’t absolutely need to.

She jerked her head curtly. “No, I’ll stay here,” she clipped and saw the loveseat couch at the other corner of the room. Away from the coffee spot and the low divan. “You take the divan. I’ll take the couch.” As far away from him. “We go to bed in the morning before the servants come.”

Paul gave her a silent, long look. Irulan spun on her heel and headed toward the couch without waiting for his reply, but when he didn’t stop her, she understood he also didn’t mind. Even sharing the same room with him was enough stressful, a feeling Paul obviously also shared.

She settled on the couch and bent her knees, making sure her robe didn’t reveal more skin than absolutely necessary. She thought of asking him for blankets, it was still chilly, and sitting down had revealed her bare legs to her mid calves, but Paul didn’t bother, just settled down in the low divan in his trousers and black tunic, so Irulan didn’t ask, either. Paul was silent and somber in the divan, his legs stretched over the tiles. The divan stood out from the rest of the room like a sore thumb, and Irulan ignored it, as well, the easy way he still seemed fit both to the Caladan’s blue marbles and Fremen low divans. There was a part of her that still hated it.

Irulan turned her gaze away from her and decided to ignore his presence. The room was chilled out more from the open windows, and the northern wind suddenly blew inside the room from half-open tall windows, giving her goosebumps with chill, and before she knew it, Irulan sneezed. The thin sound she made cut through the somber silence between them, and Paul’s head tilted, and recognition followed quickly as he gazed at her. Irulan blushed, remembering how he had drugged her with a sleeping drought a few days ago when she got cold, and Paul suddenly was on his feet, striding toward the windows purposely. He quickly closed them as Irulan watched him silently. He didn’t stop by the divan, though. He headed back and walked past it, and crossed into his bedchambers. Irulan still gazed behind him, a new apprehension in her.

A couple of minutes later, he reappeared out of his private chambers, holding a pillow and a large blanket in blue and red in his hands. There was a massive red hawk embroidered in the blanket, the mighty Atreides hawk. He put them beside her on the couch, his eyes glancing up and lingering on her more than necessary perhaps. Such a gaze would have made her happy once, but now it only made her more self-conscious. She wanted to grab the blanket from him and cover herself, the sheer silky fabric that surely revealed a lot more than she was comfortable with, regain some decorum, but aloofly waited until he drew back.

When he did, she tipped her head in appreciation. “Thank you, my lord.”

The way she kept insisting on honorifics made him pause a second before he also tilted his head back at her in silence. Then he returned to the divan and took the book from the coffee table, and started to read.

“What are you reading?” The question suddenly left her as she took the blanket and finally covered herself, perhaps curious, perhaps she felt it appropriate now to make small talk. The red hawk was laid all over her, surrounding her body in a way Paul had never done, but Irulan pushed that thought away. It was better than a silk robe barely covering her. If Mother Superior had seen her now, she would have taught Irulan another lesson she couldn’t forget.

Irulan forced that thought away as well from herself, knowing she was going to see the woman soon enough. When Paul looked up, his gaze also momentarily lingered on her again, taking in the sight, but then his lips twitched, raising his hand to show her the book.

Surprised, Irulan stared at him. Even from the distance between them and the ghostly moonlight, she could recognize the title. “You’re reading it?” she asked, baffled, words leaving her in her surprise.

“Rereading it,” Paul corrected, and it surprised Irulan further. She was aware Paul had been cognizant of the facts that Noah had arisen in his book, but she had never thought Paul had read it personally. The last time he had even ordered his new ghola Mentat to read the book to give him his opinions.

“I thought your ghola was going to read it to give you an analysis,” she remarked.

“He did,” Paul accepted, placing the book beside him on the divan. “We discussed it today. I was just…jiggling my memory after our talk. If the Professor is going to write me a Constitution, I had better know what I’m getting into.”

Irulan almost laughed at that, but managed to keep her lips from twitching. “What impressions did your ghola give you?” she asked after a brief pause, remembering the ghola, the conspiracy, and the thoughts she had revealed to herself just before she came to his room.

Her chest panged with the similar unnamed feeling, her breath feeling shortened as Paul rested his head on the wall, reclining backward in the divan, and Irulan saw him closing his eyes tiredly. In some scarce times that Irulan had been at the present, she had witnessed Chani rubbing his temples when Paul looked like this, Paul’s head lying in her lap. The scene used to fill her with anger, hurt, and bitterness, but now she just felt…sorrow.

She then understood that unnamed feeling that had arisen in her.

Sorrow.

It was sorrow.

It surprised her as much as finding him stalking her to the Pit. Irulan had been ready to plot for his demise, but she hadn’t expected to feel like this, didn’t expect sorrow. If they had succeeded—she swallowed, but also realized Paul was still silent, his eyes closed, his head resting on the wall.

“Paul—” she called out suddenly, “Did you see yourself dying?”

There was utter silence in the room after her question, so quiet that Irulan even heard their own slow, low intakes of breath.

He lifted his head and stared at her. Irulan sucked in another sharp breath and asked openly, “Is it the reason why you want my child now?”

In complete, somber silence, he continued to stare at her, his eyes intent and intense, a vast deep blue-within-blue, but he looked hesitant, Irulan perceived, not reluctance but also an apprehensive wariness. In that moment, Irulan also comprehended that he was silent because he didn’t predict what reaction he would receive for his answer from her.

She pressed her lips into a thin smile, half mocking, half assuring. “If you’re dying, you can tell me. I will not fling myself down from a cliff after you if you do.”

His tension eased off after her taunting assurance, and he let out a small sound that almost resembled laughter. “No, I’m not dying, Irulan,” he confirmed, and she felt something relax in her chest as well despite her claim. “Though I’d have expected at least a few tears shed if I did.”

“You’d have expected wrong,” she encountered primly. “I’ve already shed all the tears I have reserved for you. There’s nothing left.”

Even though her confession dazzled him or disconcerted him, he didn’t let the emotion display on her face. Irulan didn’t know why she had confessed she had indeed wept for him, shed tears, but her admission didn’t cause her distress. Just a thing she used to do for him, but no longer.

“Then if you’re not dying,” she remarked, wanting to break a confession out of him, as well. “Why are you preoccupied with your succession?”

“Every ruler is preoccupied with his succession, lady-wife,” he replied, and it felt like he was rebuffing her once more, dodging the question.

She shook her head, rejecting his attempt. “That’s not what I asked, my lord. You seem particularly preoccupied about something…particular,” she said. “I would like to know it, if I may,” she added, playing by the rules.

But Paul Muad’Dib Atreides was still the same man. Silence answered her.

“Is it something because of our conspiracy?” she tried again, insisting in a low voice. “Something would happen to you because of it?”

He let out a small sigh. “I always tell you what you need to know, lady-wife.”

Irulan sneered with a glare and pulled the blanket over her tighter. “Forget I asked. Sleep well.” She lay down on the pillow further, begrudgingly but silently accepting his unspoken inquiry for silence, yet a couple of seconds later, he broke it.

“You would’ve killed me,” he lowly spoke. “Your conspiracy. Korba collaborated with my enemies. A stone burner was going to explode while I was in the marketplace at Arrakeen.”

Irulan sucked in a hitched breath, the admission she had reasoned on her own constringing her chest once more, but she didn’t move a sound, just waited him to continue, to make her understand what was happening. She still knew she was expected to do it just because he asked for it just like Chani would have, accepted what he thought she needed to know, but Paul had also started to speak, so perhaps they were really changing something.

“It was going to take my eyes,” he went on. “Take my sight, take my insight. I was even going to lose my abilities in the end and was going to walk into the desert as a blind man. So yes, Irulan, your conspiracy would have eventually killed me if you hadn’t confessed.”

What he had revealed stunned her so deeply that she drew up from the couch and stared at him. “I-I’ve never believed we would’ve succeeded,” she mumbled, dipping her head and shaking it, that sorrow she couldn’t place or name seizing her chest again when she thought what would have happened if they had succeeded.

Throw the Empire into chaos without an heir, leaving Alia and Qizarate to rule in his absence. How many Great Houses would have accepted this? What would Alia and Qizarate have done to her? Qizarate, despite their own involvement, would have easily executed her. Irulan would have been lucky if Alia had just executed her.

“I-I…” she mumbled again, truly asking what she had almost caused, what the Sisterhood twisted her hand into. “I was just trying to do something. Mother Superior…” Her voice faltered, and she couldn’t speak anymore.

“I know,” Paul replied, and she heard real sorrow in his voice this time as he looked at her. “I’m sorry she hurt you, Irulan. I never wished to cause you any pain, neither by my hands nor any other.”

Her throat felt clogged as she tried to make a bitter sound, shaking her shoulders, but she couldn’t speak. She lay down again on the pillows, feeling pressed down on the ground by everything that had happened between them, a weight she didn’t know how to carry sitting on her.

She knew there were a lot of details he hadn’t told her, about the Bene Tleilaxu plot and agenda, the ghola’s participation, but she didn’t want to know more. Getting closer and learning more wouldn’t have remade their past, wouldn’t have erased the hurt and humiliation she had suffered. She didn’t want to feel sorrow for him, didn’t want to think about what would have happened in a universe without him.

Irulan closed her eyes and forced herself to drift to sleep, although it wasn’t going to be easy. She emptied her mind and worked on her breathing until she practically lured sleep to herself like a seducing lover. She lured her body to follow her mind’s example and relax, allowing sleep to capture her.

The sleep she had tricked her mind and body into was restless, but Irulan didn’t mind. It was even a miracle that she had managed it while she could still hear his steady breathing in the room they shared for the first time in years, but he wasn’t sleeping; her half-aware mind registered it, just resting. Irulan briefly thought of the morning that awaited them as her body relaxed further, the blanket slipping away from her as she turned on her side and shooed away the thought. She was going to worry about it tomorrow.

The next time she felt him again through the cobwebs of sleep, he was hovering above her once more like before, leaning down to hold the blanket that had completely slipped down her body. Even her silk robe was lying askew over her nightgown now as she slept more soundly than she had imagined as Irulan even felt the sturdy fabric of the couch under her bare legs and lower thighs as the hems of her long nightgown had been pulled up as well. Irulan would have faked sleep again as Paul gazed down at her, but this time, her eyes fluttered open and caught his blue gaze.

The moonlight haloed around him as Irulan also registered that it wasn’t morning yet. “You’re a wild sleeper,” he told her as he laid the blanket over her, her eyes silently on his.

“I’ve never needed to bother myself to sleep calmer,” she retorted. She had never bothered herself to sleep calmly because she had always been alone in the bed before Amy started to sleep with her.

Paul, of course, comprehended her snide retort, but he replied, drawing up, “Go to bed. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

After years of keeping her away from his bed, he suddenly seemed rather keen on having her there. “I’ll go there in the morning,” she repeated, fixating her eyes on him once more. “I don’t want to stay in your bed a second longer than I have to.”

His jaw clenched as he tipped his head at her. “Very well, my lady. Have your way.”

When the sunlight seeped through her eyelashes, Irulan wasn’t sleeping anymore. Dutifully, she stood up from the couch, took the pillow and blanket, and started to walk to his private chambers. Behind her, she heard the soft movements and understood Paul was following her silently. Neither of them spoke as Irulan shed off her silk robe, turning her back to him, and then dropped the robe over the foot of the bed. The veils of his bedposts were the same as those of her bed, slowly drifting from the hangings in the morning breeze, and Irulan chose to focus on them while she started to ruffle her hair, kneading her fingers through her strands as if she had passed a wild night. She ignored Paul as he started to take off his trousers and tunic and stood in his breeches.

His gaze wasn’t lingering on her anymore; he didn’t even glance at her shimmering sheer gown that left almost nothing to the imagination. Silently, they followed the protocol she had agreed to earlier. Irulan silently climbed to the left side as he took the right side and slipped under the bedcovers.

There they lay on their backs under the covers, staring up at the deep blue canopy above them. They were lying so far away from each other on each sides of the bed that another body would fit between them.

“Come closer,” Paul clipped, still staring up, not looking at her. Knowing this wasn’t how lovers slept after a night of passion, Irulan held back her frustrated sigh and obeyed the command. She was going to need to do more than have wild hair to trick the servant girls.

She briefly wondered how this was how he slept with Chani after a night of passion, enveloping her naked, spent body in his arms, and pushed the thought away from herself, not wanting to dwell on it.

She didn’t care anymore. She wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t bitter. She wasn’t…hurt. It was in the past. Another life. Another woman.

Irulan was just going to lie there now, almost naked, almost in his arms. Until she was going to be completely naked. Steeling her nerves and tremors in her hands, Irulan raised them and started to slide down the sheer nightgown over herself. Paul was still staring at the blue canopy, not at her, but from her movements, he must have realized what she was doing now. Heat started to rise from inside her, truly feeling the silky texture of the sheets over her naked skin. She focused on how silky her lingerie was sliding down on her, almost like a feather, instead of what she was doing, or the soft touch under her. Irulan had never lain in the bed naked before, had never slept naked. There was a part of her that wanted to experience it fully, how it felt, but as Paul rested motionlessly beside her, waiting for her to finish, she couldn’t center herself on the feeling itself. The embarrassment she tried to control threatened to break over when Irulan managed to kick off the lingerie off her feet, but she repressed it with determination, didn’t allow herself to blush like a virgin in his bed because of her nakedness.

When she was completely naked, she started to rise in the bed, holding the bedcovers over herself to cover herself as she did so, and blindly caught the nightgown she had shed off. Paul had finally started to look at her, his neck twisted aside. Irulan quickly flung the nightwear down to the ground in the open sight, a passionate lover stripped it off his lover’s body before they made it to the bed.

The sight of her nightgown finally broke the blush she had been trying to keep at bay on her cheeks. Irulan quickly turned on her side so that she didn’t see Paul anymore. So, he couldn’t see her anymore, either. It was just too much. Too much. The warmth of the bed was suffocating when he lay next to her naked body, the heat of his warm body.

In the silence of his private rooms, she heard the ruffling sounds of the sheets as Paul moved closer to her back, and almost spooned her as Irulan lay on her side. He was so close to her now that she could feel his breath tingling over the crook of her neck, over her hair, feel its warmth. But not even once he touched her, just lay there behind her back as a lover who cocooned his lover after a night of passion. Irulan carefully arranged the covers over her, revealing a glimpse of her naked body to the open sight for whoever would stand in the doorway, assuring the purpose of the façade.

Then silently, they waited.

The doors opened after a couple of minutes, wary and careful. They didn’t react, but Paul slid even closer to her. Irulan closed her eyes and faked sleep as the servant girls saw them still sleeping soundly, her imperial nightclothes scattered around his chambers.

They quickly scurried outside. They stayed like that for half an hour, counting every minute before Irulan quickly slipped out of the covers, grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed and the gown from the ground, her back still to him, never looking back.

She slipped out of his chambers like a ghost.

The gossip started to raise during the day.

Irulan wrote to Sir Lance and told him openly she needed her most loyal and dearest friend’s help.

At night, she visited Paul again and slept on the couch. Before the morning, they got up and went to bed, and followed the same procedure as the previous night. That night, after Irulan became completely naked and Paul slid closer to her, so close again that she could sense his breath tingling over her skin once more, feel his warmness and his musky and leathery scent. Half-conscious and half-sleepy, her drifting mind dreamed of Arrakis and desert, dunes stretching as far as the eye could see, glinting golden and copper as Irulan forced herself to stay awake, not fall into sleep. She didn’t want to sleep in his bed, a part of her afraid of what would happen if she did in the same way his kiss had scared her.

That kiss, Irulan certainly did not allow herself to think.

When the morning came, the servant girls entered the room and again quickly took their leave. Irulan waited another half an hour and then slipped out of the bed like before, never looking back at him.

The following day, their routine was the same, but this time, Paul was almost holding her in his embrace from behind. Knowing Irulan was still there with him, the servants hadn’t come when the sun broke. After half an hour, they left the bed together, neither talking nor looking at each other, but they left his chambers together, heading out to their separate ways.

Now, everyone was talking about them, and Irulan absently wondered if the news also had reached Arrakis, if Chani had heard it. The thought still pleased that spiteful part of her, despite her best efforts otherwise. During the day, they spent more time in the gardens, sitting side by side on the stone bench. His hand on her knee was still light, but he was brushing little circles over her dress. Irulan knew it was still nothing, meant nothing, only a part of their façade, playing their parts like always. Indifferent, Irulan ignored it and read her book.

His father’s remains arrived that day, and they rested him next to Tim’s father. Tim was somber, Paul was even worse. Rogue was still stunned as if her mind still couldn’t comprehend. Irulan didn’t blame her. Lady Jessica cried openly, for the first time Irulan had seen her, looking pained and lonely in a way that Irulan had also never seen before. Gurney looked guilty and saddened, and Irulan felt…pity and sorrow, though this time for why she wasn’t sure.

After the funeral, Irulan started to take vitamins and folic acid she needed to take for her pregnancy and started to practice secreting the hormones that her body needed to begin her ovulation period for insemination and fertilization, maturing the eggs in her follicles.   

At night, Amy wanted to sleep with her. Irulan kissed her and promised her that soon they were going to sleep together every night. They retired to his chambers together after the dinner. Irulan read her book—an essay about social contracts and Old Terra philosophy this time, and Paul still read Professor Jackson’s book. They didn’t talk or make small talk, but Irulan sat down with him on the low divan and had coffee he prepared while reading. Unlike the bench, Paul didn’t touch her. When the exhaustion of practicing secret Bene Gesserit skills throughout the day threatened to break her code of conduct, her body relaxing and reclining toward him in the divan, Irulan went to her couch for sleep.

In the morning, the servants hadn’t come again, and Irulan roused up from her deep nap after she had come to bed, almost in his arms this time. Her naked body had turned toward him in sleep, was almost lying on his side. Unlike her, he was fully awake, watching her as Irulan soundly slept beside him without any shade of cloth. Not even a single part of their bodies was touching despite their proximity, but Irulan still felt like she was burned. His gaze burned her. She grabbed the covers over to hold on to her decency as her mind twirled—his scent filling her, the remembrance of his kiss…

She slipped out of the bed without a word and went to her own chambers she hadn’t slept in for three days. She had fallen asleep because she was exhausted, because of the demanding Bene Gesserit practice, nothing else.

Before noon, they left for Wallach IX.

Chapter Text

The interiors of his Imperial heighliner were silent, the hum of the faster-than-light engines was reverberating around them in the air and inside the titanium plates of the space vessel. The Imperial design of the vessel was elegant but regal in a simplistic yet numinous way that surrounded his Empire, mixing the majestic monarchial roots of his ancestry with his Fremen roots, Paul Muad’Dib Atreides’s dynasty.

Paul could retire to his own quarters which consisted of one small living area, a small office, and a small bedchamber for solitude instead of sitting in their company in the spacious common hall of the space vessel, yet he hadn’t. The silence of the common hall was deliberate; everyone in his presence was tense for different reasons. There was only his wife, his mother, his Naib, and his ghola in his company, and his cousin, accompanying him for the first time for an Imperial matter.

Bringing the kid to Wallach IX was a daunting move that Lady Jessica had opposed heatedly, letting the Sisterhood know there might be another prospect for the Atreides bloodline. The purity of Tim’s bloodline, born from a peasant girl, would be questionable for the Bene Gesserit’s designs, but Paul still wished they would learn the truth while he was present. So that he would send them the necessary message once more if needs be.

Tim still hadn’t been declared as an Atreides formally yet, that was going to wait until they returned from Wallach IX, but Paul had also decided to do it on Caladan before they left for Arrakis. Dune was the heart of his Empire, but Tim needed to be formally ascended to House Atreides on their home planet. His mother still hadn’t liked it, bringing another Atreides to the Sisterhood’s lair, but Paul had made up his mind.

Tim’s presence would calm down Irulan if she began having the jitters because of the procedure once more. Seeing the boy would calm her down, would remind her that she was not a low-being because of agreeing to this. Her anxiety was still boundless, although she was trying to keep it at bay, and Paul didn’t want any further complications.

His mother didn’t like that he was taking the boy with him, found it too daunting, and she had even less liked it when Paul had informed her that she was also coming with them. For the first time in his rule, the Emperor was visiting the Sisterhood’s headquarters officially. Her royal and holy presence was also needed as the real purpose of their visit was a secret that no one in the Empire would learn. To everyone aside from the people in this common hall, Paul was only on an Imperial visit to Wallach IX after more than a decade, finally blessing the Sisterhood with his holy presence.

It was a good pretext as any, and Paul was adamant to use it to his benefit. Alia would figure out the reason, but erring on the side of caution, Paul hadn’t asked for her presence from Arrakis. Her sister wasn’t going to like it, but the shadow in his heart and his insight made his decision. Alia shouldn’t be a witness to this. Stilgar and Hayt’s company was enough to keep the Bene Gesserit under his leash. Neither his mother nor Irulan liked his ghola’s presence, but Paul had insisted.

For Irulan’s reluctance, Paul could understand. Despite having the witnesses that would prove the Sisterhood’s own participation in their conspiracy, Paul could sense her feelings on the matter as clearly as a cloudless, rainless Caladan sky. Irulan hated the idea of anyone witnessing what she had agreed to. She was still tense and hateful toward having a child via artificial ways although Paul had fulfilled all of her arguments, both political and human.

With the last thought, his mind swirled back to their kiss in the study room, and quickly, he pushed it away from himself. In three days, Paul had never let himself remember their kiss, remember the feel of her soft, plump lips under his. Guilt filled him whenever his control slipped and the moment came to him, heavier and starker than before in the last three days, every day accumulating more to his shame and guilt for breaking his promise to Chani as his wife occupied his room—his bed. Lying naked beside him in his bed when they both occupied it.

The remembrance of her shook his carefully constructed calm as the memory of her naked, asleep form from the morning found him. In the last three days, she had been so tense and guarded in his presence that Paul wouldn’t have dared to touch her even if he could have allowed. She had treated him with indifference at best before they moved to the bed toward the dawn, and then in the bed, she was as cautious and prudent as a man who was talking on a razor-sharp edge, and perhaps they were. The last three days had also felt him like a razor-sharp edge, so much that there was even a part of him that felt—relieved and glad secretly that she had refused to sleep in his bed before it was absolutely necessary, despite he had tried to create a candid, almost affable ambience for her, even making sure they had coffee and that chocolate cake he had caused her to miss on their first night.

When she had told informed him primly that she didn’t want to spend a second longer than she had to in his bed, disregarding his amicable attempt so that she wouldn’t have gotten tenser, Paul had not liked it, but later, when she had slipped beside him in the bed with that nightgown that Paul had done everything he could for not having a glimpse of, he had understood.

It was better this way. His gaze found her as she slept in her seat at his opposite side, once more fallen asleep because of the exertion she had put on herself to prepare her body. Paul had no clear idea how much work it would have needed to force her body to begin her ovulation, and according to his mother, she had needed a lot more time the practice, but it appeared Irulan also shared his urgency to finish this and forced her body to its limit. The cost was taking its toll on her now, she had fallen asleep twice in the same day—first in his bed—now here, even in the company of the others and his mothers, couldn’t stop her tired body from shutting down.

Paul would have stopped her, would have told her she didn’t need to put some much haste on herself, that they could wait, but he didn’t. It had been almost fifteen days now that he had been away from Arrakis, away from Chani. He needed to return. They had already had a nasty fight before he departed because of what Paul was going to do, and the news of his last days must have certainly reached her, as well. Paul needed to return.

So, he hadn’t stopped her.

His eyes lingered on her sleeping form once more, her features eased off in a way she usually never did, looking unguarded. It was the look of her that had caught Paul so unguarded this morning, as well, as he realized she was soundly sleeping beside him, seeing her face for the first time, her naked body almost touching his under the covers. When Paul had realized she had literally fallen asleep out of exertion in the bed even in a short time frame, he had been astonished, truly astonished, and then he had seen her features. In a stupor, not knowing what to do as he watched her, there was a part of him that told him to leave the bed now, to give her privacy as she truly slept, and give himself space. He should not do it. He should not stay in bed while Irulan Corrino slept. It was wrong, and Paul thought of Chani, his chest constricting, guilt and shame swelling his heart, but even then, he still couldn’t move, just watched her as she slept. She looked so…peaceful.

 She was carrying that peaceful, unguarded look on her face once more as she deeply slept in his Imperial heighliner, the blanket—his Fremen-Atreides banner this time on brown and cream—draped down over her lap from her shoulders. His fingers twitched to pull it up over her once more, the temperature was slightly chilly because of the air conditioning and the cold space, but Paul didn’t. He couldn’t do it in front of the others.

He let out a small sigh, moving his gaze from her, and took a sip from his spice and parley whiskey. He needed a drink today, harder than beer or wine. His mind swirled back to the night she had asked him if he was dying—wanting to learn if her former conspiracy would have caused it, wanting to know it was the reason why he had asked her to have his child.

Her fear was tangible, although she denied acknowledging it, Paul had perceived from her, mixed with deep confusion. When she had admitted she had never believed they would have killed him, her voice held that timber in disbelief as if his death was inconceivable for her. She had plotted it, but the possible outcome had stumped her. So, Paul had told her how close they had come to undoing him. She had denied that his death would have saddened her, that she wouldn’t have thrown herself off a cliff after him. Though the words tingled him.

It was not a lie, no, but not wholly truthful either. His insight was clouded to perceive how her reaction would have been in case that they had succeeded and she had played a hand in his demise, he couldn’t see it—but in his mind-eye, there were…tears shed.

Yet, ever stubborn, his wife denied it again. I have shed all the tears I have reserved for you.

That was also true. She had wept for him, and it was her revenge again for his unjust behavior toward her once more out of spite; he had almost assured her there was no need. Paul was already paying for his choices. And Irulan was catching up once more.

Her sharp and bright mind had made the connection and managed to perceive his fear for his succession. It wouldn’t have surprised Paul. Irulan was a very smart and canny woman, as sharp as Chani on many occasions. Her Bene Gesserit training had also made her more perceptive, able to notice and perceive the distinctions and nuances.

That recognition and awareness had worried Paul, scared of what else she would perceive, and also scared of what Chani would perceive eventually. Both women in his life were highly intelligent, and although Paul had never complained genuinely, even when Irulan’s plotting and scheming nature worked against him, it wasn’t working in his favor anymore. There was a part of him that had become more afraid that he couldn’t spare them from the pain he had caused.

If they learned what Paul had done—what he had allowed, he would cause both of them more heartbreak. Even if Paul could find a common ground with Irulan in the end, he couldn’t do this to Chani. His beloved who was having her last days. Paul couldn’t cause her more pain with…the truth. And that part of him was already convinced that he shouldn’t tell Chani anything about their kiss, never even mention it, or the way she had slept in his bed naked for three days. He couldn’t hide the fact Irulan had stayed with him, but did Paul really need to tell her every detail and cause her more heartbreak? What would it serve? Only more pain and shame for him. Paul already was carrying shame and guilt in abundance.

His jaw clenched with his conflict, even the thought, the fact that he was feeling like he had done something he should hide, making his heart swell with more guilt. He remembered the way he stopped and kissed her—the way he had deepened the kiss before she had stopped him.

 In his grimace, he bottomed up his drink, got up, and went to his mini bar to pour himself another drink. Stilgar quickly made a move to serve him, but Paul stopped him. He could pour himself a drink. It was better than sitting down and brooding in guilt and the things that he still had no power to change.

Fixing himself with another drink, Paul returned to his seat in silence, the engine motors silently humming around them. Everyone was aware of his foul mood, souring and tensing the air in the contained space, but no one spoke. Stilgar gazed at him in apprehension and silent anxiety, eyeing the third drink in his hand in a row. His mind didn’t even spin, his high alcohol tolerance quickly absorbing the distilled beverage. It wasn’t a common sight for Paul; he had never drunk this heavily, but today was a day of exceptions. He had allowed himself this license, although it wouldn’t help his frayed nerves or the heaviness in his heart.

His mother and his cousin’s gaze joined his as well, checking him with the same apprehension, though his cousin was even warier than the others. Paul ignored the glances, and looked at his wife, his own gaze lingering over her peaceful, beautiful features, images he also didn’t give himself license to think about filling his mind once more, her sheer nightgown under moonlight, the graceful curves of her naked body that he had seen tangled over the sheet in her unguarded sleep, more than glimpses. Those, Paul definitely should not think, the instants of desire that he wasn’t allowed to.

Yet that princess shall have no more of me than my name. No child of mine nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire.

His vengeful wife must have been truly happy if she saw what Paul was thinking right now. His lips clenching in another grimace, his gaze locked on her as she continued to sleep, Paul took another sip from his drink, keeping the images that tried to break over his conscious mind, the way she stilled and tensed whenever he put his hand on her knee lightly, clashing with her naked figure in his sheets and the softness of her lips, the light, soft sound she made as Paul kissed her.

To make it worse for him, Irulan let out a languorous soft sound in deep sleep, reclining in her seat further as her head lolled more on the headrest, toward Stilgar. She was making herself a lot more comfortable, the wild sleeper who had never needed to bother herself to sleep calmer because Paul had always made her sleep alone. The Professor came back at him, the fact that even that night he hadn’t let her sleep with company, had made Gurney retrieve her back to the Keep.

“Timotheus,” he called to his cousin sharply, tearing his gaze away from his sleeping wife who had never been truly his wife, “Bring the Princess Consort to my quarters to rest.”

He hadn’t wanted her to sleep in his bed again after she had fallen asleep naked beside him, but Paul had it enough. The prudent side of him that had always acknowledged the need for his indifference in their relation, keeping her at a distance, had arisen in him, advising caution more than anytime. If she had to sleep, she was going to do it away from his sight.

Paul had already given in too much.

His cousin had stood up from his seat to obey his command and was gently shaking her shoulders to wake her up. Under normal circumstances, Paul reckoned Irulan would have quickly jerked to awareness, the years of passing a life in the royal court would have made any Princess watch over her shoulders even in sleep, but her exhaustion must have been so deep that she still didn’t even blink.

“Ru—” His cousin started and then suddenly stopped, catching up what he had just called her again as the others in their presence looked at him curiously, and corrected, “My lady… wake up.”

The fact that there were children in the Keep who were constantly calling the Princess Consort with a nickname hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice. Both Stilgar and Gurney had been shocked, especially his old friend that Paul still called with his shortened name from time to time. But anyone calling his aloof wife with a shortened, affectionate nickname was something even the Fremen couldn’t comprehend.

Paul didn’t blame them. Every time he saw her with the children, and Amy there was still a part of him that felt…astonished. Irulan’s prideful aloofness and arrogant vanity had always made keeping her at his arm’s reach easier for him, the unattainable way she had always portrayed herself, the untouchable regal Princess. Chani was down-to-earth and easy to connect with, whereas Irulan had always been unreachable.

Her eyelashes finally fluttered, and she blinked as she roused from sleep, looking nothing like the unreachable Princess as she stared around her in confusion before she realized she had once more fallen asleep. She let out another lingering, soft sound as she closed herself and touched her temples. “His Majesty says you can rest in his quarters.”

She blinked again, registering the words, and then her gaze slowly moved over to Paul. She composed herself, smoothed her hair in her hair net, and her regal dress and robes.

“No,” she declined primly. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve tired yourself too much,” his mother suddenly cut in, almost chiding her. “I warned you you should give yourself more time.”

Her sleepy expression quickly disappeared, and she looked at his mother staunchly, repeating with the same even tone, “I’m fine.”

It was clear to Paul now that it was a fight they had argued over, his mother warning her to take it slow with the Bene Gesserit fertility practices, but Irulan pushing her body to its own limits so that she didn’t need to spend more time in his bed. Paul didn’t know if the notion relieved him or angered him--hating being in his company so profoundly that she had overworked herself with exertion.

“There are still hours until we arrive,” Paul warned her, “You shall rest.”

There was no trace of sleep or peaceful relaxation on her features as she glared at him. “I’m fine, my lord,” she clipped. “There is no reason to fret.”

His lips clenching, his anger fueling, he almost told her there was indeed a very comfortable couch in his quarters for her to indulge herself so that she wouldn’t spend another second in his bed more than necessary, but Paul held on to his temper and common sense.

“Just humor me, lady wife.” Her glaring stare lingered on him, but upon realizing his firmness in his decision, she regally started to get up from her seat—then stopped dead, her eyes fixated behind his seat in astonishment.

Beside her, Tim was staring in a wild stupor as well, and Stilgar next to them. Paul sensed the Fremen warriors behind his seats, and glanced back—

“Rogue!” His cousin cried out as his Fedaykin started to haul the teenage girl inside the common hall, holding her on both sides. Irulan also cried out as soon as she saw the girl captured, “Let her go!”

“My lord!” His Fremen warriors stood in front of him, dragging Rogue between them, not heeding what Irulan had heatedly demanded. “We caught this stowaway in the storage room.”

Irulan quickly swept to their side, glancing at him. “Paul!”

Paul looked at the teenage girl and lowly laughed. “May I learn what you’re doing here, Rogue?” he asked her, which made the teenage girl glare at him worse.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Paul chuckled with the same low sound. “Yes, it is.” They had left her on Caladan, and she had decided to board his heighliner in secret.

The girl gave him a tight-lipped smile in defiance. “I can stalk, too, my lord.”

“We shall teach you better, though,” Paul replied, unaffected yet amused in her defiance, the girl’s fire reminding him of Chani not for the first time. “You got caught.”

He twirled his hand at the Fedaykin. “Release her.”

The Fedaykin quickly bowed their heads, following his command and releasing her. Paul looked at them and turned his gaze solely on Tim for a split second. “Cousin, escort Princess Consort and your lady friend to my quarters. We shall call for you upon our arrival.”

This time, without a word, the trio obeyed and started to head out to his chambers without another protest. Paul let out a breath, and ignoring the looks he was receiving, he continued to drink from his liquor.

It was going to be a long trip, and it was only the beginning.

# # #

Strange and extraordinary wouldn’t have even begun to describe how their trip to Wallach IX had made Irulan feel after the morning she had done, now also Rogue had joined them as a stowaway, slipping under radar, not wanting to stay away.

Retrieving to another chamber in which Paul slept had come to her the worst idea even when she realized she had fallen asleep once more, even in front of all the other people, but at least she was fully clothed this time, and his quarters on his majestic vessel wasn’t somewhere he hadn’t occupied in years unlike his chambers in Caladan’s Keep. Paul had shared his Imperial heighliner constantly with Chani during the times they used the vessel, so even thinking of staying in his quarters was absolutely horrifying even without him, let alone sleeping there.

In the very bed that she knew with a certainty this time that he had slept with Chani. Even the thought of sleeping in a bed that he had shared many times with his beloved was more than scandalous, pushing her out of the lands of dreams as cold as if someone had just dropped a bucket of ice down her as soon as she realized what he had commanded her.

Every time Irulan had thought he couldn’t have been more detrimental and hurtful toward her, he found new ways to manage it.

When they were inside, Irulan kept herself away from his private chambers like a plague, refusing to even have a quick glance through the doorway toward inside, and perched gingerly on the small couch in the living area. Her mind still insisted on wondering how many Chani might have lain down on it as she looked around, imagining the woman relaxing on long journeys or having a quick nap.

Irulan quickly shoved away the images in her mind and looked at the teenage couple and letting out a long, tired sigh, weariness finding her for different reasons other than forcing herself to go under a demanding procedure. She even felt her stomach bloated with the tell-tale signs of ovulation circle, her usually flat belly having a slight curve over her dress. Her weary body and endocrine system were still trying to compose themselves from the hormones and enzymes that had been secreting rapidly in her bloodline system since yesterday, her ovaries overworking and maturing her eggs.

Mother Superior would perform the trigger shot to start the ovulation, and then she would go under the insemination. Irulan still lacked the profound knowledge of the forbidden procedure, but the more the hour neared, her anxiety became more tangible and heavier. Now, as she tried to deal with what was waiting for her soon, trying to decide the gender of her baby, what she desired, Paul had also asked Tim to join them as they went to Wallach IX, giving Irulan a lot more to vex and preoccupy.

Tim being in the Sisterhood’s headquarters, being this close to the Sisterhood, was something Irulan didn’t know how she should feel. Like always, he surely had a plan that he didn’t want to share with her.

Briefly, Irulan even wondered if this was his revenge for falling asleep in his bed without his permission, though it didn’t make sense. His attentive, observant look as he watched her was pensive, perhaps even a bit astonished to discover Irulan had fallen asleep, but was mostly thoughtful, though in the common hall a few minutes ago, he looked mostly upset, just telling her to humor him in clipped yet commanding tones. Irulan knew his upset tones. Paul was annoyed because Irulan had fallen asleep once more, and she wanted her out of his sight.

Irulan knew her husband. She had heard many times when he had gotten annoyed with her, his temper flaring, rudely sending her away. Was he upset because Irulan had slept in front of the others this time, behaving very…unladylike? He usually didn’t care for the decorum aside from playing his part on the outside, but Irulan couldn’t find any other reason why he had suddenly gotten upset.

It just didn’t make sense.

Everything barely made sense in her life now. She had convinced herself to accept to breed like an animal for him even without knowing the reason, found political and human arguments, now his lost cousin was also coming with them to the place Irulan wished he had never been. At that moment, she even wondered if Paul had wanted the teenage boy with him for this very reason, for the procedure itself, to make her see him so that Irulan didn’t get chickened out from the procedure and break their treaty, walking out of their agreement.

Paul’s motives had always been self-centered, focused on his needs, so Irulan wouldn’t have been really surprised if that was the case. She looked at the teenager and decided it wasn’t important at the moment. He was here.

“Tim—” she called, “You should be careful in Wallach IX. The Bene Gesserit would like to know you better for their plans after they learn who you are. Paul must have a purpose for why he’s brought you here, but treat cautiously. Never stay alone with a Sister without me or him.”

Although Paul never shared his reasons with them openly, Irulan still trusted him to protect his cousin against the Sisterhood, despite bringing him here.

“What would the Bene Gesserit want to do with me?” Tim asked, baffled, still not being able to understand his precarious position fully, and it upset Irulan more.

“He should’ve never brought you here,” she mumbled, shaking her head. The things the Mother Superior would do to him or order another Sister to perform. Even the thought of the Mother Superior wanting him to be tested scared Irulan to death.

The Wallach IX was around twenty megaparsecs away from Caladan, which would require at least a trip of thirty-two standard-hours even with the Guild’s shortcuts. Which meant there was still a long journey ahead of them, and Irulan already felt spent.

A couple of hours later, as Irulan fought to stay awake, feeling her stomach getting even more bloated and her groins aching with the familiar cramps of the menstruation period, Lady Jessica found her in her son’s private quarters.

“Leave us,” she ordered Tim and Rogue as soon as she entered the room, her figure a long, willowy, dark figure, her head covered with her black dress even in the interiors. Only her disconcerting tattooed face was in open sight, but teenagers scurried away with her command, her voice tinted slightly with her powers.

Straightening in her seat and squaring her shoulders, Irulan composed herself and looked at the woman, something telling her that whatever the reason she had come to find her, Irulan wasn’t going to like it.

“You should have the complete in-vitro treatment,” the woman spoke coolly as soon as they were left alone, not even wasting a second longer as Irulan’s jaw clenched, understanding her intuition had been correct. She didn’t like this conversation.

“Your body is beyond exhaustion,” Lady Jessica stated her physical condition with the same resolute tone, not caring or sympathetic for the exertion she had put herself through on her son’s behalf, just stating a fact. “You’ve tired yourself too much to handle the insemination process and determining the gender of the child.”

“No,” Irulan replied curtly. “I’ll not allow my child to be procreated in a petri dish like a ghola. It’s out of the question.” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “Does Paul know about this?”

Somehow, the idea of Paul insisting on it upset her, diminishing and demeaning her and her child worse. She didn’t want to believe he would also ask from her this, and when Lady Jessica stood hesitant for a second, almost looking reluctant, Irulan concurred that he did not. He didn’t know. He didn’t require this. Relief filled her despite everything.

It was just Lady Jessica, a Reverend Mother of the Sisterhood, trying to assure her agenda despite the cost it would need, as she wasn’t the one who was going to pay for it.

“I refused to be a chip for the Sisterhood to be spent at their will, Lady Jessica. I’d never be yours,” she snapped in her old spite, glaring at the woman with all her hatred, remembering the promises she had also made to Chani.

Irulan had never heard it with her own ears, but she had never needed to. The spiteful and hurtful ridicule had always been the preferred topic of gossip among the Fremen and Paul’s royal court:

See that princess over there, so haughty and confident. They say she has pretensions of a literary nature. Let's hope she finds solace in such things; she'll have little else.

Her glare turned into a glower as Irulan remembered further:

Think on it, Chani: that princess will have the name, yet she'll live as less than a concubine—never to know a moment of tenderness from the man to whom she's bound. While we, Chani, we who carry the name of concubine—history will call us wives.

The words made her lose all the softness she had developed in the recent days, perceiving the woman’s own familiar loneliness that had made her look for solace in another man’s arms after losing her Duke, not allowing herself the same fate she had so superficially and acerbically ridiculed Irulan for. Her hatred for the woman had grown so deep that Irulan even wished for a second she had confessed to Paul her affair with his father’s most loyal servant.

Then forsaking even her own counsel and bitter words, the woman advised her, “We shall make sure the baby will be a male.”

“We?” A curt mocking laugh escaped her, ridiculing her in the same way she had done years ago. “Do you humor yourself that there’s a we? Just because I kept silent and didn’t sequel you to your son?” She shook her head, her expression getting more serious and sterner. “There’s no we, Lady Jessica, never been. You despise me, and I you. You’ve never thought of me as more than a valuable asset for your son, and you reveled in your son’s poor treatment of me, mocking that I would live as less than a concubine, would never know a moment of tenderness from the man to whom I’m bound. You took joy in it. So don’t stand there and talk to me as in “we”.

“You’ve never seen me as an accomplished adept in the Bene Gesserit, even too proud to exert myself in extending my capabilities. I can understand your lack of confidence in my abilities, and I care not. I have no interest in your convictions about my personality and capabilities.

“But rest assured, I will decide what this baby will be, not you or any other Bene Gesserit. Your son put on me no obligations for the issue. It’s mine to choose.”

Ignoring all her tirade, the Reverend Mother looked at Irulan unfazed, unaffected. “You should give him what he needs. A boy. Even if he hasn’t stated, he needs your heir on the throne.”

Irulan tilted her chin, holding her intense blue-within-blue gaze steadily, still not giving in although a part of her still agreed with the woman. A part of her that didn’t want to yield.

“Then you should not have counseled him otherwise years ago, Reverend Mother,” she remarked coolly, swallowing that part of her. “You have a part in this, whether you ignore it like everything else in your life or not. This bubble you’ve created for yourself is soon going to explode. Soon, Paul will see what you’ve hidden from him. I suggest you busy yourself with his storm instead of bothering yourself with me and my choices.”

The older woman shook her head, her majestic headdress swinging in the air with the gesture. “You should let go of this grudge, Irulan. This is not helping anyone.”

She let out another mocking laugh. “Funny, I do not remember asking your counsel. You may leave my husband’s chambers, Reverend Mother.”

The dismissal was certain and open, even the Reverend Mother of the Emperor could not deny it now. Irulan was not the Empress, was not allowed to carry the title, but by the forms, she was still the Princess Consort, the head of House Corrino. Despite being the mother of the Empire and a Reverend Mother who had never been sanctioned, Jessica was still a concubine, a woman of low birth.

She tipped her head at Irulan, admitting Irulan’s stubbornness. Perhaps later she would try again. Unlike Irulan, she was one of the most accomplished Bene Gesserit who would never yield until she gained what she sought, but Irulan’s determination was as strong as hers.

No one was going to decide her baby’s gender, no one but her. And most certainly, Irulan would never let them have And most certainly, Irulan would never let them her baby be conceived outside her womb—never let them dehumanize her child like that because of their lack of trust in her abilities. Irulan was going to do what was necessary, like she always did.

In the humming silence of the interiors of his chambers, Irulan lay down on the couch, trying to put her weary body and exhausted mind into a healing trance so that she could be ready tomorrow. Her tired mind slowly drifted away, her eyes fluttering as she reclined on the pillows further and let herself fall asleep.

*

The next time, she came to herself, she was sleeping in the bed she had tried to stay away from, a big blanket with brown Atreides banners covering her. Her sleep-induced mind registered that she was still fully clothed and alone. She didn’t know who had put her in bed, but she could guess.

There was a part of her that just wanted to jump out of the bed that he had most certainly shared with his beloved, hating the idea as profoundly as before, even when she was alone, yet all her limbs felt so heavy, and sleep was just so sweet. Losing the fight once more, her eyes fluttered closed as the familiar musk scent of Paul filled her.

In her sleep, Irulan dreamed the desert again, the dunes glinting copper and golden outside her windows at Arrakeen’s Keep. Her sunlit chambers were hazy in the dusk, the blinds fully opened. Amy was sitting down with her, smiling up at her, her pink tiara on her head as Irulan breastfed her daughter.

The dream felt so real even when Irulan knew she was dreaming that a tremor passed down her body. In his bed in the heighliner, Irulan exhaled a soft, languorous sound, the scene playing in her mind as she slept.

Chapter Text

Wallach IX was brighter than his visions. The sun in the sky was high and swollen, but not cruel; the climate was like a lover’s warm embrace, the air sweet and not oppressive and as merciless as Arrakis’s sun or temperamental like Caladan’s mood. It suggested leisure and relaxation like the infamous tourism planets in the middle-rim planets, hinting at pleasures and recreation, while hiding the true purpose of the planet behind an affable, welcoming veil.

It was no surprise for Paul that the Sisterhood had chosen such a planet as their home base. On the outside, the Sisterhood was stern and joyless, but beneath the cool, icy exterior, what they offered in secrecy was as tempting as Wallach IX.

On his right stood his wife, who was the reason for his long-expected and long-denied Imperial visit to the planet after a decade, as the protocol dictated, just a step away behind his shoulder. It was not abnormal. Although Paul didn’t let her carry the Empress title, he always made sure she stood where she belonged, like he always made sure she had been in present whenever he held an important meeting, both her and Chani.

At first, he had created another tension between them, putting his wife and his concubine at the same level, Irulan hating it as she had always shown, but Paul hadn’t stepped down. He always treated them equally in public, whether Irulan liked it or not. When Irulan stood at his right, Chani stood at his left. It had been the way of things with them until this moment.

Even though there had been times Irulan had not followed them on his Imperial visits, there had never been a time that Paul had shown up with the Princess Consort without Chani. Now he stood Irulan at his right side, and at his left, this time, stood his mother in Chani’s absence.

The notion came to him so aberrant and so uncommon from his usual norms that Paul had felt the divergence in his path stronger than before, the change of the tides. His path had strayed—his destiny had strayed, the path that was glinting golden in his prescient, Paul had never felt it stronger than this moment since Irulan’s confession. Here there lay his new path, taken a new course of which Paul had felt compelled to follow. The notion also filled him with the same apprehension, remembering the new promises he had made to her and the promises he had already broken.

His mind swirled back a couple of hours ago, when he saw her again sleeping on the couch when he had come to check on them, losing another inner battle, and then carried her to his bed. He hadn’t wanted her in his bed that he had shared with Chani, and she still must have felt the same, choosing the couch instead of his bed, but his heart simply did not accept her sleeping on an uncomfortable couch for hours when she was that tired out of exertion. He simply couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t let her go hurt and bitter once more—stopping her before his lips found hers.

Paul quickly shut out the memory, the feel of her soft lips, and the graceful softness of her body when he carried her to the bed in his arms, weighing as light as a feather. The way she had snuggled into his chest in her unguarded, peaceful sleep, breathing deeply. He glanced back at his shoulder as he shoved away the memory, checking the glimpse of her face under the white veil of her opulent headdress. Her expression was cool and aloof, a mask of impasse serenity of Bene Gesserit, but unlike Paul and his mother, Irulan stood tall and proud all in white and golden.

From head to toe, Irulan was clad in white and sunshine, defying both the Sisterhood she had forsaken and his House. Paul was clad in his black formal uniform coat, his chest decorated with his Imperial pins, honors, and insignias; brown, blue, and green, whereas Irulan carried no shed colors of his Empire.

Paul had allowed himself a soft sigh when she had exited his chambers, clad in this way, reading the silent defiance, and had not said a word. His mother had gazed at her openly in displeasure, but had kept silent when Paul hadn’t spoken aloud. He had sensed the tension between them increasing after his mother returned from visiting her in his chambers, a new apprehension in her, too. Paul had wondered if she had also sensed the change in his destiny, but he couldn’t concentrate on the thought.

Behind them, his entourage stood, Tim closest to him after Irulan at his right side, following the protocol even though he had not formally arisen to his title. Paul did not care. In the absence of Alia, he was going to stand just beside Irulan. Both for the protocol and protection. He glanced backward another time before the cortege of the Bene Gesserit, led by the old crone herself approached them as they stood at the below of his landing craft and waited.

Mother Superior dipped her enormous head, all her sight hidden with her black veil. “His Majesty—” the old crone greeted him. “Welcome to Wallach IX. You honor us with your presence.”

Absently, Paul nodded, though his Truthsense did not tingle, not sensing the lie. This old crone knew well how to hide her deceit, wrapping it in truth. Then they started to head toward their fortress on the hills from the beach where their vessel had landed, a long journey that had made his lips almost twitch in amusement.

It appeared today that everyone was trying to show him defiance with small acts, carrying their messages. Paul had made the woman walk all the way from the port to the Keep when she came to Arrakeen for his proposal, showing her his…compassion, and the old crone was making him walk all the way up to her own domain, returning the gesture.

“A palanquin at least should have been arranged for the voyage,” his mother snapped as they climbed to the Bene Gesserit glinting ivory castle, her voice as irritated as she displayed the emotion freely. “We should not walk under the sun.”

“His Majesty has never been on Wallach IX,” the Mother Superior replied coolly, her voice strained with the exertion as she also walked beside them. “We thought he would like to have a view.” There was a slight pause as her beady gaze found his mother behind her dark veil.

“And you, Jessica—” the name of his mother rang in the air silently as the air strained with tension around them with the lack of honorific, even not calling her Sister, “You’ve been absent for a long time,” the old crone clipped curtly. “You also should have a view and have a remembrance of what you’ve forgotten.”

By that estimation, Paul should also make Lady Jessica have a walk down from to port to the Keep when she visited them on Arrakis—if she ever visited—to have a remembrance of what she had also forgotten.

His mother’s lips clenched with dissatisfaction. Tim and Rogue, who were following her lover and Irulan close by with Stilgar, looked confused by the exchange of barbed words.

“The Princess Consort is tried with the exertion,” his mother clipped back, and Irulan tensed further, brought along into the discussion. “The practice has exhausted her. She shall not walk.”

With that, even the Mother Superior hesitated, glancing at her with a careful, assessing look. Her shoulders squared, and her opulent head with white glinting veils with golden and diamond stones tilted in defiance. “I’m fine. I’ve been trapped inside the vessel too long. I’ve always liked Wallach IX’s beaches. I’ll walk.”

The Mother Superior almost smiled behind her veil, looking almost motherly, almost nostalgic of the good days. “The Princess Consort used to sit down on our beaches, her head buried in her books all day. From dawn till dusk.”

Paul wondered whether the small talk was aimed at reminding him or her that she had spent a lot of time with her company even outside Kaitain, reminding her of the old days before she had denounced her duty to the Sisterhood. Irulan stayed tense and expressionless in the same way, not making even a sound.

“We often had to remind her sworn guard to bring her up to the tower right after the dusk,” the Mother Superior added in the same fashion of the nostalgia of the good days in the past, and Paul sensed her growing even tenser at the mention. Her sworn guard. It had to be the same man she had wanted to give the command of her father’s police force, declaring that she trusted him more than Sir Deckard, that he was more loyal to her than her father.

Paul had known that Bashar had been her sworn guard for a long time. His reports had always mentioned her visiting the man when he had allowed her to visit her father, and she had personally requested the man to join her father’s remaining police force after he was captured with the rest of his kinship, waiting for Paul’s final decision on the Sardaukar.

In his mind-eye, a vision flashed—a younger Irulan lying on the beaches of Wallach IX on a blanket in a white leisure summer gown, lying on her stomach as she read a thick book like the old crone had mentioned, and a tall, handsome blonde man standing a few feet away from her on the beach, watching her. She lifted her head and smiled—and the man looked at her with affection and—

His jaw clenched in the vision of the past, seeing it clearly. With affection and love. This loyal guard, who had sworn to protect the Heir Princess on his life and death, was in love with her. It was as clear as the sky above them, and in the memory, he had witnessed in his vision of the past, Irulan didn’t look like she was unaware, didn’t even look bothered.

Was it the reason why she had asked for the man?

Because she knew he loved her so that he would stay loyal to her? Was it all, or was there another ulterior motive? Did she want him so that he could stay more loyal to her than to him? She had claimed the Sardaukar would stay loyal to him, not to his father as long as she carried an heir for the throne, which Paul had agreed, and he also hadn’t minded when she had wanted to replace her father’s General with another man she trusted more, but she had neglected telling him that man was also in love with her!

His anger wound up at him, and Paul kept it restrained. It was not the time for this. Paul was going to rethink his decision, although Irulan had already written the man to command of the legion and bring it to Caladan, an Imperial order that Paul had himself signed, but they were going to have another talk about it later. The Bene Gesserit was still scheming behind his back, but Paul was not going to allow it. He had already allowed her to see her Professor again. She could not expect him to allow another man who was in love with her in her presence.

If that man had made what Paul had witnessed in his vision into a habit, always looked at his wife like that, the rumors would flare at the moment people started to see them together. He wouldn’t allow it. Even when he had allowed her to take a lover, he had warned her to be discreet and not bring him any disgrace into his house publicly. Now, it was out of the question.

The journey to the ivory castle passed in silence as they didn’t speak further, his head in thought for what awaited them in that castle. The future held many changes for them now, many new paths, strays, and divergences. The apprehension in him augmented. His destiny was closing in on him once more. The same feeling he had sensed before he drank the Water of Life.

He thought of Chani, his broken promises, the new promises and allowances. The turmoil in him felt like a hurricane of Caladan’s mighty storms. Briefly, he wondered at his own thought, comparing the hurricane of his home world to a Coriolis storm. Caladan’s hurricanes were as deadly as Coriolis storms, one of sand and wind, the other of water and wind. In the last decade, his feelings had always felt a Coriolis storm whenever there was turmoil inside him; now, Paul was thinking of his home’s hurricanes. The shift in him was tangible, and it filled him with more apprehension and thoughts.

There was a part of him that warned him to stay on the topic, not let his mind stray away further. Perhaps it was the tension in him that made him stay more focused on the abstract thoughts and feelings, not concentrating on the thing he was going to perform soon. Soon, he was going to conceive a child via artificial ways, give his seeds for insemination. He should not ponder the differences between Coriolis storms and hurricanes, the nuances of his feelings.

The necessity of the retrieval of his seeds was another reality that Paul wanted to escape, the act he needed to perform. Paul had even thought to do what was needed to be done in his heighliner, in his chambers that were at least familiar than the Bene Gesserit headquarters, yet, he couldn’t allow himself to perform such a duty in the room he shared with Chani.

No.

He could not pleasure himself for his seeds to give them another man to impregnate her in the same room where he had mated with Chani. The act itself was already enough demanding for him, but doing it in his private chambers was impossible. For a man who lacked a woman’s warm company, masturbation was acceptable, a way for relaxation for relieving stress, allowing the sacred body to have relief without demeaning it. Most maidens were also allowed to relieve stress on their bodies in the same way. Some highborn ladies were even allowed to have pillow friends before their marriage, sparing their maidenhoods but allowing themselves to be satiated.

In some cases, even married women had their pillow friends, discreet but a well-known habit between couples that were bound by duty, not by love. Within their marriage, Irulan had never done it, even before Paul had given her his license to have a lover. He had always assumed she had never done it because she had always wanted to make sure to him his duties as a husband—to keep his woman satiated—were not fulfilled with the rest of his unfilled marital duties, just another Bene Gesserit tactic to urge him to consummate their marriage.

Now, Paul was going to consummate their marriage in this way, giving her his seeds that were retrieved by pleasuring himself and then injected into her womb. The procedure strained Irulan, Paul had been aware, but even though he tried to hide it, his duty strained him as much as what she was going to do. What he was making her do.

The pensive wonder in him suddenly made him question himself, the necessity. This was the consummation of their marriage, and Paul had already broken his promise. He had insisted on the artificial ways to keep his integrity, but it was already shattered. He thought of it, consummating their marriage for real, taking her in his bed and giving her his seeds, and then he thought of Chani—His chest constricted, filling with pain and guilt—his every emotion mixing with each other.

Chani already believed Paul had broken his promise, believed he was going to have Irulan as his true wife eventually, just as she had questioned him before she left the Arrakeen Keep. Even confessing to her the truth, confessing to her he had indeed broken it and kissed her was hard enough as it was, but also confessing to her he had done it, making her last days pass with grief and heartbreak.

No. Paul would never do it. This was beyond his own integrity. Even if he could break his own promise altogether and take her as his true wife, beyond allowing her to sleep in his bed, Paul would not do that to Chani. He had already hurt her enough. He had already hurt the women in his life enough. There was no guarantee that Irulan would even agree to it.

She despised him, didn’t want to spend a second longer in his bed than was necessary, her words. The fact that Paul would be breaking all his word irrevocably would give her once more satisfaction out of spite, but she would not torture herself that long to take revenge on him. Her words, once more.

We don’t have to take it that long and torture each other just to break a promise.

No. His wife wouldn’t want it, either. A kiss had been sufficient for her to break his promise so that she would feel better.

When they arrived at the castle, Tim and Rogue looked the most stupefied, although Stilgar and their Fremen details weren’t any different. It was also the first time that any Fremen had touched the soil of Bene Gesserit soil, and the majestic view of their headquarters, and the Imperial lushness and opulence of the ambiance threw them off. The Bene Gesserit had always shown modesty and humility in their simple yet terrifying black attire, stirring fear and awe at the same time. The wealth and power their headquarters displayed surprised the onlookers who witnessed the true affluence and influence the Sisterhood carried under their veils. The Bene Gesserit seldom displayed it openly in this way, but when they did, they didn’t shy away.

Inside the grand marble halls was as affluent as his Imperial Palace’s golden-copper pillars, and as cold as his Keep at Caladan. It was called a castle, the Tower of the Bene Gesserit, but in heart, it was nothing but a Palace, hiding their intent through deceit like always. The Bene Gesserit had their own imperial Palace on Wallach IX, although no one called it in such words. Words created the symbols, and symbols created power. And power created more power.

No one would know it better than the Sisterhood. Paul knew who held the biggest portions of the CHOAM holdings behind the scenes with the Guild, who steered the politics of the Great Houses and their unending ambitions.

Through the massive, imperial Great Hall, the old crone led them in a maze of halls until their way opened up a sunlit drawing room in leisure, light white curtains draping over the ceilings along the tall open windows, billowing the room. It was a spacious room that had many sitting areas and a big library. The sunlit leisure room was deserted; there was no sister in sight.

The tall windows were opening up to a big, lush garden, as lush as the imperial gardens at the former Imperial Palace at Kaitain, where Irulan had grown up. Even Paul had felt pity when he had ordered their former Imperial Palace to be demolished because of the gardens. He had tried to save the trees for Irulan, who had lost her composure for the first time in his presence when she had heard about the demolition, almost crying in his presence.

Paul had told her then that he could not allow the Palace to sit there, although no one lived there anymore. It was the symbol of their own dynasty, and the symbols were important, creating power, and eventually, even a misfit longing, as how Irulan warned him years later, warning him more people had started to look up at her father and his regime in nostalgia because of how Paul’s regime turned out.

He had to destroy it, destroy the former Palace and what it stood for, destroy the symbol, and her expression getting stiffer, and her moist eyes getting stern, his wife had nodded her agreement curtly, without a single word beyond, “As His Majesty commands.”

Paul had promised her he was going to try to save her gardens, in his visions seeing through sitting and enjoying in the Kaitan’s warm climate by fountains and greens, and lush flowers, wanting to give her at least that. He had brought the trees and flowers, and they had replanted them in Arrakis in his imperial gardens, and despite their utmost care and Paul’s efforts, they all eventually died, withered away. Irulan had laughed bitterly when they had given up, and Paul ordered the dead plants and trees to be unrooted, stating that it was a futile attempt, that they would have never belonged to Arrakis. Paul had known it, but he had wanted to…try.

In those days, Paul realized, as if it was a sudden revelation that dawned on him, he had been still…trying. Trying to make a difference.

You’re useless, her voice accused, disappointed and angry, and then she told him, fiery and angry. You’re not useless. You’re the one who set this current flowing. You’re Muad’Dib, the one who shows the path.

A new path was laid ahead of him, glinting golden, and the glimpses he had seen still terrified Paul. His destiny was calling upon him once more, something in him tingling, mixing with her fiery words.

You’re the one who set this current flowing.

The war broke over his mind-eye, another war—an endless war, billions dying once more, calling for his name—for mercy, for salvation, or cursing him, all the same. It never ended, forever in motion—a circle never ended—he saw the giant sandworm, its scales glinting golden coiled around itself—and its head—Its face. Terrified, Paul shook himself out of his reverie, the memory-vision, a tremor passing over her as the others stood in the spacious room, mesmerized with the sight that welcomed them.

Many paintings in the old-fashioned way adorned the walls, many forgotten pieces of art throughout history, and Paul diverted his focus on them away from the vision he had just witnessed again. One painting ahead of them caught his interest, the one that stood on the wall at the opposite side, above everything else.

A plump, strange woman, staring ahead from her portrait, her expression so difficult to read even for a Bene Gesserit. It was impossible to read whether she was smiling or she was sad, her sorrow mixed with an odd, serene look on her expression. His Other Memory recalled the piece of art and found a name from Old Terra.

Mona Lisa.

Even Paul had no idea the infamous, legendary portrait from the Old Terra had found its way to the Bene Gesserit. Paul had not even known the true existence of the legendary portrait; had believed it was nothing but a fabled art from their ancestors’ old planet, a legend that had never been real. He had discovered the truth after unlocking his genetic memory, and now the portrait itself stood in front of him.

Mesmerized, even not knowing what it was, Rogue sucked in a breath, her eyes fixated on the painting as the doors closed behind them. The teenage girl must have artistic aspirations in the same way as Irulan’s artistic and literary aspirations, because her expression softening with a small smile, his wife quickly sidled her closer. Even Paul had taken her literary and artistic endeavors as artsy pretensions for a long time. The Fremen belittled her pastime activities as useless and idle exercises to busy herself like they scorned every act that didn’t have a practical use and benefit, and Paul had also had made his own contributions, along with his mother’s public commentary on them on their wedding day to Chani, heard by a lot of witnesses that had certainly reached his wife’s ears, as well.

 They say she has pretensions of a literary nature. Let's hope she finds solace in such things; she'll have little else.

If Paul could have rewound time and gone to the past, he would’ve never allowed Lady Jessica to make those comments even if they were meant to convince Chani to stay with him, to prove to her that his wife would be less than a concubine. Paul had denied it for a long time, had looked the other way, but his mother’s remarks that day had made things a lot worse between them, cut wounds too deep to heal for Irulan.

Furthermore, her aspiration in art and literature wasn’t pretentious or snobbish, but it was true and genuine, and she excelled at it better than Paul had ever seen. It was a reason after all why Paul had let her draft a Constitution for him, knowing if his destiny had called for it, she was the best one to perform that duty. Give it the limitations and the objective reality that they needed.

The objective reality, Irulan Corrino had always excelled at it.

Her chronology about him wasn’t an idle pastime activity. It was going to live longer than them; her words were going to live longer than them and inspire more people. Paul had foreseen it. When people talked about him, they were going to quote her words.

“It’s Mona Lisa,” she told Rogue. “From the Old Terra.”

Rogue stared at the portrait in awe. “I-I believe it’s a legend,” she murmured. “Like the Old Terra. A fable that mothers tell their children while nursing them.”

Irulan laughed. “No, it’s not. It was very much real. We all came from there. They’re our ancestors.” She paused, giving the teenage girl a pensive look before adding, “I have a lot of artifacts from Old Terra in Arrakis. A lot of paintings. You’ll like it.”

Rogue looked aside at her, pivoting her body, and Paul’s gaze turned more pensive. For a second, his wife truly sounded as if someone had tried to convince someone of a decision. Rogue hadn’t wanted to stay behind and followed them, even hopping in his heighliner in secret, and suddenly a past-vision played in his mind-eye, a moment that had already occurred.

“You should come with us!” the teenage girl whispered at her heatedly, clutching her arm. “You don’t have to do that yourself anymore! We’d bring you to places even he can’t find!”

His wife shook her head, letting out a long, shaking breath. “You can’t escape from him, Rogue. Sooner or later, he sees everything.”

“You told yourself he can’t see everything,” Rogue insisted. “He didn’t see Tupile. We can find a real Tupile, be away, and safe from him. How long would you endure this, Ru? The Ru we’ve known is no political formality. She’s the most courageous and caring woman we’ve ever met. Don’t do this yourself! Leave that douchebag behind! You deserve more.”

His chest constricted with the words, angry that they had tried to escape from him, but hurt knowing it had been all true. She had paid for the sins of her father, for the mistakes that she hadn’t taken part in. The destiny had chosen her for this role, Paul knew it, but there was a part of him that also knew—felt like the teenage girl’s remark was true; that she deserved more. More than what Paul could give. More than what he could allow himself to give.

“I can’t leave. My absence isn’t something he can tolerate, and I have agreed to have his child.” She let out another breath and swallowed. “Our paths are entwined, merged together. I’ll never be his wife for true. But I still will be the only wife he will ever have.”

And his chest ached deeper, knowing it was also true. Despite everything, she was still the only wife he would ever have. Chani was his mate, was his real wife, but she was never going to carry that title in the same way Irulan would never share his bed. It was the truth Paul had accepted years ago when he took her hand and made her his wife, but it still hurt.

“No! That’s not right!” Rogue protested, still not understanding, and Paul wished she had never needed to understand.

The realities that awaited ahead of them twinged his chest heavier, too, because he saw she was going to be tested soon. Her beloved was a high-born, the heir of the House Atreides, and Rogue was a low birth. Despite the love they carried for each other, Tim was never going to be allowed to make her his wife, too. At best, Rogue would only be a concubine like Chani, was going to share the same cruel fate as his beloved.

His cousin’s father had made his sacrifice and chose love over the title, but his cousin was going to need to choose the title over love, like Paul. Their duties didn’t give them any other choice. They needed to raise the House Atreides to its former glory. Destiny had put his cousin on Irulan’s path for this purpose. There was no escaping from it. It was their duty.

And as if Irulan felt the same, Irulan also said the same in his past-vision:

“It’s our duty. I accepted to have his child because he let me protect Caladan, and something even more important. I will not back down from my promise. I can’t. I can’t leave him, Rogue.”

Her eyes found his cousin as a sound of resignation escaped from her lips, sounding tired but acceding to their destiny. “And you can’t, either, Tim. You know he was right. You belong with him.”

Paul pushed himself out of the reverie and stared at his wife, her words still tingling through him with the path that lay ahead of them. He steeled himself and spoke clearly, “The Princess Consort shall rest. The journey has tired her.”

Then, when she was ready, they were going to start at once, walk their path.

Her back went rigid upon his statement, and she twisted aside and faced her. “I’ve rested enough. We can start at your will.” She paused, holding his gaze steadily. “I’m ready.”

Paul looked back at her, the resolute steadiness in her, and nodded. “All right. Reverend Mother—” He turned to the old crone. “Bring us to your study. We shall discuss the procedure further.”

His Fremen Fedaykin were outside, so the only ones who didn’t understand and looked lost were Rogue and Tim, not knowing what procedure he referred to. Irulan turned back to them. “His Majesty and I need to discuss some…imperial matters with the Mother Superior. You can wait for us here with Stilgar, the Mentat, and Lady Jessica—”

His mother quickly and serenely stood up, “I shall attend to—”

Irulan gave his mother a terse look. “I thank you, my lady,” she replied stiffly but formally, “but your presence is not required.” Another pause, and her familiar spite cut the edges of her tone more acerbic as she added, “or needed.”

His mother was not affected at all, unfazed, letting the word wash over her, untouched. “I insist,” she only said, her intense blue eyes glancing at Paul, silent and prompting.

Paul thought of leaving her with his cousin, so the Bene Gesserit wouldn’t try anything while he was away. Yet, his senses didn’t perceive any danger, either, and the Sisters might still be trying to discover what the teenagers were doing with him. Paul had taught Stilgar well how to resist the Voice throughout the years, and no Bene Gesserit compelled him with her Voice long, and Hayt was a ghola mentat. The Voice wouldn’t work on him. He supposed Tim was safe from the sisters at the moment, but Irulan still looked as if she didn’t want his mother’s presence, and as matters between them stood how they were, Paul didn’t want to upset her more.

He looked at Lady Jessica. “You shall stay and rest, too, my Lady. It’s been a long journey for you, as well.”

His mother looked annoyed with his refusal, but Irulan looked smug, and a lot less annoyed, so Paul took it. He had learned long ago he couldn’t make every woman in his life happy. Right now, his priority was his wife. His mother was very low on that list.

But his mother was also nothing but persistent. “Then may I have a moment of your time, my divine son, before you take your leave?”

Swallowing his sigh, Paul nodded, and they headed outside to the gardens, leaving the drawing room. Irulan followed them with her eyes, narrowed into a slit, looking annoyed once more, her jaw set in a grimace, her lips flattened. Her glare almost put a hole through their back as it followed them, which made Paul realize she knew why his mother had insisted on his presence, what she wanted to discuss with them before they went to discuss the procedure. She knew it, had discussed it with his mother, and the topic didn’t make her happy. Quite the opposite, it made her very displeased.

“The Reverend Mother will offer you the IVF treatment to secure your heir, and you shall insist on it, Paul,” his mother counseled him without preamble as Paul almost stared at her in a stupor. “Irulan will resist. She doesn’t want it, but she has to. She’s already tired herself a lot, and she can’t handle the choosing process right now, might not determine the best sperm for fertilization, might not determine the correct chromosome.”

Paul continued to stare at his mother. “Her arrogance and pride don’t allow her to accept it like always, but she’s a barely adept Bene Gesserit, and her skills are average at best. We should not leave the choosing process to her. We shall harvest her mature eggs and fertilize them with your sperm safely.”

“We discussed the insemination, and she accepted it,” Paul clipped, reading where this was leading to and why Irulan had not accepted it.

The insemination for her was enough demeaning; she hadn’t wanted to break her own integrity without breaking his, too. Paul had known it was still her spite that had wanted her to keep her dignity, but if he had believed she hadn’t been sincere, if her hadn’t believed in her hurt, Paul would have never stopped and kissed her. Broke his promise because of her. It had taken him to kiss her and accept his father’s police force and a constitution to make her accept his proposal for the insemination. Irulan would never break her integrity that far and let them use her as a vessel, as an organic womb. The IVF treatment would come to her even less human, even more demeaning.

“She would never accept IVF treatment even if I pushed it, and I won’t push it,” Paul added. “If she said she would manage it, Mother, she could handle it. Irulan’s skills as a Bene Gesserit might not be as accomplished as yours, but your Sisterhood trained her for this since her childhood.” Perhaps it was the only real skill the Bene Gesserit had expected from her in truth, securing an heir for the throne, the male heir. The Reverend Mother must have made sure his wife succeeded in it, even if she didn’t allow Irulan to get trained properly.

“She’d succeed in it,” Paul repeated aloud, trusting his conviction about the Bene Gesserit ambitions once more. “Don’t underestimate her capabilities, Mother.”

Or her ambitions, Paul passed in his mind, remembering all the political and human arguments she had pushed on him, but his mother also spat, “And you, my son, don’t underestimate her capability to hold a grudge.” He frowned. “She would choose not to give you a son just out of spite, now that she has sensed you need it.”

His frown dug deeper into the crease between his eyebrows, and a grimace also accompanied it. He had never talked to his mother about his need for an heir, but somehow, Lady Jessica had also sensed it.

Combined with his mother’s words about her capability to hold grudges and be spiteful, and the situation with the absence of his heir becoming this clear upset him once more, and his mother only fueled it worse when she continued to speak:

“The IVF treatment would allow you to determine the sex of the baby safely, without hindrance. If you do this in the artificial ways, make it worth. Don’t allow her to choose. Complete the whole procedure and secure your heir.”

He moved his jaw. “I will not. She’ll give me a son. She’s wanted it since our wedding night.”

“And you’re underestimating again her spite, Paul,” Lady Jessica warned, shaking her open head. “At least, make sure to her you expect a son. She told me you’ve put no obligations on her, and she would choose herself.”

“You talked with her about it, didn’t you?” he snapped, understanding the reason for the last tension between them during their voyage. “You ordered her to give me a son.”

“I did what you should’ve done, Paul,” she replied, unapologetic ever. “Secure your throne like I did once. Made sure she knows what’s expected from her now.” His clenched jaw almost throbbed with the words as he glared at his mother, almost snapping at her not to meddle in his business once again. Not meddle with his women once more!

She had created nothing but more problems for him—since the beginning of his marriage. She had helped him create this mess, and then she left! His anger winded at his edge, but before Paul could voice it out, his mother’s expression suddenly looked resigned, her disconcerting tattooed face clearly displaying a dismay, a sorrow she seldom let anyone see.

“I-I have my part in her grudge,” she spoke lowly, “I should’ve never made those comments on your wedding, shouldn’t have added more to her fuel, shouldn’t have given her more reasons to hate us. I just didn’t want Chani to leave you,” she murmured, and she sounded genuine—but, not wholeheartedly true. Paul knew it, perhaps a part of her had known it since the beginning.

She hadn’t wanted Chani to leave him, had made sure Irulan would not have anything beyond his name, but those words hadn’t been only for Chani, but for herself. For her own status. The grudge and bitter feelings for it had manifested in her words, for never being allowed to be called the wife of his father, taking the comfort that history would call them the true wives.

Think on it, Chani: that princess will have the name, yet she'll live as less than a concubine—Paul recalled further, his chest seizing with the familiar feeling, regret leavin a foul taste on his tongue, never to know a moment of tenderness from the man to whom she's bound. While we, Chani, we who carry the name of concubine—history will call us wives.

Paul shook the memory from himself, staring ahead before he sternly said, “The past has passed, Mother, and cannot be remade.”

The momentary resignation of his mother passed with his words as well, and the ambitious Bene Gesserit faced Paul, steady and unyielding. “Yes, but the future is still in your hands. It’s always been in your hands. Your domain. Have you seen her giving you a son?” she questioned openly as they looked at each other.

Paul stayed silent, accepting his inability to have a clear answer for that question. He still could not see it with a certainty in his insight, the future…his path was clear, Paul could see it, but he still couldn’t see her choice.

At that moment, Paul also realized he couldn’t see it because his mother had been right. That he couldn’t see it because Irulan still hadn’t made up her mind whether to give him a son or a daughter. The conflict must be in her, mixed with her fears for her child—a male heir—how much it would complicate the things—especially when she didn’t know for sure Chani wasn’t going to have a son in the future, fearing her son wouldn’t be equal to Chani's despite Paul swearing her all his children would be equals.

Combined with her old grudges, her fear would certainly keep her away from putting her child into that position. He remembered the vision he had foreseen her with his daughter and Amy, the vision he had only seen once, and also understood his mother’s fears had been more grounded than Paul had realized. Irulan had ambitions, but her love—her care might get heavier than her ambitions. Paul had seen the extent of her motherly love—the way she’d forsaken her protection when they were attacked. She had linked the body shield on Amy’s wrist and had not taken it off. Paul had seen it on the girl’s wrist, standing on her bedstand when he came to check on them after returning to the Keep. Irulan had not taken it off until they arrived at the Keep safely and went to bed, even leaving it close at her reach in sleep.

“Talk to her,” his mother told him once more as the thoughts and memories swirled in Paul’s mind before his eyes found hers once more. Blue on blue, intense and curt.

“Make sure she knows what’s expected from her once more,” Lady Jessica continued, “and make sure it’s not only a mere expectation but a command.”

Her counsel in his mind, Paul left the gardens and then headed toward the doors. Both Irulan and Mohiam stood up, following him outside.

Chapter Text

Being on Wallach IX, trapped by two Reverend Mothers, one of them pulling her son aside to have a private moment, didn’t help with Irulan’s nerves. The strain had been with her since she had woken up in Paul’s bed to her dismay and stupor. Even landing on the beautiful beaches of Wallach IX’s bays didn’t help it, the quiet joy and serenity she once found in those beaches nor the Bene Gesserit lush drawing room, her mind focused on the procedure awaiting her with her increasing anxiety as her hands secretly played under her sleeves with the small cufflink Irulan had found Paul’s private chambers in his heighliner after waking up.

She had taken the right piece of the pair, couldn’t help herself, couldn’t help it. She had known it was dangerous; Paul would notice its absence, but she still couldn’t help herself with it. It had been on his vanity table, a small, dark onyx piece, simple yet elegant, like most of his attire.

Under her sleeves, her fingertips pressed on the edge of the cufflink, feeling the slight cut as her eyes stayed fixated on the mother and son outside the gardens. She could only see a glimpse of them outside, and his back was to her, but Irulan already knew what Lady Jessica wanted to talk to his son. About their talk. The fact that Irulan should give him an heir, a son.

The prospect made her so nervous that Irulan could not even concentrate fully on the beady eyes that were watching Tim carefully and attentively as they sat, clearly noting his high Atreides features like Irulan had done when they first met.

“Irulan, who is this young man?” her former teacher asked, turning her back rigid, a cold shiver running down her spine. Her attention pulled back to her as Irulan realized Paul had not sent them the official word about his visit and who would accompany them.

Tim and Rogue looked at her, surprised to see the Reverend Mother calling her by name. Stilgar and the ghola just watched the scene. Paul and Lady Jessica were still talking, and Irulan felt for a split second more upset with the older woman, leaving her together with this old crone, taking Paul, as well! She should not be alone with the Reverend Mother!

But if the wishes were nets—she stopped twirling her hands under her sleeves around the cufflink and answered it stiffly; “He’s Paul’s cousin, Reverend Mother. Alexius III Atreides’s son.”

There were not many occasions that Gaius Helen Mohiam’s face looked this stupefied. If it had been another occasion, another time, Irulan would have taken great pleasure in it, would have reveled in it, but the situation didn’t even allow her such…liberties.

“Alexius III Atreides’s son?” the old woman echoed, his beady eyes glinting brighter, and Irulan felt the fear in her deeper.

“Yes,” she clipped.

“Paul found her?”

“No—” came the reply, but it wasn’t her or Tim, but was Rogue. “Irulan found us.”

The Reverend Mother’s eyes turned to Rogue, who looked as defiant as ever, even in front of the Mother Superior of the Sisterhood. “And who are you, girl?”

“I’m Rogue.”

The Reverend Mother let out a sound Irulan so seldom heard. A low, cackling laugh. “Rogue?” she echoed. “That’s an interesting choice of a name,” she commented. “Your parents named you like this?”

“No. I chose my name like this.”

“Names are given, not chosen.”

“Well, we chose them ourselves.”

The Reverend Mother’s beady gaze glanced at her as Irulan stayed impassive, not cutting in between them. “Very interesting. Do you know who I am, girl?”

Rogue snorted, truly snorted at the face of the Bene Gesserit Mother Superior. “Even a halfwit would know who you are. Irulan mentioned you also used to be her teacher. We knew she was a Bene Gesserit.”

The Reverend Mother arched one of her eyebrows on her visible old face. “Do you always call the Princess Consort of the Empire by her name?”

“She doesn’t mind it,” Rogue replied sarcastically, and Irulan almost laughed. The Reverend Mother did.

Her cackling laugh rang in the spacious leisure room, and she turned to Irulan. “Interesting company you’ve found, Princess Consort,” she remarked. “Care to explain?”

Irulan did not. “Paul would explain,” she said cryptically, not knowing how much she would—should reply before Paul came back. The Reverend Mother’s gaze turned to him once more as Tim had stayed silent during the whole exchange.

“You’d certainly do a proper Atreides, boy, broody and moody,” she remarked. “You forgot your tongue?”

Tim’s hazel Atreides eyes and strong jaw clenched as he still stayed, just glaring at the Reverend Mother with the same defiance as Rogue.

The Reverend Mother let out another scoffing sound, and finally, Paul and Lady Jessica returned. Paul didn’t even pause upon his return but headed toward the door, sending them a glance. Reading the silent command, Irulan and the Reverend Mother stood up, her anxiety reaching a new level, leaving Rogue and Tim alone with the Sisterhood while she felt she was walking into a trap with her own feet.

The logical part of her that still…trusted Paul despite everything told her there was no reason to feel this nervous, but Irulan still felt it. Everything added to one another, and her last talks with two different Reverend Mothers were the last straw. She checked again Paul’s profile to read any nuances from his talk with his father, but there was nothing visible in his closed-off features. Even though Lady Jessica had shared with him her concerns about her capabilities with the choosing process or her capability for holding grudges, Paul didn’t show an ounce of it.

Irulan twirled the cufflink in her hands secretly as she followed them in the halls, deciding to figure out what she would do if Paul made such a verbal demand. It wasn’t what they had agreed; they did not talk about the gender of the child she had accepted to carry for him. He had not put any obligations on her. It wasn’t fair now to force her for a male heir after she had agreed, but Irulan also knew Paul didn’t play a fair game. He constantly changed the rules of the game he played. She hadn’t known he was going to keep her as a pretty trophy, a war prize when she accepted to be his willing bride, accepted to give him what he needed, not to be called an usurper for a ceasefire and her father’s life.

Paul hadn’t mentioned it at all until the night came and Irulan passed it and the following nights all alone while his beloved kept his bed warm, until the rumors of his promise and Lady Jessica’s words started to circle the halls. He had changed the rules without ever talking to her, without ever bothering himself to talk to her. If he did again, had changed his mind, Irulan knew she might very well not learn it until it was too late again.

There was a whispering voice in her mind now calling her an idiot for falling into his trap once more. He had played her once more, and she had fallen right into it, but at the same time, she also knew it would have been pointless. He had given her too much—had agreed to too much of the things she had desired, the other part of her still knew it wouldn’t change anything. That she would have still given him what he desired. Yielding to him like sand absorbing water.

Perhaps she was exactly like Chani at all, fighting with him all the same, but yielding in the end. The Reverend Mother's words swirled in her as she followed him: He’ll take what he wants. Like he always does. Give him what he wants.

On the inside, Irulan wanted to scream and hit him, knowing how true the words had been, but on the outside, she just silently kept walking, debating the choice, the choices she would have if Paul indeed wanted a male heir.

The truth was that even if Irulan put down her feet and insisted on the insemination instead of IVF treatment to determine the gender, Paul still would choose to give her his seeds that had only a Y chromosome, rendering her participation in the choosing and sorting procedure useless. The Gene Gesserit had the necessary tools, so he only needed to ask the Reverend Mother.

Out of his hatred and mistrust of the Bene Gesserit, he might not want it, but instead preferred her doing the sorting. He was even adamant about not letting another Sister give him a child, so Irulan couldn’t determine his necessity, either. How much did he want a son from her, or was it just Lady Jessica’s exaggeration, making Irulan read the nuances too much, seeing the patterns that didn’t exist?

That was also one of the side effects of the Bene Gesserit training: a paranoid, attentive eye that looked for hidden meanings and secrets everywhere it looked. It had certainly affected her father’s mind, had made him more paranoid. Irulan wanted to treat with consideration, not with baseless fear, and perceive what she wished without any setbacks.

The truth was that, despite her confrontation with Lady Jessica and opposing the idea, and with her last dream, seeing her daughter he had spoken of, and fearing of having a son, there was a part of her that couldn’t decide—the part of her that still whispered having his son would also give her what she wanted. She remembered her dream in his bed, seeing herself nursing her daughter, sitting down with Amy, and playing with a baby girl who had blonde hair. That part of her still wanted it—just a child of hers to cherish and love, but the other part of her also saw a small boy with his dark hair and hazel eyes like Tim’s—not Fremen devil-blue eyes, but soft hazel-green eyes that she had never seen on Paul.

The conflict gnawed at her chest, making her feel torn. She glanced at Paul, to see—to understand what he truly wanted from her once more, what kind of a game he was playing with her.

You should let go of this grudge, Irulan. This is not helping anyone. Lady Jessica’s words swirled in her turmoil and confusion, and Irulan grumbled in her indecision as they arrived in the room that she had gotten acquainted with too much in the recent years, to her further dismay.

The Reverend Mother’s study room.

Irulan stopped in the doorway, casting to stone as all her confused musings escaped from her. She hadn’t been in this room for a while, and the last time she was wasn’t a good memory. When she had come to Wallach IX the last time for their secret meeting to plot for her husband’s demise, she had been away from the heart of the Bene Gesserit tower. It had been a while, and Irulan wished to be anywhere but here, especially right now while she felt like she stood on a crossroads.

Beaches of Wallach IX was a moment of quiet and peace for her, but this room…this room hadn’t brought her anything but dread. Pain, hurt, and humiliation. Bearing the brunt of the Bene Gesserit’s persuasion tactics or displeasure and disappointment.

And, of course, the old crone was leading them here!

When they noticed her stalling in the doorway, the Reverend Mother looked smug, but Paul’s expression became stiffer, understanding her hesitance. “Bring us your library,” he ordered, glancing at the Reverend Mother whose face lost its smugness on her leathery, wrinkled skin.

Irulan swallowed, bowing her head to hide her face, but silently grateful. A little voice in her whispered to her that he cared about her, the man who hadn’t even allowed her to sleep on a couch, but carried her to his bed. Irulan had asked Tim to determine who had brought her to his bed after she had fallen, even know she knew it had been he who had given the order, but she wondered who had carried her, couldn’t help herself.

It had been Paul. He had picked her up when he came to check on her and carried her to the bed. He had only told Tim and Rogue to continue to stay with her while she slept, and then left.

The library wasn’t a place that Irulan didn’t wish to be, either; again, too many memories, but when they entered, this time she managed to keep herself calm and composed. Paul took the lead of the study desk in the library, leaving her and the Reverend Mother sitting in front of him on the opposite chair seats, quite setting up the scene and where he stood.

The Reverend Mother’s wrinkled face displaced her satisfaction openly when Paul took the seat at the desk, replacing her in her domain, but even she couldn’t dare to speak aloud against him.  

“Princess Consort claims the boy is your cousin,” the Reverend Mother suddenly spoke, surprising Irulan more. “Your deserted uncle’s son.”

She had not thought the woman would want to speak about it first when they needed to determine other stuff about the procedure. The procedure itself and the fact that Paul was going to retrieve his seeds to give them were making a heat rise inside her despite her best efforts, so Irulan also accepted the interim, although she wished it could have been another topic.

“It’s correct,” Paul confirmed. “He is.”

“We’ve never heard your uncle had a son,” replied the Reverend Mother, and Paul gave him a pointed look.

“And you shouldn’t. They kept it secret, and no one knew it. Irulan found him after she came to Caladan,” he stated, and Irulan knew what was coming next now; she had heard it before. “Destiny put him on our path,” he concluded, and Irulan almost let out a sigh.

The Reverend Mother looked at her, surprised. “Did you know it?”

Irulan shook her head slightly. “No. I just met with them. I noticed his Atreides features, but I didn’t know his bloodline until Paul saw him and his past.”

“Then his Majesty is right,” the Reverend Mother stated, playing along, but it sounded like a taunt. “Destiny made your path cross with him.”

“It did,” Paul confirmed again, firm. “I’ll give him his Lordship, and will appoint him as the Lord of Caladan.”

“And your heir?” the Reverend Mother prompted.

“I have yet to make up my mind.”

“What says The Divine Saint of the Knives?”

His intense blue glare found the Reverend Mother, a clear warning. “That’s between me and my sister, Mohiam,” he clipped, her name a warning itself. “You’ll have Tim’s blood sample and run the DNA test and sanction his birthright. This is the reason why I brought him here.”

And Irulan almost sighed. Of course, this was the reason. To back his claim for the new heir of House Atreides with the Sisterhood's support. The Reverend Mother looked smug once more, very pleased as Paul sat in her seat stiffly.

“The girl is…problematic, too quarrelsome,” she slowly remarked. “Are they together?”

“Yes,” Irulan quickly cut in, sensing where this was going. “Yes, they are.”

“Well, I guess he can keep her as his concubine, too,” her former teacher stated, and Irulan’s back went rigid. She quickly glanced at Paul, who was sitting with the same stiff expression on his face.

Irulan wanted to cry out a no, but Paul spoke steadily, “We’ll discuss it later. It’s not relevant now.”

“The imperial bloodline has always been relevant, Your Majesty,” the Reverend Mother encountered, her wrinkled face getting stiffer, as well. “Your sister—”

Fear gnawed at her chest worse, remembering her last command to Irulan that she had refused, almost breaking her in the process, and Paul did too, and stopped her. “Careful, Bene Gesserit, careful. You’re overstepping once more.”

The woman dipped her head, hiding her sinister face. “As his Majesty commands, we’ll discuss it later.”

Irulan swallowed, still wanting to scream at them to forget about it. Hearing the incestuous inbreeding between Atreides' special bloodline had made her sick and terrified. Although the marriage between first cousins was allowed, it still twisted Irulan’s guts with contempt.

If that wasn’t enough, Tim being bound to Alia of all people, diminishing Rogue as a concubine—it just ran her blood cold. Rogue would never accept it—Tim would never accept it—and Alia—and Alia—she would eat them alive. She would—

“I’ll be in the presence during the insemination procedure—” Paul suddenly stated, cutting through her fearful speculations and whirling her into another stupor.

She stared at him, astonished, before managing to voice out, “What?”

“After I hand you my seeds, I’ll be in the operating room,” Paul repeated, aloof but firm. Irulan still stared. “We’ll put a screen in the room for Princess Consort’s privacy—”

“No!” she cried out, springing to her feet, glaring at him, everything forgotten in her mind. The Reverend Mother watched her with the same sinister smile without a word. “Absolutely out of question! You will NOT!”

Paul looked up at her serenely, as unfazed as her mother when Irulan confronted her. “Irulan—”

She cut him off, “You’ll not be there, Paul! Forget about it!” she hissed. “How can you even suggest it! It’s scandalous!”

“I’m your husband,” he pointed out, and she barely kept herself from attacking him.

She shook her head, their eyes locked on each other. “No. No… No. I’ll not accept this!” she spat.

“I will not allow my seeds to be handed over without me,” he announced, not bending an inch. “I’ll stay behind the screen all the time. Your dignity will be saved.”

She let out a sound in disbelief, still shaking her head, her eyes getting moist. She bit her inner cheek to keep her tears at bay. Would his humiliation ever stop? Their gazes touched each other again, but stiffly twisting aside to the Reverend Mother, he ordered, “Leave us.”

The old man stood in a stupor with the cold and curt dismissal from her own domain, but Paul’s attention had already shifted back to her. They stood in silence as the Reverend Mother slowly accepted the dismissal and started to get up.

When they were alone, Paul let out a sigh, sounding almost tired as Irulan continued to glare at him. He waved his hand at the seat she had sprung up. “Please, sit down.”

She didn’t. “Irulan, please.” Her lips grimacing, her glaring eyes narrowing into slit, Irulan obeyed this time and sat down. “You know I can’t allow them to have the samples of my seeds. I have to be present. You’ll be too focused on the fertilization after the insemination to notice if they have sneaked away a sample. I cannot allow that.”

That made sense, but Irulan shook her head. “Your mother can stay and make sure your samples are safe,” she replied. “Not you.”

“No,” Paul resisted, voice firm and decisive. “I’ll be there, no one else.”

“She’s your mother, Paul!” she protested. “I know your relationship is strained, but you truly expect her to steal your seeds?” There was disbelief in her voice because she couldn’t believe it, but Paul was still adamant.

“I will be there.”

Her eyes narrowed more, and another thought occurred to her. “Is this her new scheme?” she spat. “Are you trying to push me to accept IVF treatment in this way?” she asked, standing up once more, connecting the dots.

“She talked to you, didn’t you! Told you to secure your heir, rendering me useless in the procedure because I’m not to be trusted! This is how you do it!” she sneered, springing back to her feet. “Plotting to turn me into a vegetable, taking all the choice away from me! Am I just expected to close my eyes, spread my legs, and accept your semen?!”

His face lost its cool after her vulgar words and showed his anger as his eyes darkened with his blue fire. “Do not confuse me with yourself, Princess Consort! I’ve never plotted against you. Whenever I have wanted something from you, I’ve either requested it or simply ordered you. Do not forget to whom you’re speaking.”

“How can I forget it, my lord, when you keep reminding me?” she spat.

He let out a long, drawn-out sound as if to contain his anger before he spoke again: “I’m not trying to break your integrity. I’m not forcing the IVF treatment on you. The choice is yours.”

She gave him a long, hard look, containing her own anger too, and sat back on her seat. “Is it?” she asked and finally asked like he had done months ago, “Do you want a child or an heir, Paul?”

He heavily exhaled a breath. “You know what I need, Irulan.”

Need—not want. She gave him a long look and spoke, “An heir.”

His silence confirmed her statement.

“From me,” she continued, “An heir from me, and a child from Chani. After denying it for years.” He stayed silent again. “What if Chani gives you a son, too?” she asked, coming clean altogether with her fears. “You promised me you would treat our children equally, and even though you do, they will not be equals. We both know it. The Fremen would never accept my child against your son from Chani.” She paused, taking a sharp breath as the missing piece of the mystery she could not find came to her.

“Chani…she will not give you a son, won’t she?” she whispered, swallowing, connecting the dots. “That’s what you have foreseen. She won’t give you the son you’ve wished.”

When his face completely closed off, Irulan realized she had truly solved the mystery. As she stared at him, there was a part of her that wondered if it was because of her, because of what she had given the woman, and it constricted her chest—the guilt she didn’t want to feel filling her once more.

“No,” Paul finally admitted. “She’ll not give me any other children.”

She swallowed again and asked in a whisper, “Is it because of me?”

He slowly shook his head. “No. It’s not because of you.”

Irulan swallowed again. “Does she know? Did you tell her?”

He nodded again. “Yes. When I told her I was going to have your child via artificial ways.”

And of course, he did, explained it to his beloved why he had to scoop that low and have her heir after years denying it. “So, I’ve become the incubator,” she mumbled bitterly.

“I have no wish to be cruel to you, Irulan.”

She snapped her head at him, anger finding her again, sweeping off her resignation. “Yet, you have hidden it from me, never told me Chani wasn't going to have any other children before I forced it out of you.”

“You didn’t need to know.” She scoffed. He leaned toward her over the study desk and caught her eyes. “I would’ve ordered you to have my son, Irulan, bound you to your duties as my wife. But I haven’t. I’m still not doing it.”

“But you ask it.”

“I do.” He paused. “I’m asking you what you’ve desired too.”

“What I used to desire,” she corrected, but he gave her another look.

“Then why are we still having this conversation, Princes-wife?” he asked. “You still can give me a daughter, and my word would bind me. We wouldn’t need to discuss it. But we still do.”

“And you would find a loophole in your promise once more, and cheat, my lord,” she retorted curtly. “You wouldn’t force me to choose at all. The Bene Gesserit would do the sorting here in the laboratory, too, even without the IVF treatment, and would give me your seeds only with the Y chromosome. I’d have no alternative but to give you what you want, and you’d still keep your promise about not forcing me.”

His lips clenched, but he didn’t deny. “I could.”

“But you don’t—” she finished. “Why?”

He looked down before admitting, “I’ve grown tired of finding loopholes, perhaps.”

For that, Irulan didn’t know what to say, so she asked, mostly to fill the tension and silence in the room, not knowing what else to say. There were so many things she still wanted to ask—about his visions, seeing her with the daughter, and the conflict in her she felt and he also noticed, but her tongue felt tied. “Is this what your mother talked to you about? She told you I shouldn’t choose, didn’t she?”

He cleared his throat, looking away. “She’s…wary of your grudge.”

“And doesn’t trust my abilities,” she added in a clipped voice.

He stayed silent. “Do you?” Irulan asked, holding his blue look. “You saw me with your daughter,” she reminded him, finally gathering enough courage to talk about his visions about her and their child. “Perhaps I’d fail with the sorting like she expects. Perhaps you really should listen to your mother and dehumanize me completely. You have all the justifications, after all, don’t you?”

His lips pressed with her prompting aggression, but he also confessed, “I can’t see your decision anymore, your choice is clouded. I saw you with our daughter, but it’s not certain anymore.”

Irulan reckoned that was the reason he sensed her indecision; his powers allowing him to sense her confusion and inner battle. Irulan felt tired, surrounded by his powers once more, and let out a weary sigh. “I-I just don’t know, Paul,” she muttered at least.

“It’s still in you, Irulan,” he spoke, and he sounded like a temptation, a siren calling what she shouldn’t desire. “I can still sense it.”

When she stayed silent, he looked down as if he was making a decision before he lifted his blue gaze at her. “We can have a daughter after you give me my heir.”

Astonished and in disbelief, not believing what she had heard, her head whirled at him. “What?”

“We can repeat the procedure,” he spoke firmly, “and you can have a girl.”

“Do you want me to whelp for you another time to secure an heir?!” she cried out, hissing at him, anger washing over her. “I’m not a dog!”

“Irulan—”

“Forget about it!” she exclaimed. “I’ll sacrifice my dignity and humanity once!” For the greater good! Not for herself, not for her selfish reasons! What did he truly see her like? An incubator? “I’ll not do it again so that you can give me a daughter like a doll!”

She had been forced to follow the paths that even he could not see, could not predict, forced to play the roles that she didn’t choose for herself, but assigned to her, playing her role. Even his own powers didn’t help him, and he played his. Irulan remembered further his words about the Tupile and the nature of his powers, and his destiny.

“Irulan—”

“I will not choose,” she said, a serenity finding her as she rose to her feet. “Do you remember what you told me about your powers when I asked you if you could not find Tupile?”

She paused, fixating her eyes on him. “Does a chip caught in the wave say where it's going? There's no cause and effect in the oracle.”  She smiled bitterly, standing tall and proud as she accepted her own decision. “Destiny chooses all, right? We just play the parts it chooses for us. So, let us flip the coin and see what your destiny will choose for us this time. Will it grant you an heir or not?”

“Irulan—” he called after her as she turned on her heel and headed toward the door, but did not return, only said:

“We’re in the hands of destiny now, my lord.”

Chapter Text

“Irulan—” Paul called out, and his wife cut him off once more, outraged at his new offer to allow her to have another child from him if she consented to give him his heir. Paul had been trying to find a common ground, but she wasn’t listening to him, nor did she let him speak.

“I will not choose,” she replied, her voice as relentless and steady as her gaze, as Paul frowned at the statement.

There was a part of him that was still astonished how the discussion they had stalled so far had turned out, Irulan finally figuring out about Chani’s situation, forcing Paul to admit also to her as best as he could, as much as he could. He was trapped, had to admit a part of the truth behind his offer, and he was only relieved Irulan hadn’t been able to figure out the rest. Perhaps she didn’t care, perhaps she was still too taken aback by what had been transpiring between them. Either way, this still wasn’t going anywhere Paul had predicted, had believed that her ambitions and indoctrinations wouldn’t allow her to choose anything else, even defended his standing with his mother, but she had stated: I will not choose.

What did it mean, Paul wasn’t even sure, but she continued, “Do you remember what you told me about your powers when I asked you if you could not find Tupile?”

His confusion growing, Paul held her gaze, her eyes fixated on his. “Does a chip caught in the wave say where it's going?”

Then Paul remembered, a new apprehension seizing his chest. His jaw moved as Irulan continued to quote from him, and there was also a part of him that wondered if she had truly recorded everything that he had told her in the last twelve years, stocking them in the back of her mind for a day to use against him.

“There's no cause and effect in the oracle,” she stated with a strange, small smile on her lips, looking resigned and smug at the same time, and it suited her, suited to her grudge. “Destiny chooses all, right? We just play our parts.” His lips clenched further as she continued to twist his remarks and shoot them back at him.

Her chin tilted up in a fraction in defiance as she gave him another look. “So, let us flip the coin and see what your destiny will choose for us this time.”

She turned on her heel and quickly headed toward the door after that, and Paul understood then what she had decided, what she was going to do.

“Irulan!” he called after her, standing up from his seat, an unfamiliar panic spreading in his chest in a way he had not sensed for years, but she didn’t even stop as she walked away, only said:

“We’re in the hands of destiny now, my lord.”

He lunged forward from the desk and stopped her by the door, holding her hand on the handle before she opened it and stepped out. No. She wasn’t going to leave. Not before they had discussed all their options and talked about this thoroughly. He needed his heir. If this was the new way to punish him out of spite, just as his mother had warned him, she was going to find another way.

Paul wasn’t going to allow this.

His hand on hers on the handle tightened over her fingers as she looked up at him, almost faking surprise. “You can’t walk out on me like this, Princess Consort,” he warned in a low but cool voice. Not threatening, just stating.

She held his gaze in the same formidable way, though her chin tilted up again in defiance as if he had done. Threatened her. “I do not owe you anything beyond what I’m bound, my lord husband.”

Paul shook his head, but dropped his hand off hers. Despite his gesture, she stayed still, motionless, not making another move to leave the room. “No,” he only said as they continued to stare at each other, measuring each other.

“Don’t you believe in your destiny, my lord?” she questioned, corking an eyebrow, satirically mocking and taunting, but Paul didn’t jump to her bait. She exactly knew how to get under his skin, how to push his buttons, how to rile him up, but Paul didn’t cave in. He wasn’t going to let her play with him like this.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he commented instead of answering her. “I was going to propose another solution.”

Her eyes narrowed into a slit, staring back at him with suspicion. “I’m not going to accept you into my bed so that you can have your heir if that’s what you mean,” she snapped. “I’d rather bed a sandworm before I allow you to touch me again!”

His taut lips turned into a full grimace after the flared retort, although that wasn’t what he had in mind. “You can be at ease, lady-wife, because there is no such probability in our future. I will not touch you again. I was suggesting something else,” he said, and quickly added before she could make a retort. “Multiple-pregnancy.”

Her retort dying on her lips, she stayed silent, understanding Paul’s proposal now. “You have already overstimulated yourself for the process. If you triggered the ovulation of more than one egg,” he remarked with a flat voice, laying out his plan, “You can have a multi-pregnancy. One boy, one girl at the same time. We would not need to go through the procedure again.”

For a long while, she continued to stay still and silent, only looking at him, an unreadable expression on her face to read, even for Paul. Then she let out a bitter sound, shaking her head, and she looked so weary, despite their last bout, Paul felt his chest pang again.

“I should’ve known you’d find another loop,” she murmured, still shaking her head. “Another way to cheat.”

“Irulan—” Paul started, but she cut him off again, lifting her gaze at him, and she looked feral and flared now, angry.

“Sometimes, I really forget how much of a hypocrite you can be!” she snapped. “How inconsistent you are, how you move the yardstick.” She took a step closer to him, almost touching his chest as her head tilted up at him, still in defiance. His back turning more rigid, Paul stood there, frowning at her. “Destiny can only be trusted when you can see the outcome clearly, right?”

Paul moved his jaw further, glaring at her more deeply. She laughed with that acerbic, satirical mocking sound, tilting her head to the side. “When it only works in your favor. When it doesn’t, you throw it out of the window. For twelve years, you kept telling me destiny chose me for this position, not you! But at the moment I’ve decided to leave to destiny something that you desire, you’ve started to try to establish a way to cheat it!” she

“So tell me—” She took another step toward him, holding his gaze. “Does destiny only work in your favor, Muad’Dib?” Her features crumpled further in her anger as she spat, “Has it made me your ghanimah for twelve years because it works at your whims?”

“You’ve never been a prize for me, Irulan,” he spoke clearly, holding her flared eyes and not backing down. “You’ve been nothing but—” he stopped himself before the word escaped his mouth in his anger, but flinching away from him as if he had hit her, she took a step back and completed it in a whispering sound:

“A burden.”

Paul looked down, wishing he had never spoken, had never even opened his mouth. He had called her many things before, a convenience, a necessity, even his ghanimah, yes, his war prize, but calling her a burden—right now—right now when he was almost begging her to accept to bear his heir—

He had lifted his eyes to check on her and noted her moist eyes, barely composing herself not to cry. The apology came to the tip of his tongue before she turned her back on him.

“Sometimes I wish you were just cruel to me.” The words were spoken so low that Paul hardly heard them as her right arm raised and went to her face that he could no longer see. He watched her as she reached out to her veils and chains that were draping down her sides, and then passed them over her head from her right to her left side and attached them to her loose hair to cover her head.

When she returned to him, her shoulders were squared, her spine was as rigid as steel.

“Irulan—” he called out to her in a soft voice, closing the distance between them, hating her to see like this again, hating himself for causing this, but she cut him off this time by reaching out to her sparkling golden-and-white veil at the side of her face. She clicked the fastenings over her ear, hiding her face from him. The message couldn’t be any clearer, more poignant. She was out of his reach.

She bowed her head at him, wearing the decorum and poise as a shield before she turned and left the room without a word.

*

When Paul arrived in the room where the Bene Gesserit had reserved for him, his weariness and guilt that had remained from their fight had turned into irritation and anger once more, the way she had closed her face to him without a word, wearing her guard swirling in his mind.

Does destiny only work in your favor, Muad’Dib?

Paul looked at the cup in his hand as the Bene Gesserit sister and Mohiam looked at him, barely hiding their amusement and intrigue despite their training. The notion would have been enough to make Paul riled up again in wariness and anger, but as the matters stood between him and the woman he was about to impregnate, he did not care.

Does destiny only work in your favor, Muad’Dib?

Did it? It had always worked—Paul had always seen his path, the path he should walk—he had to walk, but there was so much confusion, so many shadows and clouds that he didn’t know anymore. The glinting golden path blinked in his mind-eye, as Irulan reached her white and golden veil and hid her face from him, putting another wall between them once more.

Even in Fremen customs, Paul had stomped all over the customs and forms, neglecting one of his wives at the expense of another—something the Fremen torah was strictly against.

A man shall always treat his wives equally. It was one of the Fremen customs that Paul had ignored and revised, giving himself license not to treat his women differently, even revising his own religion. Some Fremen even cast out their own wives because of his own treatment, causing many disruptions and conflict in the Fremen social life, not the mention the Imperial forms and decorum. To add to the insult, among the many other things, now he’d also called his wife nothing but a burden. He should apologize, but he wasn’t sure how. He had never apologized to her before, and she had literally hidden her face from him, making herself unattainable once more.

The choice still lay in his hand. He could still give her his seeds according to her wish and let their destiny decide what they would have, or he would order the Sisters to sort his seeds so that he would only give her his seeds with the Y chromosome.

The decision was still in his hand, Irulan hadn’t even said a word anymore before she left the room, but his jaw setting in grimace, looking down at his hand with the cup, and ignoring the Sister and the old crone who was watching him hawkish with her beady glinting eyes, Paul only ordered, “Prepare the Princess and the operating room. We shall begin at once.”

“Does His Majesty require anything?” the Sister who accompanied the old crone asked silkily, bearing the purpose of her presence clear, yet she still added as if Paul could not understand it, “A helping hand, perhaps, to relieve His Majesty.”

“No,” he spat, without even looking at her, another woman…helping him with the task ahead disgusted him and flared his anger. “Leave me.”

When he was alone, Paul forced himself on the task, removing his conflicted thoughts from his mind and recentering himself, and remastering his emotions. The task itself was stressful enough as it was; he didn’t need any further agent to add to his stress. Despite the task being allowed and needed, a part of his duty now, Paul still felt the qualms. The Sister’s offer had angered him, but now, as he stood still, the cup in his hand, Paul felt at a loss since he hadn’t felt for years. The boy he had been on Caladan breezed over his mind, the nights that the desires of flesh had begun arising in him, tingling his groins and the urge in him, the wind howling outside.

He remembered the first time he had touched himself, Duncan’s veiled laughter in his mind, the jests he could not fully yet understand. He remembered the first time his father had ordered Duncan and Gurney to find him a company, a leisure companion who only gave her services to the Great Houses. Paul remembered the worldly, slender woman—the graceful body and sunshine blonde hair. Paul had never known why they had chosen the blond hair, and he had never questioned their choice until now. Even those time, Paul used to see Chani in his dreams, fierce red hair and simple roughspun Fremen robes, and Irulan—in a misted figure with sunshine hair in the hazy shadows that he had never managed to see fully until they met.

His mind swirled back at her as she veiled her face in front of him, and then Chani appeared in front of his eyes, looking at him and asking him, hurt and betrayed, if Paul had missed his wife. His eyes closed as the past-vision filled him:

“You’re not the same since she left, Usul,” she told him, her eyes dried, her voice clear

Paul wondered how many days had passed since he heard his beloved calling him Usul, the affectionate tingling sweeping over his mind despite the curtness of his memory, and Chani continued, “Do you miss her?”

His eyes closed, and they were in the bed again after Paul had woken up screaming her name, scared to death after seeing her throwing herself over a cliff. Her taunt that she wouldn’t have thrown herself over a cliff if he had died mocked him in his mind as in his vision, Paul protested, still lying in the bed beside Chani’s naked figure.

“I’m not bedding her!”

“Not yet,” Chani replied, words now sounding tormenting him, remembering his kiss, the promise he had broken, and suddenly, he was in the bed again, with Irulan, watching her as she slept in the bed beside him, her naked body inches apart from him under the covers.

A low, irritated and tired sound escaped from his lips, and this was how Irulan made him feel. Annoyed and weary, his chest seizing. Her veiled face appeared in his mind’s eyes once more, only her sharp clear green eyes visible, the tears she didn’t let him see dried. Then, Chani’s blue-in-blue eyes reappeared, dried, repeating to him, not yet.  

Paul dismissed both women from his thoughts as he opened his eyes, heading toward the bathroom for privacy and preparing himself for this task ahead. He could not think of them, not now. He could not think of Chani as he did it; he was on the last vestiges of his dignity and his shaking promise, but he couldn’t go that far and break his integrity that much, imagining his beloved as he pleasured himself to give his seeds to his wife. Yet, he certainly could not think of Irulan either, even though this was for her, specially and wholly for her. The feeling was heavy in his chest again, making him feel like he was consummating their matrimony in this way after twelve years, although his wife preferred to bed a sandworm instead of him. There were no lies in her heated retort, no manipulation. Irulan truly didn’t want him to touch her anymore. And, it should not upset him, but his hand still placed the cup on the countertop of the marble sink with a heavy thud as the thought breezed over his mind.

The cool air inside the bathroom chilled his edges as Paul looked at the mirror and tried to remember what he used to think while he was pleasuring himself in those times of his boyhood as he unbuckled his belts and unzipped his trousers. He didn’t think of the desert nights during the war. He used to dream of Chani then, hot and fire, but as he looked at the cold marbles—white and blue glinting golden hues and veins trapped inside, his mind swirled back at the woman he wasn’t supposed to think of as his hand slipped inside his underwear and touched his manhood.

His fingers gripped his lengthy in an old habit that he hadn’t done for years but remembered quickly. He tightened his grip and tugged, emptying his mind and forcing his mind to stay on the blankness, nothing but void. His hand worked, tugged and rubbed, his breath hitching. His mind swayed as the images started to sway as the desire incited in his veins further, his other hand clutching the edge of the sink blindly as his eyes closed, a low grunt escaping from his throat. The marble edge bit into his callous palm, cold and sharp, resting his hip along the edge for support as his movements grew more rapid, and suddenly he was resting Irulan at the desk study as he kissed her, trapping her between him and the edge as he deepened the kiss. She was soft and hot unlike the cold and chilly marble skin, and his mind indulged in the vision further with the remembrance before he could stop himself—unable to hinder it.

He pushed her back further and leaned her on the desk, his arms picking up suddenly before sitting her on the surface, making her legs apart in her wide skirts to accommodate him between as he continued to kiss her. The last vestiges of his dignity pushed him to stop the fantasy—the things he had desired to do to her before she had stopped him, shoving him away. In his vision, she yielded, moaning and gasping as Paul rested her on the desk on her back. His hand raised her skirts to her hips, urgent and trembling, desire ringing in his ears as his hand moved faster.

Paul grunted louder, completely losing himself in the fantasy, vision even more real than the marble surface biting into his palm, her softness and warmth enveloping her. She bent her knees and wrapped her legs around his waist, and Paul lost it completely. His groins coiled, the shiver raising from the back of his spine and spreading further, and his hips started to buckle and jerk in the wild and rapid motion, off-rhythm—his hand moving faster and faster. His eyes shut closed, Paul groaned and pulled harder and started—

Blindly, using the last part of his sanity, he clutched the cup with his other hand and held it in front of his crotch before his climax hit him. Shivers rocked his body, his eyes still closed, the tension breaking over in his body, hurtling him over the edge before pleasure reined over him and made him jet his seeds. As Paul emptied himself, Irulan was lying in the bed again, naked beneath the covers under him. Paul shuddered, his eyes still closed, his world still rocking, and he was carrying her to his bed now as she slept, lying her in his sheets. He covered her as she slept, and then she was standing in front of him, covering her face with her veil, hiding herself away from him.

Does destiny only work in your favor, Muad’Dib?

His eyes jerked open, and Paul looked at the mirror, and saw the creature he had become…a sweaty, bedraggled man, panting and shivering, still holding his manhood after losing another fight, breaking another promise.

If this was destiny that had made him, it didn’t work in his favor.

Not even close.

Exhaling a sharp sound, Paul set the cup—now filled with his seeds on the counter, white and creamy. His failures left a sour, foul taste in his mouth, and his body didn’t feel satisfied at all even after the strong release he had given himself after years. His eyes flicked away, unable to look at the man in the mirror.

Slowly, Paul started to compose himself before leaving the bathroom. He first zipped and buckled himself after washing his hands, and then washed his face. He combed his hair with his wet fingers, trimming it back. His flushed face became cool and aloof when he was finished, yet Paul still spared even a glance at the cup. He silenced the questions in him as he finally allowed himself to look at the mirror, face the reflection.

Curt edges, cold face, chiseled features. Blue-within-blue eyes, his dark moist hair draping over his eyebrows. His thin lips and sharp jaw were set in his dull grimace, nothing severe or open, just a blank face, not displaying any emotion. When he felt in control, Paul finally took the cup and gazed at it.

Does destiny only work in your favor, Muad’Dib?

Paul guessed now they were going to see.

Leaving the bathroom, he headed out and faced the Bene Gesserit in the corridor. Waiting for him.

Paul held their inquisitive gazes blankly as they tried to read his nuances, tried to see the remnants of what he had done, but they could see none. Paul Muad’Dib had made sure of it. The traces were still there on his self-ruh, but they could not see it. Only Chani would see it, the shards of his broken promises slicing his mind-soul.

Tightening his grip over the seeds, Paul spoke, “We may proceed.”

Chapter Text

Irulan wiped the remnants of tears from her dried eyes as she walked back toward the drawing room, her veil undone once more after she left Paul. She hadn’t needed to do it, but covering her head had come to her as the best idea after his remark, treating him in the same way a woman of high birth was supposed to treat strangers.

You’ve been nothing but a burden.

So, he was going to be nothing but a stranger to her. Even though she was going to give him a child, he would be nothing but a stranger to her.

Her lips clenched, and her feet hastened, marching away from the Superior Mother’s study room. It was not like the first time Paul had told her something so simple but cruel, stating their situation as a mere fact, with incredible detachment.

Let us not play these silly games. We both know who my true wife is. You just play a part.

You’ve never been a prize for me. You’ve been nothing but—

Even the fact that he hadn’t finished his statement didn’t give her pause, make her ruminate about the reason. She had heard it all before, but the gaucherie of his behavior while he had asked her to carry two babies for him at the same time had been so vast and deep that Irulan didn’t even take notice that he couldn’t finish his sentence, holding it back with the last vestiges of his decency.

Still, Irulan didn’t care. She was done with it. She was done with him. The feeling, in fact, was very much mutual. She was nothing but a burden for him, a weight he had to carry on his shoulders because of the duty, an inconvenience he had to endure, but so was he to her.

An insufferable, detestable burden she had to carry for her father’s sins, nothing more. And if they started to compare who had been a heavier burden to carry for whom, Irulan would’ve had a landslide victory in that race. At least, in some way, she had always pulled her weight, had tried to help him secure his reign with her best. What had Paul done to pull his own weight on her? What he had done to ease all the weight his treatment toward her caused her?

Nothing. He did nothing to stop her humiliation, her belittling, did nothing to stop her being a ridicule in the drunken lips, even made his own contributions to them, calling her aspirations stupid. He did nothing to help her to carry this burden that he put on her until he needed her.

Yes! If they started comparing, he had been a worse burden on her than she was on him.

When she returned to the room, Irulan learned Lady Jessica had also taken her leave after they left. She didn’t know if she was angry or glad that they had left Tim and Rogue to their own devices, but her wariness persisted. The young couple was still studying the ancient painting from the Old Terra, standing in front of it by the wall. The ghola and Paul’s former best friend and his Fremen Naib were on the couch, waiting silently for their return. When Irulan returned alone, the ghola’s metallic eyes stayed the same, but Stilgar looked at her with his dark-and-blue freckled desert eyes, gauging the reason why she had returned alone.

They must have already figured out Paul was going to need to take some privacy before they moved on with the procedure, so they both stayed silent, averting their gaze from her as Irulan approached her young friends. She didn’t want to think about it, either, didn’t want to think about what Paul was going to do—what he was going to decide. He could order the Mother Superior to sort his seeds to give her only the ones that would give her an heir, and would even order them to perform IVF treatment. Once more, Irulan was in his hands, depending on his decision. If he decided to do it after their fight, Irulan couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop him. The stark reality left a bitter taste on her tongue like herself, making her feel much worse, but she pushed the thought away. It was done now. She could not back away. If Paul was going to force her to carry his heir, would not trust his destiny and decide not to take the risk, Irulan was going to need to accept it like always. But it was going to be on him. Like the day she had told him it was going to be on his head when he refused her the last time and made her accept to conspire behind his back. She was still sad, but she didn’t regret it.

No. There was still no regret in her, no remorse. Even though she still found it hard to believe their conspiracy would have destroyed this unprecedented man if she hadn’t confessed, Irulan still wouldn’t have shed a tear for him. She couldn’t shed tears of sorrow and grief for a stranger.

Tim and Rogue looked at her when Irulan joined them by the Mona Lisa portrait. The topic the Reverend Mother had opened briefly before Paul stopped her was also in the back of her mind, scaring her as much as the procedure awaiting her. Paul had refused to talk about a match between his cousin and his sister, but he hadn’t objected to Rogue being Tim’s concubine, found it normal, of course. It scared Irulan because Paul still couldn’t understand his cousin, despite her warnings about their very different upbringing. He still thought of the teenage boy as he used to be at his age.

His lack of empathy didn’t surprise Irulan; in fact, she had even found it expected. Paul Muad’Dib always looked at the universe surrounding them from the center point, the universe reshaping around his unprecedented existence, worshipped and respected by billions of people and feared by the rest. He was the center of the universe, the united body and soul, the design that had been engineered for hundreds of generations, but Tim and Rogue were still so different than them. The events that had shaped them were another reality of which they barely knew, barely comprehended. If Irulan hadn’t seen them in the Pit, hadn’t seen their struggles, of what they had survived and endured together, she also couldn’t understand.

But she had, so she knew if Tim and Rogue learned about the concubine thing, even she couldn’t stop them this time from leaving without a trace. Rogue would never accept it, and Tim would never even ask.

“Do you know what’s so special about this portrait?” she asked, sensing Rogue’s amazement and genius interest in art again, remembering the vision board that Tim had made her put up.

She remembered the paintings that Rogue had made herself or had found from the heaps of garbage, clips from the replica art pieces or handmade drawings, written words, the ribbon on the corner of the board she had stolen for Amy, and that little cute cat from wires that Irulan had used to prove them she was a Bene Gesserit.

The cat was still in her room among the other things they had transferred from the beach resort after the attack, placed highly between her priceless belongings, and was going to return with her to Arrakeen. Unlike her collection, it was in the open sight, reminding her who Ru was. Irulan would never lose that woman, she was never going to let that happen, would never let the politics and ambitions of the Empire would suck her back into that poor existence.

Irulan remembered further the night they had learned Tupile, what Rogue had told her that night by the fire after she had destroyed her vision, what Tim stood for them, her faith in him.

He believed Tupile, and I believed him. I knew him since I was six, I couldn’t survive in this world without him, but I’d never believed him before like I believed him that night. We had many, many fights since that night, I smacked him many times since that night, but I’ve never stopped believing in him.

Briefly, she also remembered her own desperation when she had thought Paul might’ve been very well involved with the scheme, the bleak disappointment she had felt so deeply and starkly. She remembered screaming for him for help during the attack, calling for him as the blows kept landing on her face, scared and humiliated, the way he had protected them, protected them. It was the same faith that had made her finally cry out to stop acting as if he were useless and return to the man who had set this current flowing. The man who had dethroned his father and smashed his legions on the plains of Arrakeen would never have allowed Tupile to happen.

Does destiny only work in your favor, Muad’Dib?

The question breezed over her mind as Irulan ruminated over their last year, pondering what they had lost. That man had written the destiny, not the around way around. Now, Irulan didn’t even know what he was going to choose. And, what was worse, there was even a part of her that sensed that Paul also didn’t know it—that he was as confused as her, his oracle blinded, his vision shadowed. It was a strange circumstance that Irulan had never felt involving Paul Muad’Dib. He had always seemed so…secure, so certain. Perhaps that was what he had lost, that vital thing.

The objectiveness they had lost was not the root cause, but the outcome.

She shook her head inwardly as the teenagers turned to her when she didn’t speak after her question about Mona Lisa’s mysteries and shooed away her deep musings. “It’s her smile,” she remarked, returning to the ancient artifact, gazing at the prominent smile that had made many renowned scholars and thinkers ruminate over its ambiguity and change of perspective.

“It appears to change depending on the viewer's perspective and emotional state, creating a sense of mystery,” she explained, her head tilting aside as she studied closer. The smile had always inspired melancholy than mystery, a deep nameless sorrow.

“Some see it as serene and content,” she continued, her gaze still fixated on the said smile, seeing it from her perspective, the deep sorrow and melancholy, perceiving the world from her own perspective and through her own filters, “while others perceive it as enigmatic or even melancholic.”

There was even a part of her that wondered if she would have seen the smile serene and content if her last twelve years had been different, if she hadn’t been married to a man who saw her as an unwanted burden on her shoulders. The thought raised another sorrow inside her chest, and Irulan quickly shut it out, didn’t want to dwell on it, reminding herself that it was not objective reality, but her own point of view.

What we need is objective reality, Paul. Her words swirled in her mind as Irulan reminded herself of her own advice, not points of view. Even from herself.

“It’s called qualia,” she continued, and she could sense both the ghola and Stilgar’s gaze on her now, listening to her explanation from behind. Her voice was low and soft, but Irulan could still sense their keen interest in her words. It was a strange experience, too, making her more self-conscious in their awkward situation, but she still didn’t stop.

“Conscious experience—” She twisted aside and tried to mimic the same enigmatic Mona Lisa smile, repeating her training from the Bene Gesserit Way and her own scholarly aspirations.

“Which contains certain features of the bodily sensations especially, but also of certain perceptual experiences, which no amount of purely physical information includes,” she intoned with the same placid but soft voice as her eclectic audience listened before her smiled widened a bit, and she also added, her tone now lilted with a sudden mirth that found her, “In other words, it’s the ways things seem to us. I see melancholy, you see serenity.”

The differences lay in the nuances, the core of the Bene Gesserit training.

There was a silence in the room now as they all looked at the woman in the portrait, a silence that Irulan wasn’t sure how to perceive, but when the doors of the Bene Gesserit leisure room opened and an Acolyte that Irulan didn’t know appeared in the doorway, she didn’t need to.

The young girl was around Rogue’s age, and she bowed her head at Irulan. “Your Majesty,” she called. “They’re waiting for you.”

The anxiety coiled her stomach, knowing it was the time. She gave another look at the portrait, and she knew anyone with a mediocre training for observation skills or good instincts would sense her reluctance and qualms from the way she looked now.

Composing herself, Irulan once more covered her head with her veil, hiding herself. She was going to be exposed in a way she had never been before, was going to allow a desecration to the temple of her body that she had never done before, was going to break her dignity irreparably. She needed to protect herself as best as she could, keep her integrity intact as much as she could.

Silently, she left the room and followed the young apprentice, her covered head dipped, her gaze on the tiles as she walked in the corridors like a man who walked to his own death. The air surrounding her was so grave that for a second, Irulan truly felt like she was going to a funeral despite being clad all in sparkling white and golden, her own funeral.

The acolyte led her to a wing of the tower she had been in before—dark, gloomy corridors covered with shadows. Her head bowed, in solemn silence, Irulan kept walking. When they stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall, Irulan let out a long but silent breath, lifting her head, and composed herself once more, bracing herself for what she was going to find inside.

When the doors were opened, she stared, a part of her at a loss, not registering it. Inside the sterile clinical room, there was only a Sister, Lady Gilbert—a stout, short woman with grey hair and stern features and eyes. She was one of the closest advisors of Mother Superiors, so Irulan wasn’t surprised the woman was there, too, but she was alone. Apart from her, there was no one else in the room.

No Lady Jessica, no Reverend Mother, no Paul.

The lack of the last person’s presence relieved her, but she still didn’t understand. The acolyte closed the door outside, leaving them alone. Lady Gilbert turned to face her and dipped her head quickly in a frivolous reverence, not bothering for a proper one.

“Princess Consort,” the older woman greeted her, and Irulan wasn’t surprised by the preference. “We’ll first prepare you for the procedure here, and then we’ll go to the operating room.”

To her further dismay and panic, Irulan saw the white hospice gowns that people put on before the surgeries. She should have expected this. They wouldn’t have allowed her to go through the procedure still clad in her attire, but suddenly, standing in front of them in a hospice gown seemed to her so awful that Irulan almost turned around and ran out of the room.

“C-can I not stay in my clothes?” she asked, barely keeping her voice from shattering.

The woman cocked an eyebrow as if Irulan had asked one of the stupid things she had ever heard. “It’s for the sterilization,” she remarked evenly. “You must change, Princess.”

Her lips clenched, but silently, admitting it, she went behind the screen and started to change into a hospice gown. Her mind swirled even though she didn’t want to as her silk dress slid down behind the sheer screener, seeing clearly the Sister’s silhouette at the other side. The screener was so thin that it barely hid anything, barely gave any privacy. Paul was going to see everything.

She reckoned that was also the purpose, that being in his presence so he could make sure his seeds were safe, but Irulan didn’t feel any better with the idea than for the first time she heard it. Her hands had a slight tremor while she tied the gown’s back, wrapping the gown around herself. It was also so sheer in white, Irulan felt it showed all her silhouette. In a way, standing in front of him like this, surrounded by the Bene Gesserit, seemed even more vulnerable than staying naked under the covers, waiting for the servants.

Taking off her silk slippers, she slid her bare feet on the paper slippers of the same kind, and for the last, she took the bonnet and tucked her hair inside. When she was done, she was on the verge of tears, but collecting herself once more before she stepped out behind the screen, Irulan fisted her trembling hands and worked on her frayed nerves. She focused on the void and blankness, working on her breathing until she found an equilibrium as best as she could in her position.

When her hands stopped trembling, she unclenched her fisted fingers, exhaled deeply, and stepped out. The woman led her to another hall in the same wing, and this time, Irulan knew without a doubt they were waiting for her inside. When she opened the doors, she wasn’t surprised. There they were, Lady Jessica, Mother Superior, and Paul, standing in the sterile room with bright white glowglobes’ fluorescent light.

They all turned to her when she appeared in the doorway with her hospice gown, but stayed like a stone statue, her gaze fixated ahead, unable to move. Paul’s gaze was the heaviest, and for a split second, Irulan almost turned around and ran away. She couldn’t do this.

Mother Superior was the first one who broke the tense silence that filled the air in the room as Irulan still stayed where she was, rooted to the ground. “Irulan—” she called, “come, child.”

Her voice was tinted with the familiar, commanding timbres, not directly the Voice, but something else Irulan had become quite accustomed to while she…persuaded her to carry out her commands. The voice shook her to her core, revibrating through her—even the way she called her child, it was all familiar. She found herself stepping in—unable to resist as she let out a shaking breath.

She wanted to cry out—wanted to lash out to stop bending her to her wishes, but all she could do was still walk. Even Paul didn’t stop it, just watched her approach them closer. Hot tears prickled her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Then, in the middle room, she finally saw the operation chair, the reclined special chair for one specific purpose, two high supports attached at each side: foot holders.

Irulan almost dropped to her knees and started to vomit when she understood she was expected to get onto it and raise her legs on those holders and spread them wide for the procedure, like how pregnant women did when they were checked out or they were in labor. Somehow, the idea had never crossed her mind, and it put her in a morose panic, and she started to back down, stumbling on her feet.

And, they all understood her fright. “Irulan!” The Voice rang in the room low but clear, losing all pretense in the direct order. “Come here!”

 The command passed over her, resonating deep inside her, pushing her forward as she tried to step back. Fire tingled at the end of her nerves, burning her, and she opened her mouth to scream as she resisted the command, then all finished, as suddenly as it had started.

Her shaking legs buckled, and she almost dropped to her knees this time, her whole body aching with the force, but Lady Gilbert held her before she fell. She rested her back against the woman’s flat chest, lifted her eyes, and saw Paul’s hand was in the air, his intense blue-within-blue eyes flared with anger, glaring at the Mother Superior. She realized it had been he who had stopped the persuasive command, although Irulan had not even heard him talking. Her ears were still ringing in her eardrums, her heart drumming against her chest. If he had spoken, there was a high possibility that Irulan hadn’t even heard him; she just didn’t know.

She just didn’t care.

She couldn’t do this.

She just couldn’t.

“You dare!” Paul sneered with venom and danger, his hand in the air slowly dropping, the movement as deliberate as his lowered and darkened voice. “You dare to use the Voice on my wife in front of me, Bene Gesserit!”

“I was—”

“Silence!” His voice cut her off, ringing in the room in the air, cutting off the Mother Superior once more. “This is my last warning, Mohiam,” he spoke a second later, clearing his voice, but his tone still carried the danger in his ultimatum. “If you hurt her again, I’ll have you garroted.”

In a heartbeat, he was beside her then, taking her from the Sister behind her, his arms gingerly holding her. Irulan wanted to push him away, didn’t want him to touch her, but she was still too afraid that she couldn’t stay upright without support. She worked on her breathing, her head dipped to hide her face. Somehow, the bonnet had slid from her hair and had dropped to the ground, causing her hair to slide over her shoulders. Her fellow Sisters watched her as Paul gingerly held her, gazing at her the same. Even though Irulan didn’t see his blue gaze, she could still sense its intensity.

“Are you okay?” he asked lowly after a pause came to her like eons. Irulan forced her head to lift and looked up at him.

“Tell them to put me under sleep,” she told him, not answering his question because she didn’t know how to lie that well, but announced, making up her mind. “I-I can’t do this awake. I-I can’t.”

Without even a pause, Paul nodded. “We will.” Perhaps this was a mistake, a huge mistake. Even though Irulan wasn’t going to interfere with his semen, the fertilization might still need her supervision, might need her to urge his seeds to…reach her mature egg. Women did not get pregnant after mating. Most of the time, it took many tries without outside interference until it happened. Leaving it to the destiny that much sounded to her dangerous as well, if she didn’t get pregnant, they would need to repeat the procedure, but Irulan just couldn’t do this awake.

But seeing her son agreeing to her wish, Lady Jessica cried out, “No! You have to be at least awake to secure the fertilization,” she said. “This is getting ridiculous!”

Irulan looked at her, half supported by his chest, but it was again he who answered Lady Jessica, not Irulan. “My seeds can live a couple of days inside her,” he said evenly. “If needs be, she can do it later. We’ll put her to sleep.”

With his direct order, there was no room for any argument, even from the Bene Gesserit, and Mother Superior was still too shaken from Paul’s threat in front of the other women.

“Come—” Paul pivoted her aside and started to walk her toward the operating chair that Irulan gazed at like she was walking to an equipment designed for torture. With the apparatus and binders, it wasn’t an unfair or exaggerated comparison.

Irulan gingerly perched on the side of the chair when they arrived, and Paul left her, stepping away a few inches, but standing close. Even the fact that he wasn’t behind the screener in the room didn’t bother her anymore—in fact, there was even a part of her that felt safer with his presence. It made no sense; she didn’t want him in this room, she didn’t want him to witness this humiliation and desecration, but then again, she didn’t even want to be here herself.

Either way, without his presence, things would have gotten even uglier. Her eyes flicked, and she glanced at the foot holders, and ran her gaze away quickly.

“Do you wish the anesthetic drugs?” Paul asked in a low voice, still watching her closely as he stood a few feet away from her. “Or may we use the Voice?”

The question, asking her preference, asking her consent for using the Voice startled her so much that she finally lifted her eyes from the ground. He was still looking unaffected, unfazed, like asking her if she would prefer lemonade or a mimosa on a hot summer day. Everything was so bizarre that Irulan didn’t even know what to feel, the juxtaposition between the man who had just told her she had been nothing but a burden to him for years and the man who gently asked with what she would feel more at ease was so vast again, she hardly comprehend him, or his mood swings.

“The Voice is fine,” she said after a quick consideration, pushing her dazzled feelings and wanting to get over this as quickly as possible now. There was even a part of her that wanted to ask what he had decided, but reading the room, she had realized that he hadn’t asked the Mother Superior to sort his seeds to give her only the ones that would make her bear his heir.

Paul closed the distance between them and put his hand on her forehead with the same careful attention as Irulan closed her eyes, letting him.

“Go to sleep—” the murmuring command vibrated through her as she lowered all her mental shields, her body already falling back, yielding to his Voice.

The last thing Irulan knew before she lost consciousness was his arms enveloping her once more before she dropped on the chair, lifting her on it.

The next time she woke up, she was back in the heighliner—in his bed. She drowsily—slowly straightened up from the pillow in the silk dark sheets, gazing at the interiors in the dark, soft hums of the Guild’s spacecraft revibrating inside the titanium walls, and she was alone. She didn’t know how long she had been unconscious, for how long she had been sleeping in his bed. Her clothes were changed into a chemise, and her loose hair was spread over her shoulders.

Irulan swallowed and touched her stomach, closing her eyes and mastering her senses. Her conscious mind spread out, tendrils of her awareness connecting with her inner self—with her body—going deeper and deeper until she found what she was looking for.

A tremor shook all her being as she sensed it, tears slipping from her eyes and running down her cheeks. She cried harder as her mind-and-soul touched the fragile existence in her womb, sensing and connecting with her child. For years, she had waited for this moment, for years, she had imagined it—fantasized it in the long, cold nights in her loneliness. A life within her, a life she had created—created with a man she didn’t know if she loved or hated.

At the moment, it didn’t even seem important.

There was life inside her—a pulse beating within her—a…her mind reached out further, and Irulan let out another shaking breath, her cries hastened, when she sensed her baby.

A girl.

It was a girl.

In the dark and silence, Irulan laughed as tears ran down her cheeks, feeling something that she had not felt for so long.

Pure happiness.

# # #

At the moment his seed found her fruit in the womb, Paul knew it without a doubt, without any suspicion. His oracle was clear and open, the destiny making itself, showing him the paths. Paul freed his mind and his Timefish, and swam in the currents until his awareness found what it was looking for.

The sunlit room in the Arrakeen Keep was hazy as if it were a dream. Her hair was billowing in the hot wind in the dusk from the open tall windows with the thin curtains as she stood above the crib, looking down. She was clad in her usual white and golden, but something else drew his attention, something new.

The golden bracelet that was circling her wrist. Blue and green, with the Atreides hawk ingrained on top of it with diamonds, shining under the falling sun. The House Atreides heirloom that Lady Atreides had always worn, the one Paul was supposed to click around her wrist on their wedding night, but hadn’t. Now, the bracelet was around her wrist. And she was heavily pregnant, her hand supporting her swollen bulge under her stomach as she looked down at the crib, her eyes clouded and unreadable.

“Do you think it’s funny?” she asked, sensing his approach from behind as Paul got closer to her. “Naming her Ghanimah?”

“No, it’s not,” Paul answered bleakly as he stood beside her and looked down at the baby in the crib. His daughter, fierce red hair and freckles, sleeping soundly—and peacefully, his sweet daughter who didn’t even know what kind of mess Paul had brought her into. His chest seized with grief and pain, and he lowered his head.

Irulan twisted aside and looked at him as Paul stood beside her like a statue. “So she’s your prize?” she asked, her lips clenching and flattening. “The only thing that remained to you from your beloved. Your only prize.”

“This war has brought me no prize, Irulan,” he said in sadness and grief, reaching out to her bulge. “Only my daughters.”

“I will not call her like that,” she said lowly, gazing at him in defiance, twisting away from his touch, her voice almost a sneer. “It’s stupid. She’s a baby, not a prize.”

“I know,” Paul only muttered. “You will call her…Shiraz.”

She frowned. “I’ll not be a mother to her, Paul,” she said steadily, holding his eyes. “If this is what you expect from me now, it won’t happen. I will not.”

“You will,” Paul answered simply. “In time. Eventually.”

She paused with his answer, her frown deepened. She glanced down at his daughter and let out a sharp sound, finally putting all the missing pieces together. “You knew it, didn’t you?” she whispered, looking up at him from the crib, unshed tears shining inside her green eyes. “You knew she was going to die.”

Paul still stayed, tucking his chin to his chest. “You knew she was going to die in childbirth, so you wanted to make sure I’d give you your heir. Chani was never going to give you another child—” her voice raised, but still careful not to wake up his newborn daughter, Paul noted. “Because she was going to die!”

In the solemn silence and dusk, Paul looked at her, bearing everything open—and it didn’t take long for her to understand everything. She had always been too smart, and Paul was tired. Tired of keeping secrets, tired of carrying this burden alone. She was going to hate him—hate him even more, and perhaps he was going to lose her, too. The truth had always cost him a big price, but Paul couldn’t stay silent anymore. Not tonight.

“You knew it—” she whispered, tears finally falling from her eyes. “You knew it from the start. You knew I was drugging her, but you let me because you had seen her dying giving birth.”

Paul only stared at her in silent acceptance before her hand landed on his cheek. It sounded with a heavy thud, whipping his head to the side.

After a split second, Paul returned and faced her again, and she slapped him again. And again.

*

Paul whirled back from the future-memory in the darkness, his cheek still hurting.

Chapter Text

The Caladan sun rose high at dawn in the clear sky, as cloudless as his prescience, and for a second, Paul thought if even his home planet was reflecting the clarity he had witnessed in his oracle last night after the moment of truth prevailed. It was a superstitious vacuity that the Qizarate would like to spin tales about his divine sanctity, a babblery to preach on holiness.

His home planet showing reverence to his destiny.

Does destiny work only in favor?

Apparently not. Apparently, his destiny had decided to teach Paul…something, not letting both women bear him a son to be his heir. Humility? Or Penance? Penance for his sins?

Paul had been wondering the same question since their arrival last night, standing in front of the tall windows of the study room, just watching the outside, what had happened and what had foreseen in his vision playing on his mind-eye on repeat, his cheek tingling with the phantom pain from her slaps, and her question in the heighliner after she had woken up.

Paul had seen her in his room after she had woken up from his trance, still in his bed with her chemise. There were still stains of her tears on her face, but she looked…peaceful, as peaceful as she had fallen asleep in his bed. Seeing that expression on her face eased his chest a bit, his mind twirling the bracelet Paul had seen her wearing in his future-memory.

“Did you see it?” she had asked him in a low whisper from his bed, staring at him and not even hiding herself with the bedcovers this time, and she looked…beautiful, as well. Peaceful and beautiful.

Paul nodded silently, affirming it, but she still said, “It’s a girl.”

“I know.”

Her green eyes bore through his. “Are you angry?”

“No,” Paul had answered, speaking the truth. He still didn’t know how he felt, what this meant, or why both women in his life had given him daughters in natural ways, but he knew he was not angry. One could say the unorthodox way Irulan had become pregnant with his child was not natural, but this was natural, no meddling, no outside interference. Paul had allowed Irulan not to choose, had agreed to leave it to fate, and he was granted another daughter.

A small girl with his features and eyes flashed across his oracle, running stumbly in the Arrakis Imperial gardens with her mother and Amy, laughing happily, her blonde hair billowing in the air as she tried to catch them. Her hair was as blonde as Irulan's, shining brightly even under the dying sun, but the rest of her was Paul. His features, his natural eyes, his prominent jaw, and his thin lips. It was Paul. No one would say it wasn’t her daughter, even though apparently Irulan had repressed his dominant genes for her hair and gave their daughter her own sunshine hair later.

At the moment, it hadn’t even surprised him, but almost twitched his lips, feeling that unfamiliar fondness again in her defiance, but then his perspective had changed and Paul saw another small girl as well, watching them from afar, with an expression that pained his heart, a small girl with fierce red hair, her face displaying the longing on her expression.

I will not be a mother to her, she spoke from his vision as Paul had stared at Irulan in his bed, and his answer mixed with the vision over his oracle. You will. In time. Eventually.

The vision withered away, and there was only Irulan who was sitting in his bed, in his silk sheets, staring at him—and at the moment, Paul also realized she had been waiting for him to continue, to tell her more.

“Destiny decided to give me two daughters, wife,” he had told her then, the word coming to his tongue with ease, and no hidden derision or ridicule, earnest. She was his wife now, carrying his child, whether their marriage was consummated or not; the only wife he would ever have, just like she had told Rogue. The Atreides bracelet in his vision had flashed in his mind, and Paul made his decision, remembering what Rogue had told her. You deserve more.

The guilt of calling her a burden seized his chest, even though he hadn’t spoken it aloud. The teenager was right. Irulan deserved more—a lot more than Paul was allowed to give, and even though he still couldn’t do much more, he could at least do this. Give her their family heirloom and let her carry it. It belonged to her now. At the moment, his seeds wetted her dry womb, the bracelet became hers.

“There has to be a meaning in it even though it’s yet to revealed to us,” he had continued, his decision cemented, and quoted from himself, as just she had done before announcing she was not going to choose, “Does a chip caught in the wave say where it's going?”

She almost snorted low in her throat before her eyes got fixated on him once more.

“Well, I am happy.”

“I know,” Paul had replied, sincere, watching the true happiness that reflected in her eyes. “And it makes me happy.” He had left the room then without another, leaving her startled with his admission, and they had never seen each other again after their arrival, as Paul came to the study room and had been there since then.

The crack of the door pushed him out of his memories and visions, and Paul sensed his mother’s agitated presence before he heard her booming voice, understanding the Sardaukar had arrived. Their arrival was the only thing that had remained until Paul finally left and returned to where he now belonged.

Where Muad’Dib belonged. He had prolonged it long—longer than he could have ever foreseen, but this was the last thing that had remained. But his mother hadn’t known what Paul had agreed to—and now, she had learned.

“There’s a Sardaukar legion in the orbit, Paul!” she cried out. “A SARDUKAR LEGION!”

Paul returned to face her, calm and firm. “Yes,” he replied evenly. “Irulan brought her father’s police force from Salusa Secundus. They will take the command here.”

His mother was still staring at him like Paul had lost his mind, so he was also not surprised when her voice boomed, “Have your mental faculties leave you, Paul!” she exclaimed. “They’re your prisoners! Your enemy, not your army! They would never stay loyal to you!”

 “They would,” Paul replied with the same calmness. “The Princess Consort carries my child now. My heir.”

“It’s not a boy,” she snapped back. “Do you need me to remind you that the Wensicia spawn is still in the line of succession!”

“Tim would prevail him as my first cousin,” Paul said, and his mother laughed as if it was a joke.

“A street kid from Caladan,” she encountered. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Paul. First, you let her confuse your mind, let her give you a daughter, and now I’m learning you’ve also let her bring her legion here. A full legion on Caladan! It’s outrageous!”

His anger rising, Paul turned his back on her, his lips clenching, but he didn’t respond. 

The room filled with their tense silence until her mother broke it with a low voice. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Paul.”

There was also concern in her tone now, not only anger, but the motherly concern that Paul had not heard for years. His anger wound down, but he said, his voice still firm and even, “I’m Muad’Dib. I’m the one who set this current flowing, Mother.”

Despite everything, Irulan still believed it, so Paul also was going to believe it. Believe there was a meaning in this, even though he could not see it yet. A path glinted golden at the edge of his conscious thought, leading to that dark cavern—and Paul quickly shoved it away.

Steeling his mind, he returned to face his mother again. “Did you bring what I asked?”

He had asked for it after they had arrived. Paul still kept the heirloom where it belonged, at his father’s Keep on Caladan. He had retrieved it from the Governor's Place’s treasury after he had taken over the palace, finding their family heirlooms that were looted after the Harkonnen Attack. He had sent them where they had belonged, all of them.

Now, Paul was retrieving the bracelet, to give his wife, and his mother didn’t look happy, either, even though she had admitted she had been in the wrong for her treatment toward Irulan at the beginning of their marriage, making those belittling comments, but Paul would understand as his mother had been never allowed to wear the bracelet in the same way Paul couldn’t have given it to Chani.

“Are you really sure, Paul?” she asked, approaching him closer. “Chani will not like this,” she reminded him as if Paul needed it, but also added, “And Irulan will want more afterward. You know she will. She’s a Corrino.” She cocked her head upward, indicating the sky, and her meaning couldn’t be any clearer. “If you give her an inch, she’ll take a mile.”

His anger rose again, remembering his own words with her conspiring, scheming nature. Give in to one of her ambitions and you could advance another of them.

“She’s a Bene Gesserit. That’s what you do the best,” he snapped and asked, “Did you bring it?”

Her hand slipped under her robe, and she brought out a dark velvet pouch and extended it to her. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, my son,” she told him as she extended it to him, and without a word, Paul took it, slipped it under his uniform jacket, and left the study to find her.

She was in her quarters with Amy and Rogue. Tim had left to check on their friends in the hospital after their return with Stilgar. The windows of her room were open, the warm morning wind billowing inside, and she was wearing a white leisure dress with small golden embroidered flowers in the thin silky fabric, still looking radiant as she comfortably lay on her sofa.

What took Paul by surprise was even the relaxed and radiant way she looked, but she was twirling a wooden practice butterfly knife in her hands as Rogue sat beside her on the sofa and Amy colored a book on the floor beneath them. On top of her head, there was still Irulan’s small tiara. The domestic, relaxed scene mixed with the butterfly knife was so strange—seeing Irulan practicing it, even though she had shown him she had learned how to use it, that Rogue had shown her. Even with his knowledge, the scene caught him by surprise, and Paul stared at them, bewildered as his wife tried a compact twirl that looked very demanding.

When the doors closed behind him and they lifted their head and looked at him, Irulan also stopped twirling the knife, dropped her legs down to the ground from the couch, and quickly composed herself.

“Well morning,” Paul greeted her, and she nodded her head back at him without a word. There was a pause in the room as no one spoke. They were all still watching him. “How are you?” Paul asked, his eyes glancing at her stomach, and feeling…strange and awkward.

She shrugged, looking away as she sat more rigid on the sofa. “The same as last night.”

“Nausea?” he questioned, feeling more awkward and stupid, but the question had just left him.

Irulan also gave him a look as if he were stupid. “I cannot have morning sickness from day one, my lord.”

He nodded. Another pause, and he announced, “The Sardaukar has arrived. They’re in the orbit.”

His news spurred her to action. She jumped to her feet, looking now very, very excited, her face brightening even more, and she was smiling openly. Paul looked at her tells, watching the way her smile enlarged. “Have they arrived?”

Even her voice sounded uncharacteristically excited, and Paul frowned, remembering the vision he had seen at Wallach IX, the way she had lying on the beach on her stomach, reading her book as the commander of the legion that hovered above them in the orbit now was watching her with that expression in his face.

His lips clenched further with the remembrance as his wife truly looked and sounded excited in the way Paul had seldom seen her.

“Yes, they have,” he clipped, swallowing down a retort about her unbecoming behavior at the prospect, “I’ve allowed them to land. We will greet them at the entrance in an hour. Ready yourself.”

Her excitement calmed down, and she composed herself and bowed her head to him. “As His Majesty commands.”

And, Paul left her chambers, the bracelet still in his pocket.

# # #

Irulan stared at his retreating back as he left her chambers, feeling suddenly at a loss once more, but even the strange…encounter didn’t curb the excitement she still felt deep in her chest with the news. They had arrived! Her father’s police had arrived, commanded by the man Irulan trusted the most, and Irulan was so happy that she didn’t care about Paul’s strange behavior at all.

The fact that he had even come himself to give her the news instead of sending someone else to tell her to get prepared was strange; he had never done that before. He had never come to her chambers to tell her any news, had always summoned her when he needed to talk to her. Irulan supposed he had wanted to check on her once more, to see how she was like he had done last night, and even though she could understand his concern, she was carrying his child now, she still felt something else. As if he had come to find her for something else, but had forsaken the idea.

Once upon a time, it would have concerned her, made her ponder about it at great length, grow anxious and wary, and curious, but right now, Irulan didn’t give a single care. It was as if something had changed in her since she had woken up last night in the heighliner and sensed her child in her womb. Everything before it that had faded in the background in her happiness, even the terrible experience she had needed to go undergo. It did not matter anymore. It was in the past.

It felt like everything was divided in her two separate timelines now, before last night and after last night as if sensing her daughter in her womb the first time was her own personal turning point now, not her marriage to Paul anymore. Prior to last night, it had been her turning point, the day she had lost everything and had to accept marrying the man who had caused it.

At the moment she had sensed her daughter in her womb, it had changed. When she had come back to her room last night, she had hidden his cufflink he had stolen from his chambers in the heighliner in her drawer, and felt like she had closed another chapter in her life. It felt like a reborn as much as she had felt after learning Tupile. One had been born out of desperation, but this…this was pure happiness. She felt close to Ru since her secret was out and everything had turned out to chaos and madness, but they were here now.

With Rogue, Amy, and the kids staying with her, her baby inside her womb, and her legion suspended in orbit. Irulan couldn’t be happier, both as the Princess Consort and as Ru.

Her smile widened again, touching her stomach and sensing the fragile life there. She walked to her open widows and watched outside, craning her neck to look at the sky, trying to catch a glimpse of the spaceships in orbit. She couldn’t see anything, of course, but it still felt good knowing they were there, safer. They had come to save Caladan. Protect the only home she had ever known after losing Kaitain. She wondered briefly if Paul would have let her live on Caladan as her hand touched her stomach.

It was as if it were an automatic response that she had started to do on reflex. Irulan had lost count of how many times she had done it since last night. She measured her chances and told herself perhaps he would. He had refused before, staying adamant that she would return to Arrakis, but Irulan knew now he had always been thinking of giving him an heir. Now that Irulan had a daughter, perhaps he wouldn’t mind. It’d certainly make things easier between him and Chani. Perhaps Paul would even prefer it now, having Irulan and her daughter out of the way. There was no reason to bear the consequences as Irulan wasn’t going to give him the heir he wished.

Her lips flattened, her smile disappearing, but Irulan still told herself it was not important. If he let her stay on Caladan. She would be in the city with the people she liked—but then again, Tim was going to go to Arrakis. Paul didn’t want him to stay, and Irulan couldn’t do the constitution here from Caladan. She had to be in Arrakis, smell that dry, hot air, smell the tangy spice, and feel the merciless sun.

She sighed inwardly, her good feelings dampening a bit with the return of her realities. It was a good dream, though, as long as it lasted.

 “Sardaukar—” Rogue asked, joining her, and there was bafflement in her voice. “The Sardaukar has come?”

Irulan nodded. “Yes. My father’s police force on Salusa Secundus. Paul has agreed to move them here to assist to clean and protect Caladan.”

“The Fremen will not come?” the girl asked.

Irulan shook her head. “No. Paul will not let it.”

Rogue paused for a second, trying to understand what she had meant, and she remarked, “We’ve heard about them in whispers.” Her voice was low and wary, checking her with a fleeting glance as if she wasn’t sure of her reactions. Irulan held another sigh inside her. “They weren’t good stories.”

“I know. The Sardaukar are as fierce warriors as the Fremen,” she admitted. Their special legions had kept her ancestors to keep the throne for many years, feared by the many, and respected by a few, just as Paul was now. Even Irulan could not deny it. But they had lost power, so it was different now, and there was Sir Lance. Even though Sardaukar would be hard to contain on the home planet of their biggest enemy, the man who had imprisoned them for years and killed many of their brothers, there was still Sir Lance.

“But their commander is someone whom I trust with my life,” she told the teenage girl. “He will keep them in line.”

Rogue still looked skeptical. “He will,” Irulan insisted, her voice getting fiercer at the defense of her former sworn guard. “He used to be my sworn guard. I might not know since I was six years old,” she said, smiling a bit, referencing her words to Tim. “But I’ve known him for a long time. He’s a good man. You’ll like him.”

The rebellious girl scoffed lowly. “I’ll surely not,” she shot back. “I’m not confident about your taste in men.”

Irulan laughed, though to be fair to her, it wasn’t entirely true. The only true lover she had ever had was Professor Jackson, and apart from their age difference, he wasn’t that bad. “Be confident,” Irulan chided in jest. “Paul doesn’t count. I had little choice in that matter.”

Her young friend laughed back. “True.” She paused, giving her a look, her eyes searching. “Is he handsome? This Sir Lance—” she clarified when Irulan looked at him, dumbfounded. “Is he handsome?”

A heat rose to her cheeks, remembering her handsome features and golden silky hair, and vast shoulders and muscled chest, the strong hips and legs, always proud and loyal, the Golden Lion of House Corrino. She quickly repressed the reaction, but Rogue’s laugh rang in her chambers.

“Ehi!” she cried out, laughing. “You do fancy him!”

“I-I do not!” she protested. “I’m married!”

Rogue gave her a look. “That doesn’t count,” she shot back her words. “You had a little choice in the matter.”

Irulan cleared her throat. If only it had been that easy. “W-we should not converse in such matters. It’s not appropriate. I’m a pregnant, married woman.”

The girl’s expression grew serious, grave. “We’re not stupid, Ru. We know why you’ve gone to Wallach IX. You don’t tell us openly, but we know what happened. You carry his child, but you’re still not his wife.”

A new fear gnawed at her chest, and she clutched the girl’s forearm. She didn’t think either Rogue or Tim would betray her, betray her secret, but their world was still so different than theirs, Irulan felt scared.

“Rogue, please, never say that again aloud. We consummated our marriage, and I’m pregnant now. If anyone learned what we did on Wallach IX, it’s not only I who would get stigmatized, but also my daughter.”

Her dark eyebrows clenched. “I would never do that to you or the baby!”

“I know,” she quickly replied. “But you still cannot say it aloud.”

She nodded her agreement. “Okay. I’m sorry. I will not speak it aloud again.”

“Thank you,” Irulan murmured, her fear calming down with her galloping heart. She turned aside to go to get prepared, but Rogue asked again behind her back.

“So… is he handsome?”

Irulan heaved a sigh, continuing to walk to her closet, but hearing the louder question, Amy perked up from the carpet as she lay on her stomach, coloring her books. The book even had Spitfire planes, which Amy had been coloring while they had been away. Irulan had no idea where Paul had managed to find that coloring book, but she knew it had been. Neither Gurney nor Lady Jessica would have cared about her little Princess that much.

It seized her chest another way, making her want to touch her stomach again, feeling her daughter as Amy chirped, “Who is handsome? Paul?” she gushed out, almost sounding dreamy. “I wish I could marry someone like him when I grow up!”

Irulan wanted to scream a no, but Rogue laughed. “No, sillyhead. You certainly don’t want to marry someone like him. He’s a douchebag when he’s not a creep.” Irulan sighed again as she opened the closet, but didn’t warn her again not to call Paul like that. “I’m talking about Irulan’s old sworn guard.”

Amy looked up at her. “What’s a sworn guard?”

“A knight to swear to protect his protégé in life and death,” Irulan explained as she rummaged through her dresses to find someone that looked...good. “They take an oath when they enter your service.”

That astonished Amy. “He swore to protect you?”

Irulan nodded silently, still rummaging through her dresses to find what she was looking for. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she just couldn’t decide. Rogue was still watching her, a quiet smile on her lips, which Irulan caught out of the corner of her eye.

Today was a day to remember. A mark in history. A Sardaukar legion was in the air, nothing like Wensicia’s ragtag groups of soldiers, but a real Sardaukar legion of the old days. After many years, House Corrino’s fiercest warriors were going to land Caladan and were going to wear the mantle of the Emperor’s homeland’s protector.

It was a day to remember, and Irulan wanted to look her best—as the Princess Consort. Her chest seized another way, remembering the title, and her hand going to her stomach, she wondered if Paul would let her carry now the title she was supposed to carry, the one he had never allowed her to.

He remembered his fierce protectiveness, threatening the Mother Superior openly to have her garroted in front of everyone if she hurt Irulan again, and his gentleness for not letting her go through that horrible experience fully awake as the others would have forced her to. It was a great risk, but Paul still took it at his expense, choosing her well-being just as he had agreed to her wish and didn’t force her to carry his heir.

Perhaps he was truly softening toward her, she reckoned, then she remembered him calling her a burden just before those events, and almost shook her head at herself. At her naivety. His guilt for his harsh behavior might have softened him, but even when the Sardaukar hovered in the orbit of his home planet, he would still not let her call herself the Empress Consort. If his beloved couldn’t have carried the title, no one else would have. He had broken his promise and kissed her, but he wouldn’t allow that.

She forced the bitter thought away from herself and instead focused on how long it had been since the last time she had seen Sir Lance as she finally picked a dress in green and golden hues, not white.

Emerald was Sir Lance’s favorite gemstone. Irulan knew it because once—years ago—in a fever after taking a poisonous, deadly wound from an assassin to save her in a royal banquet, he had whispered it to her in his fever delirium, told her it was because it reminded him of her eyes. Irulan had gifted him a golden-emerald ring after he survived his fever, praying to every God she worshipped, and he had never taken it off his finger since then, although they had never spoken about it again aloud.

The last time Irulan had seen him on Salusa Secundus years ago, her ring was still in his forefinger. The golden and light emerald dress slid down over her figure silkily and covered her head with a matching sheer veil in gold and green. Irulan looked at her reflection in the mirror and felt like she had chosen the best dress.

When they had left her chambers and joined the others inside the entrance, Paul lifted his head and stared at her, his expression startled, displaying his surprise. Irulan knew her choice had caught him by surprise, expecting her to show again in all white. Irulan felt a smug contentment, throwing him off as she approached him closer, covering her face with the golden-and-emerald chain.

“My lord—” she greeted him, tugging the clip behind her ear to hold the chain-veil. A very similar vein and chain was covering Lady Jessica’s face as well, not Sisterhood’s blacks or the Fremen’s earth tones. She was all clad in soft blue like the Caladan’s summer sky, from head to toe.

Paul’s gaze swept over her, lingering on her affluent emerald-and-gold necklace that covered her deep cleavage. The dress wasn’t as modest and prudent as her usual clothes, but it was seductive, accentuating her curves and assets, to allure its prey. It was one of the dresses that Irulan had purchased in those days that she’d been trying to seduce her husband, in hopes that showing him a veiled taste of what she was offering would have been enough to sway his mind.

Irulan wasn’t sure if Paul remembered the time she had shown up in a banquet in the Keep years ago in the same dress and tried to seduce him, but even if he had, she couldn’t read it from his expression. That she showed up to formally greet the Sardaukar legion in the same dress she had tried to seduce him. His lips were tense, his jaw was clenched, his features in his habitual frown as if something annoyed him, but then again, this was how Paul Muad’Dib usually looked when he wasn’t angry.

And there was a legion of Sardaukar in the orbit, and Irulan had quasi forced him to accept a daughter instead of a male heir, so that would also explain his foul mood, so she didn’t take it personally, but Paul said as they stepped outside and lined up in the staircase to greet the cruiser that had landed at the end of the landing port opposite of them.

“Interesting choice of attire, Princess Consort,” he whispered to her as Irulan stood beside him, just behind his shoulder, as the rest of them stayed a few feet behind them. His eyes were fixated ahead on the runway, watching as the cruiser’s landing platform started sliding down.

“An old dress, my lord,” Irulan whispered back, sounding dismissive and uninterested.

The staircase of the cruiser rolled down after the landing finished, and Paul cast her a glance. Irulan kept herself still and watched ahead. The figures started to appear on top of the staircase.

“I know. I remember it,” Paul said as her pulse started to quicken as she also picked up the familiar uniforms, white and golden, on the staircase. “You wore it to seduce me.”

Irulan swallowed down her hitched breath after his calm remark, sounding simple and informative as her pulse fluttered worse.

Then, in the middle of the lineup of the soldiers in white and golden, Irulan saw him after years, the golden Lion, the secret daydreams of her youthful fantasies. Even from afar, even after years, he still looked handsome.

Her heart drummed harder inside her ribcage as Sir Lance started to step down and walk down from the platform, and Paul completely twisted aside and gave her an intense, keen look. Irulan still stared ahead, refusing to look back.

But Paul wasn’t someone to easily be ignored. “Like I said, Princess-wife,” the switch from the more cordial lady-wife didn’t go unnoticed by her, but Irulan stayed still as Sir Lance approached them. “Interesting choice of attire.”

Paul turned away from her as Sir Lance stood in front of them, so carefully arranged in the middle of them that it was impossible to tell to whom he was truly bending the knee as he dropped to one knee and bowed his golden head.

“Your royal Highness—” he greeted, his head still bowed, the gender neutral, unrevealing to whom he had addressed. Irulan’s glance fell on his finger, to the gold and emerald ring, and Paul’s eyes followed as Sir Lance continued:

“Your loyal and humble servant has come to serve.” A pause, and his eyes raised and found hers, and Irulan took a silent, sharp breath, understanding what he was going to do next, clarifying to whom he was speaking, to whom he was bending the knee.

 “Like it’s always been, like it always will be. In life and death.” 

Chapter Text

One thing had become certain for him as Paul staunchly gazed at the kneeling man in front of them: The men around his wife certainly liked to live dangerously. It would take a great amount of boldness—or stupidity to dare to do what the blond man had just done.

His glance cut over to Irulan who was staring at her former sworn guard in her stunned amazement under her veils and golden-emerald chains, and Paul wondered what she would think of this behavior now. Boldness or stupidity. She had been quick to judge Atreides' blood for their affinity to act without deep reflection or caution.

This conduct could not be considered as prudent or…wise by any standard. But then again, judging by the interesting choice of attire that his wife had chosen to present herself for the event, Paul could not say either that Irulan had been behaving in her…customary standards.

Irulan Corrino had always been puritan in her highly moral standards that had been imprinted in her since birth by the forms, just as how Paul had been raised, too. It was also one of the reasons Paul even admitted he had never believed she would have given him horns, had never doubted her virtue even when he possibly didn’t deserve her fidelity as the matters stood between them as it were. Her strict and prude upbringing wouldn’t have allowed that.

Saying he had been appalled to see her in this green-golden would have been an understatement. The same dress that she had even worn once to sway his mind, using her feminine wiles and Bene Gesserit ploys. They were quite frequent in the early years of their marriage while her attempts to lure her to their marital bed had been more covert and…concealed before they turned more aggressive, and ultimately direct and open, even confrontational. It had been a while since Paul had seen her like this, and the notion—

His glance flicked toward her once more as the man still stayed on his knee in front of her, openly swearing fealty in public, to serve her as his wife stood in this dress of seduction. His anger bristled inside his edges, more than the first time she had seen her coming from upstairs, sashaying on his marble floors like a siren. Irulan Corrino was a beautiful woman. Paul had never denied that. Only a fool denied it, but presenting herself like this in public—especially when she carried his daughter—to greet another man was unacceptable.

Then this—bold or stupid man—just bent the knee to her in front of him!

There was a part of him that wanted to strike down—just draw his crysknife under his uniform jacket and strike down the man for this insolence, for this gaucherie. For this gross action. This certainly carried its message.

It was in his right to strike down the man, take his blood, and a raw, feral urge demanded it, tingling his fingers to act, but Paul composed himself and spoke:

“You serve my wife, you serve me, Knight.” His voice was low but firm, as cool as ice, biting and cold. “Princess Consort speaks in my name. Do not forget it if you treasure your head.”

Irulan let out another sharp breath, her pulse beating faster with his open threat. The blonde man didn’t even stir, didn’t move an inch. It might have sounded strange to tell another Corrino that she spoke in his name, landing her more…power, to speak in his name, but Paul felt no disturbance. She had called this Sardaukar by his directive, in his name.

You give her an inch, she will take a mile. Give in to one of her ambitions and you could advance another of them. His mother’s warning swirled in his mind once with his own earlier qualms, and his hand touched his pocket where the bracelet he had been about to gift her was still inside. Paul had been about to give her their family heirloom, but had walked out, her excitement riling up something inside. Now, Paul had understood the reason.

The dress, the greeting, even the past-vision he had seen on Wallach IX. The way this bold man had been watching her. He had assumed it was a one-sided, platonic romance of a man who had dedicated himself to his cause—to protect his protégé, and Irulan was a beautiful woman. An unprecedented beauty that had been constructed for a single purpose of the Bene Gesserit designs and ambitions.

 Any man would fall in love with her without needing much encouragement. And they must have been close, close to make her admit that she trusted him. Paul knew what that would mean for a royal Princess who had grown up knowing one day she was going to sit on the throne. His jaw moved with the thought, glancing at her again before his eyes moved back to the man.

Golden silky hair, athletic, strong body, muscled and sturdy in his uniform, reliable, and a handsome face. He seemed edgier and older than the man in his vision, but even the Salusa Secundus’s rough, cruel realities hadn’t taken away from his appeal. Paul moved his jaw, the simple observation annoying him.

“Arise now,” he clipped the order, and the knight obeyed quickly. Paul nailed his stern gaze on him, letting his Fremen devil-blue eyes speak when his tongue stayed silent for further threats.

The heir to the Golden Lion Throne must have been a fantasy for a sworn guard, but the Princess Consort of his Empire was even beyond a fantasy. Even in his dreams, the man wasn’t allowed to humor himself with his fancies.

The possessive jealousy gnawed at him, and Paul didn’t even try to stop himself anymore. She was his wife, carrying his child. She was his—as much as Chani was. Even though Paul still wasn’t allowed to touch her. It was a strange prediction, but Paul had to make his peace with it now. She was the only wife he would ever have.

His hand touched her back as he pivoted her to turn around, putting his hand gingerly on her back on the sheer dress, that same possessive urge wanting to get rid of it, just because she had worn it for another man. A very handsome man. After Duncan, he was the most handsome man Paul had ever seen. Perhaps he was even more attractive than Duncan or the ghola, if one was attracted to blonde hair and a fair complexion. Which was something that his wife was also…favored, taking pride and delight in her own prominent Corrino looks and features.

This man would appeal more to her…aesthetics, Paul ruminated, his jaw setting more with the thought, glancing at the way her body moved in the alluring dress as they started to move back to the Keep. More than a wed woman who carried a child, she looked like a seductress.

With the thought, Paul also wondered if this might also be a new way to take revenge on him, being spiteful once more, showing up like this knowingly to greet a man who had been in love with her. Her revenge for calling her a burden. To show her what kind of a burden Paul was bearing. Irulan was nothing but…resourceful.

It was an odd feeling, too, but there was a part of him that preferred it, preferred her doing this out of spite for him, to rile him up instead of the alternative.

That she was trying to…impress her former sworn guard, or try to entice him with her feminine wiles, reminding the man of herself for his loyalty, the Bene Gesserit tricks and tactics in the simplest forms. The fact that Paul had never seen her using the Bene Gesserit tactics on any other man beyond himself didn’t mean she didn’t have them. Irulan –as a royal Princess—might not have been trained in them like the other Sisters were trained, in the same way she wasn’t trained in marital arts, but she didn’t lack them altogether. Paul had also been the first one who had witnessed those tactics when she was trying to get him to consummate their marriage.

If now she was using the same approach with her former guard to keep him in line and devoted to her, which looked like it had also worked, the moment the man had seen her in her dress, he had bent the knee to her in front of him, even overriding his self-preservation instinct.

His mood grew foul further as they climbed the entrance, the enthralled commander following them inside with the rest of the protocol. The rest of the legion stayed outside with Gurney, who was going to settle them in their barracks.

Paul glanced at her again as she silently climbed the staircase beside her, the deep slit of the sheer flowing dress showing a generous glimpse of her long, slender leg as she did so, and his anger flared inside him so great that Paul almost grabbed her and demanded answers; demanding to explain what the fuck she thought she was doing—showing up like a concubine to enthrall men!

It didn’t sound like Irulan Corrino he had always known, but it was a comfort with thorns. In her exile, Irulan had changed so much that Paul didn’t find it out of reach. He hated to think of it, but the feeling was there, alerting something in his awareness, causing a… apprehension Paul didn’t know what to do with. Could she really do this? Could she change that much?

As soon as the wonder slipped into his conscious thoughts, Paul also remembered her genuine excitement when he had informed her of the Sardaukar in orbit, the earnest joy that she seldom displayed for anything. Aside from the things she deeply cared about.

No, her joy was as real as her happiness when Paul had seen her in his bed last night after learning she was carrying his daughter, as earnest as she pleaded him to let her save Caladan. It wasn’t a plot to entice the man to bind his loyalty; she truly wanted to look like this to greet him.

And it made Paul want to kick the man off the planet, and ask Sir Deckard to take command of the legion, and never let him be in her presence again.

In a way, it was even worse than Professor. It was even odder, but Paul was sure Irulan would never show up in front of her former lover looking like this. It was solely for this man. To genuinely impress him with her beauty and allure.

House Atreides’s ancient stronghold didn’t seem to interest the man, either, as they stepped inside the entrance into the grand hall in impressive Caladan blue marbles, the man looked unfazed, his green eyes fixated ahead as he followed them a step behind. No, the man’s interests were more taken by another…beauty, his wife's enticing figure as she strutted over their tiles. The prance was self-confident and prideful, of a woman who knew of her own beauty, and the others’ interest in him.

I don’t begrudge you any male alliance as long as you are discreet . . . and childless. Paul had thought they had already put this past behind them, especially now that his seeds had wetted her womb. He had let it rain, as she had put it back in Arrakis. Even if her desire was to be admired by male attention now, by lewd, primitive male gaze, Paul begrudged her that, as well.

It was out of the question. If she didn’t understand yet, Paul was going to make sure she did. Her former sworn guard’s gaze was not lewd or low; he did not cross that line, at least; his boldness had not made him lose his common sense and his self-preservation instinct that much, but it was still unacceptable.

Clenching his jaw silently, swallowing down the strong urge to order her to change her attire—in fact, even forbade her to wear such a dress again. Paul led them to the study room to talk. It was the best they had gotten over this as quickly as possible, so that they would leave for Arrakis. Being on Caladan had loosened them, especially Princess Consort, apparently, but it could not slacken their efforts.

Paul briefly remembered the way she had been on Wallach IX, her horror but also her vulnerability, the way she had trusted him, the way she had let him protect her. That woman was gone now, and there was a part of him that had missed it, the woman who had confessed she couldn’t go under the procedure awake, telling him openly to stop the Reverend Mothers. Irulan had never let herself be that vulnerable with him before, even when she had fallen asleep in his bed beside him naked, sleeping soundly in her tiredness.

The moment flashed in his mind, the way she had looked, and then Paul thought of their kiss—and what he had fantasized before he quickly shut down those thoughts. Those fantasies—he begrudged himself those fantasies now, too. It was one one-time happenstance, would never occur again. His gaze slid over the way she moved—glided in the dress—the familiar desire reawakening in him—

Suddenly, she twisted aside as if she had sensed it and glanced at him, and their eyes lingered on each other for a second before she averted his. A second later, realizing where Paul was leading them, she halted in her steps and turned to him.

“My lord, Sir Lance must be tired,” she announced, making his eyebrow almost cocked in surprise. “Let us show him His Grace’s hospitality before he shoulders his hard task.”

His amazement at her boldness won, and Paul raised his eyebrow. His hospitality?

He should have considered himself lucky that Paul hadn’t shown him his hostility after what he did at the ceremony.

The man, this time understanding his foul mood, which Irulan was still ignoring, staring at him in expectation, rejected, “Your Grace, I humbly thank you for your consideration and kindness. But there is no need. We’re ready to serve to—” He paused, his eyes flicking at Paul, and added, “His Majesty.”

Paul almost scoffed lowly, Irulan jerked her head in slight motion, her chains tingling in the air softly, and her perfume drifting over to them closer with the movement. Her face was open now after they had come back inside, also bearing her deep cleavage openly. Paul pressed his lips with the seductive gesture she demonstrated as she let out a small, coquettish laugh, which made Paul grimace harder with the sound.

“Nonsense—” she rebuffed and glanced at Paul.  “His Majesty certainly would allow two old friends to catch up after years of separation.” Paul stood there, watching his wife tease another man, feeling like he was living through a bizarre spice-trance. It felt real, as real as his visions, but it was so different than the woman Paul had always seen that it was hard to place this coquettish woman in his perception.

“And there are my new friends who wish to meet my oldest friend.” Her gaze returned to the sworn guard, but lost the airy, coquettish quality as it became serious and intense. “I have friends everywhere.”

They both paused as if it were a secret that only they could understand. An understanding that had been born out of a common past and struggles, of the kind Paul shared many with Chani, and now seeing his wife sharing the same experience with another man disturbed him in a way worse than seeing her preparing herself for him.

“And I want them to meet the man who saved my life more than I can count,” she remarked, her gaze cutting over his right hand again, toward the emerald-golden ring on his forefinger. It wasn’t the first time she had done it, and Paul caught it again.

He wondered about the story behind it, as obviously there seemed to be one. The man quickly dipped his head in reverence after her heavy but honoring remark, murmuring with a clear voice, “I serve the Princess, in life and death.”

The way he called her Princess wound at his edges, as if it was something that only they would understand as a vision suddenly flashed across his mind-eye—a past-vision.

He was in the bed, so pale and so sick, his face bearing the look of someone who had gone to the realm of death and come back. Irulan—so younger than now—yet still so beautiful was sitting at the edge of his bed, her head crestfallen, her golden hair hiding her face. But when she lifted her head, Paul saw there were tears inside her green eyes, unshed tears making her gaze moist and misted.

“I don’t know how to thank you—” she slowly spoke, her voice deep and rough with emotions once more, “For everything you’ve done.”

His mouth moved, and he answered in a voice barely audible as Irulan moved closer to him so that she could hear. “Y-you will make it worth,” he whispered. “You’ll bring back honor to us. The glory of the old days. You have the old Corrino blood.”

A fear fell from her eye as she whispered back. “Will you stay with me?”

“Always,” he whispered as his eyes moved upward, awareness losing him. “I serve the Princess, in life and death.”

After he lost consciousness, Irulan took a golden-emerald ring from under her sleeve and slipped it on his forefinger.

Another vision flashed in his mind—a more familiar one—years ago, but after the desert war, just after their marriage.

They were in the dungeons of the old Governor’s Palace in Arrakeen, and she was looking like a ghost in the darkness, a cloaked, lifeless figure. Paul realized it was the following weeks of their marriage when she saw her face, the grave, forlorn expression on her features. She wasn’t crying as she gazed at the man who was in one of the cells. She was calm and serene, as stern as steel.

“Paul has agreed to send a police force with my father to Salusa Secundus, a legion,” she announced as Paul remembered those days. The way she had made sure to save as much as she could from their men. Now, Paul also saw the reason for it, another man she had wanted to save. “You’ll go with them.”

He shook his head, his expression as grave as hers in his dirty and bloodied clothes and skin, not shining golden anymore. “No. I will not leave you!”

“You can’t stay here!” she cried out. “He will execute all of you!”

He dipped his head in acceptance. “I serve the Princess, in life and death.”

She grabbed the bars, getting closer. “I order you! Do you hear me! I order you! You will not stay!” He lifted his head and stared at her. Tears shone in the darkness in her emerald eyes. “You can’t stay with me this time, Lance,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You can’t protect me anymore. You’ll go there and you’ll survive. Like you always do. And, I’ll survive here, like you always tell me to do.” She paused. “Then maybe, perhaps—one day…we will meet again.”

His face became resolute as he nodded back, standing up and walking to the bars to meet her. “We will. If not in this worldly plane, then under the summer sky of Elysium, Princess.”

She smiled through tears, and repeated, her voice softened so much with affection that Paul felt his chest crumble as her fingers clutched over his hand through the band, the hand that still bore her ring on the forefinger. “If not in this worldly plane,” she murmured back, “then under the summer sky of Elysium.”

“Be safe, Princess,” he murmured as their heads softly touched each other like estranged lovers, as Paul felt the tightness in his chest worse than before.

After a last gaze they shared, Irulan stepped back and returned around to walk away, but he called out to her. “Princess—” She stopped and turned to him. “Never forget. We’re House Corrino. We have friends everywhere.” He paused, his intense, staunch gaze fixating on hers. “You have friends everywhere.”

Chapter Text

Saying that Sir Lance’s arrival had gone tense would have been an understatement. Saying that Irulan had been shocked by what her former sworn guard had done in front of Paul would have been even a bigger understatement.

When he had bent the knee and openly declared to whom he was addressing, Irulan had breathed real fear, scared of the consequences of his unwise boldness, but strangely, Paul had not reacted. Irulan reasoned he had not wanted to make a scene, which would have eventually led to execute Sir Lance directly after he called her father’s legion from Salusa Secundus. It would have created a political scandal, would have caused strife once more among the Great House after Muad’Dib’s Peace. Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to break their fragile…truce since their arrival from Wallach IX last night.

Irulan didn’t know for sure, but she was at least glad that they had gotten over the meeting without his crysknife getting drawn and blood was shed. There was still a part of her that couldn’t believe what Lance had done. He had never been before like this. He had always been dutiful and obedient, and even though she had liked him to bend the knee to her, she still felt the need to warn him to be more cautious, at least wiser, before they parted ways. Though the way he had knelt in front of her had brought her memories, the ruminations that she had not allowed herself to think about anymore—a life in which they hadn’t lost the desert—or a which her father hadn’t done what he had done.

She pushed the thought away and pondered if she could find an opportunity to stay alone with him now before Sir Lance left the Keep. Paul’s expression—although he had not acted out—clearly stated what he thought of the audience, not even bothering to hide his displeasure, like his thread. Princess Consort speaks in my name. Never forget that if you treasure your head.

The fact that he had also inadvertently admitted that Irulan’s words had weight, that she spoke in his name, gave her conflicted feelings. He had always kept her at his one side at the audiences and ceremonies, keeping up the appearance, but Irulan had never heard him saying that before—that she spoke in his name. That was Chani, not Irulan. His beloved, his true wife spoke in his name, not Princess Consort.

The way he’d reacted to her dress also came back to her, his gaze as he had told her that her choice was interesting. You wore it to seduce me. That had made Irulan wish she hadn’t worn it, especially after what Sir Lance did. If she had truly believed Paul would have remembered the dress, she wouldn’t have put it on.

He hadn’t even blinked—hadn’t even spared a glance at her when she had worn it and strutted in the banquet all night. Had never made a comment, had never gazed at her!

Nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire.

Pardon her if she had taken his act of indifference, ignoring her so profoundly that she had thought he wouldn’t have remembered it. But he did, he had remembered it, which meant he had noticed—and Irulan stopped that line of thought, not knowing what it meant, or what it made her feel. She would have felt pride knowing that her pitiful seduction attempt had worked in a way, had made him notice her at least even though he had never allowed it to be shown. She remembered his confession that he had kept himself distant and away from her knowingly for his promise, and now, as she carried his child, it was all more confusing. There was a part of her that truly wished she hadn’t worn the dress, but what was done was done. The story of their life.

But the tension in the air as they walked in the Caladan Keep's cool interiors had been so thick and heavy that Irulan wanted to break it off, earn themselves a moment of coolness as she composed herself back together before they moved on to the darker, more intense matters. She was going to recount what had happened, what was Tupile, what she had witnessed in detail, the serial killers, the dead children’s bodies they had found in the garbage heaps, the harvest organs for the black market, the Guild’s machinations with the cartels—everything—and she needed some cool air before she spoke of those matters after the intensity of their meeting.

Besides, Irulan really wished her oldest friends to meet her new friends. Before he learned what was happening in Caladan, she wanted him to see the Gang of the Pit.

The desire was in her strong. Tim hadn’t joined their protocol this time, but had opted to stay with Rogue and Amy after their arrival from the hospital. Leo had returned with them, had been discharged from the Red Cross’s care. It was important for her, and she wanted Sir Lance to meet them. The friends who had changed her life—who she had been after years.

She wanted Sir Lance to know Ru and learned everything about her. Perhaps, she might even tell him how she had truly met with Amy, confessed her secret. If there was one person who could understand her, it was Sir Lance, like always. It was hard to explain their connection and the silent trust they had. Irulan hadn’t seen him for years; she had spent years perhaps not thinking of him for a second, but in time of need, she knew he would’ve been there, like always. Just beyond her door. Waiting for her call. She would ask for him, and he would always answer. In the depths of her heart, Irulan had always known it. Because she was Irulan Corrino, and she—

You have friends everywhere.

His last counsel before they parted ways after her marriage, and he was sent to Salusa Secundus had stayed with her, ingrained into her bones as Irulan kept telling herself the same thing year after year, month after month, whenever she had started to doubt herself—doubt what she could hinder her cruel fate. Even after failure after failure, rejection after rejection, punishment after punishment for her failures, Irulan still repeated the same words to herself, finding new ways to ingrain herself into his court and council, finding new ways to give Chani contraceptives without anyone realizing or connecting her to her infertility.

It wasn’t an easy job. Even if Paul had reasons to keep her in his council for the sake of keeping up appearances, allowing her in the court, opening up the way for her to imbue herself more into the court life, the contraceptives had been always her own success, if one could look at her cruel conspiracy like that. Irulan didn’t take pride in what she had caused another woman for years, even if it was Chani; there was no pride in preventing a woman from having the highest aspiration of humankind—it wasn’t a prideful accomplishment, but it was an accomplishment nevertheless.

She had managed to drug the Emperor’s beloved concubine with contraceptives for years under everyone’s nose, even under Muad’Dib’s all-seeing eye. Because she was Irulan Corrino, and she had friends everywhere. She had managed to uncover one of the greatest conspiracies in the known universe, had managed to uncover Tupile, because she had friends everywhere.

Irulan hoped it would be enough to save them, to help them find again that vital thing they had lost.

They entered the drawing room in their personal wings, and Irulan asked for her friends to attend from Stilgar. “Naib, please call my friends. Leo also must have returned,” she added. “Also ask for him. I wish to see him. And—” she paused for a second, passing the words again in her mind.

She has friends everywhere. Friends who would give them a wider perspective, to enable them to look further for the thing they had lost. “Go and retrieve Madame Marry from the inner city.”

After her declaration, the only person in the room who knew of whom she was speaking gave her a look, his blank face displaying his surprise this time. Irulan didn’t back down. Even while the Emperor watched her. She tilted her chin up and ordered, “Tell her Princess Consort wishes to see her.”

Despite the order and the fact that Paul had just declared that she spoke in his name, the Fremen Naib glanced at Paul, who was still watching her studiously. She held his book. A moment of unspoken communication passed between them, although Irulan could not say what they had conserved truly in silence, but when Paul had tipped his head at Stilgar slightly, giving his permission, Irulan wasn’t surprised.

For the first time in their marriage, they had silently communicated in the ways the bound couples did—like Tim and Rogue did, like he and Chani did. And it was strange that Irulan felt her heart start to beat faster as his gaze still stayed on her. Irulan broke eye contact, averting hers from the intensity of his gaze, and walked to the armchair next to the open windows to cool off. She gazed at the flourishing garden outside as Paul went to the service bar in the room. Lady Jessica settled herself on the seat in front of her, watching her hawkish as Sir Lance stood in the middle of the room, face squared and shoulders tensed.

Paul walked back to him with a glass of Kaitan wine in his hand, and instead of sipping from it, he extended it to Sir Lance when he stopped in front of him. Irulan stared at him shocked, likewise Sir Lance. If Paul had drawn his crysknife and struck him, he would have been less stunned.

“A celebration drink,” Paul remarked, still holding the drink. With hesitance, Sir Lance took it. “Fate has bestowed you with a grand honor as the Princess Consort’s oldest friend,” he said, and there was that curt, acerbic irony in his words now, although his lips stayed flat and thin. “You’re the first one who will hear her news. She’s just learned it last night.”

Irulan inhaled silently, understanding now what he was doing— “Princess Consort is with child,” Paul announced, fixating his eyes on Sir Lance’s, and they had a silent communication, too, which Irulan also clearly understood. “She’s carrying my child.”

The possessive pronoun was spoken of the same possessiveness, underlying his message poignantly and clearly, asserting a claim that he had never bothered to assert before. My child.

The implications of the announcement wouldn’t have been any clearer, and Irulan was as stunned as Sir Lance, who was standing in the middle of the room with the drink in his hand now as Paul kept staring at him with those intense devil-blue eyes. Lady Jessica wasn’t different than her son in that matter, her own devil-blue eyes in her open face staring at Irulan, observing her.

The silence grew more intense as just the doors cracked and Amy sprinted into the room, wailing and shaking her coloring book in the air as she ran to Paul.

“PAULLLL!!” her shrilling voice boomed in the air as she threw herself at Paul’s legs, and Irulan closed her eyes, dipping her head, feeling like she had fallen into a strange, bizarre plane of existence. “Look at what I did!”

It became even more bedazzling as Paul bent down and picked up the energetic six-year-old who didn’t have any inkling of decorum or station, as Sir Lance stared more bewildered at the scene and the child who had just called the Emperor of the Known Universe by name.

“I colored all of them!” Amy announced gleefully, shaking her coloring book, revealing the truth that Irulan had already sensed—that Paul had given it to her. “When will you take me to see the Spitfire?”

Paul chuckled lowly as Amy even wrapped her legs around his lower waist as she leisurely rested herself in his embrace in the way she did with Irulan, not even blinking an eye for the scene she had caused.

“I told you, Amy,” Paul remarked with the same aloof indifference, “You should have Ru’s permission first.”

Sir Lance looked even more bewildered, understanding Ru was supposed to be her, and Paul hadn’t even blinked, either, when he used the nickname. Irulan quickly got up from her seat as Tim and Rogue stepped inside too, helping their friend Leo, who was walking with a crutch under his arm. She tried to take Amy from Paul, but he twisted aside, jerking his head a little.

“No, you should not carry weight,” he remarked simply, as Irulan almost blushed, but—she was pregnant a day! She would have pointed it out, but she didn’t, because she was feeling so odd as Sir Lance continued to watch them, she just bobbed her head, averting her eyes.

“Sir Lance—” Paul turned to her former sworn guard once more, Amy still in his arms. “Meet Lady Amy—” The small girl giggled lowly by the honorific and hid her head in the crook of his shoulder, looking at Sir Lance as Paul introduced her. “She’s Princess Consort’s protégé.”

He twisted toward the teenagers, who were lined up in the spacious room beside them now. “And these are Tim, Rogue, and Leo. They’re the friends Princess Consort mentioned.” His eyes glanced at her. “Her latest friends.” The teenagers stared with the same air of bizarreness, reading the room. Irulan noticed he hadn’t mentioned that Tim was also his cousin.

The silence between them stretched, and it was Amy who had broken it first. “Are you the sworn guard?” she asked from Paul’s shoulder, staring at Sir Lance.

“Yes, my lady,” he replied, sounding as baffled as he looked.

“Ru said you took an oath to protect her,” she asked. “Is it true?”

“Yes, my lady,” came the answer again, “I did.”

Amy looked up at Paul. “Did you take an oath, too, Paul?”

He looked down at the girl in his arms, but before he answered, his eyes flitted up at her. “I’m her husband, Amy. She’s mine to protect by duty and by oath, yes.” Irulan held his glance, the way he had declared her his—his to protect before even adding, “Yes, I did take an oath when I wedded her.”

Her lips flattened, remembering all his oaths, yes. Yes, he had taken many oaths when he wedded her.

Her hackles risen, she reached out to Amy. He had even gone behind her back and managed to sway her little Princess’s mind with his gifts, playing his games once more. “Come away, sweetheart. Leave His Majesty at peace.”

Still refusing to give it to her, Paul dropped the girl to the floor, and Irulan held her hand and walked her to the armchair she had left. She dropped Amy on the furniture but stayed herself upright before turning to the teenage boy who had just been discharged.

 “How are you, Leo?” she asked.

The boy looked ashamed, his cheeks reddened, not knowing how to take Ru as Princess Consort, certainly. “I-I am well—” he mumbled. “Your Grace. All because of you.”

“Princess Consort saved his life when he got injured in an attack by the Reapers,” Paul disclosed as Sir Lance truly looked stunned, speechless.

Irulan had not mentioned anything about the situation on Caladan when she had asked for him, just telling him she needed her most loyal and dearest friend’s help. The name-dropping of the cartel’s name had truly astonished him.

“The Reapers?” he managed to utter at last.

Paul looked at her with a sideways look. “How much did you actually tell him about the situation?”

“Uh, I thought it was best he saw it with his own eyes,” Irulan replied evenly. She hadn’t even known where to start.

Sir Lance collected himself after this little exchange. “I knew the situation was dire and critical, my lord.” He paused, glancing at Paul for a split second as he stood at attention in front of him. “Enough to make His Majesty allow our presence on his home planet.”

Paul glared at him, letting out a derisive, low sound. “You’re at least perceptive for a Sardaukar.”

Sir Lance’s lips flattened with the insult, making the word Sardaukar sound like he was speaking of an animal. Irulan barely contained herself from pointing out that his fanatic Fremen legions were seen as animalistic as her father’s Sardaukar army, hated with the same ferocity, but stayed silent.

Paul returned to Tim, “You may take your leave with your friends, Tim,” he said to his cousin, still holding back from calling him with his cousin like he usually did, Irulan noted again. “We will call you later for the evening’s feast.”

“Yes, my lord,” Tim quickly followed the order, dipping his head, taking the dismissal as an opportunity to be excused with great pleasure. Irulan didn’t fault him. Staying in Paul’s presence was always…exhausting. But her attention had turned to him with his announcement while they left the drawing room.

She looked at him, trying to ease her frown. “Feast?”

“The celebration of our daughter,” Paul replied simply, turning away and walking to the seat Amy had left and sitting in front of his mother. “Mother, please arrange a festivity in the name of Princess Consort and arrange boons all over my subjects in Caladan,” he ordered with the same simplicity, staring at Lady Jessica. “Let the gracious news be known all across the universe. That Princess Consort blessed me with a daughter.”

Her mind raced, wondering if he had allowed the news of Chani’s pregnancy to be heard—that she was also carrying him a daughter, but she couldn’t ask.

The way he had announced the celebration away from Arrakis—in the heart of his Empire—in the grandest building throughout the humankind history made her pause a second later, wondering if this was the way of him making sure he didn’t need to make this celebration at the Muad’Dib’s Keep, just putting it out of his way now in Caladan.

Her lips flattened in a grimace, perceiving that might be very well the reason not to cause his beloved more heartbreak with the news of her pregnancy, getting rid of the necessities as far as possible from the woman.

She told herself it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter where he wanted to celebrate her pregnancy. She even preferred it to be in Caladan rather than being in a place that had never felt home for her, yet her lips still clenched with his ulterior motive.

Lady Jessica wasn’t pleased with the subtle dismissal, either, but she serenely stood up from her seat, bowing her head. “Yes, my lord. I’ll see to it.”

Paul cocked her head at him as she also left the room, leaving them alone, pointing to the seat in front of him. “Princess-wife.” No other words were spoken, but the order or request was simple and certain. Irulan walked toward the seat.

Behind the seats, the patio and the gardens, the impressive view of Caladan’s sky and seas was painting background, creating a breathtaking vista. The matching high seats felt like thrones when Irulan settled in, leaving Sir Lance the only one who stood in the room upright, facing them.

It was a formal audience now, and it was the first time they had ever done something like this, had an audience together without anyone in attendance. No Stilgar, no Alia, no Qizarate, no…Chani. Her stomach coiled in a way that made her urge to touch it, touching the life she was constantly feeling inside her.

For a moment, it truly felt like they were married—truly married, Emperor and Empress. Irulan quickly shoved away the thought from herself, did not let herself fall into the trap. It was just an appearance. Setting a scene. Like everything else Paul did. She was just there to play the part that he wished her to play. It wasn’t real.

It had never been real.

Her face became a mask of indifference and aloofness as Paul spoke, summarizing the situation, explaining Irulan’s friendships with the kids, which led her to the discovery of Tupile. Again, he didn’t mention Tim’s true heritage, and finished:

“You will root out every agitator or cartel man in my home planet, Sardaukar, and you will bring them to my Justice.”

Sir Lance bowed his head quickly. “Yes, my lord.”

Paul fixated his eyes on him as Irulan still stayed silent. “It’s Princess Consort’s wish as much as it’s mine, Sardaukar.”

“Yes, my lord,” came the repeated answer with a glance at her. “I’ll serve you and the Princess.”

“Princess Consort or Princess-wife,” Paul added coldly. “Do not miss her full honorific again. I do not allow such liberties in my court. Even for her old friends.”

 A tension twitched Sir Lance’s lips, but he quickly corrected, “Yes, my lord. I’ll serve you and Princess Consort.”

It was also a lie for his allowances—there were street kids who constantly called her Ru, and a small girl who didn’t have any inkling what the imperial decorum was—and it made his warning more poignant. He did not allow such liberties for specifically him.

Irulan might even call it jealousy had she known better. He wasn’t jealous of her. Not truly. It was his honor and dignity, trying to save it as Irulan was still his wife, now carrying his child. It was the same reason for not granting her any lover anymore. Nothing more.

“May I ask what will happen to Tupile, my lord?” Sir Lance asked after the small pause between them, but Paul was as dismissive as ever, curt.

“You do not concern yourself with Tupile,” he clipped. “My legions are already liberating the planet. Your task is on Caladan.”

“Yes, my lord.”

His intense blue-devil eyes touched on the wine cup that Sir Lance hadn’t taken a sip from yet. “You haven’t touched your wine, Sardaukar,” he commented, his curt tone openly displaying how he viewed the act. “Do you not celebrate my news?”

If the looks would kill, Paul would have been a dead man, but silently, his defiant gaze on Paul, her former sworn guard raised the wine cup and took a small sip before murmuring, “May the Grace be with her.”

It was the oldest blessing of House Corrino. Grace for the daughters, Glory for the sons. Of the old days. The grace and the glory of the old days. At that moment, Irulan knew how she was going to name her daughter.

Grace.

She was her Grace.

A genuine smile twitched her lips as she looked at Sir Lance, her hand touching her stomach, feeling the life inside her. Paul caught her smile, and his lips flattened in his grimace.

At the moment, Irulan didn’t care. She had found a name for her daughter, and she didn’t even care what Paul would have thought about it. Grace. It was such a pretty name.

“May the Grace be with her,” she repeated the phrase in a murmur. Then, surprising her, Paul also spoke, his voice clear, not a murmur like theirs: “May the Grace be with her, and the sky and sea guard her.”

The sky and sea of Caladan, the oldest blessing of House Atreides for their daughters. Her eyes cut over to him as he stood still in his high seat, looking like an Emperor. There was a tense silence between them once more, as if it was also pregnant with something she couldn’t fathom. Irulan wondered if Paul could see it—sense it.

The knock on the door interrupted the heavy moment, slicing it off like a crysknife sliced the skin. The doors cracked up and Paul’s guards allowed the entrance of Stilgar, followed by Madame Mary who truly looked astonished.

When the older man stepped inside, she could only stare at Irulan with her mouth open, her expression clearly stating that she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The news might have already reached her after the attack—it was all on the streets, Irulan was sure, but meeting with the rough Bene Gesserit whom she had hired her services as the Princess Consort might have even broken the woman’s sturdy firmness and calmness.

“So it was true…” she mumbled as she stared at Irulan. Irulan wanted to smile bigger, but containing her composure as the Princess Consort in front of her audience, she got up from her seat.

“Madame Mary,” she spoke with all finesse of the impeccable decorum. “I thank you for accepting my request and honoring us with your presence.”

“My lady—” the woman stuttered and then quickly made a deep reverence, “Your Highness. It’s my honor.”

She approached her and Sir Lance as Paul silently watched her. The Madame, also seeing him and understanding who he was truly, quickly bowed into another deep reverence. Deeper than she had given to Irulan, her head almost touching the floor. Irulan even noticed the slight tremor in her hand, truly realizing she was in front of the Emperor of the Known Universe.

“H-his Majesty.”

Paul tipped his head at her, and Irulan let out a silent breath with the show of respect. “Madame.”

Stilgar’s lips were terse, apparently not enjoying Madame Mary’s profession, but Irulan had always known the older man as a just person. Despite he had never shown Irulan any warmness or open sympathy, he had never shown her any disrespect, either. To Fremen standards, it was as equal as giving her kisses.

She approached, and Madame’s eyes fell on her dress, a bit taken aback at seeing such a dress on her, a dress more suited to concubines than the Princess Consort of Empire. It also made her more self-conscious of her choice, making her regret it. If she had known she would have gotten this much attention, she wouldn’t have worn it!

In hindsight, she didn’t even decide why she had worn it! She wanted Sir Lance to see her…looking beautiful, wanted to feel…beautiful again, perhaps. Desired, perhaps, appreciated. She didn’t factor in that she would have drawn this much attention!

She felt Paul’s gaze following her again as she walked and stood beside Madame. The intensity of his blue gaze made her even more self-conscious, as strange as it sounded, made her even more…naked than the time she had fallen asleep in his bed beside him without a single piece of cloth.

“May I introduce you to Sir Lance?” she asked, quickly falling into the gracious host role to meet two…business associates. A play she had honed during the years in the Imperial Place, even before she got bound to Paul and his schemes.

“He’s arrived from Salusa Secundus with his legion. His Majesty had been kind enough to allow their presence on Caladan. To root out the cartel men and bring peace in his name,” she added dutifully, still playing the Princess Consort role impeccably as his eyes watched her, but Irulan’s attention was fixated on the woman. “But they might need help.”

Madame Mary had always been quick and smart, and she immediately understood what Irulan was asking from her. Intel and the pulse of the streets, keeping him well informed.

The older woman dipped her head quickly in acceptance. “My House’s resources will be at his service, Princess Consort,” she said. “We’ll attend to his needs.”

To an outside listener, the remark might have sounded promiscuous coming from her, but it was far from it. Irulan nodded, feeling in debt. “Thank you, Madame. I knew I could trust you.”

“I’ve walked on this earth for forty-five years, Your Highness. I know when to stay in the dark and when to step up.”

Irulan nodded again, and then Paul spoke from behind her. “You shall stay for the night, Madame. We’ll have a feast in Princess’s name.” Irulan almost let out a sigh as her eyes momentarily closed. “My wife will be happy with your presence.”

It was uncommon for Paul to address her as his wife in public, but he didn’t even bat an eye as he did it. “We’ll be celebrating our daughter.”

The woman’s eyes grew surprised, and Irulan understood the gossip of the court had not reached the streets yet. Not the first time, Irulan wondered if they had reached Arrakeen—to Chani, couldn’t help herself with it. The path from here to Paul’s Keep in Arrakis might be shorter than the path from here down to the gutter of the city.

Sometimes, the distances were even more relative than time.

“I’d be honored, Your Majesty,” Madame Mary mumbled after her initial shock, and there was another silence in the drawing room.

Paul stopped it. “Stilgar, escort our hosts to their rooms,” he dismissed the audience, but also added, “They may spend the night in Princess Consort’s hospitality.”

“Yes, my lord,” the devout Naib replied in his thick accent, his face still a mask of calmness. The escorts of Fedaykin that would follow them went unsaid, as Paul didn’t need to specify it.

When they were about to step out, Paul stopped Stilgar once more, leaving Sir Lance and Madame outside the doors with Fedaykin details. “Stilgar, see to the announcement of Chani’s pregnancy and order the preparation of the Imperial feast at our return.” Another silence dropped between them, making her heart coil as she whirled at him. “We shall have it at once.”

With widened eyes, she stared at him from in the middle of the room as his Naib also left them alone. “A-are you—are you having an Imperial feast for both of us at the same time?” she sneered, still couldn’t believe what she had heard, but Paul was as impassive as before.

“I told you my children will be equal, Irulan,” he remarked. “We will have the Imperial feast for my daughters together, both you and Chani by my side.”

 “You promised me Chani was going to stay in the Sietch if I accepted to carry your child!” she snapped, reminding him of his promise as he stood up from his seat. “You promised me!’”

“I did,” he accepted calmly. “And, I’ll see to it after the feast. I’m not stepping down from my promise. But the feast will have to be this way. I cannot allow otherwise.”

She clenched her jaw but nodded her acceptance before asking, wanting to hear it from his lips again. “She will not stay at Arrakeen after the feast. Do you promise?”

He let out a small sigh, but nodded back. “I do.” His face softened as he stepped closer to her. “I have no wish to be cruel to you, Irulan. Neither to you nor to Chani.”

She let out a joyless laugh, shaking her head. “You’ve never been cruel to Chani.”

“Haven’t I?” he asked. “I chose the title over love, like you pointed out before. Do you not believe it’s cruel?”

“It’s duty.”

“Haven’t you implied before that my uncle was a better man than I because he chose love over the title?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I have not,” she replied. “I just asked you what Chani would have thought about it. I’ve never said you were a low person because of your decision to wed me. You did what you had to do, like me. Neither of us had much choice in the matter.” She paused and laughed humorlessly, letting out the same sound. “Like you said,” she said. “Your uncle didn’t need to win a war.”

She paused and gave the devil when it was due. “And you did it as less bloodlessly as possible.”

Paul had never admitted it—at least to her, but Irulan had always sensed his hatred to be considered as a usurper. There was a part of her that still believed it was the reason why he insisted on staying bound to her even now after years, still resisting the idea of confiscating the throne by the sheer force of his military power. It was her name that had tied him to the throne, giving him a legitimate reason, but it was his Fremen legion that truly gave him his powers.

Even when their marriage had become a pitiful farce, Paul still had resisted it, still kept her bound to himself, didn’t break down the legal tie between him and the throne. Whenever she didn’t feel resentful of his treatment toward her, Irulan still…admired his desire that still wanted to have that legal bond even though he could’ve easily done without. His constant refusal to turn his Empire into an ultimate tyranny, disregarding everything else beyond power.

 Paul tipped his head outside. “Allow me to have your company outside for a while,” he proposed, sounding uncharacteristically too kind this time, but added, sounding the scope of his request. “It appears the news of our leisure time in the gardens has not yet reached the streets of Caladan.”

She let out another sigh but walked toward the patio. They sat on another stone bench that faced another fountain, sitting in silence. His hand wasn’t touching her knee this time, either. He was just staring ahead at the falling waters. “In Caladan, we say it’s healing… watching the water fall. It heals the soul.”

She nodded. “I also like the sounds of waves. It’s peaceful.”

“It is.” He paused. “Arrakis’s dunes have always reminded me of our seas,” he spoke lowly. “I’ve missed it.”

She laughed again. “You really should leave Arrakis more.”

To her surprise, he also laughed silently at her joke. “Aye. I reckon my life has passed in wars that I just wanted to stay in. Have changed so many things. Staying in one place gave me peace.”

She nodded, not knowing exactly how to respond or what he expected to say. She looked at him as his eyes glanced at her, and lingered. “We would’ve been happy,” he suddenly said. “In another life, when this war didn’t happen, you would’ve made me happy, and I you.”

She swallowed, her throat suddenly thick and clogged, knowing it was true. In another life. Yes, they would have been happy. In another life, when there would have been no war, no conspiracies, no betrayal. No Chani, no Dune, no Fremen standing in the middle of their marriage and bonds. In another life, Irulan would have loved him genuinely.

“In another life,” she admitted it. “Yes.”

His expression got solid and stern as he nodded. “But in this life, you’re still the only wife I’d ever have.”

Her shock won her amazement, hearing her own statement from his lips, realizing he had seen her making it. There were no mere coincidences with him. Irulan had never been able to perceive the true extent of his powers, within natural law or even beyond the law of nature, but she had understood that enough. There were no coincidences with Paul Muad’Dib Atreides.

She swallowed, feeling the tightness in her chest and throat again. His eyes—his blue intense gaze was still fixated on hers, watching her nuances, observing her tells. She tried to compose herself, stayed impassive, but it was hard under his gaze. His hand went into his pocket after a certain while that Irulan couldn’t decipher how long and came out, holding a golden sparkling bracelet in his hands.

“Your father didn’t allow me to wed you, didn’t find a son of a concubine enough for his heir, yet you still became my wife,” he said, reaching to her wrist and holding it. “Carrying my child. So this belongs to you now.”

He clipped the bracelet over her wrist, looking down at it now as his fingers still held her wrist gently. Irulan gulped thickly, understanding what the jewelry was when she saw the green-and-blue hawk.

The bracelet of Duchess Atreides. It had not been sighted in public since Paul’s grandmother, Duke Leto’s mother, Duchess Cornelia, had passed away. No, Paul had given it to Irulan because she was the only wife he would ever have, despite everything, and the jewelry belonged to her, to Irulan, not Chani.

Because perhaps she was not a prize, but she was not a burden, either. She looked up at him, her chest so swelled with emotions that his fingertips were still barely touching the back of her wrist, her pulse fluttering under his soft touch. Irulan tried to control her reaction, for an insane moment, terrified that he was actually checking her pulse.

She removed her arm quickly, breaking their contact, her head swirling despite her best efforts to stay calm. His eyes were still on her, watching her—observing her closely.

“This is an apology for calling me a burden?” she quipped with the last thing popped into her mind, trying to get a control of the situation that had suddenly become too intense, and his eyes—she couldn’t even look at those eyes without any white anymore.

He let out a chuckle lowly, putting his hands on his knees as his shoulders hunched a bit. The stance was familiar, neither too relaxed nor too stressed, it was the stance that she saw him carrying with he discussed something with Chani that they couldn’t agree, but either disagree fully.

“No,” he replied, looking down before his eyes found the fountain again, and he stared at the small waterfall. “No,” he repeated before clearing his voice, and his shoulders squared as his face became resolute. He looked at her once more. “It’s a thank-you gift.”

“For what?” she found herself asking, almost breathless.

“For putting up with me for years.”

She let out a long breath and then smiled, genuinely smiled with a low laugh. “You would’ve needed the whole treasure under the Arrakeen Palace for that, my lord.”

He laughed back, no bitterness in the sound, and he sounded genuine when he admitted, “That’s correct.” He stood up, shaking his head. “I-I wish I could’ve made you happier in this life, too, Irulan.”

He looked down at her again as Irulan looked up at him at a loss, unable to register his confession. Another moment that felt like eons passed before he started to head back to the drawing room without another word.

Her emotions flooded her, washing her over as she suddenly pushed up to her feet and called behind his back. “Paul!” she cried out.

He stopped and turned aside to look at. Irulan let out a shaking, drawn-out breath and spoke the words that had flooded out of her before the bend of caution and fear rose and stopped them.

“Then let me be your Empress,” she said, sounding almost imploring, and she didn’t care. He said he wished he could have made her happier, regretting how things had turned between them, had given her Atreides bracelet as a thank you.

“Even if I cannot be your true wife, at least let me be your Empress,” she spoke clearer, walking toward him as he still stood on the patio, looking at her. “Let me carry my true title.”

Chapter Text

“I have no wish to be cruel to you, Irulan,” Paul said, assuring his promise to her once more, despite the heartbreak he was going to cause to the woman he loved. He had never wished to be cruel to either of them or hurt them. Neither to her nor Chani.

“Neither to you nor to Chani,” he added, speaking aloud of his truth, although he knew he was despite his intentions. Even if she sensed his sincerity with her Truthsense, his wife still laughed, letting out a humorless sound, bitter.

“You’ve never been cruel to Chani.”

“Haven’t I?” Paul asked after a brief pause, contemplating her refusal and what she had told him about how his uncle had chosen love over the title, pointing out he’d done the opposite. “I chose the title over love, like you pointed out before. Do you not believe it’s cruel?”

His choice that day—taking her as his wife as his legal wife and making Chani his concubine was also a cruelty toward Chani. Despite whatever promises he would have given his beloved, and whatever speech his mother also would have given her to soothe her worries, they all had known it. History would have called his concubine his true wife, but Irulan was still going to be his wife.

The only wife Paul would ever have, just like Irulan had asserted. What people might have called her couldn’t have changed the reality. Perhaps it was just…semantics.

He sensed the bracelet in his pocket as they stood in the now-empty room.

Irulan had also accused him many times of being self-absorbed, had criticized him for perceiving their predicaments from his own point of view, but she was also as self-absorbed, refusing to look past behind her own hardship and suffering, holding her grudge even after years.

Paul didn’t fault her for that; she had a right to be grudgeful and spiteful toward him, but her refusal to acknowledge the cruelty Paul had also shown toward the woman he loved made him challenge her now. You’ve never been cruel to Chani. Because Paul was—even now as he stood with her, he was being cruel to Chani, in a way that Irulan perhaps would never understand.

“It’s duty.”

“Haven’t you implied before that my uncle was a better man than I because he chose love over the title?”

Her eyes narrowed into a slit as she regarded him carefully, observing his nuances because she answered: “I have not. I just asked you what Chani would have thought about it. I’ve never said you were a low person because of your decision to wed me. You did what you had to do, like me. Neither of us had a choice in the matter.”

She paused and let out another humorless sound, the same bitterness dripping from her tone, “Like you said,” she said. “Your uncle didn’t need to win a war.” She paused again before admitting, and it sounded like she forced herself to do it. “And you did as bloodlessly as possible.”

Paul wondered if this was another way for her to tell him Paul was the lesser of two evils, giving the devil his due, although she still didn’t sound like she enjoyed it. She was less taunting and mocking than the last time, so Paul decided to drop it. It was an admission they would work on, and he didn’t want to fight with her.

He wanted to finish what he had started—what he had decided. Before they returned to Arrakis and Paul faced the consequences of his actions, he wanted to get this done, give her the Duchess Atreides bracelet. His future-memory swirled in his mind as his fingers brushed over the golden bracelet, and Paul shoved away the last residue of his qualms and hesitancy. There was still a part of him that wanted to challenge her for her interesting choice of attire, for showing up like this to greet a man who used to be in love with her, but Paul decided it was not the time.

Perhaps he just didn’t want to hear the answer he was going to receive. His wife had been…peculiar since last night. Paul glanced at the alluring form in the seductive gown as a part of him wondered what kind of a fashion statement she was going to do tonight in the feast, how she was going to show up, wondered if she would wear a blue dress after Paul gave her the Atreides heirloom that belonged to the Duchesses of His House.

At that moment, Paul also recognized how Irulan never wore any blue, not even in formal attendance. Her avoidance of brown and sticking up with their white and golden was expected, but until now, Paul had never noticed how she also stayed away from House Atreides colors. 

Perhaps it was also the time to make amends for that, when they had formally announced her pregnancy, the daughter she was carrying for Paul. Announcing that she was going to give him a daughter wasn’t the best strategic move, but it was preemptive. His prescience had urged him, tingling all over his awareness.

It was best that Paul dealt with it before they returned to Arrakis. If the Qizarate believed Irulan might have a son, they might have felt more motivated to try something. The dangers were at the edge of his consciousness, and the easiest protection for her now was to announce that she was going to have a daughter like Chani. In this way, Chani would also prepare herself for the news before their arrival, giving her time before Paul talked to her. He didn’t look forward to having that talk with her, confessing her breaking his promise and the other promise he had made to Irulan. That she could not stay in Arrakeen anymore, but was going to need to move to the Sietch Tabr.

Even though Paul told himself it was what Chani would also prefer, it still didn’t feel right. Chani had never belonged to the city; it had always been a station for her to pass the time beside her man before she returned to her real home—to the desert, so Paul didn’t feel bothered because she wouldn’t like it. It was the prohibition that bothered him, forcing her to stay away by order.

In twelve years, Paul had never done it before, had never thought he could have done it, had never foreseen it. His life had diverged so differently that he was taking the paths he had never seen in his prescience. He tried to stay fair to both women in his life while they carried his children, but he still sensed another conflict—deeper than before—was going to arise after Irulan returned and Chani learned what Paul had agreed. She was not going to like staying in the desert just because Irulan—who Paul had stopped Chani from taking her life literally by force the last time his beloved saw her—had requested it. And Paul had bestowed it on her.

His chest seized again for doing this to her in their last moments together, but he still couldn’t do otherwise. He just couldn't keep going on how he had behaved in the past twelve years, forcing Irulan to endure this anymore while she carried him a daughter. She had even barely accepted the Imperial feast when Paul had mentioned. Glancing outside, Paul wanted to let out a deep, grave sigh, sensing the conflict and tension awaiting them on the horizon. Even without his powers, a man would sense it. Having two wives—

His last thought suddenly stopped the emotional whirlwind in him—what he had just ruminated in deep reflection. Having two wives. Two wives.

Did Paul have two wives now?

He was still trying to make his peace with what had happened between them, accepting her as the only wife he could ever have, but the way he had just phrased Chani and her still caught Paul by surprise. His glance found her again in her alluring dress, recalling his annoyance when he had seen her in it—greeting another man looking like a concubine. Paul had wanted the news to fly to Arrakis to prepare both Qizarate and Chani, but he had also wanted the man to know she carried his child, know that his seed was in her womb. Especially after the past-vision he had witnessed, seeing the emerald-golden ring his wife gifted still on his finger even after years.

Yes, Sir Lance had better learn Princess Consort was carrying his daughter so that he wouldn’t fancy himself with any delusions. Even when he had called her the Princess, Paul wanted to cut in and remind him because he seemed to forget. Princess Consort. She was his Princess Consort. If the man forgot about it, Paul was ready to show him that he did not allow such liberties in his court.

He shoved the former sworn guard away from his thoughts and tipped his head outside the lavish garden behind the stone patio.

“Allow me to have your company outside for a while,” he proposed. “It appears the news of our leisure time in the gardens has not yet reached the streets of Caladan.”

He didn’t want to only create a scene now, he wanted to talk to her, but when they settled on another stone bench that faced another fountain, Paul only stared ahead as the waters slowly fell, creating a soft, peaceful sound in the background like a calm melody that reminded him of shifting dunes at the sunset. Perhaps it shouldn’t be, because in their core, they were still the same thing—transformed from one to another, but it had always surprised him how dunes and seas were similar.

Irulan was silent as well, watching the fountain as Paul stayed in somber silence, his hands placed on his knees, his shoulders relaxed a bit. “In Caladan,” he softly said, “We say it’s healing. Watching the water fall. It heals the soul.”

He remembered his father now—sitting by the fountain with his mother like Paul sat with Irulan now—staying in quiet and enjoying each other's company, and once more, he remembered Chani, promising her he would show her one day the waters of his home. His chest panged with the loss and the break of another promise, and the grief waiting for him.

There has to be a meaning in it even though it’s yet to be revealed to us. Even though he had accepted this was what destiny had chosen for him this time, Paul still felt…lost.

His wife chosen by destiny nodded her head slowly, still watching the waterfall, not looking at him. “I also like the sounds of waves. It’s peaceful.”

“It is,” Paul agreed and paused before adding softly what he had last thought. “Arrakis’s dunes have always reminded me of our seas. I’ve missed it.”

Perhaps he was just trying to make small talk with her now, something they had never done before. They exchanged barbs, threats, bluffs, and ultimatums, and on those rare occasions where they managed to meet on a common ground, they even exchanged counsel and consultation, but they had never exchanged idle talk in companionship.

In a way, it was as strange as conceiving a child together without even touching. 

She laughed softly, and Paul liked the sound of it. Perhaps he had never heard her truly laughing before in his company. “You really should leave Arrakis more.”

His surprise grew even more when he realized she was teasing in good humor and mirth, not a seduction or mockery. A low laugh also escaped from him, his body losing its tension more as his hands linked between his legs.

“Aye. I reckon my life has passed in wars that I just wanted to stay in,” he confessed. “Have changed so many things. Staying in one place gave me peace.”

For years, he had not seen anything but war. The annihilation and destruction he had brought on the universe. The people who had killed, the cultures, societies, and collective memories that he had destroyed or transformed—the universe he had reshaped. Knowing something stayed unchanged gave him…hope. Like Caladan, like Dune.

He swallowed, dipping his head and looking at his linked hands between his legs. “We would’ve been happy,” he let it out, the truth escaping from a prison he had built in his chest. He had never thought he would say it, but he did. In billions of different lives, in billions of different realities, they would have been happy together as husband and wife.

“In another life, when this war didn’t happen, you would’ve made me happy, and I you.”

I could have loved you, her confession found him again before that night at Arrakeen when she had come to find him, drunken and hurt. If you ever showed me even an ounce of affection, if you ever gave me a reason, I would have loved you.

I know, Irulan. That’s why I don’t do it.

“In another life,” she admitted it this time, too. “Yes.”

In another life, Paul wouldn’t have forced her to go under a procedure that she couldn’t bear awake, could only endure it unconscious.

In another life, Paul would have taken her to his bed instead and made love to her, bound their souls and bodies together in the highest aspiration of humankind without killing their self-ruh.

 In another life, she would have only worn this dress for him, not any other man. In another life, she would have never slept with another man because Paul was refusing her.

In another life, Paul would’ve loved her as his beloved and his wife, wouldn’t have felt this conflict and ambivalent feelings, wouldn’t have felt this guilt in his chest as if he betrayed something whenever he did something good for her. Betrayed Chani, his promises, himself.

In another life, things would have been so different, but this was the life they were having, and even Kwisatz Haderach could not remake the past.

“But in this life,” Paul spoke, his expression becoming stiffer and sterner, the bonds of time and space, the realities binding their self-ruhs once more to their destiny. “You’re still the only wife I’d ever have.”

He lifted his head and looked at her, and in the somber silence between them as she held his gaze, a fraction of a second passed like eons in which many of those roads that had not taken flashed in his mind-eye. Paul quenched all of those lost opportunities, fixating himself on his space-time flow in their constant conundrum in the currents.

Conundrum.

No word would have summarized or described better the predicament Paul had always found himself in with this woman. His hand slipped into his pocket, and Paul brought out the bracelet, once more expecting his fate.

“Your father didn’t allow me to wed you, didn’t find a son of a concubine enough for his heir,” he said, trying to sound placid, not angry or accusing, just stating. It was just another road not taken now, in which they could have made each other happy if only her father had managed to look past his own vanity and hubris. “But you still became my wife. Carrying my child.”

Paul reached for her slim wrist and held it between his fingers with the same carefulness of a man who held a small statue made of glass. “So this belongs to you now.” He clipped his family heirloom over the daughter of Corrino.

The blue-green Atreides hawk glinted under the sunlight with gold and diamonds, emeralds and sapphires of his home planet flashing in his eyes. Irulan’s gaze was cast down, staring at it and understanding what Paul had given to her. His head tucked, Paul heard her softly gulping, and his eyes flitted above, and he saw her pulse fluttering as his hand still gently held her wrist. It was so thin it felt like Paul would snap it if he wanted—would break her. But he didn’t. He had never wanted to hurt her.

His fingers gingerly moved and touched her pulse, those fluttering under the pads of his fingers, racing. Her heartbeat echoed in his eardrums as her pulse throbbed under his fingertips, and her soft, shaking breaths reached him, her scent filling his nostrils.

Paul just held her wrist and kept sensing her nuances that Paul had never allowed himself to experience in such proximity, in such an intimate way before she forced him to kiss her. The memory of his kiss swirled in his mind—the feel of her lips, the softness of her skin, and mixed with his fantasy as Paul leaned her back on the study desk. Her eyes had raised to him as Paul stared at her. Their gaze touched each other and then lingered, and she yanked her hand free from his touch so abruptly that Paul still could stare at her.

A thin layer of perspiration glinted her skin in the cleavage her revealing dress had laid bare, tiny beads of sweat between the shadows of her breasts sliding downward and vanishing under the sheer golden-emerald fabric. Her cheeks and neck were flushed; her fair complexion turned to a sweet, rosy color like the rose buds that barely flower in the spring mornings. Her pulse in her neck was still fluttering as she tried to compose herself, and Paul still watched her, reading her tells. She was panicked and aroused, and Paul felt pleased in a strange sense, pleased to record the response he had received.

It wasn’t a move, but the response still satisfied him. Irulan had always been a beauty, but Paul had never seen her more beautiful than that moment, wearing his bracelet and carrying his child.

“This is an apology for calling me a burden?” she asked, and she was still trying to compose herself and break the moment between them, like how she had stopped him kissing her. This time, strangely, it amused him. He let out a low chuckle and put his hands on his knees once more, shaking his head.

“No,” he admitted, looking at the waterfall, and repeated firmer and more certain as he looked at her once more. “No. It’s a thank-you gift.”

A soft, gasping breath escaped from her again, and it stirred his groin. “For what?”

“For putting up with me for years.” Perhaps he really should have done this sooner. Not giving her the bracelet, but thanking her for putting up with him for years. But then again, he hadn’t even been allowed to do that.

She laughed again, soft but sincere. She had laughed in his presence genuinely more than she had ever done in the last twelve years. Perhaps Paul would also apologize for that. For never making her laugh before, for never making her…happy before.

“You would’ve needed the whole treasure under the Arrakeen Palace for that, my lord,” she quipped.

And, she truly sounded like teasing, playful and coy just how she had talked to Sir Lance. Paul had never seen her before like that in his own company, even when she used to try to seduce him. He only sensed her genuineness in her laugh, and it made Paul wish—made him wish—He stood up, shaking his head. “That’s correct.”

His eyes found hers as he looked down, and she looked up at him, and Paul confessed, “I-I wish I could’ve made you happier in this life, too, Irulan.”

His chest seized with all those roads-not-taken, but he repeated himself that he could not remake the past. Only the future.

The destiny that had scared him so much—the destiny that had clung to him like a succubus clung to a lost, desperate soul shadowed his oracle, casting the shadows of grief and loss over his heart. His heartstrings constricted like a coil around an iron wrench. Paul gave her a last look before turning on his heel.

We must not grieve for those dear to us before their passing, Alia’s words of wisdom or caution found him as he headed back, but he still felt as confused and confounded as before in his conundrum:

Tell me, little sister, what is before?

“Paul!”

Her voice—cry stopped him. He turned aside and looked at her. She was standing up now, looking at him, trying to compose herself once more after her cry, calling out for him. Her voice had sounded almost desperate, so heartfelt that Paul watched her in his stupor once as she tried to take control of herself before she started speaking again:

“Then let me be your Empress,” she finally did after letting out a long, drawn-out breath. “Even if I cannot be your true wife, at least let me be your Empress.”

In his stupor, amazement, and conundrum, Paul could only stare her back. “Let me carry my true title.”

*

Even when she had confessed to him that she couldn’t go under the procedure awake, Paul had never seen her this vulnerable, revealing herself so openly, unguarded. Another split second that felt like eons passed between them once more as they looked at each other, and Paul almost said yes, breaking another promise, breaking another part of his integrity despite whatever price he might pay. He just wanted to make her happy—until he remembered Chani.

He closed his eyes, and Chani came to his mind’s eye, hurt. The heartbreak she felt was in her features after she also heard about this; Paul allowing his wife to also carry her full title. The title she had always supposed to carry, but Paul had never allowed. That part of him that hated to do this to her still wanted to agree, just told her yes, but he still couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t do it to Chani. Not after everything he did, he also couldn’t do this.

Irulan could never be his Empress as long as Chani still lived.

He let out a grave, heavy sigh, tucking his chin to his chest, shaking his head. “Irulan—” he mumbled before he lifted his head and faced her. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

She jerked her head, a small gesture that swayed her blonde hair in refusal, although her eyes got misty. “Why?” she asked in a rough voice, approaching him on the patio, and lifted her arm and showed him the bracelet he had just clipped around her wrist. “You gave me this.”

Paul stayed silent.

But she didn’t let it go. Her face lost its vulnerable quality as his refusal angered her. Paul watched as her anger incited and clouded her face, sweeping off the openness in her features, leaving in its place an armored confrontation.

“If you still won’t let me carry my true title,” she sneered, “then why did you even give me this?”

His lips clenched, not wanting to see this woman once more, wanting to go back to how they had been just before. “I gave it because I wanted to make you happy for once.”

“Then make me happy!” she cried out. “Let me carry the title I was born to carry!”

“Irulan—” Paul started, but she cut him off once more like how she had done in Wallach IX, and Paul had become wiser to her act now. He knew he had lost that woman on the stone bench altogether. Standing in her place was the unreasonable, ornery woman who didn’t even let him talk.

“This is just a bribe, isn’t it?” she spat, getting closer to him, her face thunderous as her arm raised again. “Just a little bone for me to gnaw on! So that I won’t cause you any trouble!”

His frown grew tighter as the implications of his ulterior motive prickled at him. “So I don’t go and look for affection from anyone else! Is it your new game now, Your Majesty? Are you trying to keep me in your orbit so that I wouldn’t cause you any scandal while pregnant?”

“I have no ulterior motives, Princess Consort,” he clipped, and she really looked like she was going to strike him when he used the title.

She took a step closer to him, entering his personal space as she looked up. “Do you not?” she asked, almost mocking this time. “I find it odd that you suddenly gave me the very family heirloom that you’d always refused to after I greeted Sir Lance in the dress that I’d once tried to seduce you. Are you afraid?”

“Should I be?” he challenged her once more.

She bobbed her head. “Yes. Maybe you really should be. You’ve always taken me for granted.”

In a heartbeat, he was on her, grabbing her elbow and pushing her backward over the patio’s stone column. “Careful, Irulan, you’re still my wife, carrying my child.”

“Or what?” she sneered. “What are you going to do? Will you threaten me to have me garroted again?”

She pulled back her arm, shaking her head, and this time she looked disappointed, not angry, as she looked at him. “For a second, I really thought maybe you sincerely changed, really wanted to make me happy. Some fool I was!”

“I wanted to!” he protested, grabbing her wrist once more and showing her the bracelet. “I wanted you to carry this!”

“A pretty bribe so I stay docile once more!” she still argued, and Paul felt tired, so tired. He remembered his mother’s warnings, warning him she would want more if Paul gave her the bracelet, and his own ambivalent feelings about her plotting nature.

Give into one of her ambitions and you could advance another of them.

 Irulan will want more afterward. If you give her an inch, she’ll take a mile.

Paul shook his head, letting go of her wrist. “Why can’t you just be happy with something,” he murmured, “but always has to ask for more?”

“Has to ask for more!” she cried out in disbelief, her voice thinning. “What exactly do you think I should be grateful for, Paul? What exactly have you given me?”

He held her stare. “I gave you your life, Irulan. If I didn’t stop Chani on that day you confessed, she would have taken your life.” Her face became stiff, closing off completely at the moment Paul mentioned her. “And I also gave you a child. What else do you expect from me?”

“I expect nothing, Your Majesty.” Her voice was cold, unreachable, and Paul felt his chest seize again, constricting, his ribcage feeling like a prison.

“Irulan, I can’t—” Paul started again, but she cut him off once more.

“It is about Chani, isn’t it?” she asked in the same cold voice, regarding him carefully. “Like always, it’s about her. You will not let me carry my rightful place beside you because it’d make her unhappy.”

Paul stayed silent, looking at her. Irulan let out a bitter sound, all too familiar now.

“Why is it always me, Paul?” she asked, and Paul stared at her, taken aback by the question, but she didn’t let him answer. “Why am I always the one who gets sacrificed? How long are you going to punish me for the crimes I did not commit?”

“I do not punish you.”

“Yes, you do,” she replied coldly. “Since I met you, you’ve been doing nothing but punishing me for my father’s sins.” He opened his mouth, but she stopped him, raising her hand.

“Do not tell me you have not chosen me for this role again. We both know now that destiny doesn’t only work in your favor. But do not worry yourself. I will not bother you again with my silliness. I will know my place.”

“Your place is beside me, Irulan,” he replied, feeling weary behind measure, but didn’t know how to break this cycle. There was a part of him that wanted to give in, yield whatever she had asked from him—let her take a mile with the inch he had given, he was just so tired of this, hearing those accusing words, but he still could not do it. He couldn’t hurt Chani further, not in her last days.

“I’m not denying it. I’ve agreed to send Chani away for you, given the bracelet to you because I felt it belonged to you,” he told her sincerely, hoping it would mend the broken bonds between them. “But Chani has been there all along, even before I set my eyes upon you for the first time.”

He paused, making his decision, finding a compromise even though she would not know it. “I cannot allow you to call yourself my Empress as long as she stays there.”

It was the compromise Paul could allow himself, as long as Chani still stayed with him. After her death—Paul stopped the line of his thoughts, couldn’t even complete it. It wasn't only the grief, but a disturbance as if Chani would fade from his heart when she wasn’t with him anymore.

Her memory would never fade, his love for his beloved would never fade away, but it wasn’t important because Paul’s unrevealed compromise just angered his wife once more. She raised her arm, the long sleeves of her dress pooling down her elbow as she revealed the Atreides bracelet once more.

“Then I will only carry this because I know it’s gonna make her unhappy!” she sneered. “Every time she sees me, she will know it belongs to me, despite whatever history might call her!”

Paul let out a long, weary sigh. “Do it if it brings you happiness, Princess Consort.” He turned to walk away, but her voice stopped him once more.

“I’ll give my daughter nothing of you, you hear me!” she spat angrily after his back as Paul stopped dead in his tracks. “No shade of your dark hair, no touch of your hazy gaze, not an inch of you. She’ll be a Corrino!”

In a heartbeat, Paul turned and marched toward her, cornering her against the column, barely holding on to his temper.

“Do whatever pleases you to take your revenge on me and Chani,” he repeated in clipped words, intent eyes holding her in place to carry his message. “But do not let your grudge affect our daughter’s happiness.”

It wasn’t a threat. He wanted her to understand that. He could take her grudge, but not at the expense of their children. Paul also knew that she could not allow that, despite everything else between them.

“Do you want people all across the Empire gossip about her parentage, call her names behind her back because she doesn’t look like anything like me? This is what you want?”

She stayed silent, her eyes moist and mossy, but she still looked defiant as she held his look. “She will have my hair,” she replied, but despite the defiance in her look, her words sounded…petulant. “Not yours. I’ll give her my hair.”

Paul smiled in resignation, rueful, remembering their child in his visions, the golden hair that shone as brightly as sunshine. “I would love that, Irulan. She’ll be as pretty as you.”

She stared at him, almost stunned by his open compliment, in disbelief and stupor. On a sudden urge that he couldn’t even understand himself, Paul leaned in and gave a small, chaste kiss—a brush of lips—on top of her hair before he turned and started to walk away.

This time, she didn’t stop him.

Chapter Text

She could still feel the ghostly feel of his lips over her hair as he headed off, the brush of a kiss that had lingered over her head only for a fraction. Her anger had yielded to a profound stupor over what he had just done, muddling her thoughts.

For the first time in twelve years, Paul had touched her without an outside power forcing him, kissed her on his own volition. What he had done felt so bizarre and out-of-character that Irulan felt even more at a loss than the time he had kissed her. Although she had forced him to do it, the decision was still his own, like every other decision Paul had made. Irulan might have forced him, but Paul had decided to act. The act had been of his own, but now Paul had kissed her by his own choice, even calling her pretty in the process.

A chaste kiss, yes, Irulan wasn’t foolish enough to take it as a grand gesture of affection, but the act itself still spoke in volume. Breaking his promise even further, breaking his integrity. Her pulse accelerated as he vanished inside the drawing room's billowing white curtains, her mind racing before her gaze touched on her wrist, bringing common sense and calmness into her confounded and speculative thoughts.

He was still trying to buy her affection! Like how he had tried with the bracelet, giving her something to gnaw on so Irulan would foolishly continue this pantomime between them, like an obedient little princess.

Princess Consort!

Irulan wasn’t going to fall into the same trap again, let her mind get confused by his machinations and schemes! She had really believed he truly wanted to make something for her after ignoring her for years, was truly trying to apologize to her, but she was going to let herself be allured by his shiny lies. Meant to deceive. Her Truthsense couldn’t have picked his lies, but Irulan still wasn’t going to let herself be deceived.

If he’d truly cared about her even an inch, he wouldn’t have declined her request, would have finally allowed her to carry the title she was born to carry, even if only in some little aspect. In no alternatives, Irulan could have been the Ruling Empress anymore, Paul had won that title from her when he had smashed her father’s legions on the planes of Arrakeen like he always kindly reminded her whenever Irulan challenged him about her birthright, but he would’ve at least stopped her being a laughingstock all across the universe, a ridicule on the drunken lips, would have stopped her humiliation, but he still hadn’t done it.

Even after seeing her getting humiliated even by the cartel men, being ridiculed and laughed at, he still refused. The opportunity had been in his hands. If this had been a new beginning between them like Irulan had foolishly hoped for a second, believing in him, in his apology, he could have sent the Princess Consort to the dark recesses of history to be forgotten from time and memory. They could have mended their broken bonds, and Irulan would have tried to be his Empress with her every being, although she could never be his true wife, would never hold his heart.

But it was past now, once more, because once more, Paul had sacrificed her at the altar of his beloved. Once more, she was expected to be unhappy just so that Chani would feel better, be happier. Once more, her happiness had been easily spent for buying Chani’s.

Her anger and hatred returned at full force, washing over her as Irulan lifted her arm with her grimace and looked at her wrist, golden glinting with Atreides colors. She was never going to take it off! She was going to use every opportunity, every means at her disposal, that Chani knew Irulan wore this. In her cold, lonely nights, she was going to imagine her displeasure and unhappiness for Irulan having this stupid bracelet around her wrist and was going to take joy in it!

If that was the only happiness Paul allowed her to have, then Irulan was going to make sure she excelled in it!

She was even going to attend that Imperial feast about their pregnancy all in Atreides colors, head to toe, not a single white and golden on her, carrying her bracelet, and let the woman see her like that. If Paul wanted her to be vengeful and grudgeful, Irulan was going to show him! Truly show him.

Her head swirling with the thoughts of revenge and retribution, Irulan marched out of the patio and quickly headed to the study desk in the room, and grabbed a piece of paper from the drawer and a pen from the writing set and wrote down a quick and simple note, and firmed it as the Princess Consort of the Atreides Empire. Then she marched out of the drawing room and went to look for Tim and Rogue.

They stood up when Irulan returned to their quarters, Amy jumping up on her and already imploring to go see the old Atreides war plane. Irulan shushed the girl and turned to the teenagers.

“I have a request from you if you don’t mind,” she said, extending the note she had written toward them. “Can you pass this note to Professor Jackson in my confidence?” she asked. “I want no eyes to see it before the Professor.”

  Perhaps it was a dangerous move—no, it was surely a dangerous move, to test Paul’s tolerance like this just after what Sir Lance had just done, but Irulan didn’t want to be sound right now.

Do whatever pleases you to take your revenge on me and Chani.

Irulan was just heeding his words now, the last license he had bestowed on her. Asking Professor to attend the feast tonight—secretly was testing the limits of license—but she was still playing in the confines of the lines he had drawn for her. They were going to be in his company—with the rest of the court in Caladan, and she was already carrying his child in her womb. Let him digest that, let him make his peace with that, like Irulan had tried to do for years every time she saw him with his beloved.

He was right. Irulan could not allow her daughter to suffer from this—she would never allow that, but Paul—he was going to suffer. Irulan was going to make sure of it with every arsenal at her disposal.

And her arsenal was full. He was jealous of her, for whatever reason, Irulan did not care. He was jealous of her; his manly pride didn’t even like Irulan had worn the dress she had tried to seduce him for another man, so let him digest sharing the room with the man Irulan had bled for. Let him digest that.

Tim and Rogue looked hesitant even after Irulan gave him his address and assured it was okay, that she wasn’t doing anything she wasn’t supposed to. Rogue turned indifferent then, shrugging as if it didn’t matter, but Tim still looked hesitant, sensing something was off.

“Does Paul—His Majesty know this?” he asked, carefully watching her, and Irulan saw again how much of an Atreides he was. The only Atreides Irulan truly cared about and loved.

“You don’t have to call him His Majesty, Tim, when he isn’t around,” she tried to jest, but admitted. “He doesn’t know, but like I said, I’m not doing anything I am not supposed to. I just want to keep the Professor’s attendance to myself until tonight. It’s a…surprise.”

She smiled, and Tim’s frown grew deeper and more cautious. Rogue grabbed the note from him and grinned big. “Oh, I’m liking the sound of this! Do not worry, Princess. We got this.”

Irulan smiled back, not bothered by being called Princess like this once more, even missing her nickname. Her chest seized again with the remembrance of his refusal, her chance of getting rid of her ridicule and humiliation, and it also cemented her decision on her revenge. If this was the woman her husband wanted, Irulan was going to give him that woman. She was going to be the “shrew”.

Her fingers tingled with the familiar urge, looking for something to take away, something to slip, her mind swirling. She barely held herself from stealing something from Tim and Rogue with the last vestiges of her self-control, and quickly got herself out of their quarters, holding Amy’s hand, and started to walk down the hall.

The urge was still so strong in her, singing in her veins as her blood rushed, but leaving Amy in her chambers, Irulan quickly started to circle in halls. It was best that she stopped doing what she did in front of Amy. It was very risky, Amy’s tongue was getting looser every day, and Irulan didn’t want her to witness even more of what she was doing. It wasn’t appropriate anymore; she should behave more responsibly and set a good example for her protégé. She returned to the drawing room, remembering the writing set.

Finding the room empty like she had left, she quickly took the pen she had written the note with and hid it under her sleeves, feeling the craze in her blood getting satisfied as she let a shaking breath.

“What are you doing?” The question jumped her, losing her control as Irulan stood in the middle of the room, her back turned to the door. Feminine tones of the flat voice that had broken her solace were familiar, and her lips flattened as Irulan composed herself further before she turned around and faced her mother-in-law.

“Lady Jessica,” she replied, without answering the woman’s question, and didn’t add anything else. The older woman approached, her open face that displayed her disconcerting tattoos visibly observing her.

“What happened?” she asked openly as she stopped in front of Irulan. Irulan still stayed unfazed and still. “I saw Paul. The look on his face,” she commented further and pressed, “What happened?”

Irulan still stayed silent, just looking at her back. The woman’s blue-in-blue eyes glanced down, checking her hands. Irulan quickly surmised what the gesture meant. She was checking her wrists on purpose because she knew Paul’s intentions. Paul must have told her or requested the bracelet from her. Irulan didn’t know, but it made little difference to her. Lady Jessica knew Paul’s intention to give it to her, and it suddenly pleased Irulan in the same way, imagining Chani seeing her with the bracelet, squaring her shoulders and smiling openly in pleasure, for sweet revenge.

Chani had never worn this bracelet, but neither had Lady Jessica, and the pleasure of that fact soared in her, making her feel elevated. Her smile grew wider on open display as Lady Jessica’s frown deepened upon seeing it around her wrist.

“So he did give it to you…” she murmured, and revenge was truly sweet, Irulan decided. More than she had thought.

“Yes, he did. He told me it belongs to me,” she commented further to twist the blade that her son surely had sliced into her heart with satisfaction, “How does it feel, Jessica? Seeing it around my wrist?”

The woman looked up at her, lifting her head. “This’s always been supposed to be around my wrist, you know it. My father wanted me to wed your Duke, but in the end, your son clipped it around my wrist,” she repeated Paul’s word, using it to hurt his mother this time, and let out a bitter, low laugh in irony. “Destiny truly works in mysterious ways. Even Paul admits it.”

  “What did you ask from him?”

Irulan raised an eyebrow with the question. “He gave you this, and you asked something from him, and he declined,” the woman surmised quickly and rather spot on, making her satisfied, smug smile vanish from her lips. “And this is the reason why you’re like this now.”

“What makes you think I asked something?” she snapped, refusing to admit it even though it had been true.

“Because I know you, Irulan. Whenever he gives you an inch, you will take a mile with it. You’ll always ask for more.” Recognition flared her anger, the words she had heard from Paul’s lips, asking her why she always had to ask for more!

The witch was still poisoning Paul against her. Irulan was keeping her mouth shut; she wasn’t selling her out, but the witch was still conspiring behind her back, poisoning her son’s mind with her biases and hatred for Irulan!

“You told it to Paul, didn’t you!” she snarled. “You’re still poisoning him against me!”

“I warned him, Irulan,” the other woman replied, correcting her remark with semantics. “Because I know you better than my son does. Because that’s who you are, how you’re trained, what you’re taught. It’s in your blood.”

Her lips flattened in her grimace, glaring at her intent devil-blue eyes. “You and I, sister,” Lady Jessica said, the blue gaze still on Irulan. “We’re not far from different from each other.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Irulan spat.

Lady Jesscia laughed, as bitter and rough as her own laughs. “Aren’t you?” she asked, her gaze still fixated on her. “I knew you would’ve asked for something back if Paul gave you this, Irulan, because I would’ve done the same if I were you. I would’ve stayed there and taunted you too if our positions were reversed and taken joy in it like you do now. I would’ve poisoned Chani for years if I were in your position, and you, Irulan, would have made that comment on your wedding night if you were in my position that night, because we’re the same, sister. We’re the same when it comes to the man we love.”

Anger blinded her as she spat, “I don’t love your son!”

Lady Jessica laughed again, this time amused, almost mocking, “I would have told the same, too, if I were you.”

Irulan glared at her with more fire and hatred, hating her with her guts. “If Leto had wedded you, I would’ve destroyed him or myself, too, in the end. My love—my envy would have destroyed us.”

“I HOLD NO LOVE FOR YOUR SON!” she screamed, truly losing it, and couldn’t stop herself anymore. “AND I’M NOT TAKING STILGAR INTO MY BED, EITHER, BECAUSE I’M LONELY AND UNHAPPY! DO NOT HUMOR YOURSELF THINKING YOU’RE LIKE ME! WE’RE NOTHING ALIKE!”

Lady Jessica stood there shocked, stunned to hear what she had just announced, but in the silence as they stared down at each other, another sound suddenly spoke, all familiar again, placid, firm tones, and edges, but dark. So dark and dangerous.

“What did you just say?” Paul asked, and Irulan whirled at him, as he stood in the doorway of the open doors of the drawing room, Gurney at his side as he also stared at them with widened eyes.

Irulan exhaled a shaking breath and took a step back as Paul walked into the room, his pace having a predatory prance, as threatening as his voice, “What did you just say, Irulan?” She still stayed silent, did not answer.

His eyes cast at his mother as Lady Jessica displayed all the panic and fear of the situation that she had dug for herself, and Irulan just wanted to flee the scene. Things were going to get ugly, and she didn’t want to bear witness to it. Especially when there was that darkened aura around Paul now, the desert-warrior of their worst nightmares, the man Irulan had hidden behind her father upon seeing. There was no one—nowhere to run anymore, and Paul was still stalking toward her, his intent solely focused on her, not his mother.

“What does it mean you’re not taking Stilgar into your bed?” he asked. “And what does it mean with my mother?”

Jessica ducked her head, and Irulan squared her shoulders, facing the storm. She had nothing to hide from. If he didn’t want to see what was in front of him, Irulan was not going to spell it for him, either.

“What does it mean is quite obvious, Paul,” she snapped. “If you cannot use your prescient abilities, then use your Mentat abilities, and do the math.”

She glanced at Gurney, who still stood in the doorway, his face whitened and grey. Irulan paused for a second, letting the man prepare himself before announcing calmly: “Your old Warmaster has replaced your father in your mother’s bed.”

Chapter Text

As Paul approached the half-cracked winged doors of the drawing room with Gurney towed to his heels, he could already hear the feminine voices drifting down the hall from inside.

Paul didn’t want to do this, but Gurney had cornered him returning from the barracks where they had placed the Sardaukar legion, and it was time to speak about the feast tonight and what they should do after Paul took his leave from his home planet tomorrow. The servants had seen Lady Jessica heading to the drawing room the last time, so here they were. It was still the last thing Paul wanted to do after his last quarrel with Irulan, but duty still didn’t wait for him to feel more at ease or better. He still felt weary and on edge, how their talk had turned out—no matter what he did, he couldn’t find a common ground with her.

Perhaps for Paul, it was truly impossible to make her happy, like how he could never make the Qizarate happy. They always looked more from him, never felt satisfied with what Paul could offer. For Irulan, it wasn’t only political ambitions; he knew that. He sensed her yearnings. It was more than wanting to be called the Empress because of power. Irulan had truly given up those political ambitions now. There was still a part of him that was flabbergasted because of it, but Paul would’ve still known the truthiness of that prediction even without his powers.

If Irulan wanted the political power, she could have easily gained it by giving him a male heir. No, her wanting to be called Empress was something else, something deeper and more driven, and he wished—he still wished he could have done it, but his will still was not free, despite whatever Irulan wished to believe. And destiny did not work in his favor all the time, just like they had experienced on Wallach IX. Her place was with him, beside him, but Paul still couldn’t let it go. Not as long as Chani—he stopped his thoughts once more, not wanting to go there once again. So, he chose the next best choice he could have.

Do whatever pleases you to take your revenge on me and Chani. Do it if it brings you happiness.

Paul had told her it with all his heart and intentions, if making him suffer would bring her happiness, Paul was going to accept it now. There was even a part of him that felt like he had always accepted it, since the beginning of their marriage, knowing her grudge wasn’t misplaced or…earned. Acknowledging it wouldn’t have changed the matters between them, but still, deep down, Paul hadn’t been blind, like even Chani had suggested, questioning his ambivalent feelings toward his wife. Yes, Paul was ready to face her grudge once more as long as she kept it away from their daughter.

He remembered her telling him she was still going to give their daughter blonde hair, still defiant but yielding to their silent agreement, voice low—almost like a lover who did not like something that her beloved did, but accepted it out of love, water absorbing sand like how Chani did whenever Paul did something she didn’t like.

Paul quickly suppressed the reflective observation in his thoughts, the comparison he just made again, remembering himself kissing her hair after she absorbed his wish—his urge besting him once more, he couldn’t help himself. His spine straightened rigidly as his shoulders tensed, his memory recalling his lips brushing over her soft hair, her musky vanilla oil and moonflowers filling his nostrils. Now, in hindsight, Paul could not understand the urge for his action, other than that he wanted it. Perhaps he just wished to show her his own acceptance—yielding to her as well. What this meant—where it would lead was something Paul dreaded to ponder on, although he knew he should.

Everything had become so muddled here, Dune—the desert was going to give him back the clarity like it had always done. Paul started to sense it more—his visions…were misleading him. They had become very muddled in his uncertainty. The more he stayed in Caladan, the more he felt lost in the conundrum of the currents. He needed the clarity the desert would bring back to him. The last time he had felt like this was before choosing to drink the Water of Life, to see all.

If there was no clarity in him, his visions also didn’t have it.

In Caladan, his destiny had shifted; Paul had already accepted it as well, but he hadn’t understood the depths of it, perhaps. His oracle was blinded by his own confusion and ambivalent feelings, and he had let his visions mislead him. They were not reliable anymore, his inner Mentat calculated, and it advised Paul caution, but it was still a counsel with thorns.

Twice, his visions had misled him. First, he had seen her jumping from a cliff, and thought she might have hurt herself, and then thought she was slipping away to meet with her lover. In reality, Irulan had been slipping away to meet his cousin and her friends. Second, he had seen her carrying their family heirloom around her wrist, and thought it meant something had changed between them if she did that, had become…better.

He had tried to avoid his mother as well, who had seen him striding off away from the drawing room after their fight, her desire for a talk obvious in her face. Paul hadn’t wanted it at the moment, but he could not avoid it indefinitely. Before he departed tomorrow, he needed to talk to her. About what she was planning now. Because Paul also felt that something had shifted in her mother as well, as she had become more involved with their life once more after years.

She had been very much involved with his decision in Wallach IX, wanting him to even force Irulan to carry his heir, didn’t even give her a choice. That woman was the Bene Gesserit who had accepted to drink Water of Life even pregnant, accepting the consequences because of them and their revenge. Paul had begun sensing that woman from his mother once more, and he should treat carefully as well.

So, Paul was heading back again to the drawing room where the servants had informed them Lady Jessica was last seen heading toward, to have a talk. He already knew he was not going to like the discussion they were going to have, but the cool, smug feminine voice he heard drifting from inside surprised him, though the question he heard didn’t.

 “What makes you think I asked something?” Irulan asked, her voice smug but flat. Paul quickly raised his hand and stopped Gurney, who stood at the other side of the doors, silent but listening.

Paul felt no shame, nor did he feel any disturbance for eavesdropping, after years of witnessing other people’s memories—future and past—the notion felt natural to him. Gurney looked anxious, though, fidgeting on his feet. Paul ignored him because the discussion drew his attention entirely.

“Because I know you, Irulan,” his mother answered, and repeated the same observation about his wife that she had also remarked to Paul. “Whenever he gives you an inch, you will take a mile with it. You’ll always ask for more.”

Irulan also must have recognized the counsel, because she snarled, sounding very upset, “You told it to Paul, didn’t you! You’re still poisoning him against me!”

Her anger surprised Paul again, the fierceness in it. As if the notion of someone poisoning his mind about her to drive a wedge further between them was something that mattered to her, something that still made her angry. Paul knew it was an expected outcome. Irulan wouldn’t have liked it, especially after his mother’s damnation remarks about her on their wedding day, but it still pinged his chest in another way, making him experience a pleased sensation. He liked it.

He could not concentrate on the peculiar feeling deeper, because his mother replied, “I warned him, Irulan. Because I know you better than my son does.” His expression tightened after the statement as Gurney looked away. “Because that’s who you are, how you’re trained, what you’re taught. It’s in your blood.”

“You and I, sister, we’re not far from different from each other.”

Paul stared ahead, the simple statement turning in his mind as Irulan spat, and Paul could even imagine her anger in his mind-eye now. “I’m nothing like you.”

His mother let out a bitter and rough sound as if Irulan’s refusal amused her.

“Aren’t you?” came her answer in a challenging question, hinting more at their similarities. The comparison urged a scowl around his eyebrows as his lips flattened in silence. Had he claimed he did not notice the mentioned similarities between his mother and Irulan, Payl would’ve been lying.

“I knew you would’ve asked for something back if Paul gave you this, Irulan, because I would’ve done the same if I were you,” Lady Jessica continued, and even without his Truthsense, Paul knew it was not untrue.

If he had to be honest with himself, Paul even dreaded what his mother would’ve done to Chani and him over the twelve years had she been in Irulan’s position. His wife was many things, but she had always lacked the kind of ambitions that his mother used to have. His mother had also warned him about Irulan’s grudge and hatred many times, warned him not to take it lightly, but Paul knew his mother’s hatred, too, would not have been in comparison to Irulan’s. Her love for his father had been so deep and vast that her hatred would have also caused more damage.

Paul reflected on these comparisons in his mind as his mother even stated them aloud to his wife, but then she concluded, “We’re the same when it comes to the man we love.”

Paul paused as the remark drifted to his ears from inside, his senses not picking any lies or exaggeration from his mother’s flat statement about her introspection about Irulan’s feelings for her. Lady Jessica, who always warned him about the Princess Consort, believed Irulan loved him, believed it was the cause of her reactions.

His mother truly believed Irulan did what she did out of love, because of her feelings for him, and Paul suddenly was so astonished by the assertion that he could only stare ahead in the hall, his mind drawing a blank.

Before Irulan’s fierce protest rose from the drawing room, “I don’t love your son!”

Her raised voice displayed her anger clearly, not holding it back or hiding it. No lie. There was no lie in her refusal; she wasn’t denying something she also knew as true to save face. She refused it because she didn’t hold any love for Paul in her heart, yet something tingled at the edge of his awareness as the assertion echoed in his mind. The same disturbance he had felt earlier.

His mother laughed again, and it sounded more mocking this time. “I would have told the same, too, if I were you.” There was a pause in the room, and Paul glanced at Gurney who stood as flabbergasted as him by witnessing the talk between two women, but a lot more nervous than Paul.

Paul was just intrigued more, wanted to hear more. Wanted Irulan to speak further so Paul would grasp that sentiment he sensed, put it into perception and comprehension. Something lacked—a layer of truth, perhaps. Truth was never easy or one-dimensional. It had many dimensions, many layers, some of which Paul realized he was lacking regarding his wife.

“If Leto had wedded you, I would’ve destroyed him or myself, too, in the end,” his mother continued, drawing the same conclusion Paul had also realized earlier. “

Paul shivered briefly as he found the dimension he had been missing.

Love and hate. They were the different sides of the same coin, different dimensions of the same source, opposite layers. And, the lines between those facades were blurred and never consistent. It was a fluctuating wave, forever in motion, as inconstant and mercurial as his prescience. Irulan always accused him of being inconstant, but she wasn’t much different. One moment, she was as soft and mild as Caladan’s sweet summer days, and the next, she was as tumultuous as Caladan’s raging tempests, ready to do whatever she could to hurt him in revenge.

Because the other side of the coin was never indifference, but hatred.

“My love—my envy would have destroyed us,” his mother finished, making Paul almost lose a sigh, not knowing where this new comprehension that perhaps he had always felt deep down but had never faced courageous enough to face her put him, remembering his qualms about her sound claim that she wouldn’t have cried after him if their conspiracy had worked and they brought his demise, but the truth from Lady Jessica itself undid her.

“I HOLD NO LOVE FOR YOUR SON!” Her screaming voice echoed in the drawing room and reached them, again, no lie. No intent to deceive. She meant what she said, that she did not hold any love for Paul, but Paul knew better now.

She was not ready to face her own feelings, ready to acknowledge those dimensions. And Paul also didn’t know where that put them now while she also carried his daughter. He counseled himself that it didn’t change anything, knowing the source of her grudge toward him might not be only because of his mistreatment and her sufferings over twelve years. Unreciprocated feelings sowed more heartbreak, and heartbreak sowed more grudge. As long as Chani held the place in his heart, Paul still was not allowed to reciprocate those feelings, yet he still remembered his own earlier arguments for refusing to have her his heir.

We all know she holds no love for me.

Paul had claimed that day, believing they didn’t have any human arguments to conceive a child together, but only political ones, even though he still had sensed that disturbance in him he hadn’t been ready to face yet. That day, he had also admitted he would’ve felt different had that been the case. Now, the seed was there, tingling at the edge of his consciousness, urging him to discover more, and she was already carrying his child—

“AND I’M NOT TAKING STILGAR INTO MY BED, EITHER, BECAUSE I’M LONELY AND UNHAPPY!” Her booming voice cut through his heavy musings in the small pause after her declaration in unconscious self-denial, stopping him at once, his back straightening.

Paul had figured out already she had shared the Professor’s bed out of her loneliness and despair because Paul had disappointed her that day, but Stilgar?  What did Stilgar have anything to do with this conversation—why was she mentioning Stilgar? The best friend, mentor, and loyal servant of his adulthood, and why was she telling it to his mother?

His head lifted, and Paul stared at his former best friend, mentor, and loyal servant of his childhood as his wife’s shrieking outburst continued, his mother’s assertion about her love for Paul truly hurtling her over the edge.

“DO NOT HUMOR YOURSELF THINKING YOU’RE LIKE ME! WE’RE NOTHING ALIKE!”

But Paul’s attention had already drifted away from that. Silent anger enveloped him as he held the door’s handle and pushed it, tearing his gaze away from Gurney who could not look at him.

Images played at the edge of his consciousness, but Paul drove them away.  He did not want to witness it if it were true; he could not. But he wanted the confession, and he wanted to hear it now.

“What did you just say?” Paul asked, his clipped voice thinning with emotions he could barely contain. Irulan’s head whirled at him, shocked and speechless as Paul stood in the doorway. “What did you just say, Irulan?” he repeated, stepping inside, but she still stayed shocked and silent. As if she couldn’t even open her mouth.

Paul glanced at his mother who also displayed all the panic and fear, her disconcerting face getting whitened under her copper tattoos. Irulan glanced at the door behind his shoulder, looking as if she wanted to run away.

Gurney was still behind him by the door, unable to move. Paul felt anger and darkness closing in on him further, images trying to bypass his barriers. He held them firm. He could not look. It was as terrifying as those dark places in his other memory, would hurt him worse. Paul had never dared to look at the memories of his mother and his father, could not bear to know them as wife and husband. As a man and a woman.

Men and women shared their self-ruhs, binding their flesh and souls in the joys of mating, knew each other without any barriers between them, but no child should know their parents like that.

In a way, it was even worse than seeing his wife in the bed of another man, allowing it, knowing that another man had known her in a way Paul had never let himself know her. With Irulan, Paul could take it, but his mother— No child should also witness his parents knowing someone else in that sense.

He felt sick, bile rising to his throat, and he was angry. So very angry!

“What does it mean you’re not taking Stilgar into your bed? And, what does it mean with my mother?” His anger made his stony voice rise, images still trying to break over as Paul pushed them away from his conscious thoughts, though the answer still stood there clear, whether he denied it or not.

His integrity still tried to protect himself, tying his tongue from asking it openly and directly so that he would still keep his father’s memory pure and unscathed.

Yet, Irulan still did not share his qualms and said it flatly, “What does it mean is quite obvious, Paul. If you cannot use your prescient abilities, then use your Mentat abilities, and do the math.”

She paused for a second, glancing at his former Warmaster before returning to him, her face placid, her voice calm and still flat, whatever feelings she might have for him disappeared through the twelve years of animosity, resentment, and bad blood. The bitter feelings she also harbored inside her heart toward him sullied and muddled her heart, getting them murkier like a taint over the waves.

Her voice didn’t even waver, nor did she try to soften the blow before she announced simply, holding no sympathy or compassion, “Your old Warmaster has replaced your father in your mother’s bed.”

# # #

Irulan could not believe that it was possible his face would have gotten darker after her harsh and simple announcement, laying it out to him openly without sugarcoating. Someone would’ve even called it…insensitive, but when had Paul ever truly tried to be sensitive toward her? He had never wished to be cruel to her. He just didn’t care about the consequences of his actions. So, Irulan was only returning the favor now, as well, was treating him in the same way he had always treated her.

Without consideration or any hesitation about the heartbreak she would cause.

He had denied her wish without any consideration, choosing his beloved over her without a moment of hesitation, so Irulan couldn’t truly find in her heart to feel bad for him, although he really looked like a man who had been shot to his heart. By his closest, by his dearest.

Momentarily, Irulan felt the familiar pang in her chest, her heart constricting, but she quickly shoved the sentiment away from her, did not allow it. She did not have any sympathy for him! He didn’t deserve it! He never cared about her, so Irulan would not care how much he must be hurting right now, finally hearing the truth about his mother’s affair. With his former Warmaster, nonetheless.

Irulan had no misguided or naïve predictions about how much it must have felt like a betrayal for Paul. He was a man of honor and dignity, fiercely protective and possessive of what was his. Even when he had allowed her to give him horns, he made sure where he stood, clearly warning her not to bring any sour-fathered child into his household. It wasn’t only because of the heir issue, to decide who would sit on his throne, but his virtue would not allow it either, just like he refused to allow her to have any lover anymore.

A woman of Lady Jessica’s status was expected to spend her remaining days in chastity in Duke Leto’s memory, restraining herself from any kind of male dalliances in his father’s honor. By the forms, Lady Jessica should stay away from any male companionship and find joy and happiness in the affairs of the rest of her family, like how Irulan had been supposed to have joy and happiness in her literary aspirations, living less than a concubine before Paul had bestowed his license on her. By the reflection on his darkened face that he let be displayed, Irulan didn’t humor herself thinking he had allowed his mother the same license he had allowed Irulan.

Paul worshipped his father in a way, had put him on a pedestal in the same way his fanatics had done, worshipping at the feet of his skull. His remains had been transported to Caladan, and they had rested him with the rest of his House, but Irulan knew that when they returned to Arrakeen, she still would find his father’s shrine worshipped by the devout fanatics. Whether the man lay there or not, it wasn’t important. It was a symbol, and people worshiped symbols more than reality.

Replacing his father’s place in Lady Jessica’s bed with another man was unacceptable for him, the greatest dishonor for his father’s honor and name. Her old resentment for being allowed with such license twisted her heart again, but Irulan staunchly shoved it away from her. It did not hurt any longer, and Irulan was going to pay him back for that license. She was going to make sure of that.

He was still silent, though, as silent and still as a stone, his darkened face unreadable beyond the anger of the betrayal. It felt like the dark aura around him had sucked the oxygen out of the room, making it harder to breathe. He was staring at his mother unflinching, but no words left his lips. Briefly, Irulan recalled the man who had stood against one hundred unflinching, no trace of fear or terror, and had ordered them to kill themselves. The same power and gravity omitted from him, the same danger, but it was tempered, restrained.

The air felt so heavy that Irulan decided to break the tension in the room, but she didn’t know what to say. No words came to her. The platitudes felt meaningless, and Paul wouldn’t hear them from her anyway. She tried to think what Chani would have done in her place right now, how she would have reacted, but she quickly pushed away that thought as well. She was not like Chani!

If she had been, she would have already told him and stopped making a fool of himself like now. Briefly, she wondered if this would also come back to her, as Irulan had also confirmed her knowledge when she had lost it. Paul would have easily—

Her thoughts suddenly stopped, and another fright seized her, panic gnawing at her chest, this time for entirely different reasons. Paul had been outside during their confrontation, and before Irulan had outed his mother’s secret, she also had been screaming that she did not love him.

There was no way Paul wouldn’t have heard her outburst if he had heard the rest of her tirade, and that made her fear what else he had heard. How long had he been there, listening to their conversation, and Lady Jessica’s nonsensical claims that Irulan’s supposed love for her son?

She held no love for Paul!

Never!

Never would she allow herself to fall into that trap!

It still would be the worst thing that ever happened to her, and Irulan had plans for falling into those traps. Like he didn’t allow himself to love her—or carry her title—Irulan also did not allow herself to love him. Simple as that. She did not love him because she was not allowed to. She would never allow herself to love a man who considered her place beneath his beloved, a man who was readily spend her happiness to ascertain his beloved’s, a man who would only allow himself to show her any modicum of affection after twelve years like bed crumbs.

She didn’t even believe the sincerity of those affections anyway, did not even know how much they were genuine, how much he felt them as an obligation, too.  Irulan would simply not love such a man. Fool her once, shame on them; fool her twice, shame on her.

No, Irulan was going to remember her place.

But Chani has been there all along, even before I set my eyes upon you for the first time.

Getting bored with the Atreides family drama, Irulan decided to take her leave and prepare for the feast tonight. She had no business here; it wasn’t her affair. She should go find Sir Lance first, have a quick chat in private if they could manage, and then she must get prepared. She must look majestic, seductive, and charming all at once, a woman of respect and allure, and it wasn’t an easy feat. She had no time to waste here. She almost made a move to head toward the door where Gurney was still hovering like a man who had faced the gallows. A momentary hesitation ensnared her again as Paul’s gaze followed hers, and before she could take a step, it suddenly happened.

Paul’s jaw tightened as his face darkened even more, developing a murderous look, and his hand went to his sash and grasped the handle of his crysknife. Lady Jessica screamed his name as Paul turned on his heel, drawing his knife and marching toward his former Warmaster.

The man, seeing him approach, dropped to his knee, bowing his head in acceptance. He didn’t say a word, nothing at all to defend himself. Lady Jessica was still screaming at him to stop as Paul hauntingly marched toward Gurney, his back retreating for them. He did not even hesitate a split second, and Irulan realized a second later, the older woman had turned to her, and was screaming at her.

“Irulan! Do something!” she cried out. “Stop him!”

Irulan stared at her, stunned. Stop him?

Stop him how?

He was the Kwisatz Haderach, the Emperor, the Mahdi. How could Irulan stop him?

But Lady Jessica was still screaming at her, and Irulan could stare at her— The older woman pushed her forward—literally pushed her forward after him—

“Do not let him do it!” she roughed out in the same frenzy, her blue-in-blue eyes finding hers. “He’d never forgive himself if he did it! Stop him!”

The last part of her frenzied tirade was even spoken with a touch of Her Voice, bristling over her will, urging but not commanding. Irulan looked at the woman as she swayed on her feet with the momentum, and then glanced at him—

He’d never forgive himself if he did it!

The words reverberated through her, breaking the devil-spell on her, and the next moment, Irulan was rushing after him. “PAUL! STOP!” she yelled after him. “STOP!”

When he didn’t even falter once more, Irulan turned to her last resolve and arranged her pitch. She had never thought she would do this—had never thought she would succeed, and there was a part of her that still didn’t believe she would, but she still tried. “STOP!”

Her Voice echoed in the drawing room, Gurney still on his knee, his head bowed in demure acceptance, and Lady Jessica was silent now, and Paul had finally hesitated. The Voice passed over him and quickly dissolved, like sand dissolved in a Coriolis storm.

At that moment, Irulan realized it wasn’t her Voice that had made him falter, but the attempt. She wondered when the last time anyone had tried this on him, but she didn’t waste more time pondering on it, afraid she would lose her window of opportunity. She quickly closed the distance between them, rounded him, and stood between him and Gurney, blocking his way.

The blue-within-blue eyes found hers, staring at her keenly, and Irulan didn’t avoid. She held his intense gaze as her hand slowly raised and lightly touched his on the crysknife handle. For twelve years, Irulan didn’t hold this blade even once, and while Paul continued to stare at her as her fingers slowly wrapped around the hilt and his fingers, she found it even odder. She had never believed she would have done this, too, would have touched his sacred blade.

“Let it go,” she softly said, almost in a murmur, still holding their eye contact. The strange happenstance grasped her, and as Paul continued to look at her, there was a part of her that felt it was what kept him still now, not her prominent skills as a Bene Gesserit, but her gaze. She feared whatever that had made him stop would break if Irulan ran her eyes away from him.

Yet, even though Paul didn’t move or didn’t stop her as her hand fully grasped the blade, he still didn’t let it go. “Don’t let me make a fool of myself again. We both know I’d never succeed in using the Voice on you,” she remarked, even using the jest to disarm him as her fingers tightened around his. “Let it go.”

A split second that felt like eons once more passed between them in silence, his stare riveted on hers, and then, even surprising her, his clutch on the hilt loosened and he dropped his hand.

Thus, Irulan held a crysknife for the first time in her life, held the Muad’Dib’s blade. She wondered how many people had done it and survived to tell the tale. There was a part of her that still couldn’t believe Paul had done it, had left his sacred blade in her hand. That part of her even wondered if there was anyone else than Chani who had ever done this, had ever been allowed to hold the blade that had won him the throne.

A shiver passed over her as Irulan held it, finally averting her eyes from his, because she couldn’t look at those intent eyes anymore. The blade felt heavy in her hand, and strange, clearly showing how unfit she was to carry it.

She quickly repressed the thought and the feeling, did not want to think about it. It meant nothing that she would never be fit to carry Shai-Hulud’s tooth. She was not a Fremen. Nothing that belonged to Dune would fit her. Irulan had spent her last twelve years internalizing that fact. She was a rose of Kaitain, not of the desert. Her gardens from her home had died in Arrakeen; her beautiful roses slowly withered away, no matter how hard they tried to flourish.

The blade felt heavy in her hand as Irulan turned to the kneeling man. He was still in the same position, awaiting his punishment. “Fedaykin!” she shouted, and in a heartbeat, two desert warriors showed up. Irulan twisted toward them as they gazed at her, their blue-freckled eyes hardening on the blade in her hand. Irulan did not twitch, and Paul didn’t even spare a glance at them. He was staring ahead now above her shoulder, not looking at anyone anymore—not at her, not at his mother, nor his former Warmaster.

He looked so…untouchable in his stony silence that Irulan swallowed her heavy sigh and spoke to the Fedaykin. “Take Lord Gurney in custody.”

The Fedaykin looked hesitant for a second at receiving orders from her, which wasn’t an everyday happenstance, yes, but understanding the heavy tension in the room and their Mahdi’s silence, they obeyed her command.

They held Gurney’s arms as the man stood up slowly, his head still ducked, avoiding to face Paul in shame. Paul still didn’t spare him a glance, and Irulan wondered if he would ever look at the man again, even though he pardoned his life. There was still a good probability that Paul would decide to take his life. When the thought came to him, Irulan sensed a sadness in her, although she understood him. She was still sad for the old man, though, despite the old bitter feelings between them. They just wanted to be…happy, didn’t want to hurt anyone. Even though she was resentful toward Lady Jessica for the bubble she had created for herself here on Caladan, Irulan still wouldn’t have denied it.

The forms—the expectations on them—sometimes, it wasn’t fair. Lady Jessica had loved her Duke. Irulan still didn’t doubt her love. Even though in her resentment, there had always been a part of her that…admired her because of that pure love—the strong attachment and affection she carried for her lover that had made her disobey the Sisterhood.

Her voice telling her they were the same vibrated through her, but Irulan smothered it quickly, too, as she twisted toward the older woman.

“Retire to your chambers, Lady Jessica,” she ordered clearly, putting a stop to this spectacle. Despite her strong love, twelve years were long, too long to spend in loneliness. Irulan knew that. It wasn’t fair. But life was never fair. Irulan also knew that. She had also spent her twelve years internalizing that fact, getting punished for a crime she hadn’t committed.

When they were alone in the spacious leisure room, Irulan turned to her husband. His attention had turned to her as well, was staring at her with the same intensity once more. Irulan felt the heaviness in her hand more prominently as they stood in the somber silence, and slowly, recalling how the Fremen sheathed a drawn crysknife that had not taken blood, she raised both her arms.

His eyes lowered, Paul watched her as she nicked the top of her wrist with the blade, drawing her blood in the old ritual, wetting it with her water of life before offering it back to him. She whirled the blade as her hand throbbed, feeling the cut that she had just made, and then held the tip of the blade in a pinch of her fingers carefully and offered him the hilt as the warriors did.

Paul looked down at his crysknife, and her nicked, slowly bleeding wrist before he took it from her and sheathed it under his sash once more. Irulan dropped her throbbing hand and started to move away after one last look, taking her leave as well, but he stopped her, finally moving again from his stony stance and catching her elbow.

She pivoted to him as he pulled her back at his side, his other hand reaching to his breast pocket to take his cloth piece tucked inside. His hand sliced down the forearm gingerly and raised her slowly bleeding hand, and he started to wrap her wrist below his bracelet.

Irulan swallowed, averting her gaze once more, but let him.

When he finished wrapping her wrist with the blue handkerchief that also had his initials, he still didn’t let her hand go, but held it. His eyes raised to her face and caught her gaze again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice cool but low. “You knew it, but didn’t sell my mother. Why?” He paused. “You hold no love for her, too.”

Her pulse accelerated as his statement—the additional suffix— confirmed the fact that he had also heard her screaming outburst, her declaration that she did not have any love for him. He didn’t sound angry—or disappointed, of course, only curious about her silence. And, why would he? He had even told her the same in front of everyone, refusing to have her heir because she didn’t genuinely love him as insanely as it sounded.

She yanked her hand free, despite the sudden action caused her more hurt. She had just nicked her skin, but it cut still deeper than she had intended. The blade was even sharper than Irulan had always thought, and she focused herself more on the throbbing feeling in her hand instead of her quickening pulse or the way he looked at her.

“Why would I do that?” she snapped, coarse and gruff. “I had no reason. Your mother already hates me enough. I didn’t want any more bad blood between us. You truly didn’t expect me to cross her for you, did you?” she mocked after a pause, her eyes finding him once more, and the retort felt nice as his lips flattened further in a grimace.

“Of course not,” he clipped. “I know you hold no love for me.”

“Good,” she sneered, fixating on him, and took a step further. “Do not forget I’m not like Chani, either. I don’t do things to make you happy. I gauged the outcome while you were having qualms about your mother, and how would you trust her after she deserted you and left you in Arrakis,” she added, wielding the truth now as her own blade, as sharp as his, and took joy as his expression became even more gaunt with her confession. “But decided it wasn’t worth it. So, I stayed silent.”

She took another step closer to him and looked him in the eye so that he would sense how sincere she was. “Make no mistakes, Paul. I don’t owe you anything more than I’m bound to. I’m not your priority, and you’re not mine, either. You’re not going to have more of me than my child. That is what I will not allow. No loyalty more than I’m bound to. No touch nor softness of glance, nor an instant of desire.”

Without another word, she turned around and walked out on him.

Chapter Text

The hours following the bizarre confrontation in the drawing room passed so calmly and serene that there was a part of Irulan that felt more on edge because of it, bristling with a tension that softly reverberated through her. She tried to contain it, composed and controlled as ever, minding her own business, forcing her mind to stay away from her declaration to Paul before she walked out on him.

No loyalty more than I’m bound to. No touch nor softness of glance, nor an instant of desire.

Her words returned at the moment the thought crossed her mind, shaking her diligently constructed equilibrium. Her attention slipped away from the dresses she was trying to choose for tonight, trying to find the best piece for her purposes. The fact that she had thrown his promise back in his face gave her another surge of satisfaction as if she had won a victory, and perhaps she did. Irulan wasn’t still sure, there was that…unrest in her, that anxiety tingling over her insides, like the times she used to feel during Muad’Dib’s war against her father’s legions.

Irulan had tried her best to help her father during those times, joining the effort to repulse Paul’s attacks, without knowing the full story. So many things were kept hidden from her. But she still used to feel the same unrest in her, that tension and anxiety as if she was missing something.

She told herself she wasn’t. There was nothing she was missing in their current predicament. Irulan wasn’t in the dark; people closest to her weren’t hiding anything from her anymore. Paul had come clean with everything in the end, and explained the reasons why he had wanted her to carry him a son. Everything was in the right perspective as it should be. Irulan didn’t miss anything.

Yet, the feeling still persisted.

Perhaps it was the confrontation itself, declaring right in his face that she did not allow herself to give him any more loyalty than she was supposed to, or would not offer any glance of softness or an instant of desire. Her gaze lowered to her wrist, still wrapped with the blue silk cloth, still throbbing faintly, reminding her of its existence, the scar she had received when she stood against Paul Muad’Dib.

It was going to leave a scar, Irulan knew now. No one would have stood against him and left the experience unscathed. Irulan would get rid of it, but on second consideration, she decided to carry it. It was a victory of a sort, an honor badge. She had stood against Paul Muad’Dib and won. She had stopped him.

Regardless of the reasons for her act, what had driven her to act, it was an honorable victory, something she would also revel in.

Yet, Irulan was still glad Paul had not questioned her for her act when he had confronted her about her knowledge of the affair, demanding an answer for her silence. Knowing it wasn’t because of love for his mother. He had been curious about that part, but he hadn’t questioned her reasons for stopping him from killing his former Warmaster.

In hindsight, Irulan still didn’t have a clear answer as to why she had acted. She would have allowed it and stood still as Lady Jessica stood there, crying for her help—almost begging Irulan to stop him. The fact that the woman had believed Irulan would have done it was as bizarre as the notion itself, the might, entitled, competent Bene Gesserit imploring Irulan of all people for anything. But she truly believed Irulan would have done it—stopped Paul—and she did.

And, it was still so mind-blowing that Irulan didn’t know what to think of that. She had reacted on an urge that had risen from deep inside when Lady Jessica had cried that Paul would have never forgiven himself if he killed Gurney at that moment, and Irulan reckoned it resonated something deep inside her once more.

Irulan wasn’t stupid. She knew her feelings—her yearnings for his attention and affections were still there, her admiration for his strong, sturdy personality, his abilities and capabilities—they had not faded away simply because Irulan wished them to go. She could not undo twelve years in a few months. Those feelings possibly had made her react and try to stop him.

Or perhaps, she was just trying to play this…fair.

She wanted to hurt him, make him suffer for what he had done to her, but she should do it. This should be only between them. Irulan didn’t want him to go and hurt himself. It was the most bizarre feeling she felt, and it reminded her of the times she had felt while she had conspired for his demise. She had stayed silent not to draw Jessica’s fury on her, creating more bad blood between them, but she simply could not watch Paul make a mistake that would taint his heart.

Perhaps she was also afraid of what would happen if they also crossed that line, feared the consequences of such a choice. The Bene Gesserit always trained their acolytes to face and surpass their fears, their oldest axiom, but Irulan had found out that fear was not always the mind-killer. It was a necessary tool of evolution, an alarm sense that something deep inside you warning you. An unmindful, fearless mind would bring an early grave. If anyone wanted proof of that, one would ask Paul’s grandfather.

So, Irulan was glad Paul had not confronted her about why she had stopped him even after she confirmed once more that she was not like his beloved and would not show him more loyalty than she was bound to.

In a way, it wasn’t even entirely about him, either. She had never shared any compassion or affection with Gurney, but she had never received bad treatment from him, either. And, Irulan did truly know the loneliness of the cold nights, how it felt sharing your dreams only with ghosts. The way he had accepted his fate in silence had moved her, too. Irulan could still remember his kneeling form in front of Paul, eyes cast down, head bowed. A lesser man would have begged, would have asked forgiveness, but Gurney hadn’t said even a word.

His kneeling figure even reminded Irulan of Sir Lance now in introspection, knowing he would have acted the same way if Irulan had ever crossed that line and given Paul horns. He’d have just knelt in front of Paul, too, in silent acceptance, but with no remorse.

Because that was what Irulan had also sensed from the older man, in his acceptance and silence. No remorse. Gurney had accepted Paul’s retribution, had accepted the comeuppance, but he did not carry any regrets. Even when he was kneeling in front of Paul, Irulan had sensed it strongly. Given the chance, he would have still made the same mistake. Like how Lance would have done if Irulan had ever given him the chance.

Her mind whirled toward him, wondering where he was now and if she could see him in private once more before they departed tomorrow. She had no idea where Paul was, but after what happened today, she was careful, which also brought her back to her current indecision.

What to wear.

She had been so adamant to make a show with her appearance tonight, but that alarm sense deep in her was advising caution now, with her throbbing hand. So much pressure, and Paul would truly break. Fear of the outcome was still in her, although there was still a part of her that wanted to do it, shove at his face further his license. Though that would have been truly reckless and…inconsiderate. Kicking a man when he was down. Irulan advised herself that she was better than that. She should be honorable and not attack her opponent when he was down, would allow him to get up again. Irulan had watched enough duels to know fair play. Her father would have called it…foolish, but Irulan still wanted to play fair.

Like Paul would have played. Irulan had watched him dueling in practice many times, and she had always seen Paul waiting for his opponent to get up after they fell down.

Tim and Rogue had already returned from her errand, bringing back a small note from the Professor which confirmed his participation for tonight’s feast, although hesitance and apprehension dripped from his words. The Professor had never been foolish, so he must have sensed something was amiss, despite his acceptance. That alone was going to be a kick in the shins for Paul when he was already down, but there was nothing to do about it now. She had sent the invitation and could not take it back. Paul was going to have to deal with that kick, but Irulan should play the rest fair.

The dress she was eyeing was an elegant, affluent dress that no concubine other than Lady Jessica would wear. It was modest and daring at the same time in a peculiar way, majestic and bold. It was deep green, a dark shade of emerald and golden once more, and the shade went particularly well with her perplexion. The bateau neckline only showed a glimpse of her collarbone as cleavage while it revealed the full length of her neck. The veils in emerald and gold draped from her shoulders down her arms, and there was nothing else revealing, although it wrapped her figure tightly, accentuating her curves.

When she was trying to find matching jewelry for the dress, Amy returned with Tim and Rogue. “Ru!!!” the small girl cried out, rushing toward her as Irulan straightened and turned to her opening doors.

Her tiara on top of her head was askew, and she was panting heavily with sweat on her skin in the cool afternoon, and her eyes were misted. Irulan realized she had been running to find her, and her attention snapped at them completely, panic driving everything else in her mind away from her.

“Is something wrong?!” she asked, trying to contain her panic, a million scenarios whirling in her mind. “What happened?”

“Tim says we’re leaving tomorrow!” Amy cried out and threw herself at her legs. “He says we’re going to that dune planet!”

Her panic subsided, comprehending the situation. Amy must have learned about the departure the following morning, and apparently, was having a field day.

“Yes, sweetheart, we will,” she confirmed slowly, kneeling in front of her, her chest panging again with the heaviness of their goodbye. She was still sad leaving the place had become a second home for her, but she didn’t want the same sadness to grow in her sweet protégé’s heart.

“But Dune is a very beautiful planet,” she said, grateful that she did not have the capability of sensing a lie. Tim and Rogue would take her statement with a grain of salt, but Amy would believe her. But, in a way, she wasn’t lying—not in a full sense. Irulan hated Dune with all her being. She hated the grating sand and merciless sun, she hated the tangy scent of spice in the air that scratched your throat with every breath, she hated the sandpaper air without any moisture that calmed your chest.

Yet, Arrakis was still beautiful in a way, the endless sea of sand, as far as the eye could see. As she looked at the desert that lay behind the Shield Wall from the top of the imperial Mahdi’s Palace on the hills, the landscape, the vast copper and golden sand of the sea even mesmerized her. In those times, Irulan used to dream of watching the sunset on top of a crescent sand mound, as Paul did with his beloved, watching the swollen golden-copper sun sink on the horizon and the twin moons of Arrakis rise.

Irulan had never seen it, had never seen them watching the sunset together, as well, but she had heard it. How the Mahdi still took his beloved to the deep desert in peace and quiet, and they watched the sunset together. It was a reverent quality on the lips of his followers, another thing to worship about their messiah. His deep, endless love for the desert and his beloved.

In those times, Irulan used to shed tears in her cold bed alone, sharing her loneliness only with her ghosts. Her eyes prickled again with the remembrance, a tidal wave of sorrow and sadness coming over her once more before she forced it away from her and controlled her emotions.

She wanted to say they would come back after the baby was born, but there was a part of her that had already accepted it was never going to happen anymore. Paul was never going to let her go anymore. She was supposed to stay with him in her place, at the bottom of his priority list, supposed to be happy with the bread crumbs he was throwing her way.

Her lips flattened again in a grimace, anger returning to her, his gaze glancing down at her wrist. The bracelet she only wore to make his beloved unhappy, and the blue handkerchief around the wound on her skin that was faintly aching. His darkened, intent blue gaze as he stared at her before letting his hand go came back at him, the way he had surrendered the blade to her, and Lady Jessica’s frantic, frenzied implores for her to stop him.

As if Irulan were the only person in the world who could do that in that moment.

Irulan or Chani.

The feeling was in her heart, and it was bizarre and reasonable at the same time, a contradiction, a dichotomy like Paul himself. Irulan was the woman whom he had neglected and ignored for twelve years, and she was the woman who bore his child now. It did not make sense, and on the other hand, it made perfect sense. The proof of it was still throbbing in her wrist. Paul had surrendered to her, leaving his blade in her hand. There was no one else in this plane of existence who would have managed that aside from Chani, and Irulan still wasn’t sure what to do with that fact.

“But if we leave tomorrow, I will not see Spitfire!” Amy cried out once more and truly started to cry as she hugged her legs over her dress and buried her head into her lap. “I so wanted to see it!”

“Amy—let her go,” Rogue cut in as Irulan stared down at the small, crying child who had enveloped her around her bottom body, dumbfounded, not knowing how to comport herself. Her Bene Gesserit training to sit on a throne did not include these parts. She had wanted to be a mother for so long, but she had never thought of the hardship of motherhood.

Now, as Amy cried heartfelt against her lap, Irulan entirely felt helpless and at a loss. Rogue tried to pull her away from her as Irulan held her, shaking her head, raising her hand to stop the teenage girl.

“Amy, sweetheart, please,” she said, bowing her head. “That old plane is dangerous, I told you.”

“Paul said he flew it!” she shrieked against her lap, her cries and words mumbled as the silk fabric of her dress got wet by her weeping, and Irulan really felt the urge to kick him in his shins this time! He should’ve never mentioned that to her sweet girl! Encouraged her because his damn Atreides boldness had made him fly a plane that dated back centuries out of curiosity and a sense of adventure.

“He said I could see it!” Amy cried out again as Rogue pulled her away from her, and Irulan sighed in defeat. “Why can’t I see it at least!”

“Amy—” Irulan started, but the girl turned around suddenly, rushing away like a spitfire, in fact, and opened the doors of her closet and hid herself inside.

Truly astonished, Irulan stared at the closed doors in a stupor as the girl literally hid herself inside her closet. If Irulan had done that in childhood, Mother Superior would have smacked her bottom until she could not sit without fidgeting for an entire week. The Bene Gesserit training was harsh and stout, and never shied away from punishments.

Rogue clinked her tongue as Irulan glanced at him, and the other girl heaved deeply. “She does that when she’s upset,” she murmured. “Tim and I looked for her for hours one time after she got upset with us. We found her in a tree hollow.”

“Well, I can’t spend hours,” Irulan replied, her voice getting flat, “We need to get ready for the party.” She paused for a second, and then smiled, knowing she had found something to make the girl come out on her own.

She walked to the closet and knocked on the doors lightly. “Amy, I’ve been preparing for the feast tonight. Do you want to come out and see my dress?” she asked with a sweet and very alluring voice, knowing it would tempt her mind. “I was also going to pick a hairnet for my hair. I might have even one for you to wear tonight.”

It was a bribe, something that if Mother Superior had seen her now would have even berated Irulan, but she didn’t know how else to handle the situation, so she did it. But the doors still stayed closed.

“I don’t want a hairnet!” she cried out from inside. “I want to see the Spitfire!”

Irulan let out a frustrated sigh this time, her perfect plan rebuffed, and she didn’t know what else to offer. “Amy, please. Get out,” she turned to implore. “We can’t go. Paul…isn’t having a good day,” she said truthfully. “He doesn’t have time.”

“But he promised!” came the shrieking answer from her closet. “He promised he would take me if you allowed it!”

Her anger flared once more at putting her into this situation with his promises! Every promise of his caused her nothing but headaches! “Fine!” she breezed out, admitting defeat in her anger. “I’ll find him, Amy, and ask. But get out of there now.”

“No!” came the stubborn reply, and pulled the door from the other side as Irulan held the handle and pulled it to open the closer. “I will not come out until he comes!”

Letting out another frustrated sigh, Irulan swept on her heels and left her chambers. If he caused this, he was going to have to deal with it. She first looked for the study room to find him, but learned from the Fedaykin in front of the doors, he wasn’t inside. They did not know his whereabouts, so Irulan looked for Stilgar this time. He was in another study room close to the main hall, working on a few Grievances.

The Naib lifted his sun-tinted, leathery face and gazed at her as Irulan stood hovering in the doorway. “Do you know where Paul is?” Irulan asked simply, cutting off to chase.

The old man’s blue gaze was wise, measuring her. His gaze lingered on her wrapped wrist, and Irulan wondered how much he knew about what had happened. The Keep was still so eventless that one could never have believed something so drastic had happened a few hours ago. Outside, she could hear the sounds of the servants as they prepared for the feast, the daily life of a household of a Great House, nothing unusual.

“Mahdi is outside the garden, Princess-wife,” the Fremen Naib said. “He asked not to be disturbed.”

Irulan nodded, not surprised. “I know he wishes solace, but it’s important.”

“He asked not to be disturbed,” he repeated.

“It’s about Amy,” Irulan replied, flat and insistent. “Can you just ask him?” She paused and admitted. “I’m in need of his assistance.”

Stilgar regarded her for a few seconds in a way that a Bene Gesserit would have done, asserting her request, and then slowly rose from his seat. “As Princess-wife commands,” he murmured with his thick, rough accent that Irulan still hadn’t gotten familiar with even after years, and left the room.

A couple of minutes later, the doors opened again, but it was Paul who had returned, not him. There was a placid expression in his face, underlining a panic he had hidden, but Irulan sensed. “What happened?” he quickly asked, closing the doors behind him. “Is Amy okay?”

Irulan quickly nodded. “Yes, she’s okay,” she replied, raising a hand to soothe him. “She’s—um, she’s having a…uh…crisis. She’s learned we’re leaving tomorrow, and she got sad because she wouldn’t see that plane of yours.” Her frustration returned, edging her voice. “She hid herself in my closet and refuses to get out until you come and bring her to see it!”

Paul stared at her for a full moment, truly in a stupor, and he laughed. The low laughter rang clear and soft in the room, shocking Irulan even more. “She did what?”

“Hid herself in my closet,” Irulan grumbled with a sigh and fixated on him with an annoyed look. It was almost funny what they were talking about now after what had just happened, but neither of them mentioned it.

“I can’t get her out,” she continued, letting out another deep breath. “I even offered her one of my hairnets, but she refused to go out. She wants you.”

 He laughed again, but nodded. “Okay, let us go and find her.” He paused, turning toward the door as if to make sure of it with her. “But do you wish me to take her to see it, am I correct?” he asked to ascertain, and Irulan nodded.

“Not a tour, but you can show the plane to her,” she assured, but her gaze when it found his was carrying a berating quality. “You’ve swayed her mind too far now to restrict it from her.”

“I flew that plane three times, Irulan,” he pointed out.

“Again, House Atreides is not known for their prudence.”

Paul let out another low sound, this time close to a snort. “Again, that’s really rich coming from you, lady wife.” He paused, his gaze glancing down at her wrist as Irulan noticed the change in her honorifics. Lady wife, not Princess Consort, not even Princess wife.

Irulan wondered what it meant as she followed his gaze. For a second, she couldn’t decide what he was checking—her wound she had received while stopping him from killing his former mentor, or the bracelet she wore as a token for war.

His eyes rose to hers. “We both know you also like to live dangerously.”

She averted hers from him, walking toward the door to join him, not looking straight at him in the eye anymore, but couldn’t help herself from mutter another jab. “Well, I at least don’t fly centuries-old planes or ride sandworms when I’m bored, my lord.”

It was odd how they were exchanging barbs now in good nature as they headed toward her chambers, still not mentioning a word about what had happened. What he had been meditating on in the gardens alone, what he was planning to do now. Gurney must still be in the dungeons, and Lady Jessica was in her chambers, waiting for Paul’s judgment. Irulan didn’t mention those points, and Paul didn’t speak. They just walked toward her chambers.

To find her protégé, who had hidden herself in the closet and refused to go out until the Emperor came to find her. For a second, as Irulan passed it through her mind, discussing the affair and Gurney even sounded more…sensible than that. Her hand almost touched her stomach, wondering if that was how Paul would be as a father. Even in her wild dreams, Irulan could not have imagined her father looking for her if Irulan had ever dared to do such a thing.

Something tightened her chest, feeling the gentle life inside her womb as they silently walked in the corridors. And then she remembered he used to be a father already, before the war had taken his son away from him. The Harkonnen bombings. An incredible sense of sadness washed over her, feeling remorse and guilt, although she was still not to be blamed for it. The feeling made her contradictions in her heart even deeper, made her feel more torn.

To prove her word, Amy was still inside her closet when they arrived. Rogue and Tim were standing at the alcove near her windows, waiting. They looked at Paul as he entered her chambers, a bit taken aback with his arrival, humoring a small street urchin in this way, but Paul’s steps did not waver or falter despite the bizarreness of the situation. He directly strode off toward her closet, certain and sturdy.

He knocked on the door, lightly but firm. “Amy,” he called with the same firm softness. “Get out of there now, child.” His low voice carried out his authority, one who was accustomed to giving commands and being obeyed.

The door cracked open an inch, and Amy’s blonde bird-nest hair showed up, her eyes trained on Paul, and there was a glimpse of a smile behind the door as the small child looked up at the Emperor.

She giggled as Paul reached out and opened her closet’s doors completely and took her out, holding out his hand. “Are we going to see it?” Amy asked, enthusiastic, bristling with energy. Irulan could see the stains of tears on her cheeks as she held Paul’s hand and jumped outside.

Paul nodded. “Yes, we will.”

The rest passed in a whirlwind.

Paul quickly arranged a squadron from his Fedaykin to escort them to the hangars in the city, combined with a squadron of Sir Lance’s Sardaukar. His choice surprised her, but Paul did not even blink as they escorted them toward the land cruisers that were going to transport them to the site. Irulan reckoned he wanted to see the Sardaukar on duty before he departed. Stilgar also joined them, and Gurney was, of course, no sight. Even if the Lord of Caladan’s absence drew attention, no one mentioned it.

Amy was still bristling with so much energy that Irulan almost forgot that she had basically blackmailed Irulan to get this excursion. She smiled at her protégé as they stepped out form the vehicles hand in hand, Amy rushing down the landing platform toward the hangar’s entrance. The port was busy in the late afternoon, a busy hive of commerce and trade. Irulan held on to her veils as Amy sprinted, her wound aching worse as the girl tugged at her hand.

Her unveiled face almost displayed her grimace when the throbbing ache jolted up across her forearm. She controlled the feeling, dulling the pain, but suddenly, the contact broke, as Paul grasped Amy’s hand and steadied her. “Hush, child. Do not tug at the Princess.”

The way she had called her honorific momentarily paused her as Paul glanced at her with a sideways look, holding Amy’s hand now. The girl happily walked beside him, hand in hand, almost hopping along with the Emperor. The sight was still so astonishing that Irulan couldn’t tear her gaze away.

Alia was still an infant when Irulan had seen her for the first time, and Paul had raised her on his own without Lady Jessica, but the preborn teenage girl had been so…unique and so different that no one would’ve called her a child. She had never seen Alia hopping beside her brother, even as a small child, walking hand in hand. The first time Irulan had seen the Saint of the Knives, she had taken the life of a human being, wetting her crysknife with the Baron’s blood.

Alia Atreides had never been a child.

The anxiety she had felt on Wallach IX increased as the moment of their return to Arrakis approached, glancing at Tim and Rogue. She—

“Are you okay?” Paul’s soft but gentle voice suddenly asked, cutting off her musings. She turned to him, staring at him in a loss, and he must have understood her confusion, but he clarified, “Your hand. It hurts.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He must have observed her tells, her quasi grimace when Amy had tugged at her hand. Embarrassment came over her before Irulan repressed it.

“It didn’t understand the blade was that sharp,” she mumbled, admitting it. “It cut deeper than I intended.”

He gave her another glance, too intense in his blue fire, before murmuring, “Yes. You’re proficient in that, cutting deeper than you intend, even though it might hurt you too in the process.”

She frowned with a glare, the meaning of his remark quite obvious. “I should’ve cut you instead,” she snapped in a hiss, and Paul only laughed.

“You can’t hurt me, Irulan, but I know you will try.”

Amy’s shrieking outburst as they walked into the hangar boomed between them before Irulan could even register what he had just said. “SPITFIRE!!!” her protégé screamed and broke free from Paul and started to run toward the old Atreides war plane.

The small plane was still shining like in the filmbooks Irulan had seen, still looking new and…well, functioning. It was so ancient technology that Irulan felt more than an old bombardment aircraft; she was looking at an artifact as priceless as Mona Lisa.

Amy was happy, and even sat in Paul’s lap when he took the seat in the small plane, grinning madly and shaking the wheel in front of them like mad. Irulan watched them from outside the cockpit, a smile curving up her lips.

“I’ll give him that,” Rogue said suddenly beside her. “He’s damn good with kids.”

Irulan let out a sound but could not disagree. “He is.”

When they were back at the Keep, Sir Lance stopped them before they parted ways. “Your Majesty—” he addressed Paul, lowering his gaze. “May I have the Princess Consort company before the banquet? There is something she should have back in my keepsake.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow as Irulan stared, stupefied. “May I ask what it is?” he asked, but it wasn’t a simple request; but a command.

Sir Lance lifted his eyes and stared at him. “I’ve brought roses from imperial gardens at Kaitain for her. I’ve been tending them for her keepsake in Salusa Secundus.” Irulan stared in complete shock now, but she didn’t know it was because of what he had just declared to Paul, or what he had managed to do in Salusa Secundus. A planet as harsh as Arrakis, but he had managed to save her roses.

Irulan didn’t know what to say, and Paul was silent, gazing at him deeply, his face darkening. “A single bud, for her name.”

The Rose of Kaitain, the poets used to call her in their poems and songs, not Ruinlan or Ruinous Irulan as how they called her now in satires and songs.

Paul nodded his agreement, surprising her further. “Plant them in the gardens here,” he said. “The Kaitain roses cannot survive Arrakis’s climate.” He paused, glancing at her. “I tried, too, Sardaukar.”

He turned around then and walked away, leaving them alone.

Her mind still taken aback, Irulan led them to the gardens where she had fought with Paul, and sat down on the stone bench that faced the fountain as Sir Lance went back inside to bring back her rosebud.  There was a small copper pot in his hands when he returned, a sweet pink rose bud of Kaitain roses truly in it, clinging to life.

She swallowed, her throat thick with emotions, her chest swollen. “How—how did you manage it?”

“I do not know,” he answered truthfully. “But I knew it would. Like us,” he spoke first, looking at her. “I knew it would survive, so that I could give it to you the next time I saw you.”

She raised her hand and rested it on top of his in gratitude, his skin calloused after years of handling blades. “I still do not know how to thank you,” she murmured as his gaze lowered and stared at the bracelet on her wrist and the silk blue cloth underneath it that wrapped her wound.

“You still don’t need to, Princess,” he answered, no suffix added, and Irulan did not care. His gaze touched the bracelet on her wrist before he reached into his pocket and took out a ring out of there.

A golden glint caught her eye as the heavy jewelry dropped into her palm, his fingers closely tightening around it before no one saw it as Irulan hitched in a rough breath, recognizing it.

“I was holding it for your keepsake,” he whispered, and Irulan realized this was what he had wanted to give her for true, not only her rose. “Your father gave it to me to pass it to you when the command came. It belongs to you now. You’re the head of House Corrino.”

 He rose to his feet and bowed his head before he turned around and took his leave.

Only in the gardens, Irulan looked down, opening her palm and staring at her father’s signet ring. The embossed golden lion of House Corrino encrusted on black onyx, roaring.

*

Later in the night, clad in her golden and green imperial and elegant dress, her wrist adorning Paul’s bracelet and his scarf still wrapped around the wound, Irulan stared at the golden ring, but then, reaching into her drawer, she opened it and hid her father’s ring.

 You can’t hurt me, Irulan, but I know you will try, his voice echoed in her mind as Irulan closed the drawer and locked it.

Not tonight, she passed in her mind in reply. Maybe later. But not tonight.

Checking her appearance for the last time, Irulan left her chambers for the feast.

Paul’s face was darkened as he sat at the head of the banquet table, across from him, Professor Jackson was seated. Paul didn’t even spare him a glance as Irulan stepped onto the floor behind the marbled columns, his gaze fixated ahead, already aware of her surprise. Her chosen blade for tonight to cut him.

Lady Jessica was still not in sight as Gurney, and no one still made a word of it. Paul stood up when Irulan took the seat at his right, and now Tim was seated at his left. He raised his wine goblet and quickly made a speech about her bestowing him a daughter, and bottomed up his drink in celebration before he gave her a long look as Irulan sipped from her sprinkled rose water.

“We shall have the first dance,” he suddenly announced, getting up once more as the music started to fill the main hall, his hand extended out to her.

Irulan gingerly accepted the offered hand, and they started to head to the dance floor. The music was a slow waltz, and trained steps followed the rhythm, Paul leading, Irulan following his lead. His arm delicately held the small of her back in decorum as Irulan held his shoulder with the same delicate attention as they circled the marble floor.

“You should have asked me before inviting him, Princess wife,” he spoke, voice low and firm, not berating, but his dislike was evident even from the way he did not take the Professor’s name in his mouth.

“I would have,” Irulan agreed, holding back a smile despite she had refused to wear her father’s ring tonight and wished she had not asked him for the banquet earlier. Now, witnessing his stout expression, displaying openly his dislike, Irulan felt…glad.

“But it would've ruined the surprise,” she remarked and allowed herself a pleased smile. “Are you really surprised, Paul?” she questioned, and he jerked his head.

“No. I told you I knew you would try to hurt me.” His endless blue gaze bore through hers. “I know you’ll hold your promise.”

As he whirled her in his arms, Irulan couldn’t be sure which promises he was talking about for a few seconds. That she had promised to take her revenge on him out of spite, or promising him he would not have any more of her than her child.

Irulan had been making a lot of promises lately.

“I just thought we could’ve had a respite for tonight,” Paul said, his eyes still riveted on hers as Irulan averted her gaze from him.

“I sent the invitation earlier this morning,” she admitted as sort of a truce. “I couldn’t take it back after what happened.”

She didn’t clarify what had exactly happened, but Paul asked nevertheless, his gaze willing her back to look at him silently, almost a compulsion. “Why did you stop me, Irulan?”

First, she stayed silent, refusing to answer. Paul was still too relentless for that. “We both know you kept silent about the affair because you hold no love for me, don’t owe me anything beyond what you’re bound to, so why did you step in?”

Why did you care? Irulan heard what he had left unsaid in his questioning and let out a deep breath. She would try to rebuke him, repel his attack, but she also knew there was no escape from him now. His attack was laid open, ready to confront his opponent. For three years, Irulan had fought this battle against him, not even knowing him, and each time, she had lost.

“I didn’t want you to take his life based only on your hurt feelings,” she admitted. “You might still take his life, I know that, and I wanted you to do it after careful reflection, not because you were hurt.” She paused, letting out a small sigh. “I want to play this fair, Paul.”

He almost faltered in his steps as he spun her. Irulan let out a low snicker in jest. “It’s not fair play kicking a downed man. Even I know that.”

She looked up at the ceiling, heaving out another deep breath that vanished into the slow music. “Besides, I hold no love for your mother, Paul, but I felt sorry for her. For Gurney.” Her eyes returned to him. “All in your life, you’ve never been alone. Even when you lost your home and escaped to the desert, you were never alone. You do not know how loneliness feels, how cold nights get alone. You’ve never been so alone that you share your dreams with ghosts.”

He stopped at the same time with music, staring at her in the same stupor as Irulan had made him yield his blade to her hand. She stepped away from his arms and curtsied, her head crestfallen, before she headed back to the table. 

His gaze followed her all night, but Irulan did not look at him again.

Chapter Text

The Caladan moon hung high in the clear sky, shining brightly among the stars. The stars were like small gemstones dappled on a black canvas, saying farewell to Paul in his last night on his home planet. No whisp of cloud or grayness was on the velvety canvas as if his home planet also wanted to engrave this scenery into his mind eye before he departed the place he had been born.

Paul had retired to the study room after the night aged and the feast ended, trying to find solace and peace in the silence and the beauty of Caladan’s night. His last night. He could not retire to his chambers, the place his father used to share with his mother.

He dipped his head, his hands circling his wrists on his back as he stood in front of the tall windows, Irulan’s last remarks while they danced whirling inside the storm within him, accusing him of something both true and wrong at the same time once more.

You’ve never been so alone that you share your dreams with ghosts.

Irulan was wrong because Paul constantly shared his dreams with ghosts, with ghosts of the future and past, in a way she would understand, but she was also right. Paul had never been alone in that physical sense. It was perhaps the bottom of the conundrum Paul always felt with her, the thing that they could not fathom in each other.

No one else than Alia, in a sense, perhaps would understand Paul’s predicament in the prescience, having this curse and boon at the same time, knowing the ghosts of the future and the past concurrently.

Tell me, little sister, what is before?

No. Irulan would not understand—Paul wished she had never had to understand this curse he had to carry, but she was also right. Paul had never known the loneliness in the sense she had spoken of. He had never known how nights got cold alone. All through his adulthood, Chani always shared the coldness of loneliness with him, and before that, Paul had always had his family.

His father.

His last thought brought back his anger, his lips flattened as his linked hands at his back fisted.

His father who had been so disrespected in his eternal sleep by his closest!

The conflict that was reserved to his ambivalent feelings for Irulan Corrino resurfaced in his anger once more, the urge to find his former Warmaster and have a confrontation. Ask him how he could do this to his father, the man whom he had served all his life, the man whom he would have died for, given the chance. Paul knew the sincerity of it—even from the way Gurney had slightly accepted his judgment, he knew their former Warmaster would have given his life for his father, given the chance, yet he had still replaced his place in his woman’s bed!

Irulan might have been right that Paul did not know the coldness of loneliness, but he did not need to experience a feeling to know it. The need for companionship was one of the highest aspirations of humankind, something even the Thinking Machines would not have replaced in the old days. For the same consideration, Paul had even allowed his wife to have a lover once. But although he had been bullied into it by Irulan’s bluff and threats, in the end, Paul had decided to bestow it on her, making a choice.

His father couldn’t have made that choice, despite knowing all the reasons and justification they would have had; they still shouldn’t have disrespected the man they’d once been bound to. Paul didn’t even think of the political scandals that would ensue if anyone were to learn about this affair, the ramifications it would bring to him from both the Great Houses and the Fremen fanatics.

If the fanatics had ever learned about this, they would have even asked for his mother’s head. His father’s figure had become so holy that they would not have been satisfied until all blood was shed and honor restored. Paul could not stop them. And Alia, Saint Alia of the Knife, wouldn’t hesitate at this betrayal like him.

The betrayal that had even escaped from his prescience. There was so much confusion in him that his oracle couldn’t even have seen it. Like a child closing his eyes to refuse to see what was beyond him, Paul had closed his inner mind, had refused to see what was in front of him. It must have taken Irulan a few days to realize the affair that Paul had ignored even after his arrival, sharing the same breath with them. 

A headache drilling through the temples in the mist of his blinded prescience, Paul lifted his hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. The cold anger in him still urged him to leave the study room and find Gurney, and take his life—simply just take his life and be done with it.

That was also the best way to protect his family from further disrespect and pain, just kill him. He deserved it! He knew he deserved it so much that he hadn’t even spoken a word in his shame, hadn’t asked for forgiveness, hadn’t begged. Perhaps, there was a part of his old friend that also wished to face Paul’s punishment for his betrayal.

This was the careful reflection Paul had surmised, not an impulsive, automatic reflex he had done when he had unrevealed the secret betrayal.

I didn’t want you to take his life based only on your hurt feelings. I wanted you to do it after careful reflection, not because you were hurt.

Irulan’s reply when Paul had confronted her for her act had surprised him as much as hearing her trying to use the Voice on him to stop him from killing Gurney. The sincerity she spoke was earnest and open in a way she seldom spoke with him. She had really tried to spare him from pain, the opposite of the promise she had made, basically assuring Paul she was going to allow herself to love him.

Just like Paul had promised Chani once.

Despite the love she was still harboring inside her that Paul still could not reciprocate, Irulan promised she was not going to let herself feel them.

It was such a conundrum that Paul did not even know how to feel about that, especially since she also admitted she wanted to play this fair, even admitting she had invited her former lover to the feast in honor of their child to hurt him before Paul learned about his mother’s affair.

Her confession suggested that she wouldn’t have done it had she known before, and it was so confounded that Paul felt the conflict in him deeper, did not know how to comport himself. He had managed to hold his anger upon seeing the man before preparing himself, knowing that Irulan had invited him on purpose, just to take her revenge, which would bring her happiness because Paul was denying her happiness in the ways she desired. Though he was not surprised, just as Irulan had also confronted him. He knew she was going to hold her promise, and tried to hurt him even if she also hurt herself in the process, just like she had cut her hand deeper than she intended to before giving her back his crysknife.

Aside from Chani, no one had ever taken his knife, Paul had never yielded it, and there was a part of him that wondered if Irulan was also aware of it, aware of what he had also accepted for her.

Irulan was always perspective, even when she was irrational, acting like a shrew. Even in her new quest to take revenge on him for her twelve years of suffering, she still had managed to stay sane and sound, not losing her common sense in her bitter feelings and grudge. That was the woman Paul admired the most, always knowing when to push and when to stop. In a way, that woman also reminded him of Chani—

He gulped, stopping his line of thought, but his chest still seized with a phantom ache and yearning—the companionship he had been missing since he left Chani.

You do not know how loneliness feels.

Irulan had been wrong, so wrong. Paul had been experiencing the loss of his beloved constantly, his grief spread all over his prescience, grieving for the people whose time had not come for them yet, but right that moment, he also experienced it physically; the acute missing in his chest and the strong yearning for companionship. Someone to talk to. The yearning was so strong in him that there was a part of him that urged him to find her, to ask her counsel despite everything, despite her promises and grudge. Despite her assurance that he would not have more of her than her child.

Chani came over to his mind eye again as Irulan’s sleepful form in his bed, soundly sleeping beside him, even though Paul could not touch her. The conflict tore at him with his yearning, but Paul still stayed where he was, rooted in front of tall windows in his decision. He felt so in despair that there was even a part of him that wished Amy would have thrown another tantrum and he could have had a reason to do something else, put him out of this indecision and act.

Even if it would have been to get kids out of the closets or show them old war planes.

Paul sighed in his weariness, even that sounded better than brooding here all alone in his misery. When Stilgar had found him to relay Irulan’s message, stating her dire need, Paul had been panicked at first, thinking something bad—something bad he had also missed again happened, and the small girl got hurt. Fear had spurned him out of his brooding then, and his realities had returned at the feast.

That weary part of him wished to be back in Arrakis once more, be back in the arms of his beloved even though it would also bring him other grievances. Paul did not humor himself imagining a warm welcome from his beloved upon his return, accepting him in her bosom and making him forget everything. He was not going to find the peace and quiet he yearned for, even with Chani.

She was going to be bitter and hurt, like how he had left her after their fight. Just like Irulan.

Paul had made both women in his life bitter and hurt. He wondered what his father would have thought about it with a pang in his chest, his father who always had advised him that a man should make his woman happy and loved. A husband’s duty. Making his woman feel cherished and loved. Paul was failing on that duty so badly that he did not have any idea where to start.

He remembered the Sardaukar’s claim about managing to cultivate a rose from their gardens for her as his lips flattened, knowing the man had done what Paul couldn’t have. He didn’t like that, although he had accepted the man giving it to her. It felt wrong, like another man in her life replacing him, his duties as a husband, and the feeling thinned his lips more, his mind whirling back to Gurney as an image of Irulan with Professor also flashed over his eyes.

With a raw sneer as anger flared in his chest, Paul pushed it all back and turned on his heel. He needed to do something. If he stayed inactive alone tonight, he was going to lose his mind.

Paul threw himself out and barked at one of the Fedaykin in front of his doors. “Tell the ghola to find me in the gardens,” he ordered before listening to their yes, Mahdi, and marched toward the gardens where he knew Irulan must have wished to have her rose.

And he wasn’t wrong. He sat on the stone bench in front of the fountain, gazing at the single rose bud with all the murderous intent in his chest, and waited for his ghola Mentat.

“My lord,” his ghola greeted him as Paul had been staring at the pink bud for minutes in the dark. It was prettier than he had imagined, had seen in his memories. Paul had never seen the infamous affluent imperial gardens in Kaitain, but he had heard what they called Irulan.

The Rose of Kaitain.

The Rose of Kaitain was in his gardens on Caladan now, because Paul couldn’t have managed to make the flower survive Arrakis, but it was flourishing now in his home planet. The thought still did not quell the murderous intent in his chest, still did not loosen his flattened lips while he gazed at the pretty flower.

It was so beautiful, just like Irulan. A rose of the valleys, not the plains of Arrakeen.

His grimace carved the grim lines across his mouth deeper, and Paul spoke of what was in his chest. The truth of his existence tonight, the murderous intent. He was still heeding her counsel, reflecting on it, not only because of his…hurt.

“I want to kill three men tonight,” he clipped. “Two men who committed crimes they should not have, and one man who is on the verge of doing it. What you say?”

Both Professor Jackson and Gurney had committed treason for touching what they should not have. Despite his license for Irulan, Paul still could have taken the man’s life for his insolence. He had bestowed his license on her, not to another. And Sir Lance—he was on the verge of sharing Gurney’s fate—was waiting for his wife’s consent in a moment of weakness.

Given the chance, the blonde man would have been in Gurney’s place, kneeling in front of him for the crime he had committed, accepting his comeuppance without any regret. That was also what Paul had sensed from his former Warmaster. He had accepted his judgment, but he still did not feel regret. He was ashamed, but he didn’t regret. He loved his mother.

If Paul hadn’t sensed that genuine love from him, even Irulan would’ve stopped him from taking his life.

But Sir Lance—he shared no companionship with the man he shared with Gurney. No companionship, no compassion. He could just get rid of another possible headache even before the act was committed. He was Paul Muad’Dib. He could do anything.

“I say my lord is bloodthirsty at the darkest hour of the night,” the ghola answered truthfully, and Paul did not deny. “May I learn who they are?”

Paul glanced at him as he stood by the fountain because Paul did not allow him to sit by his side. Another old friend—on the verge of betrayal. Soon in the future. His oracle was still blinded, but Paul could sense it—the doomsday waiting for them.

“Are you in my confidence, ghola?” he questioned before naming the names, giving him another blade for whatever plots Bene Tleilaxu and the Guild might be weaving for him.

“You know I cannot answer that truthfully, my lord,” the ghola answered the truth simply. “I do not know even myself.”

Paul let out a sharp sigh. “I know, ghola. I know.” He paused. “I’ve missed my old friend. I’m losing more friends every day.”

Gurney had been more than a friend like Duncan was—and here Paul was, after twelve years, one friend betraying him, and another one who was waiting for betrayal.

“Gurney betrayed me,” he said. “He betrayed Father. I shall take his life. And the other—touched my wife. The third one may do it given the chance. I want all of them gone from my life. I want peace.”

“You will not find peace, my lord,” the ghola told him. “Even though you take their lives. Your quarrel is not with them.”

“With whom?” he questioned, and the ghola gave him a long, dark look from metallic eyes.

“With yourself, my lord.”

Paul snorted. “You give counsel with thorns, ghola.”

“I give you the truth, my lord. Taking their lives wouldn’t bring peace to your heart. Would only make you feel better.”

“Maybe it is enough,” he muttered.

“You should not have this conflict in you if it were enough, my lord.”

Paul stayed silent for a while, staring at the pink rosebud. “The Princess Consort is in love with me,” he slowly remarked, breaking his silence, his voice low but flat as he spoke the truth in the quiet night, still looking at her flower. “But she denies it. To herself and me. She promised that I would not have more of her than her child. She will not allow herself to love me.”

“Man can do what he wills, but he cannot will what he wills, my lord*,” he replied from the old axiom about the will and act. “If her heart wills to love you, she will love you.”

She would only choose not to act on it, like Paul would have done if he’d allowed himself to return her feelings. He bobbed his head, accepting the denouement as a verdict.

“Gurney’s chosen to act,” he said after another pause, revealing his name and the betrayal. “His heart willed it, and he couldn’t stop his volition, and acted. He slept with Mother.”

There was no surprise on his expression or in the metallic eyes. “Then do you believe the will is free, my lord?”

Paul laughed bitterly at the ghola’s conclusion, trapping him in his own argument. Like Irulan had done. Does free will exist? She would like to join this conversation.

“Have you been spending time with my wife, ghola?” he asked, looking back up at him.

“The Princess Consort has a trained mind,” the ghola answered. “But I’m afraid not. She’s been busy.”

“Probably plotting new ways to hurt me,” he mumbled to himself and gave him another look. “What do you suggest then, Hayt? What should I do? If I cannot stop what my heart wills, should I act on it?”

“My function is not to decide on your place, my lord,” the Mentat refused to answer. “I function to help you to decide. The decision is yours. Like Gurney’s. You already know the answer to your question. You just don’t wish to admit it. In a world in which everyone does what they desire, there would be nothing but chaos.”

“The justifications are easy, and the mind does not favor cognitive dissonance, quickly tunes itself accordingly. Adaptation. Mind reflects reality, and reality reflects mind. No system is closed without any engagement, without mutual interaction. Questioning if the will is free is as absurd as questioning if the sky is blue, because the blue does not exist. It’s just a perception.”

“That’s an interesting interpretation of free will and destiny, ghola,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “Do you think DNA is also a perception? Our cores, written in generations, define who we are? Do you think they don’t exist?”

He stood up from the stone bench and approached the ghola.

“You’re built from what remained my dearest friend and mentor, from his DNA, from his life experiences, even though you don’t remember those memories. The people who built you also designed you as a weapon to bring my demise. Of this, we both are cognizant, Hayt. One day, your heart is going to want to kill me, and on that day, my old friend, we’re going to learn if the will is free or not.”

He turned on his heels and headed to the dungeons to make his decision. To act or not. He sent the guards away when he stepped into the dungeons and surprised, Gurney stood up in his cell, the floor covered with dirt and hay, his eyes looking at him now. Paul stayed silent, just holding his gaze, observing his old face.

A moment that felt like all his childhood passed as Paul remembered him—remembered the man who had taught him everything about war and fighting with Duncan before he met with Stilgar. The man who had called him pup back in the days, the man who smacked him whenever Paul missed a step in his shield fighting and allowed a breach. The man who had warned him countless times not to turn his back on any door, the man who had taught him how to listen to the footsteps. The man who had brought him to a brothel for the first time in his virgin days, the man who had taught him how to sign and play.

The man who had been a friend.

Always nothing but a friend.

“My lord,” he muttered as if he had heard Paul’s thoughts and dropped to his knees once more as Paul heard his tears in his voice more than seeing them on his cheeks as his head bowed, unable to look at him anymore.

“I cannot forgive you, old friend,” Paul spoke, making his decision, willing his volition. There was no forgiveness. His heart could not forgive this betrayal, but he still could be…fair.

Perhaps that was why Irulan had even stopped him in the depths of her heart, wanted him to act fair and just. “My heart cannot allow it, but I also cannot take your life. Go. Go and find a place in which you can be at peace if you may, and never return. I cannot see you again. I cannot allow that disrespect to my father.” He paused, steeling himself for what he was about to say next, steeling his resolve.

“And take Mother if she wants to leave with you,” he continued. “She can leave. I will not hunt you. I will not look for you. If that’s what her heart wishes, she can go, too. You will not have my forgiveness, but you have my permission.”

“My lord…” he murmured, his head bowed. “I-I’m sorry.”

“So am I, old friend,” Paul only said before he left the dungeons without another word.

When he was back in the study room, he still watched the night sky, his hands linked behind his back, his legs set apart. But his heart was still heavy, even knowing he had made the right choice, letting them free. The chill of the night breezed into the study through the half-open windows, raising a shiver over his skin.

Cold. It was cold.

You do not know how loneliness feels, how cold nights get alone.

 The yearning swelled his heart so much that it willed his feet, and Paul threw himself out of the study room, knowing where his feet were carrying him this time. There was a part of him that still knew he should not do it—he should not seek her out for companionship, to share his ghosts. That place in his heart belonged to Chani, Chani alone, yet Paul still kept walking.

It was the second time Paul had done this, had slipped inside her chambers like a ghost at night. His feet made no sounds as Paul crossed her living areas, the belongings of Amy scattered around her place, marking her presence in his wife’s life. Knowing the girl was at least with her, sharing her loneliness eased his chest more than one way, but Paul pushed away the faces of Sir Lance and Professor Jackson from his thoughts.

He had come so close tonight to having them gone from his life, he could not dare to think of them right now. Not when he was walking toward the woman who was denying her love for him.

Unlike the other time he had come to her room after taking the hands of a man who had dared to touch her, Irulan was soundly sleeping this time in her bed, Amy tucked between her arms. The small girl was practically lying all over her, her weight pinning her down the mattress as she sprawled out in her king-sized bed, but Irulan did not look as if she minded, sharing it with her protégé. His chest eased further seeing them sleep so close, entangled to each other, knowing that she wasn’t at least alone in the cold. It was not the company she should have; a wed woman should have the sheltering arms of her husband during sleep, but it was better at least being lonely.

On her bedside stand, there was her bracelet, taken off before she went to bed. But his blue handkerchief was still wrapped around her slim wrist, covering the cut she had made to herself to stop him. Deeper than she had intended. Whenever she got closer to him, she always ended up hurting herself, Paul mused with a deep sadness as he slowly sank into the chair beside the bed.

They were still soundly asleep, unaware of his presence. Paul watched them in the dark, and his eyes slowly fluttered closed as his mind drifted away. The sane—sensible part of him warned him, urged him to get up from the seat, but his will still resisted the urge.

Losing his inner battle, Paul closed his eyes and let his awareness fade away.

Chapter Text

Paul watched the new dawn at the cliffs of his homeland, staring at the seas and sky where he had been born for the last time before he returned to where he belonged. His chest seized at the thought, an acute missing already forming in his heart even before his departure.

The wind at the heights of his cliffs whipped at his face, and Paul closed his eyes, inhaling the salty air through his lungs, the sea and sky. He was going to miss Caladan.

His home.

He had roused himself from sleep in the same chair where he had fallen asleep last night before the dawn broke, his body inclined in the idle repose he had sought and found, his legs stretched out, his arms draped over the armrest. Irulan and Amy were still soundly sleeping, unaware of his presence, unalerted by his company.

Their limbs and blonde hair were entwined further in sleep as the energetic girl had taken away all the covers from them, leaving them spread out in the bed. Paul had seen his wife once more in the sheer chemise that he had only caught glimpses of when she came to his bed before dropping it on the floor of his private chamber.

The morning chill was warmer than the night, but Paul still felt his fingers twitch, urging him to cover them before he took his leave from their company as silently as he had come. With his utmost attention and stealth, he approached the bed and covered them. When his eyes lingered on the slim legs and round hips under the sheer fabric, Paul forced them away, not allowing himself to stare.

No touch nor softness of glance, nor an instant of desire.

The words that had whirled in his mind weren’t his own anymore but were hers, promising Paul he would not have any more of her than her child. Paul had recalled his talk with the man who wore his oldest friend’s face, had recalled his heart’s desire that he had not allowed himself.

Then he had left the room and come to his cliffs, to pay his respect to her forefathers and his father and uncle, and watch the new dawn of his home planet for the last time before he departed for Arrakis. For Chani.

His heart seized once more, thinking of what he had done last night and what was waiting for him in the future as his eyes stared at the new dawn, blue sky, and wind. He wondered when he would be able to greet a new day at the cliffs of his childhood once more, breathe the clear air. There was no sand in the Caladan’s sky, only salt and dew. There was a part of him that was aware that his melancholy from the night had seeped through his morning as well, but the introspection still didn’t leave him at peace.

Once he was back at the castle, he was also going to learn what his mother had chosen last night, whether she abandoned him truly or not, so Paul took his time to say farewell to his birth home. He was going to come back, he knew, but he wasn’t sure if it would be the same now.

 Tell me, little sister, what is before? His answer echoed through his awareness and prescience once more, the substance of now still clouded in his oracle.

If the substance of here and now is changed, the future is changed, Paul recalled further, Hayt’s answer when this all had started. When Paul had asked—veiledly commanded Chani not to touch Irulan, forbidding his concubine to kill his wife. Perhaps Paul should have listened to the tool of his demise more often. The ghola mentat had told him even before.

If the substance of here and now is changed, the future is changed.

There were so many things that he needed to…reflect, contemplate…recomprehend, even rediscover. About the nature of himself, his prescience. His oracle willed a spice-trance as much as his body needed water and nutrition, a solace in deep reflection and meditation.

If the substance of here and now is changed, the future is changed.

Paull allowed his Timewish to be free at his own will, at his violation and swim. His timeless awareness swept over the plains of possibilities and probabilities, some clouded and some clearer, as his present consciousness heard footsteps behind his back approaching him.

His conscious mind whirled back at the man who had taught him how to listen to the footsteps as the pebbles of the gravel road that led to the cliffs silently crunched under the soft sleepers. His wife truly had light steps, and if he turned around and looked over his shoulder, he was sure he would see her gliding over the steep, hard terrain more than climbing.

Briefly, Paul wondered how she could sandwalk, an image of her gliding over the dunes appearing in his mind-eye. As graceful and sleek as a dancer, and as sleek and deft as a warrior. Irulan had never been trained in martial arts, but her body was still built as one.

Something in his chest willed him to turn around and look at her, see that sleek and deft body approaching, see the blonde hair whipping in the wind. Paul could even smell her perfumed oil that she usually only put in her hair drifting toward him in the air, the musky vanilla oil, but there was no hint of moonflowers this time in the scent, but…roses.

Instead of moonflowers like she used to, Irulan chose roses for her fragrance this morning. His lips flattened in a grimace as the musky, rosy scent filled his nostrils more as she approached him closer. The fact that she had somehow found him here paled to that as his mind recalled the last night and the single rose bud the man who was foolishly in love with her had planted in her name.

His grimace carved around the corner of his mouth deeper as Paul willed himself stronger not to act, planting his feet spread on the cliff edges. His linked hands at his back clutched also tighter, but Paul stayed as unflinching as stone.

Man can do what he wills, but he cannot will what he wills.

He was not going to look at her.

Coming to see him wearing her admirer’s roses!

For a split second, he even wondered if that was another way to take revenge on him, wearing the fragrance on purpose. Last night, she had confessed she wouldn’t have asked her former lover to attend the feast after what happened, but she most probably expired her…ceasefire in the morning.

Last night was an exception.

Just like how Paul had sought her company, an exception in their mutual ceasefire. Paul should not expect anything further.   

Paul still did not look at her as she stopped beside him at the cliff’s edge, slanting a sideways glance at him. Although Paul did not look, out of the corner of his eye, he also caught a soft expression on her features, wistful, almost…amicable.

“I should’ve known you’d be here, too,” she slowly mumbled.

Paul briefly wondered if her ceasefire also lingered through the morning, until they left Caladan, desiring to pass their last morning on his home planet at peace. In peace.

“I’ve wanted to see the dawn, pay my respects to my forefathers before we leave,” Paul admitted, and she bobbed her head.

“I know. I, too,” she replied, and it wasn’t a lie. She paused and looked away. “It’s going to be hard for Tim.”

“I know,” Paul replied. “But he’ll have you.”

He was very sincere, too, and Irulan turned to him as Paul also finally did, too. “I’ll have Stilgar to pen an official decree this morning, appointing him as the Lord of Caladan,” he announced. “He will adopt the title before we leave. And, the Bene Gesserit will sanction his birthright.”

She nodded. Paul had already told her about his plans, but there was still that worried look on her face. “Qizarate will not hurt him, I won’t let it. I promise.”

Her eyes flitted to him before she asked in a lower voice over the wind. “And Alia?”

Paul’s face became stiff. “Alia is also my concern.”

She let out a soft sigh and murmured, “I just think perhaps it’s better if he stays here with Sir Lance,” she said, and Paul’s expression got so hard that he barely kept himself from reacting.

“His place, too, is beside me,” he snapped, pointedly adding the suffix to also include her, “Not with your former sworn guard.”

They both belonged with him, at his side, not with that damn sworn knight! Paul had declared it many times, both for his cousin and for her, but it seemed his wife still humored herself with those fancies.

His wife slanted him another look, but stayed silent this time, not opposing his verdict, and Paul felt satisfied.

“I talked with Gurney last night,” Paul announced, straightening his shoulders and facing ahead in the brief silence between them, his firm but low voice straining. Even the wind whipped at them fiercer as if sensing his lord’s mood, Paul observed as Irulan’s attention whirled back at him, her eyes widened in silent surprise. “I banished him.”

Her stunned expression became even more bewildered. “Did you?” she echoed back as if Paul would jest about something like this.

“Yes. I’m not going to take his life,” he replied. “I’m not going to have his blood on my hands, too.”

The admission almost felt like a confession, but Paul did not stop his own violation. He wanted to tell her. She had stopped him yesterday because of it, so Paul wanted to tell her now. Perhaps his sincerity was a thank you, too. His admittance. “I don’t want to.”

Slowly, her eyes turned reflective from surprise, her initial shock leaving her. “If that is what you wish.”

He captured her gaze before making up his mind about his sincerity, how long he would walk this path with her. Her mother was correct about Irulan. Lady Jessica didn’t know his wife as long as Paul had known her, but she had been right. She knew Irulan in ways Paul couldn’t fathom before, and Irulan, her. Their similarities didn’t only lie in ambitions and love. Irulan had understood his mother and what had made her seek out Gurney’s company, the loneliness she felt, only having ghosts to share their dreams. His mother had done what Irulan perhaps also wished even now, despite her own proscription. A man’s pure love.

That alone had been almost enough for Paul to take a man’s life unjust.

“No,” Paul admitted once more, making up his mind. “It’s not what I wish.” Still, there was a part of him that wanted to say the order, pass his Judgment. That part of his heart still desired their execution, and Paul wanted her to know it.

Was it a confession now or a warning? Even his own comprehension couldn’t decide.

Perhaps both.

“Last night, I also almost took three lives,” he said, his eyes still locked on her gaze as her green eyes narrowed in confusion, trying to assess his statement, observing his tells. Paul displayed them openly, not hiding anything, and soon she took a half step back, seeing the truth in his expression.

“Last night,” Paul repeated, “I almost ordered Gurney, the Professor, and Sir Lance’s executions.”

She exhaled a sharp breath before asking in a murmur, “Why didn’t you?”

“My heart desired it, desired their deaths,” he confessed, but also admitted, “But I also didn’t want to be unfair. Unjust.”

And, had I done it, you wouldn’t have looked at me in the eye again, a soft whisper in the recesses of his mind added, something Paul couldn’t even think aloud, but there was a truth in it that he couldn’t escape even in the confines of his own mind. If Paul had done what his heart desired, he would have suffered the consequences of his choice. Irulan would have never forgiven him.

He cleared his throat, suppressing that thought, but pointed out what they had discussed before about his limitations when he used to deny making a constitution. “I told you I had limitations. My conscience set those limits, and if I denied them, I would have denied myself. I would have been untrue to myself, to my self-ruh, to my essence. If I did it, I would have proven Muad’Dib nothing but a figure for the devout. Do you not always say I’m more than that?”

She blinked in confusion and puzzlement. “Yes—”

“Then why do you look surprised now?” Paul demanded, taking a step closer to her, his eyes still on hers. He wasn’t upset. He was just curious. Curious about her surprise and confusion. “Do you think I’m a liar?”

“No. I’m just—” she paused, “surprised to hear you confessing it, I reckon. Confessing a…” She gave him another fleeting look before averting her eyes, not finishing it.

Paul did it in her place. “A weakness?”

She glanced back at him in silence, admitting it, and this time, it amused Paul. “I’m omniscient, dear wife, not omnipotent. I’m still a man, not a god.”

Her low laugh rang in the windy air softly, and something eased off in his chest as it echoed through him, quenching the last remnants of that murderous, malicious intent that had lingered in his heart from last night. For a brief second, Paul even observed how easily “dear wife” had rolled down his tongue without any bitter irony or satire, almost sounding…real.

And, Irulan didn’t even blink this time when Paul did it.

“Do not let Qizarate hear you talking like this, my lord,” she jested. “You’re a consubstantial, dyoprosopic concept.”

“And do not let Qizarate hear you calling me a concept,” he jested back. “That’s blasphemy.”

“We both know I will do more than that.”

His face became serious and stiffer at her answer, knowing its trueness. She was going to do far more than that. Far worse blasphemy than that.

“Regarding the topic,” Paul replied, benefiting from the opening she had given him, treating carefully. “May we discuss the constitution before we leave?”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Paul raised a hand half in the air to soothe her. “I’m not backing down,” he assured her. “But I was considering if we should wait until the birth,” he spoke with the same careful consideration, making sure to speak in plural, not to ruffle her feathers further. “The haste—”

“—is of the essence,” she cut him off, not letting him speak. “We shall start the commission as quickly as possible. The longer we await, the worse it gets!”

Paul took a step closer to her. “Irulan—” he started, but she cut him off once more, and it had become so familiar now that Paul started to wonder if that had become a habit, not letting him speak his mind fully.

“No. We’re not stepping back, Paul! You promised me!” She paused, her head inclining as her narrowed eyes slitted further in a line, her suspicion growing heavier. “Is this a new way to achieve what your heart desired? Are you trying to keep Professor Jackson away from me?”

His expression stiffened, as well, hearing her suspicion and lack of trust in his word. “If I wanted him away, he would’ve been away,” he clipped. “I do not need to conspire for it.”

She sent him a glare in silence. Paul let out a frustrated sound. “I fear for your safety and our daughter. The Qizarate will target you. I shall not give them more reasons for revenge.”

“They fear your vengeance more than they hate me,” she encountered quickly, not stepping down, and even though it was true, Paul did not admit it, but pointed out:

“They did conspire for my demise.”

“And, you executed who did it,” she replied. “And I’m your wife, carrying your child. Everyone thinks now we’ve consummated our marriage. They would not dare to touch me, Paul. They have not lost their common sense that much yet.”

Paul gave her a look. “You’ve never trusted the sensibility or rationality of fanatics that much before, lady wife.”

“I’m not trusting their sensibility or rationality,” she snapped. “I’m trusting their survival instincts. Fear has always been your most powerful agent, your agency. A part of your legend.” She paused, her eyes finding him after a brief moment of hesitation as if she wasn’t sure of what she was going to say, but she did it anyway.

“They would not dare to touch Muad’Dib’s woman,” she remarked lowly as Paul stared back at her. “I wouldn’t, either.”

His chest constricted, and something raw inside it clawed at him—but Paul didn’t understand what that animalistic rawness urged him to do, what it desired. His heart thumped against his ribcage, and Paul swallowed and controlled his emotions that he could not even comprehend.

“You’re still trusting too much in the fanatic’s rationality, Irulan,” he said after a while, shaking his head.

“Is it the reason why you announced I’m having a girl this quickly?” she questioned him, her eyes narrowing again, this time in inquisitiveness, not in suspicion.

Paul nodded. “Partly. Some of the priests would not like you having my son.”

She nodded back, but her eyes didn’t leave him. “And the other part?”

Paul held her gaze and stayed silent. Her expression became stiff. “You wanted Chani to learn it.”

“You know of her pregnancy,” Paul replied, firm but calm. “She shall know of yours, too. It’s only fair.”

She snorted lowly in her nose, very unladylike. Rogue really had rubbed off on her. “Have you rehearsed what are you going to tell her about me having a girl?” She paused as her lips pulled into a mocking, but pleased smile, taking joy in his conundrum and hardship as much as she had promised.

“After all, she did allow you to have my child to have an heir, right?” she taunted, still smiling. “That’s going to be quite a shock, I reckon. You, allowing me to choose for a change.”

His grimace returned at full force. “That’s between me and my beloved,” he replied calmly, not getting triggered again with her jab. “Do not heavy your heart on our behalf.”

Her pleased smile vanished from her lips as she glared back at him. “I do not,” she said. “I know Chani will forgive everything you would ever do.”

“Forgiveness is the byproduct of genuine love and companionship, Irulan,” he replied. “It’s something that perhaps you also should learn.”

Anger flared over her expression with her glare, but Paul couldn’t be certain whether it was because Paul had hinted at the silent love that she bore for him that she didn’t allow herself to acknowledge, but something else.

“Is it?” she asked back. Paul gave her another silent look. “I will not ask you then if you have forgiven me for my father’s sins because I know you hold no love and companionship for me, but tell me: Have you forgiven Gurney?”

Paul paused, staring at her. She was too smart, too smart. Sometimes Paul admired it—whenever he didn’t feel…scared. “I set him free,” he replied.

She smiled, almost in victory, and Paul knew she had won this time. “That wasn’t what I asked, Paul.”

“I know what you asked, Irulan, but it wasn’t only mine to forgive them. They didn’t only disrespect me, but they also disrespected Father, his memory. Even though I can forgive them on my own behalf, I cannot forgive them in my father’s place. That forgiveness isn’t mine to give. But I set them free. They’re free to go if they wish. I will not hunt them if they choose to be together.”

She blinked, registering what Paul had just told her. “What?”

“I told Gurney last night he could also take Mother if she wished to leave with him,” Paul admitted and tilted his head at their castle. “Perhaps she’s there no more. Perhaps she’s truly left me and Alia now. I do not know.”

Stunned, she was still staring at him with widened eyes. Paul let out a silent sigh. “You were right. I do not know the loneliness you bear. My loneliness lies elsewhere. I’ve never been alone the way you are. But I still know of loneliness, Irulan. How it feels only having ghosts to share your dreams or nightmares. I cannot forgive them for what they did,” he confessed to her, too. “But I wish them to be happy, even if it means they would be away from me.”

They stayed silent for a while, until Irulan turned to him, breaking it. “Do you think she has gone with Gurney?”

Chose her lover and her own happiness over him, she meant to ask, but somehow his confession had also brought her…tact from last night back. Another temporary ceasefire, Paul reckoned. “I do not know,” he repeated the same.

Her eyes bore through his. “Why haven’t you checked?”

Paul allowed himself a bitter sound. “I suppose I am not ready to face the truth yet.”

She smiled softly, genuine and earnest, not mocking or taking joy from his anguish and pain. “She wouldn’t leave you,” she said. “Even at the cost of her own happiness, she cannot leave you like that, Paul. I have no doubts about that,” she said, and paused as her voice got firmer.

“And, I do not have any doubts about to whom your mother’s heart still belongs. To the man who made her commit the Jessica’s crime. The man who had made her sever her connection to the Sisterhood out of love. She does not love Gurney, Paul. Perhaps she even just loves…Gurney loving her.”

  Paul stared at her, and almost asked her that was what she loved about Sir Lance, loving the man loving her, but the words got stuck in his throat, because he knew what she had told him about her mother was true.

 You and I, sister, his mother’s voice swirled in his mind as Paul stared at his wife, who almost confessed her feelings about a man who was deeply in love with her. We’re not far from different from each other.

“My lord—” she curtsied, finally breaking their sudden tense silence to take her leave, and Paul almost grabbed her arm and stopped her, and demanded an explanation, ordered her to tell the truth, whether she talked about his mother or herself. He wanted to know, yet something—an apprehension still kept his mouth shut in the same way Paul had left the Keep without seeking his answer.

She turned aside and started to glide down the path.

Paul lingered outside for a while even after she took her leave, visiting his father and uncle's graves another time. He couldn’t say anything to his father, his heart was only at ease that he was lying now with his brother and ancestors.

Small mercies of these tiring days.

If the substance of here and now is changed, the future is changed. Words whirled in his mind as Paul finally started to head back to the Keep, too, raising his collars against the wind, his shoulders hunched.

The reveal of truth, the moment of reveal.

When he stepped inside the great hall, the busyness of the day greeted him, the transition of the old Atreides Keep. The whole place was in an upheaval as countless servants ran on errands in haste. The last time Paul had seen such a business in their ancient stronghold had been—

Before their move to Arrakis.

The whole castle was in the move, getting ready to be transferred.

Paul swallowed as his eyes found his wife up in the heights over the staircase’s hall with her charges. They weren’t the eye of this storm as they weren’t the ones who were moving to Arrakis for true right now. Even Irulan hadn’t been a resident of his stronghold that long.

It was his mother.

His eyes moved further and spotted her on the other side of the second floor, ordering a few handymen to move the portraits on her walls. Paul stayed where he was downstairs in the main entrance, just watching the scene above his head. Irulan’s glance followed them as well as she still stayed with her charges, keeping her distance but watching closely as his mother started to climb the staircase.

Paul still stood where he was, watching her approach him. “My portraits wouldn’t be suited perhaps in Mahdi’s Palace,” she remarked, looking at Paul. “But my heart cannot leave them here. Is it okay?”

The portraits were banned by the high council, but Paul nodded his assurance. “It is okay, Mother.”

Lady Jessica nodded, then no further word was spoken. They did not speak of what had happened, or why she had decided to stay, or why she had even decided to come back with him now after all this time. Paul would have asked if it was her way to ask his forgiveness, to find what they had lost, but he didn’t speak, either.

Then her mother stood by his side as Paul glanced up the staircase, his eyes finding his wife among her charges, and his mother’s gaze also followed.

“She was doing something yesterday in the drawing room, Paul,” his mother spoke slowly, glancing at him away from her, and there was something in her tone that made Paul pause.

“Something she was not supposed to,” Lady Jessica continued in the same low, conspiring voice. “She jumped—literally jumped out of her skin when I caught her and quickly hid something. I couldn’t see what it was, but I knew it. She didn’t want me to see it.”

Her gaze lingered on Paul as Paul watched Amy throw herself into her lap, wrapping her small arms around her waist and resting her bird-nest head with ribbons over her crotch. The small girl looked up at her from her nest, and Irulan looked down at her with a genuine smile.

She took an apple from her sleeve and gave it to the small girl.  

“She was afraid—” her mother whispered as Amy fetched it from her fingers, smiling big and taking a big chunk of it before she dashed out—

A vision flashed across his mind—

Irulan, covered in an old, dusty robe and cloak, wandered in the marketplace, ditched Gurney’s guards. She was wandering and wandering, a lost soul in the crowd, and then she stopped beside a stall with candies and fresh fruits.

Something drew up his spine as Paul straightened, watching her from afar in his mind-eye. She sidled closer as her hand slid up from the counter and took an apple.

Stole an apple.

Paul stared, and stared and stared as the fruit disappeared under her sleeve, even in his mind-eye having difficulty with registering what he was witnessing—his wife—the Princess Consort of his Empire stealing fruits from street stalls—then he noticed it.

Another pair of eyes watching her from afar.

They noticed the eyes set on her at the same time. Irulan glanced up and spotted it behind the columns of the agora. Blonde bird-nest hair and lively, energetic green eyes. Paul hitched in a breath as Irulan raised a finger on her lips and mimicked a signal of silence, but it wasn’t threatening. It was almost…endearing as she also softly smiled at Amy.

Amy still stayed where she was behind the column, but Irulan approached her. Her small hand went behind the sash under her jacket in a way Paul had never seen the small girl before, touching a small blade he also had never seen before. This Amy was as suspicious and wary as Rogue, eying Irulan with narrowed eyes as she approached.

When Irulan stopped behind the column and offered the apple to her, she stayed in indecision for a few seconds, before she lunched like a viper, quick and sleek, fetching the apple from her fingers and dashing away.

His oracle whirled back to the present as he understood how his wife had truly met with her protégé.

In his mind, another vision appeared—another day, Irulan standing in front of the stall once more, and Amy behind the column. She nodded her head at the apple, but Amy tilted her head at the chocolate bar on the stall, and Irulan stole that for her. The next time, it was a candy bar, and when Irulan gave it to her, this time they walked hand in hand, heading toward the beach resort. Amy ate the candy bar along the path, holding his wife’s hand.

His mind whirled into the chaos he had unearthed, and now they were in his heighliner, and Irulan was in his bedroom. She slowly awoke from her sleep after Paul had sent her away from his sight. She slowly straightened from his bed and started to wander in his room, checking the drawers and his containers. Paul did not know what she was looking for, but he wasn’t surprised anymore when she found his black onyx cufflink with the Atreides hawk and slipped them under her sleeves.

Her fingers did not even twitch or hesitate, deft and skilled, habituated. She didn’t even blink at what she was doing. Stealing from him.

His eyes fixated on the present, and upstairs, Irulan caught the girl again, arranging her ribbons as the girl swayed on her feet as she ate her apple. She glanced up and told something to Tim and Leo, who nodded their heads at her without hesitation, and Rogue leaned into her to whisper something in her ear. Irulan smiled softly and then noticed Paul’s lingering gaze on her.

She looked down, and Paul held her look, and then he realized he didn’t have any idea what to do.

Chapter Text

Irulan felt Arrakis’s merciless sun first when they dropped from orbit, and the imperial sleek landing craft cut through the atmospheric pressure like a knife cutting butter. Even through the insulated, sturdy aluminum and titanium surface of the spacecraft would not resist Arrakis’s heat and the sandpaper air.

Her body began perspiring in her silk dress as the temperature inside the main hall rose, and the spacecraft started to reverberate more with the pressure. Closing her eyes, Irulan tried to stay focused on the moment, ignoring her body’s responses as she tried to shut down her mind.

She was back.

After more than three months in exile, Irulan was back to where she had been banished from, and even though she had tried her best to prepare herself for her return, she realized that she still wasn’t. Perhaps she would have never managed to prepare herself for this even though she spent a lifetime in preparation.

What had happened between Paul and his mother had perhaps postponed her anxiety, but now, as they dived down head straight into Arrakis once more, Irulan felt it deep in her bones and marrow.

God created Arrakis to train the faithful.

The Fremen’s favorite self-bragging parlance swirled in her mind as Irulan kept her eyes tightly closed, trying to master her emotions. God created Arrakis to train the faithful. And, to torture the unfaithful, Irulan added to herself, her nerves straining.

How many times had she been called the unfaithful? And how many times had she been ridiculed and demeaned, looked down in contempt because she wasn’t one of the faithful? No matter how hard Irulan had tried, she had never been considered one of them, the faithful.

When Paul had tried to warn her out of fear, Irulan had declined, even though she had agreed with him inwardly. The Qizarate was going to hate her carrying Paul a child. Perhaps less now because she carried a daughter like Chani, not a son, but they were going to hate it nevertheless, simply because they hated her.

The unfaithful, foreign Princess Consort. Who had been taken as a war prize even though the victor still denied it, her being a prize. More like a burden and shackles than a reward.

But even then, it wasn’t what preoccupied Irulan. Funny enough, Chani wasn’t, either. Even the Fremen woman wasn’t at the top of place of her anxiety list. After what had happened between them, seeing her again, being in her presence was going to be hard and disturbing, quite annoying and vexing, but she knew at least it was going to be mutual. Call her spiteful again or not, it relaxed her knowing it was going to be as hard and disturbing to the woman seeing Irulan as it was to her. There was a soothing comfort there, making her feel more prepared to face that than the other stuff that was awaiting her.

The other stuff that contained Tim and her charges, and the Fremen and their Saint of the Knife. Paul was typically very tight-lipped about his enigmatic sister, only assuring her once more that that was his concern, not hers, which had not reduced her anxiety and worry even an inch, of course.

And now, they also had the Reverend Mother of the Fremen accompanying them, returning to where she had herself abandoned twelve years ago.

Irulan hadn’t been surprised. She could tell Paul had been in qualms, truly not knowing what his mother would have chosen, hiding himself from her choice when Irulan had found him on the cliffs this morning before their departure. The talk they had shared stayed with Irulan during the rest of their day and trip, Paul’s confessions, and the vulnerability that he seldom displayed. At least to her. There was a part of her that still felt stunned and perplexed by it, but nevertheless, when she had felt his conflict and fear, Irulan had wanted to tell him to calm down his worries, at least what she believed.

It turned out she hadn’t been wrong, and perhaps Lady Jessica had a modicum of truthiness and wisdom in her comparison between them. That they were alike. Even when Irulan had been angry at the woman for creating a bubble of peace and quiet for herself, staying away from what she had helped to create, she had also known what she would have chosen when the time to choose came. She would have always chosen her child, because Irulan would have done the same.

Her love for her Duke was sincere and true, but her love for Paul was unrivalled, preeminent. Perhaps Alia scared her, for a good reason, but Irulan knew of her love for her son. No love of a man could have replaced it, even the purest, the most loyal love of a true heart.

Irulan also could understand that, looking for someone’s love because of feeling lonely, letting his love warm your cold solace. Irulan had understood that feeling better than any woman when she had gazed at Sir Lance’s single rose bud, realizing how pure love of a man who didn’t look for anything back in return would warm a forgotten heart’s loneliness. Irulan would never act on it in the way Lady Jessica had done, but she understood the feeling. More than she was ready to admit.

Her body shook with the reverberations of the atmospheric pressure and gravity force as she dived deeper toward the Arrakeen ports, her mind whirling back to what she had left behind.

A planet that was at the brink of collapse, a planet that had brought her happiness after long years. A man whose love had reminded her again how it felt being loved and cherished, and a rose bud she wished she had brought with herself so that she would never forget it again.

That she was still loved.

That they were still people who cared about her.

Like her charges and Sir Lance.

Life was unpredictable, even for someone like Paul. Destiny worked in mysterious ways. Paul probably would oppose it, stating something again about the fallen apples and free will, but Irulan still didn’t believe it. Mektub al mellah, as the Fremen said, and Scytale had once quoted. The thing was written with salt.

Destiny was like a script on the seashore before the waves swept it past clean, a script on the sand before the sandstorm. Permeance and longevity had never been a part of it. Inconsistency and deviation. Perhaps it was what Paul had tried to explain to her when he said the prescient did not apply to the law of nature.

Because in any world of order, Irulan could not even imagine their current predicament right now, her carrying his daughter, returning to where she had been expelled from with his lost cousin that Irulan had found, leaving his home planet in the hands of the man who was in love with her as long as Irulan knew herself.

With Tim and Lady Jessica’s departure from Caladan, and Gurney’s sudden unannounced disappearance, Caladan’s jurisdiction had fallen into the next in line—the commander of the Sardaukar Legion. Sir Lance was going to rule Caladan now in the Emperor’s name in the absence of the Lord of Caladan.

 If that was not what one would call an unexpected twist of fate, Irulan didn’t know what else it could be called.

She opened her eyes as the reverberations started to quell down with less gravity force, the spacecraft shaking less as it approached the land more. The touchdown was so close now that if Irulan looked down from the small windows at the front, she could see the large mass of the Paul’s subjects crowding the landing port like ants to welcome him back to where he belonged.

The devout and the faithful readying to greet their messiah, the long-absent Reverend Mother, and the Emperor’s lost cousin.

The preparation must have already been arranged. The devout and fanatics were going to drop on their hands and knees, and touch their head in compliance, to prove their faith and submission, to prove they were one of his. The hajis were going to drop to their knees, and cried and yelled, hands raised in prayers. The warriors were going to raise their hands and crysknives, accompanying the religious fervor and mania, chanting the infamous Fremen battle cry— “Long live the Fighters”.

And Paul was going to stay there above all of them, raising his own crysknife that Irulan had taken from him and cut herself, accepting all of the fervent worship and love. The cut on her wrist seized with the remembrance, under her sleeve, and Irulan gazed down and caught a glimpse of the blue silk handkerchief that was still wrapped around her wrist and her bracelet.

She should make sure Chani saw both the bracelet and the handkerchief when they met again. Irulan felt the eyes on her, watching her closely as she tried to prepare herself for the religious insanity outside, herself and her charges. Paul was staring at her from the opposite side of her seat, openly without hiding intent. The intensity of his devil-blue eyes was keen that Irulan averted hers, wishing him to do the same.

He had done it during their voyage, intense spice-induced eyes fixated on her as if she were a mystery that he wanted to uncover. For another man, that kind of curiosity would have felt…flattering, but from Paul, it only put her more on edge.

She reckoned he was as tense as her for their arrival, worrying over the reaction they would get. He had even told her she could rest in his bedroom if she felt tired when Irulan closed her eyes and pretended to sleep to escape from his intent gaze when they had been still in the heighliner, and she had adamantly refused. No way she would have slept again where he slept with his beloved.

Paul had let it go then, but his attention had still stayed fixated on her. Then he had told her they should ready themselves for their arrival ceremony, and Irulan had understood the warning. She had talked with Tim and Rogue, advising them what awaited them on their arrival, but Irulan still knew no explanations would outlive the experience itself. No one could prepare themselves for the religious fervor they were about to witness beforehand.

Irulan had tried to talk Paul out of it, stating it was too early for Tim to witness it, but he had been as adamant as ever when he put his mind to something, refusing to bend. He had claimed his cousin’s official status demanded it, and the forms must be obeyed. Irulan had stopped trying to convince him then, knowing she wouldn’t win that fight with him. She was going to choose her fights wisely.

When the spacecraft started to land, Irulan was so anxious and tense that she almost yelled at him to stop staring at her, didn’t even care about the tantrum she would have caused. His fixated gaze made her so on pins and needles, Irulan was ready to face the backlash of a tantrum.

As she fought inwardly with Paul’s intense gaze, his mother’s also joined his, both mother and son were inspecting Irulan with those spice-blue, keen eyes. Irulan ignored them even though she felt more ill at ease, having not one but two inspectors observing her in the Bene Gesserit way. It wasn’t even the first time.

Lady Jessica had started to take more interest in her after the last disastrous event, Irulan could tell, realizing that it had been Irulan who had talked Paul out of his murderous intent. She had first stopped Paul from killing Gurney, and then Paul had set him free, even let her mother go if she wished it. He had even confessed that he had also wanted to kill Sir Lance and Professor Jackson, although he hadn’t made the reason clear.

The fact that he had wanted to take the lives of two men she had been in affiliation with out of jealousy was still so mind blowing that there was a part of Irulan that didn’t believe it, kept reminding herself it was only because she was still his wife, carrying his child and his name, and his dignity and integrity wouldn’t have allowed it, but something still felt like shifted. Irulan could not name the feeling, but still, she felt it. It didn’t matter, not on the grand scheme of things; the matters still stood between them as they were just like Paul had stated before.

Irulan was still the woman he had needed to wed to keep the throne at the expense of his own and his beloved happiness, the woman who could only allow her to carry his heir via artificial ways when his beloved couldn’t do it. Nothing had changed in that regard, so Lady Jessica’s eyes felt a lot more bothersome and intrusive than before, reminding her of how she had confronted Irulan. Stating Irulan was in love with her son.

Her eyes cut over to him with the thought, the recall making her more nervous as she wondered, not for the first time since yesterday, if Paul had heard their conversation fully before he intervened. He’d never mentioned it, but there was also a part of her that felt certain that he had heard his mother’s claim about her and her feelings. Perhaps that was the reason for Paul’s keen gaze now, as well, trying to gauge the truth of his mother’s claim. Perhaps that was also the reason for the…shift she had felt between, perhaps Paul also liked to hear it, taking it as true despite her refusal.

Had he sensed a lie in her words?

But Irulan didn’t lie, neither in her refusal nor in her promise to him. Regardless of her own feelings, Irulan was not going to love him! She was not going to give him that satisfaction.

Irulan had never been sure if it would please Paul, but perhaps it would. He was a victor, after all. A conqueror. He didn’t want to be worshipped, but he wanted to conquer. Perhaps if Irulan accepted her love for him and yielded to him, that would also please that conqueror part inside him, making him feel like gaining another victory over his father. Conquering the heart of the daughter of his kanly.

Her hands tightened into a fist in anger under her sleeve, hating the thought. He was never going to have another inch of her! She would die because she gave him that! If they thought she would yield, they were going to have something else!

Her anger was directed more at Lady Jessica now, the Bene Gesserit meddling in her affairs once more! It was all her fault! She had spoken those insane notions first. Perhaps she had been even putting them into her son’s mind behind Irulan’s back, trying to convince Paul of the truthiness of her so-called silent love.

And it was all too familiar, too familiar!

Your silent love wore off his defenses.

Lady Jessica claimed she had severed her ties with the Sisterhood, but suddenly it was so clear to her, she also became upset with herself how she had not noticed it before. Lady Jessica had spoken in the same context Mohiam had done; different words but the same context, the same substance. Her supposed silent love. It was already bad as it was, two Reverend Mothers working against her, meddling with Paul’s mind, as well, but the further implications of such an…alliance made her even more anxious.

Not for herself, but her charges. If the Bene Gesserit and Lady Jessica had made peace once more, agreeing to look past the bad blood between them, aligned on the prospect of a real match between her and Paul, who knew what else they would align their interest on?

Irulan still could remember the keen interest the Reverend Mother had shown when she had learned about Tim, wondering a match between him and Alia. Paul had not allowed her to speak, but now they were back, and Lady Jessica was back with them. Mohiam had also been interested in what her heart could not even think of in the confines of her mind without feeling nausea and contempt. Lady Jessica wouldn’t have allowed that, but a match between her daughter and Tim might also trigger her own Bene Gesserit interests.

The scares felt so much more real and dangerous now that they were back in Arrakis, and the Bene Gesserit plans were never-ending. They had even planned to use the ghola to seduce Alia’s mind in their conspiracy before, knowing it would sway her mind.

Alia was ancient, preborn, but she was also a fifteen-year-old young girl who had been loved and worshipped all her life, and unlike her brother, she loved it. For her, perhaps, it was a drug as dangerous and addictive as spice, being born in it, being worshipped and feared since her birth. She had never known anything else. Irulan had also been an heir to the Golden Lion Throne as long as Alia had been, and even though she had never worshipped like Alia, she also knew how it felt. She also knew how it felt to have that right taken away from you.

That scared Irulan the most.

Differences between Tim and Alia, especially when his heart wholly belonged to someone else. There was love and companionship between Tim and Rogue, like Paul had also claimed between himself and Chani, but there was no worship. Neither between Chani and Paul. Irulan could say a lot of things about the woman, would even call her loyal to a fault, but Irulan had always known in her devout love for Paul, there had never been worship.

Chani loved her Usul, could accept anything he would, would forgive anything he did, but she would never worship the Mahdi the way the Fremen did. Perhaps it was also the reason why Paul loved and trusted her, as even Irulan knew how much he hated to be worshipped.

Irulan held back her sigh, feeling the anxiety and apprehension worse in her as her wish to stay in Caladan grappled her heartstrings more. The air on Caladan would be cooler in the wind as the night aged, and salt and humidity in the wind would feel like a lover's caress. Irulan would be prepared for supper before dusk, dining with her charges, and playing with Amy. She would braid her protégé’s hair, and then they would enjoy a quiet night in leisure and peace. Irulan would even accompany Sir Lance in the gardens so that they would check over her roses, and they would chat in idle talk and each other’s peaceful company like they used to. 

 Now, instead, Irulan was going to stay stuck in a religious fervor within the company of people who hated her with their guts when they didn’t belittle her, and she was going to get scared out of her mind for the safety of her daughter and her charges. Even Amy, who usually couldn’t stay inactive for more than five minutes, stayed silent and scared, looking at Irulan with big, worried eyes, sensing the tension in the room and the heat.

She grabbed the collar of her blue-and-white dress she had picked for herself, Paul’s gift, yanking it down from her neck, beads of sweat dripping down her neck under her collar.

“It’s so hot!” she whined, and looked up at Irulan. “Ru, can I take off my collar?”

“No, not until we’re back in the Palace and alone,” Irulan replied, keeping her voice low and firm to only her ear as the spacecraft landed. “And what I did tell you, Amy? You can’t call me Ru or Paul by name until we’re alone. This is very important, sweetheart. Please, do not forget.”

Her lips puckered as she slouched in her seat in her bad mood, hitting the seat’s bottom with her feet in her silent displeasure. The sturdy sounds her feet adorning silk sleepers made echoed in the main hall as they all looked at her protégé. Even Stilgar’s blue-dappled eyes were fixated on Amy, silently disapproving of Amy’s unruly, undisciplined behavior.

The way Rogue and Amy’s untampered mannerism and comportment would raise eyebrows and draw attention straightened her back more rigid. Somehow, Tim found it easier to follow the protocols and forms, although he still needed to learn tons of etiquette and formalities that his high status would soon demand from him, but teaching those etiquettes and manners to Rogue and Amy was going to be hard.

In Caladan, Paul had been very…libertine in allowing them to have their own mind, but as they were back in Arrakis, Irulan also didn’t suppose he would have given them that much leeway now. The way he also glanced at Amy sort of confirmed it, and Irulan reached out to her charge.

“Amy,” she talked in the same firm tone she had heard Paul use when he had ordered her to get out of the closet. “Stop, child.”

At the same time, Rogue also spoke, fanning herself with her hand. “It’s as hot as devil’s arse!”

It was a statement that was done specifically to her ear, and Irulan whirled at the girl, sending her a warning look, too, because she hadn’t been as quiet as she had thought herself.

Lady Jessica stayed impassive under her veils and chains, clad in her Fremen Reverend Mother attire from head to toe. Stilgar’s disapproving face showed only a hint of his displeasure, but Paul let out a low laugh, his eyes moving to Rogue from her.

“We Fremen say God created Arrakis to train the faithful,” he intoned, and Irulan wasn’t surprised, neither of the parlance nor the way he spoke in plural, identifying himself once more as one of the desert people. Though something seized at her heartstrings, remembering the morning, the man Irulan had seen on the cliffs, the man who had been open and vulnerable with her in a small way after years, the man who had reminded her once more he had limitations, choosing to stay true to his roots.

The man who had even called her “dear wife.”

The ache in her heart grew deeper, like something carving a void inside her chest. Irulan shoved away the feeling. However, the feeling still lingered in her depths, making her feel like she had lost something. A man she had never known before truly perhaps. The Duke’s son.

Not Paul Muad’Dib Atreides who had been born from the desert and pain, and loss and betrayal, but Paul Atreides who had been born in Caladan, belonging to its seas and skies.

Rogue snorted as the motors died off.

Paul stood up and looked at his cousin. “Lord of Caladan, welcome to my home.”

Irulan held back her flinch as it felt like something took a knife and stabbed her in the heart, right in the void she was feeling. And, it shouldn’t hurt, a void shouldn’t hurt, but it still did.

Steeling herself, Irulan stood up and started to follow him to the landing staircase, her charges following her. Irulan stopped and took his right side as his mother took the left, as the others positioned behind them.

The doors of their spacecraft began rolling down, the chanting and cheers drifting over the thick aluminum walls and doors as they rolled open, carrying the ardent fervor and merciless sunlight.

The sea of people greeted them, countless hajis and fanatics falling the grand center that looked up at the Mahdi’s Palace, lost in their religious awe and vigor. Ahead of them, on the balcony of the landing space of the Palace, Irulan could already see Alia and Chani on the platform at the end of the podium, waiting for their beloved’s return.

Steeling herself further, Irulan gazed at the women ahead of the sea of worshippers, and their eyes locked on each other for a fraction. Chani’s blue-dotted gaze was impassive, already yielding and forgiving, but it hardened as it fell on Irulan, slitting into a line. It wasn’t murderous like the last time Irulan had seen the woman, attacking her with her drawn crysknife, determined to take Irulan’s life.

The wound Chani had given her that night had already faded, leaving no scar at all. Irulan carried only one scar on her person now, only one scar, her beloved.

Tilting her chin up, she rolled up her sleeves, revealing Paul’s handkerchief and bracelet to the sight.

Princess Consort was back to where she had been banished from, but things were different now. If they didn’t understand it, then Irulan was going to make sure they would.

One way or another.

Chapter Text

All around Lady Jessica, stretching far out into the dun flatness across the plains that her son had wrested the Imperium from the late Shaddam IV, stood an ocean of humanity to bear witness to this sacred moment. Not only the return of their Mahdi and his Beloved Mother after years, but also the holy, joyful news that had also clearly traversed all across the Imperium.

That the Mahdi had been blessed with another daughter.

Another daughter, some had surely already started to consider, from his unfaithful wife. The preparation and precaution had surely been made, although her beloved son had not spoken of them, but the evidence was there for the initiate to read. Jessica estimated half a million people at least, filling the plains that looked up at her beloved son’s fortress that he had built upon the Shield Wall, his “sietch above the sand” as the Fremen called it.

It was said that the largest integrated single construction ever to rise from the hand of man, that entire cities could have been housed within its walls and still would have remained room to spare. Judging by the silhouette that shadowed the sight ahead of them, she knew the rumors for this instance had not been untrue, not even exaggerated. Jessica hadn’t expected anything less from Paul, either. Even from afar, Jessica could spot the green dots in the perimeters, her beloved’s son's mythical fabled gardens, the paradise he had promised to the Fremen and delivered. Among other things.

It was well past into the dusk, but a heat of wind was already breezing in the air over the throng as the sun set down, a constant reminder of Arrakis and its merciless sun.

We Fremen say God created Arrakis to train the faithful, her beloved son’s tongue-in-cheek retort came back to her as Jessica stood on the podium that held the rest of her family on the other end, returning where she had left twelve years ago.

Below them, the throng stirred like a living hive at the sight of their Mahdi in awe and worship. Only a third of them were the white-robed pilgrims with penitence marks on their shoulders. There were stillsuit hoods of dull grey, garments of Fremen from the deep desert. There were scattered rich merchants, hoodless in light clothing to flaunt their riches and greed... and there was the delegation from the Qizarate, dark-robbed and heavily hooded, standing aloof but watchful within the sanctity of their own group, too watchful, eyes scanning the woman who stood at the other side of their Mahdi. Their disdain was covered with the veil of their aloof obedience, but their hatred was not.

Another common point she shared with the Princess Consort, Jessica thought almost idly, the revelation coming to her almost comical in irony.            

Jessica had also worn her own aba that she used to wear, knowing the significance of the garment would not be lost upon the Fremen. Even after years.

All around her, Arrakis also seemed different with the change that her beloved son had impacted on it in the last decade, so much that at first sight, Jessica would not believe that this was the same place that had greeted her upon her arrival with her beloved Duke years, but on the closer look, Jessica also knew it was the still same relentless and merciless hardship that tested people.

Paul had not changed it that far away from what it had been. His Arrakis still tested and trained the faithful. But who was the faithful?

The answers had not been easy fifteen years ago when they were sent here to die and be forgotten, buried in the sands of Arrakis, and it hadn’t become any easier in the passing years. Fifteen years and counting. Time lay within her like a dead weight, and the memories.

For a second, it felt as though her years away from this planet had never been.

Once more into the dragon’s mouth, Jessica thought. If Gurney had been here, he would have told her, “Gods below, you’ve lost your mind, woman!” but then obeyed her regardless like he had always done since the moment he had accepted that Jessica wasn’t the betrayer of their beloved Duke. Since that moment, Gurney had always stayed loyal to Paul and her, even though it might not seem such at this exact moment of the events from an outside observer.

If Jessica had not been here in this very moment, she would have been away with him, away from everything she had helped to create like she had done in the last fifteen years. She would have left and never seen her children—her beloved son again.

In a way, Jessica had always believed their common love for their beloved Duke had brought them closer and eventually led them to the path they had found themselves. She had fought against it first, had resisted for a long time, resisted for years, until she could not. Realizing Gurney’s silent love that had grown in the years between them had been easy. It had amused Jessica first, warming her in the absence of love despite her best efforts. She had never encouraged it, but she had not stopped it, either. Perhaps that had been her first mistake.

She had been too weak to stop it, missing her beloved Duke so greatly. His absence had been so vast and deep that his memory stayed with her longer when Gurney and she sat in the warm, starry nights in the gardens of the Caladan’s Keep, reminiscing about the old days and the man they both loved and missed in different ways. It wormed into her heart steadily, as relentless as determined, staunch Caladan rivulet that made its way through the valleys.

Jessica had bid him goodbye last night after the news reached her, and Gurney came to seek her out. When her had told her what Paul had allowed, Jessica was even surprised for a second by the unexpected, but in hindsight, it was clearer. She had not been wrong about their Princess Consort and her influence on her beloved son.

Her eyes moved toward the woman who stood at her beloved son’s other side, who had somehow managed to worm her way through her beloved son’s defenses; the evidence was there for the initiate to read, too. And, it required a delicate touch. She was cognizant of the fact that Irulan didn’t trust her because of her past misdeeds, because of the comments she had made, but the situation still required a delicate touch. Soon, the Sisterhood was also going to get involved. Jessica was not a fool who could not predict it, and Irulan was going to need help on her side. She might hate it, and she most probably was going to fight against it, but still, she was going to need it.

Mohiam did not call her a whining shrew without a reason after all. Irulan Corrino had always been too prideful for a Bene Gesserit, but Jessica also perceived it better after her own grudge toward the woman faded in years. Before a Bene Gesserit, Irulan had always been the Daughter Heir of the late Shaddam IV.

It had taken Gurney many years until he had accepted his love, submitting to his feelings and desire he could no longer hide and barely able to control. He had resisted it long enough out of love and loyalty for the man they were still bound to, like Jessica had resisted too, but even she had submitted to it in the end, defeated in her loneliness and missing. Ten years was also long to deny a slowly blossoming love. It had happened on a midsummer night last summer, when the starry night was so beautiful and the cool air was so warm. They had sat in the gardens, and Gurney had played a song that reached her heartstrings, making her shed tears after long years.

Water for the dead. For her beloved man.

Jessica had stopped crying after Arrakis, had stopped giving her water to the dead even when she wasn’t in this merciless, hard place, but she had wiped that night for the people she had lost, for the love that was taken away from her. When Gurney kissed her on the stone bench, Jessica could not stop him, even if she knew she had to.  

The past of her own weighed on her like deadweight again, but removing herself from her memories, Jessica focused on her beloved son. She had made her choice. It wasn’t even a choice; she could tell even Gurney had not expected her to go with him, truly abandoning her son. She was back here for a purpose, and she would not reminisce about a time past now like she could have when she had come here first.

Pushing away the thoughts of her lover away, Jessica wondered how long it would take for the imperial couple to accept defeat and submit to the slowly blossoming feelings between them in the same way she and Gurney had done, but as far as the comparisons went, Jessica was still aware that there was one crucial point that different between the instances.

Chani was still very much alive, unlike her beloved Duke, carrying Paul’s child, and there was no lost love between her and Irulan. What had brought her and Gurney together was lacking in their example. There were other things to fill the blanks, though, hurt and disdain of fifteen years and even beyond, reaching far out in the times that her beloved Leto had wanted to wed them.

Jessica had played a part in the bad blood between them, but she hadn’t been the sole cause. The matters still stood as Jessica had also accepted when Paul had come to find them.  It was best Irulan bore him a son, an heir who would secure his throne and reign. She was still missing some pieces in the design she had started to see, but Jessica had seen it enough.

In the grand scheme of things, Jessica had accepted that the Princess Consort should have performed her duty to the throne and Paul years ago. She would have given him a son years ago. The Fremen allowed wives and shared hearts. It would not be easy, but arrangements could be made. A shrew, Mohiam called her, yes, but Jessica had also observed the woman she had met in Caladan.

Irulan hid her savagery in that seductive body that could sway the mind of men so easily, another comparison that had not come to Jessica with ease. Irulan had not been as inadequate in the Bene Gesserit ways as much as they had presumed, perhaps even she had not known of it herself. It must have taken great skills of persuasion to convince Paul to leave the gender of his offspring to destiny, as her beloved son had foolishly called it. Jessica still did not know what games they were playing, but it was okay. It was why she was here now.

All the roads led them back here in Arrakis, she thought again, but her conviction lacked the former nostalgia as her determination cemented. The die was cast again. Jessica had sensed it since Irulan’s impromptu, shocking exile to Caladan, and everything else that followed it. Paul must have sensed it, as well, so here they were.

The desert breeze blew from the north, lifting her veils and exposing the golden hair under her headdress and chains. Then, Jessica saw her rolling up her sleeves and exposing her wrists. The bracelet she wore and a dark sky-blue handkerchief with Paul’s initials.

Jessica almost smirked, knowing to whom the gesture was aimed, what it spoke of.

A declaration in its own way. She remembered back in the days, the way she had worn a very similar handkerchief one night at a banquet after her beloved had given it to her, declaring her own status. A clear warning to the ladies who had set their eyes on her beloved Duke. Jessica still kept that handkerchief.

This all had started when Jessica had realized and accepted her love for her beloved ran deeper than her loyalty to the Sisterhood, beyond her personal proscription, a crime she had committed most willingly. A crime that had led them here. A crime because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her beloved Duke to another woman. A woman who would bear him the heir he needed. Jessica could not accept that, could not accept another woman sharing his bed, even though Jessica still held his heart, so she did it herself.

A crime she had also paid for it greatly, but a crime she had not regretted even today. Despite everything. Despite the prices she had to pay.

Her eyes moved across the podium ahead of them, this time signaling out another woman watching them. A young woman she had not seen in years, a woman she had last seen while she was still wobbling in her short legs. A woman whose features were impudently youthful, but too familiar.

It would have shocked Jessica, but it did not. Somehow, her young adult daughter looked very much like how Jessica had been at her age, having her oval face and the small nose, with a wide, generous mouth along and bronze hair. One pivotal part was setting her aside from her own younger age, a distinctive feature that Jessica only wore now. The blue-in-blue spice addiction eyes. The Addiction she had passed to her own daughter in the womb.

The abomination.

A leaden sensation pulsed through Jessica's body, and she heard the surf of her own life within her ears. Her spice addiction had caused this, the path she had to follow, the price she had to pay. The countless generations of selective breeding directed by the Bene Gesserit had achieved Paul, but nowhere in the Sisterhood's plans had they allowed for melange.

They had never dared it. As the cold shiver ran down her spine, Jessica held herself back from the Litany Against Fear. She could not chant it for her own daughter, for her own offspring. When the Reverend Mother had come to test Paul, Jessica had almost lost her mind in fear, murmuring the litany countlessly in whispers as Paul stayed in that room with her teacher, fearing failure and success at the same time. She feared Paul would have failed, and she feared he would have succeeded even though she had chosen to give her Duke the boy he wanted the most willingly. Her teacher had only seen ambitions in her choice, not love, had always accused her of desiring to be the mother of the Kwisatz Haderach. She had never comprehended the fear Jessica had lived on that day.

The fear she had seen her three-year-old, her still wobbling daughter killing her biological father and her grandfather was something that Jessica had never felt before, even when she had accepted to drink the Water of Life, pregnant. She knew what was going to happen, and she had accepted it, but until that day, she had never managed to comprehend it fully, perhaps.

Perhaps it was callous for a mother to abandon her own daughter like that, but Jessica had felt tired, so tired. Initially, every year she told herself she was going to return, but each time, she couldn’t. But she had observed even from Caladan, her agents carrying her the news from the newly built imperial court that Paul had been forming. It was then that Jessica realized Paul would be a better parental figure for his sister than Jessica would have ever been. They shared a familiarity and a connection she lacked, the same generation of the same great design.

What Alia lacked, Paul had immensely, a sturdy and steady personality that had been shaped prior to unlocking his genetic memories and developing his prescient abilities.

The preborns had knowledge, but they lacked experience; they lacked the finesse to comprehend the nuance. The stuff of humans were made of. The stuff of decisions lay in the private actions taken by individuals. When experiences and knowledge were separated, the experience outside the realm of sensory perception became mere data, then the motives diverged as well. For the preborn, the paramount reality was the knowledge, not the experience. Paul had his own personality that had been born from seventeen years of experience when he had transformed the Water of Life, which Alia lacked from birth. It was the absolute separation of living, breathing flesh when it left the womb which had afflicted it with multiple awareness.

In her darker times, Jessica had always wondered if her daughter hated her for what Jessica had allowed to happen to her. She had done so out of despair and necessity, and for revenge, and when her three-year-old daughter had killed her biological grandfather, Jessica had also realized that experience in the moment of her awakening in the womb had also shaped Alia’s personality. Despair, necessity, and retribution.

Alia had been a Fremen in a way Paul had never been.

A shiver ran down her spine again, fears that every Bene Gesserit knew deeply from her heart. Multiple awareness that had been wrought with despair, necessity, and retribution. The echoes and egos of the many past generations, mixing with her own.

They were in her ancestral memory as well, whispering in the dark shadows, wrestling for dominance over her own awareness. It was a constant effort and struggle in mindfulness, an ever-ending battle with yourself and your past that you had never experienced but knew. In her dark times, the voice of her father used to whisper to her, the man Jessica still loathed even today with all her being, despite the blood she carried. What whispers did Alia hear?

And, more importantly, what whispers felt like they resembled more to her own?

Those were the fears that had also kept her away in Caladan, because she was afraid to confront. There was no escape anymore. She could not leave this burden on her beloved son’s shoulders anymore. Paul had not mentioned his own fears; he would never do that. Jessica knew the pure love he bore for his sister, but the evidence was there again for the initiate to read.

Paul had been desperate enough to find his Bene Gesserit wife for a male heir. He had foreseen that Chani wouldn’t have given a son to him, and had turned to Princess Consort despite his promise to his beloved.

Her focus moved away from her daughter to the woman who stood beside her, adorning only a loosely fitting, simple dress and her blue sash. Her scarf lay loosely over her head, too, exposing her red hair.

Even without a stillsuit, Chani still looked the same after years, as unchanging as the desert despite being an imperial concubine for twelve years. Jessica was not surprised either. Chani had become a steady anchor for Paul in the maelstrom that he—his presence—had created in the universe, the center of gravity, his point of reference in the eye of the storm. The thing was that the centers of gravity always shifted as the universe oscillated in motion and expanded. It never stayed the same.

Jessica flitted a look between the two centers of gravity now, pushing and pulling each other, oscillating in the motion. Unlike Alia, Chani’s gaze was fixated on Irulan, and even from far away, Jessica would see that the other woman was staring at the Princess Consort with malice and hatred. It was not unexpected, either, given their history and what pains and grievances Irulan had caused to the woman. Only Paul’s interference had stopped Chani from taking revenge.

Despite the attention she received, Irulan was still cool and standoffish, ignoring the looks she received as she stood beside Paul. Chani wasn’t the only one, either. The high priests from the Qizarate were also sending her glares with malice, their renowned hatred for their Mahdi’s unfaithful wife only increased by her betrayal in the conspiracy. Kobra had been denounced as a betrayer and unfaithful before his exile to the desert, excommunicated, his name forever damned like Yueh, but the Brotherhood would not forget Irulan’s participation in the event, nor would they forgive.

Yet, Irulan still stayed indifferent to their malice, not even bothering to look in their direction at the other side of the podium. She was keeping herself untouched in the same way from the religious fervor that had greeted them upon Paul’s arrival with her, his pregnant wife, but somehow, during the clamor, she had moved her small protégé beside her, hiding her behind her skirts despite the protocol, her hand firmly behind her small back.

The unruly girl seemed scared, hiding her face on her lap like Jessica had observed her doing, not looking around like she usually did in her never-ending youthful curiosity and energy. The arrival ceremony must have scared them. Even Rogue was silent in a stupor, staring below the throng in awe.

Alia’s guards finally started to wedge a path to allow passage through the crowd that also filled the podium nearby, to greet the God who had returned. Alia was in the head, leading the group as the forms dictated, followed closely by Chani. Paul turned aside toward them and simply waited like a stone statue.

When the group approached closer, Jessica scanned Chani’s expression further. Her gaze was fixated on Paul now, moved away from Irulan. Paul’s blue gaze was on hers as well as they slowly moved in ceremony, watching her come to him. Irulan’s attention also skipped; her eyes flitted aside to watch it as well, although she still tried to hide it. Jessica almost allowed a pleased smile, observing the curiosity. Irulan still feigned disinterest in aloofness, but she was curious about their reunion.

When Jessica saw Chani’s face, she noted a modicum of a hint of betrayal and hurt of which she couldn’t hide behind her mask of stoic calmness. Even upon close inspection, the desert woman didn’t look like she had aged a day. On the surface, she still looked like the same woman whom Jessica had cocksurely assured her beloved son’s love, but like Irulan, Chani had also changed, although they both tried to deny it.

Jessica wondered how long they would keep this charade going. Paul still looked like a stone statue as he watched his imperial concubine, ignoring the situation in his hand in the same way the women did. Still, the veiled evidence was there too for the initiate to read.

Jessica wasn’t the only one who was upset that Paul had allowed his wife not to choose the gender of their offspring, and she ended up having a daughter. Chani was hurt and upset with the news after surely only allowing it so that his beloved would have the heir he needed.

Her beloved son was going to need to do a lot of explaining, it seemed.

True to her word, Jessica could almost sense the small pleased smile on Irulan’s lips at Paul’s other side, although she could not see it, also noticing her long-year rival’s dissatisfaction and anger, taking joy from it as she had promised. Again, Jessica didn’t blame the woman. She would have felt the same had she been in the woman’s place.

Their Princess Consort had even flaunted her bracelet at her face, knowing it would have upset Jessica even after years, even knowing that not making her his Duchess had been her beloved’s strongest regret.

The same hurt crossed over Chani’s expression as well when she took note of the bracelet and Paul’s handkerchief on her waist as they came closer and recognized the items. Alia, though, looked amused, her blue-in-blue gaze fixated on them openly, not hiding her curiosity. Her face was uncovered as well, and behind the chains she wore, Jessica saw that she also wore the same tattoos on her face that Jessica did. The Reverend Mother of the Fremen, Saint Alia of the Knife. The Holy Sister. The virgin-harlot.

Yes, Jessica heard all the nicknames her daughter had been given, even from Caladan. Jessica wondered how Irulan described her in her writings. She had never brought herself to ask the woman.

 So, they stayed in the same pantomime for a split second that felt like eons, Paul continuing to stare at Chani who stared back at him, and Irulan continuing to hide her interest in their reunion as she not-so-secretly reveled in the other woman’s dissatisfaction, and her daughter watching them openly, not even bothering hiding saucy smile on her lips as if she was waiting for as scandal to occur, like two rival women would throw each other to the ground and start to physically fight for the man whom they both loved. Even her blue eyes laughed as she watched the scene with a childish glee and mirth, that reminded Jessica of the small three-year-old version of her as she had spoken about how she knew of the moans her father elicited from her on the night that she had been dropped into her womb.

It had stupefied and terrified Jessica at the same time, hearing her three-year-old daughter speaking of the mating experience that had bound her father and mother and allowed her to become in that vulgar and amused, and idle way. An experience that should be exclusive only to the husband and wife, sharing the joy of their bodies with each other, a divine experience should always remain private.

It seemed her daughter still lacked the necessary finesse even after cultivating twelve more years of life experience. Jessica wanted to sigh, her expectations becoming clearer regarding her daughter, then suddenly her gaze jolted away from the imperial love triangle that the concerned parties did not even acknowledge yet, and looked at Irulan’s left side.

The boy who stood at her left side.

The lost cousin that destiny had made them find out.

If Alia’s interest in the royal couples was direct, then her interest in her cousin was something else. Jessica almost could see the way her gaze lit with a blue fire as she gazed at the long-lost Atreides.

 They all had assuredly underestimated Irulan as a Bene Gesserit. Even what she had done with the cartel paled in comparison to what she had brought to them. Another Atreides with their priceless bloodline. A stray one from the greatly achieved Bene Gesserit design, but it was still the purest sample that remained aside from Paul.

That made the boy both a rival and a contingency for her beloved son, though Jessica was still not sure of what category the boy would fall into. The boy wasn’t a fool; he had a keen and astute mind, but he was…too wide-eyed for the imperial schemes, which was a blessing too in its own right.

Mohiam had already plans for him, and Jessica was not a fool, either. Irulan’s expression shifted as Jessica angled her neck an inch and saw her following Alia’s look to their new Lord of Caladan, who was still staring at the sight below them, bewitched. The rogue girl who always had something sassy and witty on her tongue had also fallen into that wide-eyed shock in awe and apprehension, truly seeing the real magnitude, prominence, and power of Muad’Dib and his reign.

Alia’s attention was solely on her brother now, ignoring the rest of them as if they were nothing but bugs under her boots. Paul finally diverted his gaze from Chani and looked at her.

“Welcome back, my lord.”

There was a small pause as her son’s eyes remained on his sisters, and then he slowly moved out from the balcony on which they still stood, and it started.

Or, he started.

It had been a while since Jessica had witnessed this, so she prepared herself again, glancing at the newcomers with a sideways look, a part of her pitying them.

His entourage rearranged behind him, and the moment would have caused some stir between them in confusion without the direct knowledge of the new protocol, as Paul had not cleared it out yet, but when his certain, steady gaze flitted between Chani and Irulan, giving his verdict silently, it became clearer.

It was a non-spoken directive that had never past his lips, but the reaction was immediate. Alia’s face lips flattened, pressed thin as Chani’s blue-dotted gaze became thunderous, not liking the directive but submitting to his wish. Irulan mimicked the gesture with the same reluctance, Jessica would tell, taking her place at his other side as Paul readied to bestow his subjects and followers with his presence, with both his women at his side, pregnant. One of the faithful, and the other from the unfaithful.

The news had flown from Arrakis to Caladan. Jessica was also cognizant of the fact that Paul always kept both women at his side for the imperial audiences, but she wondered if he had ever done this before. The tension between them told Jessica the answer clearly; he had not.

It was something new, speaking openly of the shape of the things to come.

Jessica stayed with Alia another step behind them, who was disinterested in what was happening now, as if the tides of the change did not interest her at all.

“Welcome back, Mother,” she greeted Jessica sotto voce, and added with a cutting mock, “Long time no see, eh? I would ask if you have missed me, but we both can detect lies.”

The human sea emitted a sound like the hiss of a giant sandworm as Paul stepped on the altar and stood alone in full sight of the throng, and Jessica ignored the jab. Jessica continued to stare ahead while the human sea stirred like a worm below them at the sight of him. The younglings beside them were still stupefied in their awe, witnessing such raw power.

Alia was still unbothered, but she captured her cousin’s bewildered look. “He does look like a god, doesn’t he?”

Tim twisted his neck aside and looked at her, almost dumbfounded now as Paul slowly started to raise his hands. He had not mentioned anything about what he planned, but Jessica still knew he and Stilgar had planned something. She had known her beloved son. This façade served a purpose.

These next few moments were going to be crucial. The faithful carried their ritual strongly and by heart. Like one giant organism, the people sank to their knees, obeying the supremacy and divinity of their Mahdi.

Ummah al-Muad’Dib, the faithful called themselves, the People of Muad’Dib.

So, they obeyed, like their forefathers and their fathers before them, kneeling at her beloved son’s feet like they knelt in front of her beloved Duke’s remains. Strangely, it made Jessica feel…a sadness that she had not felt after she left Arrakis. As the faithful prayed for their Mahdi and his pregnant women stood behind him, Jessica continued to ignore her daughter, who still watched the scene with a snarling quirk of her lips. Strangely, it also reminded her of Irulan's snarling smirks, and the comparison unsettled her even more than the sight she witnessed.

 Even the priests from the Brotherhood party complied with Paul’s divinity as he stood with his hands still in the air, waiting. Jessica marked the tardiness in the pockets of the crowd below them, and she was sure she wasn’t the only one.

She knew that other eyes behind her and the agents in the throng that served Stilgar had already memorized a temporary map with which to seek out the tardy. The men had a moment of hesitation in their hearts to greet the Mahdi and his pregnant women.

As Paul remained with his arms upraised, Stilgar moved as quickly as Jessica remembered them during their days in the Sietch Tabr and joined his men in the throng. They moved swiftly past them down the ramp, ignoring the startled looks. They fanned out through the human sea like a well-oiled machine, leaping knots of kneeling figures, dashing through narrow lanes.

A few of their targets saw the danger and tried to flee. They were the easiest: a thrown knife, a garrote loop and the runners went down. Others were herded out of the throng, hands bound, feet hobbled.

Through it all, Paul stood with arms outstretched, blessing by his presence. The tension was tight in the air as Paul kept everyone aside the running men still and motionless, subservient.

Aside from everyone but Alia.

Alia’s gaze flitted aside as if it was a common happenstance that Paul weeded out the slackers from the faithful daily and stayed on her cousin.

“So, you are my lost cousin that our Princess Consort found?” she asked, eyeing the young Atreides who gave her a look but stayed silent. The boy was usually silent, didn’t speak a lot, and kept his thoughts mostly to himself or to his closest. It was a feature that Jessica had complimented him secretly in silence, but this time his silence didn’t have that silent riotous quality inside it, but had the air of someone who did not know what to say.

When the spectacular was over -- a few dead bodies sprawled on the sand, captives removed to holding pens beneath the caverns in the Shield Wall -- perhaps three minutes had elapsed. Jessica reasoned there was little likelihood that Stilgar and his men had taken any of the ringleaders, the ones who would pose a potent threat. Perhaps it was just a moment of shadow in the heart, or perhaps it was real hatred that had made them slow to act, to kneel in front of Irulan carrying his daughter. Nevertheless, the captives might yield to a certain and serious lead, so Jessica knew they were going to be questioned.

Paul lowered his arms, and cheering, the people surged to their feet.

Then on the balcony, the silence ruled as they all stared at each other. Paul seemed distant and far away, as Chani continued to stare at Irulan with intent, who this time held it and returned in the same way. Alia was still smirking at her lost cousin who looked shaken by what they had just witnessed. He had moved closer to his lover in the interim, and they were holding hands. Alia’s gaze moved toward it as her smirk slowly faded.

Jessica thought of Caladan’s blue skies and gentle breeze as the hot desert wind gushed at her, beads of sweat dripped under her garment, and the hood of her aba. Jessica had forgotten how much she used to hate this attire. If she had been on Caladan—

It was well past dusk now, the moon slowly rising as the sun set. If she had been in Caladan, she would have worn a light leisure dress in soft blue, and Gurney would have played a song for her. They would have laughed and remembered the old days together, the people they both loved and lost.

Below them, the throng moved again like a giant sandworm, a sound Jessica had also forgotten; now she remembered. Remembered all the dangers and pitfalls of Arrakis, everything she had not allowed to come closer to herself once more in the past twelve years. The longing and regret filled her, creating a conflict in her that she had been able to ignore until today.

“What’s gonna happen to them?” The question suddenly broke the tense silence between them, daring to ask what no one had wanted to voice out.

Stilgar was better than the Qizarate in interrogation, and he had wisdom and conscience, but the experience still would not be pleasant. If their hearts were pure, they were going to survive the event. If they could not, then well, they were going to make an example for the rest.

Ultimately, it was the message, as well.

The Faith asked for complete obedience and submission, ultimate devotion without any spot of hesitation or shadow. If they were faithful, then their ruh-spirits would find peace knowing they had served the Mahdi.

Thus, Jessica would answer, but the words did not leave her lips, so she stayed silent.

It was Irulan who finally spoke, turning to her charges. “Stilgar is a just man,” she assured, “he would know who was just tardy, and who was not.”

Jessica supposed it was more for the sake of the younglings than her faith in Paul’s most devoted Naib’s and old friend’s conscience. Nevertheless, a woman around Jessica's age seemed almost surprised by Irulan’s assurance, and Jessica noted the reaction for further use before her memory placed who the woman was. Harah, Jessica found the name in her memory, another ghanimah of her son’s that he had refused to take to his bed.

Alia turned to her and laughed, a dry sound both belittling and amused. Paul seemed like he was going to interfere before her daughter spoke, but he did not, glancing at Chani with a sideways look.

“So, the rumors are correct,” Alia remarked, laughing eyes fixated on Irulan, full of mirth and cruelty that Jessica had run away from years ago. From what she had caused.

“Our Princess Consort has grown a conscience when she’s started to writhe in my brother’s sheets after years. His prowess in bed tamed the shrew.”

“Alia—” Paul warned, with a familiar note in his tone that suggested it wasn’t the first time he had to do it. Irulan still stayed impassive, glaring back at her daughter. Chani watched everything with a pinch in her eyebrows as if she didn’t know if she would get more upset or offended.

Neither the priests from the Brotherhood blinked an eye, nor the attendees from the royal court accompanied them. Neither did they bother to hide their snide smirks. Irulan still stayed impassive, ignoring them in the same way she ignored their presence, and Jessica wondered how long she had been enduring this.

Before she opened her mouth to retort, something else happened, too. Tim and Rogue suddenly moved closer to her, even the small unruly child, lifting her head and staring at her openly, flanking her from both sides in open confrontation.

The meaning of the gesture could not be clearer. The lover of her children’s cousin even touched her waist where Jessica also knew what she stored inside. The butterfly knife Jesscia had seen the teenage girl swirling in her fingers out of habit many times.

Chani’s eyes narrowed, noting the gesture, and quickly reached for her sash in response. Paul raised his hand an inch in the same way Irulan did toward her simultaneously, her sleeves pooling down her wrist and giving another glimpse of the bracelet she wore.

Curious gazes noted it again as the Princess Consort returned hers to her daughter. “The rumors were indeed correct, I have changed, my lady. But it didn’t occur in your brother’s bed, but happened when I was away from you.”

A gushing wind of murmurs rose from their witnessing crowd, giving Alia the scandal she had wished to wring out. Alia smiled wider and more wickedly as Paul nailed his look on his wife this time with her retort, and Jessica wanted to heave out a sigh, imagining the rumors her response would arouse.

She swiftly turned to Paul, who continued to glare at her, his displeasure evident. “My lord husband,” the imperial wife called out, ignoring the imperial concubine, “The long travel has tired me and my friends. May we have your allowance to retire to my quarters?”

His lips pressed together, Paul nodded his agreement, but Alia chirped, cutting in on them again, “Oh, we moved out your quarters after your exile,” she announced, all smiles and teeth. “We have arranged the guest wings for you.”

Another shocking moment of silence ruled the balcony with the declaration, but Irulan straightened her shoulders and threw her daughter a look with disdain, and shot back with the same disdainful mockery, “The God created Arrakis to train the faithful.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and started to stride away from them, holding the hand of her small protégé. The other two followed quickly. Chani turned to her son and stared; her gaze filled with questions and confusion now.

As the woman looked at her beloved, Paul looked after his wife.

Chapter Text

At the private terraces of his “sietch above the sand”, Paul stared down at the dominion, his hands clasped at his back, legs apart, spine rigid and straightened, all the tension around him and inside him manifested in his stance.

The imperial plaza that had been swarmed with his subjects was empty now, the frantic moment filled with the religious frenzy and fervor had passed away. Yet, in the sandpaper of hot Arrakis hour in the dusk, the remnants still lingered, ingrained in the sand and air. Briefly, Paul thought of Caladan’s sky and wind, the salt in the air as sand from the desert strained through his nostrils. The wind from the desert was still hot in Arrakis, but in a few hours, the temperature was going to drop significantly and was going to create a deadly chill.

His wayward thoughts swirled further away, toward his cousin, wondering how he was handling Arrakis and what he had witnessed upon their arrival, but he could not soothe his concern and satisfy his curiosity because his wife had taken him away. Hours had passed since the greeting ceremony, but Irulan was still huddled in the guest wings with them, refusing to interact with them further, and Tim had not left her side since then.

Paul knew she was not to blame for that, as well. She had not uttered even a word before she left the terrace after the surprise Alia had prepared for her, but both the younglings had followed her dutifully without her. There was a part of Paul that felt soothed with their open declaration of fidelity for his Princess Consort, but the other part of him felt irked, wanting his cousin at his side.

The urge to heave out a sigh rose from the depths of his chest, but Paul did not allow himself even that little respite. His jaw clenched instead, staring down at his home, his stare singling out in the imperial gardens below his feet, anger replacing the tiredness.

He hadn’t expected anything less from Alia, but she should’ve waited at least until they settled down before she began insulting his wife once more. Paul had had to interrupt when it became too much even for their standards, raising the rumors of their bedtime even in front of Chani, but then she had announced she had moved away from her quarters and prepared the guest wing for her.

For the Princess Consort of his Imperium.

Paul could not even decide which flared his anger more, the way they bickered, the way Irulan had even rebuffed his manly prowess, in front of him –and Chani—or the fact that she was staying now in the guest wings.   

His wife had taken residence in the guest rooms of his Imperial Palace, and whenever the thought came to him, Paul wanted to throw something at the wall. Soon, he was going to have to discuss some important matters concerning his wife with his sister; it was quite apparent, not unexpected.

Paul was going to have to have a lot of discussions with his family about his wife. A low sigh escaped from him this time despite his best efforts, his thoughts swimming back to what he had unearthed just before they departed from Caladan. He wondered if Irulan had…taken away something since their arrival, a part of him wondering the triggers that urged her to…what she did as another part of him wondered what she would have taken away this time. Something of his again?

How many items had she taken away from him and hidden? What had she stolen from him aside from his cufflinks? He should not be curious, but damn him, he was.  There were so many things Paul had to handle before he departed from the citadel with Chani for a while, making sure everything was settled.

With the thought, Paul allowed himself another sigh, deciding he could give himself some additional motivation for what she expected of him. The scandalous greeting in the plaza had evaded at least one thing that Paul hadn’t been looking forward to. A confrontation with his beloved.

Chani had left with Stilgar after Irulan also left, following his Naib to question the men they had rounded up. Paul knew nothing of importance would come up from that; it was mostly a show of power and dominance, and a remembrance and warning to those who might have other ideas regarding his wife and her pregnancy. It served its purpose, yet they were going to cover all their bases, seeding out the purpose and the reason of the tardy. Paul had not formally asked Chani to attend the inquisitions, but his beloved had taken it on herself, knowing Paul would appreciate and need the wisdom of her observations, like always.

Or perhaps she just wanted to stay away from him for a while, Paul mused in the recesses of his mind, recalling her attentive and assertive gaze watching Irulan. Straight and stern, Chani was still as hard as Paul had left her after their fight. She had accepted what Paul had asked from him, sand absorbing water dutifully, but she was still far from being happy. Paul hadn’t expected anything else.

I’m not like Chani, Irulan's silky yet cool voice stated matter-of-factly in his mind as his grimace hardened further, I don’t do things to make you happy.

  Paul sighed again, feeling the same sentiment again, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Even with his powers, he could not fathom how his talk was going to occur with Chani, what he was going to tell his beloved, how he was going to explain himself. Irulan had mocked him for that after their ceasefire had ended, taking joy in his discomfort and their strain, and had she seen him now, she would have felt even happier, Paul reckoned. Seeing him almost squirming against the prospect.

His mother’s arrival might have also paused Chani, Paul reckoned, as well, causing his beloved to postpone their much-needed talk. Even though it didn’t help with Alia, Paul was glad that it at least helped with Chani, giving them an opportunity to focus on the other concerns that weren’t directly tied to—the triangle he had formed in his personal life.

Paul did not know how else to call it. They had formed a triangle: him, Chani and Irulan. Paul, his wife and his concubine. He and his women. He didn’t suppose he was the first man in history who suffered the same situation in his personal affairs, and he had been living with this...triangle over a decade now, but the lines had become so blurred between him and his women now that Paul did not know where they stood. It’d been what he had been constantly feeling even before leaving Caladan, and now, the feeling had only augmented, and Paul still did not know how to handle the delicate situation.

Both Irulan and Chani were upset with him, even running away from him. The thought moved his jaw, his grimace hardening even more, but it was Paul’s duty now to deal with what he had caused. As Gurney would have told him, he had made his bed and was going to lie in it now.

With the recall of his former Warmaster, Paul let out another sigh, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants under his formal uniform jacket, wondering where the man was now, what he was doing. His chest ached with the same loss and betrayal, feeling both anger and sorrow at the same time, his chin tucked to his chest away from his desert.

How could he have conquered the universe, but could have fucked up so bitterly by his closest?

All women in his life were unhappy because of him. Chani, Irulan, his mother, and even Alia to some extent. Much to his further dismay, they were all cross with each other, hurting each other, and Paul didn’t know how to stop it, either.

And it was just the beginning.

Tomorrow night, there was going to be an Imperial feast for his daughters, both Irulan and Chani at his side, and then Paul was going to inform his beloved that she could no longer reside in the citadel and had to stay in the sietch. To pass her last remaining days. In exile. Paul hated how it sounded, and he would never accept it. He was also doing this for Chani; she would have been happier in the sietch, but despite everything, to the onlookers, it was how it was going to look like whether he liked it or not.

He was sending his concubine away from the Imperial Palace because his wife had demanded it. The hard-bold fact thinned his lips, Chani’s reaction and hurt swirling in his mind, creating a worse turmoil in his feelings. The things he had done, allowed, accepted, even initiated came back at him in the vortex, and Paul remembered Irulan’s price for agreeing to his offer, as well, their kiss. The kiss Paul had started because he couldn’t bear the hurt expression in her face once more with his refusal, the kiss that he would’ve taken to another path if Irulan hadn’t stopped him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with the remembrance, his conflict arising at full force, his integrity demanding the confession and asking Chani’s forgiveness, as the part of him that wanted peace wanted to stay silent, let it be buried in his memory, never spoken again.

Your quarrel is not with them, with yourself, Paul recalled further his Mentat’s diagnosis for his situation bitterly, the remark bringing a sneer to his lips. Staying silent wouldn’t have brought him peace, as much as killing Gurney, Professor, or Sir Lance wouldn’t have brought him peace. Paul knew it, but it would bring a temporary respite at least, and after their arrival, Paul felt it would be enough at the moment.

There were so many things he needed to explain to Chani. The knowledge of their kiss would only hurt her further. In her last days. And the kiss—it did not mean anything, either. Irulan loved him, yes, although she didn’t accept it, but she didn’t want him to touch her. She had only demanded a kiss from him to break his promise, his integrity, to make Paul squirm in front of Chani. Irulan was already having too much joy from their hardships.

And, if Alia also learned about their kiss—

His thoughts were interrupted when Paul heard the soft steps approaching him on the terrace, two different sets. One lighter than the other, and in the sandpaper air, Paul smelled fresh dessert and soap with no fragrance, no oil or perfume, just the clean scent of fresh desert—a scent Paul had smelled over a month until today. Chani’s personal odor.

Briefly, his mind went over to the musky rose scent that Irulan had worn today, and his gardens in his Keep in his home planet, and the rose that had been planted in her name there. His mind swirled back to the man who had done it, a similar murderous intent spiking in his heart once more with the remembrance before Paul pushed it away.

Even stars away, the damn man kept giving him grievances. He imagined the man sitting in front of his rose and daydreaming about his wife, and then the Professor entered into his thoughts--

“Mahdi,” Stilgar called from his back when Paul did not return to greet him because he was trying to quench the murderous intent that had flared further in his chest. He might keep the Sardaukar away from Irulan, but with the Professor, he didn’t even have that chance.

No, instead, Paul was going to have to chaperone his wife with her former lover instead, and for a split second, the notion sounded to him so outrageous and scandalous that he couldn’t comprehend how he had consented to this…atrocity. This gross action. Irulan’s gross actions certainly carried their message, and perhaps, his fate had given him her as his wife to test him.

Paul returned to face them, Chani standing still and silent next to Stilgar, her gaze as stern and assertive as she had watched him and his wife after their arrival. Chani would have made a good Bene Gesserit, Paul surmised, not the first time, as his beloved inspected him in silence.

“We questioned the men we apprehended,” he started and paused, glancing at Paul. Chani was still silent, watching them. Stilgar looked hesitant to continue, and for a second, Paul wasn’t sure it was because of what he was going to say—or because he was going to say it in front of Chani despite his beloved being involved with the interrogations.

Nevertheless, Paul tilted his head to gesture his Naib to continue, sending Chani away now was unspeakable.  “Most of them were just taken aback,” Stilgar assured. “A few of them flew out of fear when he chased them.”

Paul nodded, accepting it, but noting the difference in quantity. “But not all of them,” he asserted, and it wasn’t a question, yet, Stilgar agreed to it, regardless.

“No, not all of them,” he replied. “One of the tardy insulted the Princess wife openly. Called her unfaithful and...” Another pause, and this time, his old friend glanced at Chani as well, who still stood stern and silent next to him, before he looked back at Paul. “And adulterous.”

His grimace moved his jaw, but the insult wasn’t unexpected, either. More than anything, Paul was even…surprised that the hard insult to his wife had come out this openly this early. That was unexpected. The hatred for Irulan had become worse in his absence, and that worried Paul more than the insult, remembering Alia and what she had done while he was away.

“He even had the guts to tell our face she cuckolded you, and that spawn in her belly isn’t yours,” Chani finally spoke, her voice as rigid and stern as her body, yet Paul heard the unsaid “I told you so” underneath her words even though she had never said it so.

In fact, she used to be the one who counseled him to take his wife to his bed to have his heir, thinking of herself as barren without knowing the reason for her childlessness. Those times apparently had also passed away, leaving Chani with a similar earned grudge against his wife, taking joy from the insults that were aimed at her in the same way Irulan took joy from her happenstance.

More than anything that made Paul almost heave another sigh. “He even called—” she continued with the same grudgeful glee he usually heard from his wife, although her voice and face remained rigid, unmoving. “The Mahdi with Horns.”

Staring at her, Paul cocked an eyebrow.

“I took his tongue,” Chani replied, the grudgeful glee disappearing from her tone, leaving its place to a cool yet matter-of-fact protectiveness that was more familiar from his beloved. But the thought secretly also amused him, for Paul had also done the same thing to another man who had insulted his wife. A man who had done far worse than insults, a man who had even beaten his wife.

The recall of the nightmarish memory swept away his sudden amusement, the blows he had witnessed landing on his wife, the men who had tied her like an empty sack, and tried to take her away. The fear he had never lived before with Chani.

Paul dipped his head to his beloved and looked at Stilgar. “Let the desert have him,” he ordered and questioned, “What’s his Sietch?”

Expectedly, he must be one of the Southern tribes that had never liked him binding himself to one of the Unfaithful, the former Princess of their oppressors, although the marriage had stayed unfulfilled since now. The Southern Tribes that had never seen Irulan anything more than his war prize, regardless of his own feelings for that status.

“Red Chasm,” Stilgar confirmed his suspicions, but the revelation added more to his concerns because The Red Chasm was also one of the most devout southern tribes to Alia, worshipping the Saint of the Knife as much as they worshipped the Mahdi.

Paul nodded again and questioned, “Are the Princess Consort’s old quarters being prepared?” He had ordered it before he had withdrawn to his private quarters for solace after the chaos of their arrival, so he knew they were; even Alia couldn’t have dared to stand against his direct order, but the confirmation wasn’t the scope of his inquiry.

Stilgar looked at him in confusion, but Chani’s brows knitted into a frown under her light scarf. Paul wasn’t the one who usually asked for confirmation for his orders, either, with the certainty of knowing they were being followed.

“Yes, Muad’Dib.”

 “Hold it,” Paul ordered, revealing the scope of his inquiry to them. “The Princess wife will move to my sister’s quarters. Arrange the exchange at once.”

Chani raised her eyebrow this time silently, and Stilgar was stupefied. It was a bold order just as Alia’s decision to remove Irulan’s quarters from the Palace even knowing for what Paul had left Arrakis, why he had gone to seek her out, so he also needed to carry out his message.

The consequences.

His sister knew his wife was returning, yet she still did it. It was only fair now.

Yet, Stilgar was still stupefied, staring at him, stunned. Not many things would stun his old friend. Paul stared back at him. “Is there a problem, Stil?”

His devout Naib quickly ducked his head. “As the Mahdi commands,” he muttered before turning on his heel and taking his leave.

From where she stood in their private balcony, Chani continued to watch him even after Stilgar left them before she let out a sigh and started to walk toward him at the stone ornate rails.

“Alia will not like it, Usul,” she warned him softly when she stopped next to him. “It’s a bold move.”

Not as bold as what Alia had done, he thought to himself before answering, “Bold moves carry out their messages, too.” His tone was cool and neutral, a tone for which Irulan would possibly taunt him with mocking accusations of preaching. Chani didn’t even blink. “Alia knew why I left. She knew Irulan was going to return, as well. I did not give my consent.”

Chani nodded simply. “I tried to tell her,” she confessed, “but she did not listen.”

Paul let out a scoff with a semi-sigh, shaking his head. “Of course, she didn’t. I reckon she was bored in Princess’s absence.”

“Yet, giving her Alia’s quarters is wise?” she questioned.

“Alia is not the only one whom I want to send a message to, my beloved.”

His beloved raised her eyebrow again before she questioned openly, “Am I to take that message, as well, Usul?”

Paul shook his head again and moved her closer, his hand touching her stomach under her loose-fitting roughspun dress. She still looked so ordinary and so simple in her attire that one could not believe she was an imperial concubine.

“You know it is not, my beloved,” he slowly murmured, ducking his head toward the hollow of her neck as his hands held her waist and he breathed her fresh, clean scent through his nostrils.

His chest swelled as if something clinked in him, relieving him when Chani didn’t step away but softened in his embrace, letting him gently cocoon her, melting against his chest. “I’ve missed you, my Sihaya,” Paul murmured against her skin, words dropping from his lips on their own accord, his shame, guilt, and yearning making him speak. “I’m so sorry I broke your heart.”

I’m so sorry I will break your heart more, he told himself as Chani returned his embrace, her hands rubbing his back in the ways Paul had also missed, being touched and loved.

Irulan’s words about loneliness came back to him, and the way he had passed last night in her chambers, yearning for company, and guilt and shame doubled inside him for what he had done, for how much he had hurt both women in his life, even pushing one of them so to the edge that she had developed a condition that Paul still did not know what to do with or how to stop it.

As thoughts of guilt and shame swirled in him with fear, Paul still stayed where he was, letting Chani soothe him. He should have apologized more, asked for forgiveness, but his tongue still felt tied.

He told himself it was not the time, he told himself his confession might bring him peace but would only hurt Chani more, he told himself that would be selfish, he told himself staying silent would be better for anyone. His heart should carry this shame and guilt alone.

“I love you, Usul,” his beloved assured, “even when you break my heart.”  

Forgiveness is the byproduct of genuine love and companionship; his remark haunted him as Paul stayed in his beloved’s embrace, his head supported on the crook of her neck, his ambivalent feelings washing him over as a part of him wondered if his wife would ever forgive him like Chani did.

Even with his prescience, Paul could not tell, could not see. And, it also terrified a part of him. It’s perhaps something you also should learn.

“Your heart weighs heavier than you left, my love,” Chani asserted, sensing his conflict and heaviness, then her hands slid up to his shoulders as her neck craned and her lips found his. “Let us relieve your burdens. I have missed my man, too.”

With that, Paul carried her to the bed to find relief, joy, and companionship that he had not allowed himself for days, yet he still craved for.

Paul lay her down in their bed and stripped her naked. Her sunburnt skin was tanned, not ivory, and her long tawny-red hair swept over their pillows, glinting like spice over the dunes in the low light. Her elfin features looked almost unworldly under the soft light of the glowglobe, picturing her like a jinni of the desert as sometimes Paul thought of her. A Siren of the Desert.

The images of sirens from his home planet blinked in his imagination; ivory skin, sunshine hair and sharp green eyes, not whiteless blue. Paul almost shook his head to shove away the sudden image from his mind eye as he cupped Chani’s cheek, focusing his gaze on the seashell necklace over her slim neck. The only ornament his beloved still wore even in the midst of all his riches. Paul’s gift.

Briefly, Paul wondered if Irulan would steal it as well before he shoved the thought and her away from his thoughts. He could not think of her, not right now. Not when his beloved lay below him, stripped naked, staring up at him with love, affection, and acceptance. His fingers stroked her cheek as Paul dove his head and kissed his beloved.

Chani returned his kiss, her body entwining his, pulling him on herself further. Hands circled him as their tongue danced. A flash of a memory he also didn’t allow himself to think glinted across his mind eye once more, a kiss he could not even confess—his lips hungry and wanton, demanding more, pulling her backward toward his mother’s desk study.

His beloved kissed him with more desire as Paul remembered the bathroom, touching his manhood, pleasuring himself for the first time after years, so that his wife could carry his child. He grunted over Chani’s sun-parched lips, his mind making the comparison despite his best efforts, how soft and nimble were Irulan’s lips before his rough sounds of lust and desire turned into grunts of frustration, leaving him stark and cold, and angry. He moved his lips away from hers over her hot skin, feeling the same sandpaper surface under his lips as Chani moaned deeper, and other scenes filled him, filling him more with frustration.

His wife on the couch—making the same sound Chani was making now as her lover kissed her neck. Paul stopped, breathing heavily and loudly, his eyes tightly closed against the scene, all desire leaving him. He still did not open his eyes because he did not want to face Chani’s dark blue-in-blue eyes, looking at him in confusion.

He rolled off her, lay on his back, and then opened his eyes to face the ceiling. His arm went under his head to support his neck on the pillow, still not looking at his beloved. Their chambers were heavy with silence now as Chani watched him carefully.

“The journey has tired me,” Paul explained lamely, finding an excuse although Chani would see through his intent to deceive even without being a BG. “And the greeting ceremony,” he added, wanting to take his mind away from the woman who occupied his thoughts.

Chani twirled on her side, her gaze becoming more inquisitive. “Is it your sister that ails you the most, or is it your mother or your wife?” his beloved asked in the same openness again.

Paul twisted his head, finally capturing her gaze, and sighed. His hand went over to her gentle bump and stroked her belly. “How is my daughter faring?” he asked instead of answering.

“She’s fine,” Chani answered, cool, and added, “It’s her mother who is worried.”

“I know. I’m sorry, my love.”

“Usul, what ails you?”

Paul closed his eyes at the prompt, his hand rising and rubbing the bridge of his nose, the heaviness of his chest constricting his chest worse. “My mother betrayed my father, slept with Gurney,” Paul blurted out, the words spilling out of him, wanting to confess something.

What ails you?

There were so many answers to that question that Paul could not tell her, but he still wanted to share a part of it at least. “I almost killed Gurney last night,” he told his beloved after telling her the whole tale as Chani listened to his mother’s escapades from feeling lonely, and added, relieving further his chest, “but ordered him to leave instead, and never return. I also allowed my mother to leave with him if she chose to, but he instead chose to return with me.”

Chani had taken it as cool as Irulan, nodding her head. “Of course, she did, Usul. I’m upset with the Reverend Mother for her absence, but I would never believe she would have abandoned you truly.”

Paul shrugged, although his mind was more taken by how the comfort he received from both women in his life was similar. The similarities between his wife and his mother had been something Paul had accepted, but hearing the same comfort and counsel from Chani had taken away his thoughts. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her hand reaching and stroking his chest.

Paul shrugged again. “I know not,” he confessed after a moment of pause. “I’m still angry, but I understand why they sought each other. The loneliness they had.” Irulan’s counsel and comforts swirled in the back of his mind like how Paul had sought her last night, now lying next to Chani, it filled him more with guilt and tiredness. He allowed himself another sigh, last night returning at him at full force. “A part of me still wants to kill him, though. I want them gone from my life.”

He realized what he had slipped just after the wrong pronoun came out of his mouth.

Chani had always been too attentive to miss it. “Them?”

Paul knew there was no escape now; his tongue had betrayed him in his tiredness. He closed his eyes for a split second in his weariness and frustration, also knowing Chani would sense them from him before he admitted, “I almost ordered for the Professor and Sir Lance’s execution, too, last night.”

“The Sardaukar?” She tried to keep her voice cool, but Paul picked up the confusion in her tone. The news of the Sardaukar legion had reached them, of course, Paul had sent the word, perhaps it was also another reason why there was the tardiness in the ceremony today; his subjects showing him what they thought of their Mahdi’s decision to let Sardaukar do what his Fremen legions should have done instead.

He nodded his agreement. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“He’s in love with Irulan,” he simply said. “He’d throw himself over a cliff without a blink if she asks it.”

Chani frowned. “And do you want to kill him because of it?”

Silently, Paul nodded again. Chani’s spice-blue eyes were assertive and thoughtful again, and she straightened and leaned against the imperial headboard of their bed, clashing with her simplicity before she asked, “Are you jealous?”

 Paul paused for a second, his jaw clenching. “I am not. It’s not jealousy, but my integrity. She carries my child now. The rumors will flare more at the moment more people start to notice how he looks at her. I have no wish to be a laughingstock in the tribes.”

The Mahdi With The Horns.

The man was lucky that Chani had only taken his tongue. He carried a crown of thorns, not horns.

Chani grabbed the light cover from the foot of the bed and covered her nakedness. “You cannot claim the rumors are unexpected,” she replied with the placid coolness, matter-of-fact, and inquired further, “Does she return his affections?”

The notion—discussing his wife’s possible affections for another man with his concubine would have been outrageous under normal circumstances, but their circumstances had always been far from being normal. Chani had already witnessed him giving his wife his license to cuckold him all she had wished, so his beloved’s inquiry was even more scandalous if they weren’t in this conundrum.  

“Do you wonder if she has a death wish?” Paul gritted briskly.

“I am no fool, beloved, and neither is your Princess wife. I did not ask if she’d cuckold you,” Chani defended, tilting her chin as if Paul had done it. “I inquired if she would have further motives to ask his presence in your home planet.”

“She gave the command of the Sardaukar legion in my home planet to a man who is hopelessly in love with her. Does it fit the kinds of motives you inquired?”

His beloved scoffed, giving him a look. “And are you surprised, love?” she asked, and repeated his earlier comment about her nature. “Plotting is as natural to her as writing her stupid histories.” She shook her head as if Paul were stupid. “You should’ve never agreed to it.”

Paul closed his eyes briefly, letting out a sharp noise, “Chani—” he started, but his beloved cut him off: “The Professor? What’s his crime?”

There was a bitter, mocking tone in her voice, a tone that wouldn’t surprise Paul if it’d come from Irulan. “Is he also hopelessly in love with your Princess?”

 His grimace flattened his lips further upon hearing her calling Irulan his Princess constantly. When Sir Lance kept calling her Princess without her full honorific, it had irked him, disturbing him, knowing the man used to do the same back in the days, but Chani doing something similar was equally irksome, if not worse.

“No,” he clipped, “He’s not.” His tone was firm, definite, so was his statement. Neither the Professor loved his wife nor did his wife love him. That was a fact. Paul would have detected if they shared any silent love or affections, just in the same way he had detected Sir Lance’s love for her, or Irulan’s love for him. It had taken him a while to realize her silent love that she still did not accept herself, but his discovery had also put everything more in perspective regarding his wife’s emotional landscape.

What had happened between her and the Professor had happened because of him.

Because Paul had disappointed her once more. Her love for him first caused her to steal randomly worthless stuff, and then made her share herself with a man without belonging to him, and whenever he thought of it, Paul wanted to go out to the deep desert and find a sandworm.

“So, what’s his crime?” Chani pressed further.

“He slept with her.” Her blue-in-blue eyes widened with the admission as Paul forced himself to go on through gritted teeth, “She bled for him.”

“Did she confess?”

“She didn’t deny,” Paul clipped. “She had no reason. I gave her the license to cheat on me. I cannot fault her.”

Chani was still taken aback. “I never believed she would’ve done it.”

Paul snorted lowly. “Irulan also told me she had never thought their scheme would have killed me if she didn’t confess, but it would have. The outcome and intentions seldom correlate.”

It was what Irulan kept telling me whenever Paul told her he had no wish to be cruel to her, and it was still the same. Chani gave him a look and questioned after a pause, her voice now low, “Do you regret now giving her your license?”

“It matters not,” Paul clipped. “Even I cannot change the past. I did what I did, and my wife bled for another man on a couch, and I need to live with that now.”

“You sound upset, Usul.”

He let out a sound in frustration and admitted, “I am upset, Chani. I don’t wish to, and I feel foolish given our circumstances, but it still doesn’t stop the feeling.”

Chani stayed silent again for a while, watching him before she asked, “So, your vision? Was it true? Did she really jump from the cliffs of your home?”

Paul paused and nodded again. “She did.”

“Why?”

He raked his hands through his unkempt hair, swallowing down another urge to heave deeply. Chani had never believed Irulan would have tried to kill herself, and she had been right in that instance.

“She was trying to escape from the Keep,” Paul replied. “Below our castle, there are many sea caverns. She used them to escape when I banned her from leaving.”

Chani let out a grudging sound. “The royal harlot is resourceful; I’ll give her that.”

His head snapped at her, and Chani held his gaze determinedly, not backing down. “You asked me not to kill her, Usul, not to insult her.”

“Would you not do it if I also asked you?”

A dangerous glint entered into her dark blue eyes, confronting, “Would you?”

Paul only looked at her in silence. She shook her head.

“You’re my man, and I do what you ask, but sometimes you’re asking too much from me, Muad’Dib. She’s still the woman who poisoned me for years so I could not have your child.”

“I know,” Paul admitted, noting her preference for calling him Muad’Dib, “But she’s also my wife, carrying my name and my child,” he spoke sincerely. “If you call her a harlot, the others would do worse. You saw what happened today, Chani. I cannot allow that to go far.”

Chani gave him another assertive, calculating look. “Will you demand we spend time together to quell the rumors?”

There was no humor, no mocking in her tone this time; she was deadly serious, wondering if Paul would force them to spend time together in his presence so that he would also clean his own tarnished reputation. It would have soothed the rumors. Paul was cognizant; he would have even asked them to his chambers at once, sharing his bed with them at the same time, like how men with multiple wives sometimes did. It was in his rights as long as his wives would consent to it. Paul would demand it even if it would have been only to create a scene like how he had done with Irulan in Caladan, but the truth was far from it.

Paul was not going to ask her to spend time with his wife in shared company; he was going to make his beloved leave, keeping them separated. And it was the perfect opportunity to confess what he had already promised to Irulan, but his tongue still felt tied, couldn’t speak of what he had agreed to.

“No, I will not,” he said instead and tentatively remarked, “I only ask you to stay…civil toward her in public. I’d not ask more from you, my love, I know it.”

She stayed silent for another long minute, assessing his response and his request, and then nodded her acceptance, releasing another low sigh. “I will stay civil in public.”

Paul reached her hand and kissed her fingers. “Thank you, my love.”

There was a voice that whispered to him he was a sneaky liar, always bending his word to his whims, a voice that sounded similar to his wife, but Paul silenced it. He was still not ready for that.

“Tell me everything, Usul,” Chani said, releasing her hand from his grasp. “Everything. What happened? Why was she trying to escape from your fortress?”

Paul talked for a long hour, telling her almost everything—this time only leaving out the truth of how Irulan had met Amy on the streets. Irulan and Chani’s relationship was already strained, and it was going to be worse when Paul forced her to stay in the Sietch Tabr. Paul didn’t want to create more chaos in their relationship. Chani didn’t need to know Irulan’s problem, and Paul still wasn’t sure how to handle that situation. Moreover, confessing that his Princess Consort was stealing stuff randomly from around was hard, even to his beloved. There was a part of him that feared Chani would judge Irulan even worse because of it, and Paul did not wish that.

And, if Irulan also learned he had told her secret to Chani, she would have possibly never forgiven him, as well, would have given her hatred more fuel.

“So, his mother hid him from me after my uncle died,” Paul concluded. “And he ended up growing up in the streets until Irulan befriended Amy and found him.”

Chani was truly stunned by his tale, and Paul did not fault her for that. “It’s my destiny, Chani,” he said lowly, repeating aloud his belief and the reality. “Like how we were fated for this, Irulan was also fated to find him.”

 His beloved gave him a long look, but did not argue. “So what happens now?” she asked.

“I know not. The destiny will show us.” Chani gave him another look, not buying it, so Paul added with a loaded sigh. “My oracle is still clouded, my Sihaya. There are many things I still cannot see. I couldn’t even see my mother and Gurney in front of me for weeks.”

That had been the most truthful confession he had made during their talk, and it concerned Chani visibly. “Will you make him your heir?” she questioned, and Paul let out another loud sigh.

“I know not. He’s not ready. And the Fremen--” He paused, and Chani continued in his brief pause.

“They would never accept him in Alia’s place,” she completed, “Yet, you still brought him here.” Paul nodded. “You’ve already made your choice, my love,” she said softly, coming closer to him and resting against his chest.

Paul quickly enveloped her in his arms. “Like you did with that har—” she hid her head at his chest, not looking at him, but continued, stopping herself before the insult left her mouth, “with that real Princess down the hall before you left home.”

Despite what she had just claimed, Paul let out a rough laugh as he rested his chin upon her head. “Amy couldn’t believe Irulan was a real Princess, too,” he remarked, remembering the girl’s excitement upon hearing them and falling from the chimney. “I still cannot believe how she managed to keep it to herself until her secret blew out.”

“I still cannot imagine your Princess wife told a bunch of street kids she was working in the kitchens.”

“I was also shocked,” he confessed.

She looked up at him from his bosom. “You sound more like amused,” she stated, but her tone lacked the accusing tone this time. She wasn’t angry or accusing him, just curious.

“Yes,” Paul admitted. “I was intrigued.”

“Did she truly tell them she was a rogue Bene Gesserit?”

Paul nodded. “She did. She wanted to help them with the Tupile.” He paused and shook his head. “I messed up so much, Chani. If Irulan hadn’t uncovered their scheme, even my cousin would have fallen to their trap.”

“You wouldn’t know that, Usul,” she said gently. “Even you cannot know everything. Do not fault yourself for everything.”

Irulan’s voice calling him useless swirled in his mind as Paul jerked his head, refusing her assurance that came from a loving heart. “It’s my responsibility, Chani. My duty. I shall protect my subjects. For what good am I if I cannot do it? Irulan once accused me of being hated as much as her father was, and perhaps, she wasn’t far from the truth. Shaddam did not care about anything but power, lost all his humanity, and look at me now.

“To what I have become. My legions still storm the universe as the Tupile goes under my nose. I let my home planet become a hive of scum and villainy. I let the Guild rampage over my dominion with the cartels. I let people worship my father’s remains for years. I let the Qizarate feed more into the religious fervor I created. I chose duty over love, forced a woman to wed me, to win a throne and consequently made both of you unhappy.”

Her hand raised and touched his cheek, blue eyes shining with love and affection. Paul dived his head against her neck and breathed her scent, feeling spent from his pus poured out of his chest. There was a part of him that still got angry at himself for burdening his beloved with his failures, but he couldn’t stay silent, his sins looking for confession, if not absolution.

But forgiveness was always there in Chani, even when Paul didn’t deserve it. “My love—beloved, you did not to wed her to win a throne,” she softly assured him as her hand stroked his hair. “You’d already won it by war. You wed her because it was the only peace you could have without forcing the whole universe into chaos.”

He shook his head; his forehead still rested on her neck. “I still did spurge the whole universe into chaos, killed billions,” he muttered.

“You did what you had to do, Usul. And you know it. Even when your decision broke my heart, I never faulted you because of it. I do not believe even Irulan faults you because of it. Even she must know you had little less alternative. She is no fool.”

As her counsel reached him, Paul realized once more how Chani and Irulan would have been friends given the chance. The realization filled him with an incredible sadness in sorrow for the roads not taken. For the roads he couldn’t have taken, couldn’t have allowed himself, even when Chani gave him her permission.

The realization struck him worse than before, admitting to it even though silently in the confines of his own conscience. Had Paul accepted his wife as his wife, had he treated her as he was supposed to do, not refusing his matrimonial duties, not promising to his beloved she would not have anything of him, they both could have been happier than now.

They all could have been happier than they were now.

It was a hard pill to swallow, and it struck in his throat, suffocating him.

“Usul—” his beloved softly called him, gentle hands holding his neck and forcing him to face her. “Why is she carrying you a daughter like me? What happened?”

“Destiny,” he uttered in a whisper, “Destiny happened, beloved.”

“That’s not an answer, Usul,” she warned. Paul pulled back and rested his back against the tawny-red hawk on his headboard. “Your wife is a Bene Gesserit. They work through the destiny. They interfere.”

“She didn’t want to.”

“Why?”

“She was afraid, I suppose.” He admitted and exhaled deeply, his stupidity coming back at him. What had she accused him of having with her lover?

The victor’s apathy and hubris.

Paul let out another bitter scoff, begrudgingly admitting to himself she had been right once more before he almost admitted to Chani. “I was so certain in my hubris that she would’ve wanted to carry the imperial heir like she used to, but truth is—I was wrong, Chani. Irulan wanted a child, not an heir.”

Chani was skeptical, even though Paul only spoke of the truth. “Are you saying she only accepted your offer because she wanted to have a child, and your offer was her only chance?”

“No,” Paul replied. “She wouldn’t have accepted the artificial ways if I hadn’t let her make a constitution and allowed the Sardaukar to land in Caladan. She resisted it very strongly because of her dignity, accused me of wanting to break her integrity, claimed she would not whelp for me like an animal. And I wouldn’t have convinced her, Chani, if she still didn’t have high ambitions. They have just surpassed…me.” He laughed softly. “Now she wants to create a civil, secular legislation, take out the galactic cartels, and take care of her charges. She’s outgrown herself.”

Chani mimicked his laughter and then stopped when she realized Paul had been deadly serious. Her eyes turned watchful once more, inspecting him. “Are you disappointed?”

“I’m still lacking a male heir,” he admitted, and looked at her. “Are you angry at me for allowing her not to interfere?”

“I am,” his beloved also admitted. “But I also understand why you didn’t wish it. And that’s the only answer I can give you now, Usul. I cannot look past she’s now also carrying your daughter without a purpose after what she did to me for years.”

Paul bowed his head in acceptance. He also could not ask more from her.

“And I cannot look past that she also carries that bracelet,” Chani added in the sudden silence between them, and his head snapped back at her.

Though Paul was not surprised. Chani might not recognize their family heirloom, but she would recognize the hawk of House Atreides and would notice how Irulan had tried to show her the bracelet around her wrist and the handkerchief he had wrapped over the cut she had made to herself.

“What is it?” she inquired, voice placid but firm.

“It’s the bracelet that the Duchess of my House wears,” Paul answered.

“Hmm.”

Silence filled the air between them, Chani looking at him, and Paul averted his gaze. “She carries my child now, despite how it was conceived. She should carry it.”

“Hmm.” Paul noticed her eyes on him even when he kept his gaze back on his balcony, watching the outside desert in the moonlight beyond his shades. The sun had settled, and the twin moons had risen. The soft humming of prayers of the early evening drifted inside through the cracked windows behind the shades. His chambers felt warm, making him remember Caladan’s cool, windy nights. The northern wind blew inside, carrying out sand and spice.

“Will you let her call herself your Empress the next, Paul Muad’Dib?” the sudden taunting question echoed in the silence of his chambers, breaking his reverie.

His head snapped back at her, and more than surprised by the astute inquiry, Paul got angry at her tone. That mocking, bitter taunt sounded so…wrong from Chani; didn’t fit.

“I will not,” he clipped, his tantrum barely kept away. “She already asked me, and I already declined.”

That astonished his beloved. “Did she truly do it?”

“Yes.” He paused. “It’s also the reason why she wears my House’s bracelet now. She got upset with my refusal, and agreed to wear it only because she knew it would upset you, too.”

She frowned and arched an eyebrow at the same time. “Are you trying to soothe me for giving her that bracelet, Usul?”

“No. I tell you what happened,” he deadpanned calmly. “And why she wears it.”

“Then that blue silk handkerchief with your initials,” she quickly recovered, “Why does she wear it?”

Paul let out a sigh. “She tried to disarm me after I unsheathed my crysknife last night.”

Her eyes widened. “She tried to disarm you?” she blew out in disbelief. “The Princess down the hall. You?”

“Well, she mostly told me to drop my knife,” Paul corrected, half-shrugging, knowing how utterly insane it all sounded now, before he paused for a second, “With the Voice.”

Chani was utterly astonished now. “She used the Voice on you?!”

“She tried to.”

She jerked her head. “I do not understand you, love. Why did you even unsheathe your knife?”

Paul gave her a look. “To kill Gurney.”

“Oh.” She glanced at him, and Paul could see the wheels turning in her mind this time, drawing to the conclusion of what had happened last night. “She tried to stop you from killing him.”

Paul nodded, mumbling, “Yes.”

“And you yielded your blade to her?” his beloved inquired, and Paul nodded again, looking away.

“Yes.”

“And the handkerchief?” Chani prompted further.

“She cut herself before giving it back to me to sheathe it back, but cut deeper than she should. I wrapped it around her wound.”

His beloved snorted. “That’s our Princess.”

Paul glanced at her. “Rogue teaches her how to use a butterfly knife,” he commented. “She’s become very apt.”

The same snort came out of her again. “Tell the girl to teach her how to notch herself properly. It’d save you from the trouble the next time.”

Paul made a noise in response, but did not comment further. Chani dipped her head and picked a loose thread from the covers before she commented with a low voice, “The kids… They’re very protective of her.”

“They are,” Paul replied with an agreeing nod. “And she’s very protective of them.”

“Is it the reason why we have sixty-three street kids from Caladan occupying our guest wings now?”

Paul shrugged. “Yes.”

The whole Gang of the Pit that had taken residence in their guest wings, arrived after them as Irulan and Tim had refused to leave them at Caladan. Paul had offered that they would stay with Sir Lance, but Tim had still refused adamantly, and Irulan quickly interfered, backing him up. Accepting he wouldn’t win that fight when they teamed up against him, Paul had allowed all the kids to be transferred to his Citadel with another Guild heighliner.

The Fremen was shocked, the Qizarate was displeased, and Alia was amused. Paul simply didn’t care as he was burdened less. Tim and Rogue had become more comfortable with the idea of leaving as the rest of their family accompanied them, and as Paul had already noticed, whenever her charges were happy with him, his wife was also less antagonistic.

“Tim didn’t want to leave his group, so they also accompanied him.”

“The girl and the child?”

“They’re different,” Paul said. “Tim and Rogue are almost inseparable, so Irulan and Amy have become. They sleep together now.”

Chani raised her eyebrow. “Will she truly adopt a street kid?”

Paul nodded. “I gave her my permission. I have not checked yet, but I am sure she’s already started the legal procedure.”

Chani frowned. “Will she become an Atreides, too?”

Paul paused, the question taking him by surprise for a moment. Paul had not thought of it; he had allowed her to adopt her to her House, but the small girl had grown upon him so much that Paul found himself not minding her also his own protégé. Alia had grown so quickly with her ancestral memory that Paul sometimes still missed those years.

“I have not discussed it, but we might,” he admitted. “She’s really a sweetheart.”

His beloved gave him another long look. Paul looked at her with a smile. “Do you wish to meet them properly?” he asked on a sudden urge, the question leaving his lips. The greeting party had been so chaotic, his beloved wouldn’t even have exchanged a word with his cousin and the family he had grown together with. “We can ask them for supper.”

Tim was very loyal and protective of his wife; his reaction when Alia had attacked her made it quite clear, but Paul also wanted him to have a good rapport with Chani, knowing her truly on his own before her time came. Tim was also the only…normal person in his family, so to speak, so there was always a part of him that wanted her to meet him, to show her they were not all…lunatics with spice addiction and godlike powers.

Chani laughed. “Are you sure your wife would allow it?” she taunted. “She looked like she’d burn this palace on your head if you separate them from her tonight.”

That paused Paul, as well, coming back to his senses, recognizing the impracticality of his plan. Irulan would truly burn the place down if Paul tried to keep Amy from her tonight.

“Yes, I reckon.”

“So invite her, too,” came back the answer, snapping his head back at her. “Let us dine all together.”

Paul stared at her, stunned. “Would you dine with her?” Paul blurted out in disbelief, the request completely blowing his mind away.

She reached out to him and caressed his cheek, her blue-in-blue eyes shining with love and affection, and she smiled at him. “My love, I’d do anything for you even when you don’t ask for it.”