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Feyd's wife was a proud little thing.
He had first been made aware of her when he was 16, around the age his uncle had stopped reaching for him: some Ginaz remnant had murdered a Moritani favourite of the emperor, years after the blood feud had formally ended, and that was that. My imperial decree, every standing Kanly was to be formally ended, wounds sewn shut, 'lest the universe be torn asunder from ancient hatreds'.
Feyd didn’t know what that meant for the other half-dozen Kanly feuds amongst the Great and Minor Houses, but the instructions for the oldest blood feud, for the Harkonnen and the Atreides, were very specific. The eldest daughter and the youngest son would marry, and no more blood would be spilt. Feyd knew his uncle had grumbled and tried to receive some sweetening of this bitter pill from the emperor, but he also knew this was no dark turn for his family. The Harkonnens blood feud with the respected and admired Atreides had undermined their reputation in the Landsraad almost as effectively as their politics for the entirety of his uncle's reign. This is what Feyd had been groomed for the day the Baron first saw him peering out from behind his mothers skirts: the clever Harkonnen, the charming Harkonnen, the ascendant Harkonnen. And if Paula Atreides wasn’t quite as high a marriage as the Princess Irulan, well, at least a less lofty wife would at least be easier to control.
He had received with this announcement a small portrait of her, a painting the size of his hand. His betrothed, rendered in delicate oils, wore a serene expression on her aristocratic features, high cheekbones flushing delicately over a full, red mouth, pale eyes surrounded by dark curling hair. In a pique of romanticism, he kept the portrait under his breast pocket, tucked close to his heart. It was fun to pull it out and have the pleasure slaves beg the little portrait for forgiveness as he fucked them.
The day she reached her majority her journey to meet him began, and so too did the festivities of Giedi Prime. For 30 days, there had been feasts and fireworks and battles in the arena. Every sunset, as the black sun gave way to true darkness, Feyd killed another in honour of his bride-to-be.
When she finally landed it was to screams of relief as much as jubilation. The wedding had taken place immediately upon her descent from the starship, her bridal procession comprising of no less than six Bene Gesserit witches, clustered around her like dour black plinths as they marched steadily to the din of the traditional Atreides bagpipes. His bride was scarcely visible between them, shining out like the sun between cooling towers in her white hammered silk, so bright Feyd had to let his eyes adjust when she took her place beside him.
He ignored the Imperial Adjudicator reading them their vows, opting to study his new wife instead, imagining the crowd moved by his marital devotion. Her face and hair were obscured by her diamond threaded veil, dripping down her face like tears, but he was pleased to notice that the little portrait hadn’t exaggerated her beauty: men with ugly wives were often laughed at.
At the end of the ceremony he had lifted her sharp, heavy veil and leaned down to bite her mouth hard enough to taste blood.
She didn’t flinch.
Feyd had smiled, his mouth full of copper.
His uncle and one of his bride’s Bene Gesserit attendants are witness to the consummation that evening. The Atreides swordmaster Duncan Idaho, who had accompanied his bride as her guard on the journey, was extended an invitation and had declined. Feyd wished he had been there - he had gotten hard easily enough, and his wife’s wasn’t the first cold, unresponsive body he had thrust into, but his uncle’s eyes heavy on his back made it difficult to focus, difficult to produce the seed that would complete the ritual. The swordmaster’s hatred and disgust would have risen Feyd’s blood, made it easier to finish.
He couldn’t hurt her, not in front of the Bene Gesserit, not enough to get him off without killing her, so he experimented with his hips instead, searching for a more satisfying angle. What he found instead was something that made the woman under him gasp. He stopped, looked at her. She looked back, impassive as a marble statue. Turned out those pale eyes were a delicate green, the colour of lichen. He tried it again, the same slow, grinding roll of his hips, and watched the pupils eat that green away. He tried it again, and felt her body soften and moisten around him.
“Oh, you like that,” he said, delighted.
Her glare lit up his body like lightning.
“Shhhh, don’t worry,” he pressed his mouth up against her ear, her long hair cool and strange against his face, “you’re here now, you can have this whenever you like,” he rolled his hips again, and felt her tremble.
“I know they must have sent you here like a martyr,” he kept his voice low and soothing, his movements slow, “your mother,” he eased himself out of her, “your father,” and back in. Her body convulsed under him, more from fury than pleasure, but he held a bruising grip at her hips, kept her pinned and still. “But you understand now, that this,” he lifted her hips as he pushed into her, almost as if she were fucking back, “is where you were always meant to be. The last daughter of the Great House of Atreides,” he mocked softly, “underneath me and loving it.”
Impatient, he hauled one of her legs over his hip so he could fuck into her properly, nevermind the angle that had made her soften and squirm against him. He had kept up his steady stream of nonsense, telling her how sweet he would be to her, how she would never be without a cock to ride, how she would need it, whore that she was.
His orgasm took him almost by surprise, the world whiting out around him as he buried himself as deep as he could reach, hips stuttering. For a moment, the world was at a pleasant distance, but reality pressed back in soon enough. He slipped out of her, leaving her still flushed and twitchy on the black sheets, to accept his uncle’s congratulating embrace.
“You,” he addressed the Bene Gesserit attendants filtering into the room, “have her shaved, won’t you?”
Then he had retrieved his dress trousers and walked with his uncle back to his own chambers, talking of the future.