Chapter Text
“We do not teach history; we recreate the experience. We follow the chain of consequences—the tracks of the beast in its forest.”
- Bene Gesserit Coda.
꧁꧂
Before Birth
“You didn’t change his designation?” The Reverend Mother snaps, Yuna Hollander holding her head down. She is seven months pregnant. Far past the time where she can channel her Bene Gesserit abilities, changing her baby on the molecular level.
“David believes—“
”Do not forget who allowed you to marry David Hollander. Do not forget who allowed you to hold the position you do,” The Reverend Mother spits, irate. Yuna can’t really see her face as she has her black veil on. It’s better this way, she thinks. She doesn’t think she can face her mentor’s disappointment.
She knows she messed up. Her baby, her son, should’ve been an Alpha. Yet she allowed him to grow as God saw fit. But the Bene Gesserit believed they were above God. They never said it outright—that was blasphemous—but they believed that. At one point Yuna believed it, too. But that was before she met David, Duke of Caladan. Before she loved him so much she adopted his beliefs about God and his perfection with creation, and how that shouldn’t be tampered with.
God wanted his son to be an Omega. So Yuna allowed it.
“Humanity needs to be on the Golden Path. We’re here to save humanity, not barrel us all into our own destruction, Yuna. For shame.”
“What do we do now?” Yuna asks, voice frail.
The Reverend Mother’s wrinkled hands clasp in her lap in thought. Silence bares the Hollander’s private library. If she listens hard enough, she can hear the Caladan breeze outside the windows. The crash of the waves. She idly wonders if her son will enjoy the waves. The beaches of Caladan.
“He obviously cannot marry Princess Rose Landry. We had that set in motion, and you’ve derailed everything. They were supposed to be the catalyst into bringing about our Kwisatz Haderach.”
The baby to mirror the fabled Jesus Christ. The one to lead the people into a better future. Yuna always thought that plan was a little much, but she was determined to follow her sisters. Until David. Reverend Mother hums, holding one hand up.
“There are…the Rozanovs. They’re a family that could still make this work.” Yuna’s eyes widen.
“No,” She gasps, hands shaking. Reverend Mother leans back in her seat. She can’t see her face, but she knows it’s contorted in annoyance.
“You damned your son to this fate. You should’ve made him an Alpha. Don’t play the ignorant card, I trained you. You were capable of doing so, but love has blinded you.”
“The Rozanovs will hurt him. They’re sadistic, they—“
”Silence!” Reverend Mother whispers, using The Voice, a technique only Bene Gesserit women can wield. The voices of a thousand ancestors in one, able to make any man bend to one’s will. Yuna closes her mouth immediately. She has no choice.
“There will be no more discussion. I will be back when the boy first bleeds. Then, we will discuss marriage. Fate already connects them through feud. Yes…this could indeed work.”
Yuna reaches across the wooden table, ignoring it digging into her stomach. Reverend Mother’s hands are cold.
“Please. Spare my son. I will send him away, I’ll have another. Just don’t…don’t condemn him to that fate.”
Reverend Mother pushes Yuna away from her, standing up. She looks like a singular black pillar, able to hide in the shadows as all Bene Gesserit women do. Collecting information, making plans on plans. All for the Golden Path. The only way to save humanity from its own destruction.
“Prepare him. This is all I can offer you.”
She walks away from her, but it looks as if she floats. Yuna lets the tears fall freely, hand over her bloated stomach.
“Forgive me, my child,” She whispers, rubbing her stomach as her son kicks fitfully.
Birth
The Reverend Mother had warned her childbirth would be unlike anything she’s ever known. She warned her it would not be easy, and that it would change her forever. She heeded her words but she didn’t really understand them.
Laying here in a Caladan royal pool, she understands. There are doulas and nurses all around her, David behind her but they do nothing to placate the pain. She’s delirious with it, not even noticing how loud she’s shouting.
David grasps her hand and he holds it like a life line.
“Stay with me, my love, yes, you’re absolutely perfect—“ David whispers in her ear. She pushes and pushes, ignoring the feeling of being ripped in two, of being pulled every which way until she’s not sure if she’s even lying here anymore. She yells, she cries, she screams for this to end.
And it does.
Her baby is crying. One beautiful boy. He is placed on her chest, and Yuna immediately latches onto him, vision blurry but instincts intact. David huddles over all of them, his Alpha instincts urging him to protect his family, his pack. A collective sigh of relief is let out across the entire room, and Yuna looks at her child in awe.
Shane. She will name him Shane. He gurgles and blinks, starting at her with big brown eyes. She wails in relief and joy. Cries even harder when David reaches and touches his child’s face, sobbing as well.
“He’s so beautiful. Just like you,” David whispers. Yuna’s overwhelmed. She’s scared. She’s happy. She wants to push David down and have another. Her body is exhausted, and her child needs to feed, so she positions him correctly and lets him do so.
“Welcome home, Shane,” David says, a genuine smile on his face. Yuna kisses his forehead, but her gaze moves from her son to the door that’s cracked open. Reverend Mother stands there, looking at the new family with approval, yet apprehension.
”Make sure he succeeds,” She had warned Yuna. “Because if he doesn’t…”
”He will,” She promised. “He will succeed.”
Yuna lets her son feed, she lets David coo over him, and she feels a stone drop in her stomach. She’s just condemned her child the fate of rolling over and presenting, of being reduced to nothing but a human incubator for a cause she has yet to see come to fruition.
“Forgive me,” She signs, David not understanding. Her child’s babbles bring her little comfort.
Eight
”Do people hate Omegas?” A young Shane Hollander asks. He walks along the beach with his mother Yuna, holding onto her hand. He smells of bergamot and innocence.
“Sometimes,” Yuna answers honestly, and Shane kicks at a lone rock in their path.
”So people will hate me?”
Yuna softly laughs, ruffling her son’s hair. He grumbles cutely and fixes it back, letting go of her hand. When he’s finished, Yuna doesn’t hesitate to grab him again.
”It’s not so much hate…they’ll judge you. But you must not let that get to you.”
Shane looks out to the seas of Caladan. A seagull screeches, Shane turning towards the noise and screeching back. His mother’s been teaching him things. Hand signs, a way to speak without speaking. How to concentrate on the energy around him. How to interpret the dreams he has.
Things only he can do, things other royal kids cannot. He knows he is different. Yuna treats him like he is different. Special.
“There’s a boy in my dreams. I don’t think he hates me for being an Omega.”
Yuna pauses, squeezing Shane’s hand.
”What does this boy look like?” She questions. Shane hums.
”Curly hair. Moles. Black teeth.” His mother stops walking, Shane confused. He tugs on her hand.
“Come on, Mom! We have to keep walking! There are rocks we have to skip!”
Yuna takes a deep breath, sending her son a shaky smile.
”Yes, of course. Let’s go, my child.”
Twelve
Shane Hollander is an Omega. He’s known this since he was young, was explained the usage of his organs. Was taught about heats and ruts and Alphas. On his first heat, he will bleed. It will be painful. But he’ll be of age. Marriage talks will start, and Shane hopes he never bleeds.
Right now, he’s a young boy who follows his mother and father around Caladan, soaking up every bit of information he can. He’ll be the reigning Duke after his father despite his Omega status, and he knows he has a lot to prove.
He’s freshly twelve and has on a clean outfit: silk blue top with pressed dark shorts to the knees, navy blue veil over his face. They have visitors coming today. House Rozanov, the house they’ve been feuding with for generations is coming to talk trade negotiations. Shane thinks his father is very virtuous, opening up his home to such feral people.
His father was probably the most mild-tempered Duke of Caladan to ever exist. He’s heard his mother reprimand his father, saying his nature could bring about their demise. And yet, the Rozanovs were coming here.
He’s read about House Rozanov, about all the houses. He’s a very well-read boy. House Rozanov resides on Harko, their ancestral house being Geidi Prime. Twin suns, which shroud the planet in grayscale, color only becoming clear at night. Gladiator fights in the slave pits. A culture of hardship and strife. Shane shivers thinking about it.
Shane stands next to his best friend Hayden Pike, a boy who’ll become his closest guard one day. He’s in training, spending his days at Castle Caladan, directly under General Warmaster Wiebe, who stands next to Hayden.
”Chin up, boys. Today is all about showing the greatness of House Hollander to the Rozanovs.” Wiebe calls out, voice hardened by history.
Wiebe had his own personal strife with the Rozanovs, Shane knew this. Knew it had to do with his wife, who was gravely injured but thankfully survived a Rozanov raid on her home planet Ginaz.
“What if we were the generation to end the feud?” Shane whispers to Hayden.
Hayden snickers at him.
”Yeah, and I’m the Emperor.”
Shane giggles a bit, the sound being drowned out by the Rozanov’s hovercraft docking.
David Hollander is in a pressed navy-blue suit, ducal ring with the Hollander crest on it resting on his ring finger, right underneath his wedding band. Yuna stands next to him, shimmery peach dress on, a veil covering her face. Her Bene Gesserit roots are always on show, even if she’s a married woman.
Shane’s the perfect mix of his parents: he’s his father’s son, and yet, he’s influenced by his mother greatly. But looking at the other men, he distantly wonders if he should rip the veil off.
The door to the hovercraft opens, and out steps Baron Grigori Rozanov. He’s old, wrinkly, and bitter. His scent smells bitter. Shane’s eyes water a bit, the smell invading the comforting scents of those around him. Of home. He has on the biggest black overcoat Shane thinks he’s ever seen, hanging behind him like a train on a dress, and he sends David an unkind smile. His teeth are blackened. Ritualistic painting, Shane recalls.
“Duke Hollander. What a pleasure,” Grigori drawls, voice accented. Everyone will speak Common Tongue here, but Shane knows Harko has its own language. He’s tried to pick up some of it, but he only knows a few words.
David nods, holding a hand out to shake.
“What a pleasure indeed, Baron.”
Two more individuals step out of the hovercraft. The first is Grigori’s first son Alexei. He’s in line to be Na-Baron, or the one who will inherent the title of Baron from Grigori. He’s heard about Alexei’s failed conquests. Shane wonders if he’ll keep the title of Na-Baron.
The other person who steps out of the hovercraft is the second son, Ilya. When Shane looks at him, something shifts. He’s seen this face before, in his dreams. Dreams that feel so real, feet sinking into sand dunes, the coveted spice blowing all around him. That face has grabbed his hands, has stood side by side with him. Has called him beautiful years later, has had no issue with his designation.
“Being Omega is beautiful thing.” That voice has said. Older. Silkier. His.
Shane blinks, Ilya glancing his way. He grins like his father, teeth also blackened. It is not kind, yet it could be. A predator that does not yet know its strength, mimicking those around it. Yuna moves a bit closer to him, his mother’s protection always present. But there’s a shift. He’s sure she can feel it.
”Ah. And here is the Prince.” Grigori gets close, but not close enough to touch.
Yuna slowly lifts his veil, and he stands there, freckles and black hair flopping into his face a bit.
“What a beauty. Keep him locked up,” Grigori warns, letting out a horrible cackle afterwards.
Alexei looks as bored as a teenager can look, but Ilya’s eyes pierce through him. It doesn’t take a genius to know all three Rozanovs are Alphas. Grigori smells terrible, Alexei smells irrelevant, but Ilya…he smells…nice.
Wood and oil and cardamom. Spicy and heady. Grounded. Something shifts. And then it’s so close to snapping it scares him.
Shane has to leave. He has to get away from Ilya Rozanov, from the boy that has haunted his dreams for years. Prescience, his mother called it. The ability to see before and beyond. To see all possibilities, whether they happen or not. A very powerful ability, only available to him by his mother’s teachings. Teachings he shouldn’t know, because he can’t be a sister.
But he knows them.
Duke Hollander and the Baron walk along a marble path, the entire entourage following them. Hayden looks at him with confusion.
“Are you okay?” He whispers. Alexei walks close to his father while Ilya straggles along, actively taking in his surroundings. Shane’s following his eyes. He’s mapping out exit points. Weak spots. He shivers.
“I’m…fine,” Shane answers slowly. He doesn’t know what he feels, he just knows he can’t be around Ilya for much longer. It’s the precipice to something irreversible. He can feel it in his chest.
”I think our boys should talk. Get along. What do you think?” Grigori says to David, pointing to him and Ilya. David looks to Yuna, and Yuna goes to shake her head, but she stops at the last minute.
“They can spend a bit of time together.” Yuna answers in lieu of David.
Shane’s confused. This is not the path he thought his mother would take. He believed she would tuck him into her, would say he’s tired and needs rest.
He glances to her, eyes questioning.
“You must talk with him,” She signs. Shane frowns.
“I’ve seen him in my dreams. There’s a shift. I don’t know what it means…but I’m nervous.”
”Do not be. Go to him,” His mother urges. He’s aware he and Yuna look odd, no one else understanding this silent language.
“Bene Gesserit. They are always so…silent. So secretive,” Grigori comments, shaking his head. “Must always be delight being with one.”
”Why do you speak as if you haven’t been with a sister? The entire Imperium knows you have,” David quips back. “Leave the children to their own devices. Wiebe will follow behind. Hayden, go with Yuna.”
Hayden makes a move to protest, but Shane puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.
Hayden huffs, but he relents, he and Yuna walking towards one of their many studies. Alexei glares hatefully at Ilya, but doesn’t hesitate to follow behind his father. Now it’s just him, Ilya, and Wiebe. There’s distance though, Wiebe just on the edge. Ready to step in if the Rozanov child decides to follow his lineage and be sneaky. Deadly.
“How do you like Caladan?” Shane asks, trying to be polite.
Ilya shrugs, thumbing at a golden cross that hangs around his neck. He idly wonders if Ilya practices Orange Catholicism like his parents.
“Is bright. More quiet than Harko.” His voice is extremely accented, but it slides over his ears like butter. Shane, against all judgement, takes the Rozanov’s hand in his.
“Come. We must go to the garden.” He leads Ilya there, not turning around to see if he follows. His hand is still clasped in his. He can hear Wiebe behind them, and he stands at the edge of the garden, allowing the two of them a cover of privacy.
“I’ve read about Harko. It seems like a dark planet. Pilingitam trees look very cool, though. If I ever go to Harko, I want to touch one. They grow so tall!”
“You talk a lot,” Ilya flatly states, Shane’s cheeks turning a bit red.
“Well…you barely talk,” He snaps back, feeling awkward. Ilya does something weird. As Shane faces him, thinking about plucking a fruit off a tree, the boy reaches over and pokes at his cheek.
“You also turn red. Many do not do this at Geidi Prime.”
“It’s…a condition…” Shane babbles, not wanting to explain the concept of blushing to a boy who should know.
“They say you are to be my mate,” Ilya tells him, lips pursed, mole stark against his cheek. Shane’s eyebrows rise.
“Mate? What?”
”That is what they whisper. I hate it. Say it out loud, or keep quiet.”
His mother’s mentioned the sisters and how they want him to mate someone. She just never mentioned it would be the Rozanov boy.
He feels off-kilter. Out of balance.
“Marriage happens when we’re older. Things can change.”
Ilya shakes his head, as if Shane’s the naive little baby and he’s the one with all the answers.
“Not this.”
Shane frowns. “You think you know everything because you’re thirteen, or something?”
“These people…they are always planning. Always. They will not plan differently.” Ilya’s voice is steady as he speaks, as if this is a truth they cannot escape.
It shocks him how truthful Ilya is. He feels a bit of rage. Why would his mother keep it from him Ilya’s to be his husband?
She’s trying to change fate.
But he’s seen Ilya in his dreams. Maybe his mother will be successful. Maybe she won’t.
Ilya looks above Shane, at the orange tree they’re sitting under.
”I’ll pick one for you. I don’t think you’ve ever had an orange.”
Ilya shakes his head, lifting up his dress pants and producing a small knife. Shane’s heart rate picks up.
“No need.”
With deadly accuracy, he strikes an orange down from the tree, tunic riding up as he hops to retrieve it. Shane trains with Wiebe, basic fighting techniques he must learn as a prince. He also trains with his mother, learning prada-binu, the Bene Gesserit’s style of combat. But Ilya was on another level. They’re molding this young boy to be a solider. A monster. The thought makes him sad.
“What? You thought I’d hurt you? I am not stupid, Hollander,” Ilya snarls, turning the orange in his hands.
“Well, I—“
”Why would I hurt you? I’d bring shame to Rozanov name if I hurt pretty prince.”
Shane balks at Ilya calling him pretty. He’s heard that so much. Everyone thinks he’s pretty, but he hears less about his capabilities. He should be angry Ilya called him that. But he just…sits with it.
Ilya decides to eat the orange, biting into it whole.
Shane gasps, waving his hands around. “You can’t eat it like that! You peel it!”
Ilya pauses, not blushing, but a flicker of embarrassment passes across his face. He takes the knife and peels around the orange, spitting out the piece in his mouth. He begins to peel the rind, and Ilya swipes so fast he nicks himself with the blade. Orange juice and blood spill down his hand, but he makes no cry of pain. He’s just solely focused on the task, face pinched in concentration.
“You’re bleeding!” Shane exclaims, standing up and fretting over the boy. “We need a bandage.”
”Is just blood, Hollander. Is not end of world.”
“That cut looks deep,” Shane points out, voice small. Ilya shrugs.
“Blood is not bad. It means you are victorious. Blood to Rozanovs is victory. It is beauty. Pain is beauty.”
Shane shivers, eyes blinking and seeing a future where he bleeds and he enjoys it. Enjoys…Ilya.
Shane quickly separates himself from Ilya, walking away, leaving the other boy confused. He walks all the way to where Wiebe is perched, body alert.
“He’s a weird one, isn’t he?” Wiebe asks. Shane shakes his head, holding a hand out.
“Give me something to stop bleeding, please,” The little prince demands. Wiebe’s eyes widen.
“You’re bleeding? Where? Did that son of a—“
”I’m not bleeding. He is,” Shane snaps. “Wrap, bandage, something.” Shane distantly knows if they see either one of them bleeding, it won’t be great. But seeing Shane—delicate, pretty Shane—bleed is worse.
“How’d he start bleeding?” Wiebe asks, unraveling a piece of cloth tied around his waist. He doesn’t have a bandage. This will have to do.
“He climbed a tree trying to get an orange,” Shane lies.
Wiebe cannot know Ilya had a knife in his boot. It’ll look deceitful. Something so simple as a concealed weapon could bring about talks of treason. He’s sure Rozanovs always keep weapons on them like that, but still. Shane doesn’t want to deal with the fallout, and he’s sure no one will listen to him or Ilya about the truth. So it is better to lie.
“I’m going to patch him up. Then…we’ll need to sit down for tea.”
Wiebe looks like he wants to say more, but Shane quickly walks away again, finding Ilya in the same spot he left him, digging into the fruit like an animal. Juice and blood mix together as he pops the pieces into his mouth.
”Your scent is a bit like fruit,” Ilya tells him, chewing noisily. Shane rolls his eyes.
“Give me your hand.”
Ilya shakes his head. “This will scar. Is perfect.”
Shane can’t understand why Ilya won’t patch his hand up. It’s irritating him.
“That has to hurt! Give me your hand!” Shane lunges for Ilya, snatching his hand. Ilya jerks back, frowning. He jerks so hard Shane loses his balance, the two of them falling onto the soft, grassy ground. Shane lands on top of Ilya, and Ilya’s arm instinctually wraps around the Omega, protecting him.
They look into each other’s eyes, and the world stops. That ever present shift, the one Shane’s afraid of practically turns. Then, it finally snaps.
He gasps, clutching at his stomach. Ilya’s eyes widen.
“Hollander? What is problem?” He shakily asks, voice not mimicking his father’s deep rasp. He finally sounds like the child he is.
“I don’t know…it hurts…” Shane mumbles, clutching at his stomach harder. It’s as if his insides are rumbling, trying to make way for something. God, maybe he should lay down for a bit. He lifts himself off of Ilya, grumbling about the pain.
“Hollander.”
Shane ignores the zip he feels down his spine at Ilya using his last name. That was not present before.
”What?” He spits. Ilya gulps.
”You bleed, too.”
Shane groans. “Did I scrape my knee?”
Ilya shakes his head, pointing to his leg.
“You bleed, too.”
Shane looks down, and sure enough, there’s a steady trickle of blood running down his leg from his shorts. He didn’t scrape himself. So it can only come from—
He covers his mouth at the very last minute, avoiding alerting Wiebe. He and Ilya lock eyes, and the Alpha’s scent gets spicier.
“Blood is…beautiful. Do not be ashamed,” Ilya whispers. Shane shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes.
”I told Mom, I told her!” He whispers in agony. “I told her, and she made me stay with you anyways!”
Ilya cannot conceal the hurt that crosses his face, the you pointed and filled with hatred.
“I did not do this. You are Omega. This happens.”
“You caused it. I was fine before you showed up.” Shane frantically bends down, wiping at his legs, trying to scrape the blood away. He only mildly succeeds.
”Go back to your father.”
“You smell of iron. Fruit and iron,” Ilya blatantly says, not accounting for his feelings.
“I bet you love it, don’t you,” Shane taunts, trying to make himself presentable again.
“Yes. It smells nice,” Ilya candidly tells him, rubbing at his teeth. His fangs have elongated. Something, present and future, pulses with…need. Shane swiftly walks ahead of him, meeting Wiebe.
“Ilya wants to go back with his family, now,” Shane says, voice shaky. His cheeks are on fire, and Wiebe has questions. He knows the warmaster does. Ilya slowly walks behind him, clearing his throat.
“Hollander does not feel well. I will go back. This was long enough,” He says with mild disgust in his voice. For some reason, Shane can tell Ilya’s playing this up, leaning on their house feud as a crutch.
“Fine. You can find your own way, Rozanov. Come, Shane. Let’s get you to your mother.” Wiebe states, eyeing Ilya with barely concealed irritation.
He panics so severely his scent sends out a distress call, Wiebe extremely confused. His own Alpha pheromones are no match for the oil, wood, and cardamom that fill his nostrils, calming him down. His eyes find Ilya’s for a second, and another rivulet of blood leaks, running down to his ankles. Ilya turns around, following the path they came from to his father.
“You will explain—“
”Take me to my room, Wiebe. That’s an order,” His voice still shakes, but he can’t deal with this right now. Wiebe wants to refuse, but he’s bound by duty to the Hollanders. So he steels his jaw, escorting a very scared Shane to his room.
When he arrives, he closes the door, sliding down, tears running down his face. His stomach cramps again. And all he wants is Ilya’s scent in his nose.
Thirteen
”You will bleed every time. There’s blood, then heat, then it ends. This is what an Omega must endure,” Reverend Mother says to him.
Shane refuses to think of his first heat, of how embarrassing it was to be that vulnerable in his room. He remembers there was a lot of crying and yelling, his mother crying, too. What for, he had no idea.
Well. Talking to Reverend Mother, he has an idea.
“I’m not mating him. We will never be,” Shane spits, dressed in training gear. His hair is soaked in sweat, Reverend Mother appearing randomly at Caladan, pulling him from a sparring session with Wiebe and Hayden. He knows it’s random because his mother has been all out of sorts since her arrival. She had no time to plan.
“You two are fated. House Hollander and House Rozanov have feuded for generations…fated indeed. You cannot escape this any more than you could escape being a Hollander,” Reverend Mother comments, webbed black veil over her face. She does not look inviting, eyes droopy and stoic.
She is not cruel in the Saudaukar way—brutal, tactical violence. She is not cruel in the Rozanov way, either—feral violence with chilling precision. No, she’s cruel in the way only a Bene Gesserit woman can be: quiet, piercing violence. The kind that lingers, that unsettles you.
“What would be my punishment if I refuse to mate him?” Shane asks, because he’s genuinely curious.
“Residence on Wallach IX for the rest of your days with the sisters as a glorified maid. We take your DNA and his and create the baby regardless.”
Shane shivers in his seat, feeling sick to his stomach. The Bene Gesserit dabble in genetic mutation, so her words aren’t far fetched. They are the cold, hard, truth.
”Your eyes…they are angry.”
”Well, I have to mate Ilya Rozanov and have his child. Fuck me.”
Reverend Mother slams her hand on the table, eyes flaring.
“You will be respectful. If you want to be angry, be angry at your insolent mother. The gall of her to rely on that Orange Catholic God, to defy our orders. You would’ve been an Alpha. Would’ve gotten married to Rose Landry, princess to the Emperor. But your mother was blinded. Her sight came…but it was too late.” He feels rather than sees his mother come in.
“You told him the truth, then,” Yuna signs. Reverend Mother sighs in exasperation.
”You were too weak to tell him. You’d probably never tell him,” Reverend Mother signs back. He shakes in his seat, not quite sure how to feel. He’s angry, but more than anything he feels hurt. Hollow. He was robbed of something he should’ve had, and now he’s just reduced to…this.
“Love is not blindness,” Yuna signs, eyes misty with unshed tears.
“For what we must accomplish, love is a fool’s errand.”
Reverend Mother pauses, glancing back to Shane.
”He understands us. You’ve been teaching him the Weirding Way, haven’t you?”
Every technique in the Bene Gesserit’s arsenal Shane is slowly learning. Reverend Mother was a Truthsayer, a special breed of Bene Gesserit that can use their voice to gain the truth from someone, whether they want to reveal it or not.
“Yes,” Yuna says, clutching her chest. Reverend Mother is silent for a long time.
“I should be angry. He is a boy, despite the folds between his legs,” Shane blushes, crossing his legs, wishing he could will it away. “But this could work in our favor. Are you teaching him The Voice?”
”I’ve started to, but he hasn’t mastered it, yet.”
”Of course he hasn’t. It will take him years. But that could aid him with the Rozanov boy. He’ll be Na-Baron soon.”
Shane’s eyebrows raise. ”Ilya’s going to be Na-Baron? What about Alexei?”
”That incompetent fool is lucky Grigori has a penchant of care for house appearances, otherwise he would’ve been culled years ago,” Reverend Mother drawls on, chuckling a bit. She speaks of Grigori eliminating his own son so flippantly. It gives him chills.
“The Rozanov boy hasn’t had his first rut. But when he does, Grigori will pass the title onto him. Based on our intel…his body is preparing for it. It will happen soon enough. Before eighteen, certainly.”
“Then what?” Shane asks, although he already knows the answer.
“Then, you two will be married. And you will procreate. And you won’t disappoint.”
“You say it like it’s so easy.”
Reverend Mother crosses her arms, and Yuna is taken back to when she was pregnant. That same judgement is there, but it’s hoisted upon her son, now.
”Lying down and being bred isn’t hard at all.”
Yuna steps up to the table, grabbing at Shane.
“Enough. He gets it. We’re done here.”
“We’re done when I say we’re done.”
”We are done.” Yuna hisses, using The Voice. Reverend Mother closes her mouth, Shane shaking in Yuna’s hold. They want him to do that? Use The Voice like that? He doesn’t know if he can.
“Come, son. You must go back to sparring. Princely duties.”
Shane follows her out of the room, irritation at his mother put on the back burner.
“She’s going to be angry at you for that.”
”She’s always angry. Now, hurry. Wiebe and Hayden are waiting on you.”
His mother’s still allowing him to be a child, and he does take the hand that’s being offered to him, running back in the training room where Hayden tackles him to the ground, the two of them laughing.
Sixteen
Harko smells of oil, but not like Ilya. This oil is thick and viscous, a bit foul and rough. Oil, rum, and sweat. Shane holds his sleeve up to his nose as they traverse through the streets of Harko to get to Geidi Prime.
David was diplomatic to a fault, letting Grigori know they would take the commoner’s way to their ancestral palace. Grigori called David a spry man, but anyone with eyes could see he meant a fool.
No matter. They still make the journey. Upon getting to Geidi Prime, Shane thinks it looks lonely. A very angular and stone-made palace, the sides and columns look as if they could impale you if you touched them wrong.
To Shane, this is walking into the belly of the beast.
“Grigori was gracious in inviting us to watch his son’s coming of age ceremony. I’ve been interested in Rozanov customs,” David notes, pale, bald men taking all their bags. Yuna wraps her light blue shawl around herself tight.
“We will be here for three days. Then we’re off.”
The amount of solari it cost for fuel to get them here would make a commoner’s head spin, and yet, they will only be here for three days because his mother said so.
“Ah, Yuna. It would be rude to leave before the week is up!”
“You know about your son. Don’t resign him to that on Harko. Three days. You can stay here if you wish.”
David sighs, Shane knowing his father had forgotten all about that. David’s a good father in that he doesn’t treat Shane any different because he’s an Omega. If it were up to his father, none of that would matter. But his father is special. The rest of the Imperium—or the collection of major houses—do not feel like he feels. Designation matters.
Shane takes in the surroundings, noting that Geidi Prime is colder than the rest of Harko. So cold he wraps his arms around himself, trying to stay warm. It’s futile. This place was created to give him the chills.
Shane’s grown a bit taller, but he knows he’s pretty much done growing. His hair has been cut short, Shane taking training with Wiebe more seriously. He despises his Omega status, and he’s more determined than ever to be the next reigning Duke. Even if he’s to marry Ilya, to carry out the sister’s wretched plan and have his child, he will still be Duke. He will still hold the power that’s owed to him.
The room he’s given is simple. Bed, bathroom, window. Geidi Prime believes in being frugal, but Shane’s smart enough to know that’s a lie. Majority of their riches go to Grigori, the gluttonous Baron. Shane sighs, feeling tender in places he wish he didn’t.
Three days. He can do three days.
He declines the dinner with the Rozanovs, feeling overwhelmed in a new place. Yuna dotes on her son, some in the Imperium calling her overbearing. Shane would agree with them, but only halfway. The more Yuna trains him in the Weirding Way, the more sensitive to things he becomes.
“You were…bred to be the one to bring about the Kwisatz Haderach. As the sisters planned, the closer we get to…them, the stronger the power is. You’re the generation before. If we keep going, you’ll feel it. See it. It’s why your dreams are so vivid now, why you had prescience at such a young age.”
Visions flash behind his eyes as he lays on the bed, trying to fall asleep but failing. They’re indecipherable, all jumbled up together. Some don’t even contain his presence.
The twin suns make it near impossible to tell what time it is, but he sits up, walking to the window to clear his head. A haze has covered Harko, sparkly and inviting. Shane could sneak out. He’s done so plenty of times on Caladan, walking through the streets he will one day be the Duke to protect.
But Geidi Prime scares him. As much studying as he’s done, it can’t prepare him for the real thing. He lays back down, almost missing the sheet of paper that’s slid under his door quickly. But it flashes like a beacon, almost silent in the night.
Shane walks to the door, picking it up. Scribbled in common tongue is a message.
Tomorrow night after the ceremony, follow the map on the back to the Pilingitam tree farm.
His eyes widen as he flips the paper, seeing a detailed map of Geidi Prime. Someone’s circled the Pilingitam tree farm for him, and he wonders just who the hell would do such a thing. Who knows he’s always wanted to see the giant trees in real life? Would he even be allowed?
He’s not wrong in thinking this could be a set up to hurt him. Grigori looks at him in such a vile way he doesn’t want to think about it, Alexei could care less about him, and Ilya…well they haven’t seen each other in years. Their first and last meeting was disastrous. Not a single Rozanov would care about him.
But he feels a rush of something as he tucks the folded paper into the pocket sewn onto his top the next morning, chest peeking out from the low cut. He has on dress pants, but a skirt sits right above them, stopping at knee-height. He follows his mother’s example, always, as a dark veil rests across his face.
Due to his upbringing, he’s been hailed as secretive. It’s the Bene Gesserit way, but he’s heard the things other royal Alphas his age say about him. They want to uncover him. See what’s underneath. It makes him want to rip the veils off, rip the thing between his legs that rests underneath what he should only have.
He wishes he was normal. But he was never destined to be normal. So he stays quiet as he sits with his parents in their designated area, thick oil smell permeating the slave pits of Harko. This is where the coming-of-age ceremony is being held. Ilya will have to fight, and either be victorious or die.
It’s so unnecessarily violent he can barely look, bodies being thrown out. Some are skinny and frail while others are big and strong. They look deadly. He briefly wonders if Ilya is deadlier.
“Welcome our Ilya Rozanov!” An announcer shouts, crowd cheering.
Double doors shaped like an oval open to reveal the second son, curly hair slicked back and eyes frenzied. His teeth are painted black, and he has ritualistic black paint on his muscled body, around his eyes. He is very different from his thirteen year old self. At seventeen, Ilya Rozanov looks…otherworldly.
He’s fit, stock full of muscle that will only compound as he gets older. The black paint has been slathered over his chest, and for a second, Shane wishes there was color. He wishes everything wasn’t in grayscale. He wishes he could see the flush to Ilya’s skin, the sweat dripping down, as the heat is getting to be unbearable.
The first slash of metal through flesh makes Shane cringe. Ilya’s a skilled fighter, brute strength on display. He’s accurate in a scary way, slicing clean through bodies as if they were nothing but paper.
The bigger meat that’s been sent his way prove to be a bit of a challenge, Ilya being flung around a bit before he gathers his bearings, pummeling through off sheer will. He must win. He must become Na-Baron and reap the benefits of the title.
One benefit being Shane.
Shane silently hopes Ilya loses. It’s a wish that will not come true because Ilya has trained all his life for this, but he still wishes. It is wrong, it is abhorrent, but he hopes and prays someone strikes Ilya down, taints the Rozanov name with his death.
His wishes are for naught and will not be answered. Ilya throws a spear, hitting a slave and splitting their head in two. It reminds him of how he threw the blade at the tree, slicing the orange down. Shane covers his mouth so he doesn’t vomit.
He’s also heard…rumors about Ilya. He’s promiscuous, sleeping around. Shane doesn’t know when it started (the rumors don’t go into that much detail) but Imperium members young and older aren’t shy in the things they say about the Rozanov boy. They’ve made him extremely uncomfortable, and he mostly tunes it out.
But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t remember what all they whispered.
He lifts a poor soul with ease, cracks their spine in two with his bare hands, and Shane’s slapped with a vision so visceral he has to hold onto his knees, blinking rapidly.
Ilya, older, below him. Holding him the same way, but his cock goes in and out at a slow pace. Shane, older, on top. He whines, he moans, he takes it like a—
“Good boy,” Rozanov whispers in his ear, purring. His cunt aches, but he welcomes it, squeezing harder around the Alpha.
“I have to—I need to go. Now,” Shane tells his mother, hoping she hears through all of the cheers.
Grigori watches them from his view at the top, Alexei stewing silently beside his father. Shane stays rooted in place because of fear.
It’s always the fucking shift. He’s only felt this around Ilya. Said Alpha raises his hands to the sky, roaring in triumph. His people roar with him, and he is soaked in blood. It looks like tar, black as night.
“Blood is not bad. It means you are victorious. Blood to Rozanovs is victory. It is beauty. Pain is beauty.”
In this moment, he understands that thirteen year old Ilya. They find beauty in brutality. In this raw, visceral form of humanity. The humanity most try to hide from, act as if they don’t possess.
Ilya is victorious. He has won, and a Priest of Harko descends into the pits, crowning him as the Na-Baron of Harko. He has done the Rozanov name well.
He will reap every benefit that is owed to him.
Shane looks, a mixture of apprehension and dread pooling in his gut as Ilya meets his eyes. He holds his hand up, palm facing his way. Shane looks closer, and sees a scar. It’s faint, so faint you’d think it didn’t exist, but it’s there. Ilya had told him all those years ago it would scar, the slice from cutting the fruit.
He turns away, heart racing. He’s so foolish. Who else could send him such a note other than Ilya? He rambled like an overeager child about how much he wanted to see the trees, about how they fascinated him.
And against all common sense, he slowly follows the map to the farm. He was on edge all night, Yuna touching his forehead, father’s eyebrows raised in concern. Wiebe has mostly been seen and not heard this entire trip, extremely uncomfortable on Harko. David had offered to have another solider come along, but Wiebe declined. He was the general. He would protect the royal family.
But Shane’s had experience sneaking around all of them, so he does, quickly arriving at the farm. Geidi Prime has so many twists and turns it makes his stomach roll, the fear of being caught so great. But he makes it in one piece.
“Oh my…” Shane whispers, unable to help it. The pilingitam trees are so tall they seem to touch the sky. Caladan has tall trees, but none like this. He takes a deep breath, the farm being the only place that smells right in all of Harko. He sees juvenile and adult pilingitam trees, the adult ones so tall he feels like an ant.
He reaches up to touch the dark colored bark, sighing. It’s rough. He knows the properties of these trees, knows the wood is one of Harko’s biggest exports. He wonders if it would be weird to ask to take a tree with him. Knowing Grigori, he would have to pay solari just to do so.
“You actually came,” A deep voice says, Shane turning around. There, in the flesh, is Na-Baron Ilya Rozanov.
There’s a charge to the air that wasn’t present before. Ilya stands with his hair mussed, black V-neck sweater on, gold cross glistening. Silky black pants grace his hips, and he’s barefoot. No paint on his teeth. They’re bare. His entire face is bare. Not a trace of blood graces him.
“Well…I wanted to see the trees,” Shane simply states, mentally kicking himself. Ilya chuckles a bit at his words, and Shane sees they’re pretty much the same height. Ilya might have half an inch on him, but not much. But his very presence—the way he carries himself—makes him seem larger, and Shane smaller. He has to suppress the want to hunch into himself.
“They are very tall. Only maids and butlers come here to tend to trees. Otherwise, it is quiet,” Ilya tells him, Shane nodding.
“It is my favorite place in all of Geidi Prime.”
“It smells nice here,” Shane notes, breathing in again. But amongst the smell is Ilya. That wooden smell to his scent is Pilingitam wood, warm oil, and cardamom. He smells familiar, a smell Shane has wanted back in his nose for years.
“Are they what you wanted?” Ilya asks. Shane walks a bit away from Ilya, touching a baby Pilingitam tree. It’s a bit taller than the both of them, but Shane knows it has so much more growth ahead of it. He smiles a bit as he runs his hands against its bark.
“Yes. I want to take one home, although I know it’ll be around the clock care. They seem to thrive in Harko’s environment.”
“They are strong like Harko people. Like Rozanovs. Did you enjoy the ceremony?”
“It was violent. Cruel.” He doesn’t mince his words. If they are to be mated, Ilya will know who he is. Whether he likes him or not isn’t his concern. He just wants to be known.
“Is how it always is. Violence is beauty.”
”A barbarian would say that. You live up to what’s said about you.”
”So do you,” Ilya taunts, not rising to the bait. “Hollander name, so pristine. So clean. Grateful for everything. No hatred in your heart. But I know the truth. You hate Omega status.”
Shane pauses, hand still pressed against the baby tree.
“Of course I hate it. I have to—“
”You have to open your legs and receive my seed. Yes, I am aware.”
Shane cringes at his wording. “I want to be Duke. I don’t want to do that.”
“Many things we do not want, malen’kiy prints. But many things we must do, anyways.” Shane fixes Ilya with such a venomous stare the Alpha shivers a bit.
“Not if I kill you,” Shane spits, not really meaning it. An all out war would break out if Shane actually killed Ilya. Ilya sends him a chilling smile, Alpha fangs present.
“This fire…I adore it, moya lyubov. I want to see that when I fuck you.”
Shane shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself. Ilya just called him something, but he’s still ignorant to the language spoken on Harko.
“You will not touch me.”
Ilya laughs. It is not kind.
“They want us to mate, so we will mate. Sisters control everything. My idiot father denies them, but you can only do that for so long.”
“So you know…about the Kwisatz Haderach?” Shane asks, genuinely surprised. Ilya nods, leaning against a tree himself.
“Only your smell would trigger my rut. They sent someone to start it. She did not work…only you.” Shane doesn’t react to that news, as jarring as it is.
“But my mother…she fucked it all up. I was supposed to be an Alpha.”
”But you are not. You are Omega. And we are linked. The sisters made sure of it. I started your heat. You started my rut.”
Shane trembles looking at Ilya. His curls. His moles. His lips.
Good boy.
”You will not touch me. You will not.” Shane demands, and it sounds weak to his own ears. Ilya slowly stalks over to him, now a predator that knows his own strength, knows he can go beyond it. Shane presses himself against an adult tree, finally looking the Alpha in the eyes. There’s a pulse between his legs. He makes the smallest noise, but Ilya hears it. Of course he does.
“If you must know, we will not mate until we are older. I could have you now. I could…” Ilya reaches out lightning fast, dragging a finger down his exposed chest, Shane’s legs trembling. He should pull away, should punch Ilya, Na-Baron status be damned. But he stays there, inhaling the Alpha’s addictive scent.
“Fuck. Hollander. I could rip all your clothes off. One by one. Pin you down, put your beautiful cunt into my mouth, stroke your pretty cock, make you see stars.”
“How dare you—“
”I could cradle you. Make love to you. You would cry. I’ve seen you cry for it.”
”You’ve seen no such thing.”
”In my dreams, I have.”
Shane’s eyes widen. Ilya is the other half to the puzzle. He’s never been trained in the Weirding Way, but it’s not far fetched for him to have some abilities. He’ll never fully learn how to use it, but Shane hates he has the ability.
“It’s what could happen. Not what does happen. There are multiple paths.”
”There is not a path where we do not mate anymore. Not after what your mother did.”
He wants to tell Ilya to shut up, to never speak about his mother, but he cannot. Because he’s right. Anger and despair well up inside of him, and he can’t help the tears that fall down his cheeks.
“I will not submit. I won’t,” He declares, voice watery. Ilya wipes his tears, then sticks his thumb in his mouth, groaning a bit at the salty taste. It takes Shane’s breath away.
”You will. And when you do, I will cherish every second. I will fuck you until you know nothing else. Until you feel powerful.”
“You’ll hurt me. Make me bleed.”
”Will be during heat. You will bleed regardless. But you will be…a sight.”
“I’m leaving,” Shane turns away, planning to walk out of the farm, but Ilya catches his wrist at the last minute. The hold is searing on his skin, but he can’t pull away.
”I did not choose this. It was chosen for us.” His eyes seemingly beg Shane to understand, and intrinsically, he does. Ilya has no control over his life just like Shane. Not when the Bene Gesserit are involved.
“I know. I still hate it.”
He jerks his hand out of Ilya’s hold, going the same way he came, Ilya’s scent still filling his nostrils. It won’t go away, not even as he lays down, as he shamefully explores the body he hates he possesses.
Thoughts of Ilya, past, present, and future filter through his mind with startling accuracy, that accented voice whispering things to him. Cruel things, soft things, heated things. Things that make him tremble. That make him angry. That make him ache for something that’s missing, his Omega yearning for a thing Shane will refuse until he’s unleashing his fangs, biting down as if he’s feral.
He ignores Ilya as they say their goodbyes to Harko, Grigori shooing them away as diplomatically as he can. He can feel the Alpha’s piercing stare burn through his skin, and he just about collapses at Grigori’s words.
“The next time you come to Harko, there will be a wedding!” He cackles loudly, Alexei nowhere to be found. He’s more than likely on Arrakis, trying not to be the loser every Rozanov has deemed him to be.
Shane turns around, wanting to say something, but Ilya quickly shakes his head. It’s futile. It is fate, set in stone. Yuna holds his shoulders, guiding him up the steps. The shutting of the hovercraft doors feels like the last vestiges of his innocence. If they open back on Harko, he will not be innocent anymore.
”Oh, what’s this?” David asks, standing in the walkway. He’s facing Shane’s room on the hovercraft, Yuna and Shane pushing their way through. Sitting in his room is the smallest Pilingitam tree he thinks he’s ever seen. It’s just taken root, sprouting up a few feet out of the pot it’s in.
”Who the hell got into our hovercraft?” Yuna barks, Wiebe trying to pull up the internal footage but failing. Shane smells the unmistakable wood, oil, and cardamom that still lingers on the pot.
”Rozanov,” He whispers to no one but himself, his Omega preening against his very will. A bit of bergamot scented slick drips down, and he closes his eyes. They have to get home. A metallic smell permeates the air as well, blood dripping down, too. He survived three days. He cannot survive anymore.
“Fuck me.”