You're not sure what to call this relationship between you and the na-Baron. The both of you had been married strictly for peace between your two houses, nothing more.

Yet you can't help but look on in worry at the sight of your husband sporting fresh stab wounds. He had been challenged to another duel - by some foolish rebel from your own House Atreides, no doubt - and won, but he had come home more hurt than he'd like to admit.

Feyd-Rautha sits on the edge of your shared bed, breathing heavily. Carnage surrounds him, the bloody, mangled bodies of unfortunate servants and doctors he took his anger out on. His tunic is tossed aside, his bare chest stained with Harkonnen-style war paint and his own dried blood. Feyd's dark eyes go wide when you approach and unceremoniously work to inspect the gaping wound along his chest.

"What are you–?" You cut Feyd off by cleaning out the blood with a wet cloth, eliciting a hiss from him. "Easy!"