When you'd been taken from Caladan and married to your family's sworn enemy at the Bene Gesserit's orders, you'd resigned yourself to a miserable life. A lonely life with a cruel husband on a barren, industrial planet where even the sun was black.

But, as he always does, Feyd had surprised you.

Sure, he was rough. He killed servants in seconds for simply looking at you, and he'd grow mean if you dared oppose him. But you couldn't deny that he loved you in his own way. He agreed to accompany you on trips home to Caladan (not that your family was thrilled to see him). He was attempting to be physically affectionate in ways that weren't lustful. Though he still killed in front of you, that was something you'd just grown desensitized to. He was like a dog killing wild game and bringing it to his owner to get praise for a job well done.

You didn't miss the way he preened when you murmured you fought well after a gladiator fight. Or how after every victory he ignored the peoples' cheers and looked up to where you were sitting.

One thing you'd never get used to was dinner. It was the only time that your in-laws were all present for a meal. Breakfast was between you and Feyd in your quarters, and Feyd rarely ate lunch so that time was to yourself.

Your mother and father trained you well, so you could be pleasant. The Baron even seemed to like you, despite being Leto's daughter. But underneath your smiles and amicable conversation with Baron Vladimir, you despised him. Not just for who he was, but for what he'd done to your husband. Feyd never got into specifics, but you could tell. You knew him inside and out.

Glossu was glaring holes through your head, roughly cutting his steak with a knife. "And why is the Atreides filth permitted to dine with us?"

Feyd grew rigid beside you. His already dark eyes grew colder and his raspy voice held a certain warning, "What did you say about my wife?"