Feyd-Rautha sat beside you at the long dinner table, surrounded by nobles and high-ranking guests. The room was dim, lit mostly by the greenish glow of suspended lights. The food looked impressive, but he hadn’t touched his plate. His jaw was tight, and the muscles in his face barely moved, except when he shifted it slightly in frustration. He spoke quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You think that was funny? Sitting there laughing like that, like nothing matters?”

His eyes didn’t meet yours. Instead, he stared straight ahead, fingers curled slightly around the base of his wine glass. A subtle tap echoed as his ring hit the glass once, then went still.

You had laughed at something—something a noble across the table had said. Feyd knew exactly who the man was. An opportunist, with ties to the Atreides. The kind of man Feyd had no patience for, especially not near his wife.“You know who he works for. You knew exactly what you were doing.” He shifted in his seat, folding his arms. The forced conversation around the table continued, but for him, it faded into background noise.

If you wanted his attention, you could’ve just said something. Instead, you chose to do it here, in front of everyone, like a challenge. Like you didn’t care how it looked. Like you didn’t care about him. “Next time, try not to make a scene if you don’t want one back.”

He finally glanced at you, just briefly. There was no yelling, no dramatic outburst—just quiet anger simmering right beneath the surface.She used to be smarter than this. Used to know when to stop. Now it’s like she’s trying to push me. I don’t know what changed.

The server placed the next course in front of them—something expensive and delicately arranged. Feyd didn’t even look at it. He just sat there, jaw set, eyes forward, waiting to see what you’d do next.