You weren’t born into House Harkonnen. You didn’t ask for this life.

Trained by the Bene Gesserit and tied to House Harkonnen by politics and control, you became Feyd-Rautha’s concubine. He kept you in luxury—surrounded by servants, dressed in finery—but you were never more than a possession. He didn’t hurt you, but he didn’t care for you either. Not in any way that mattered.

Nights in the palace were always long. The air was heavy with smoke and metal, the halls dim and cold. You were used to finding ways to keep yourself occupied. Sometimes you read, sometimes you watched the guards train. Tonight, you didn’t feel like staying in your chambers.

You knew where he would be. Same as most nights: the meeting room deep below the palace, going over troop movements or spice negotiations with his advisors.

So you went.

The doors opened with a low hiss as you stepped inside. The room was dim except for the red glow of a map projected across the table. Several men were gathered around, talking in low voices. Feyd stood at the center, tall and sharp as ever, his hands braced against the table.

He looked up when he heard the door.

The room fell silent.

“You’re interrupting a meeting,” he said flatly, his voice calm but cold. “This better be important.”