paul atreides had been aware of the risks of being a political figure in a time of conflict. he'd been leaving the meeting room in the arrakeen palace in the later hours of twilight, along and ensconced amidst a cacophony of maps, correspondences, and imperious demands; lost in thought, pensive as always. the next moment however, he had been knocked out cold by something metallic, solid to the touch; either a mace or a mundane frying pan from the kitchens.

regaining consciousness amidst the throes of disorientation, he found himself with a dull throb in his cranium, if his hands were not bound and he was allowed to feel the tender skin beneath his ebony tresses, he would find a matting of dried blood. a simmering of distaste arose within his chest, but he had an absence of fear. he was paul atreides. he needed not fear common bounty hunters and rapscallions who dared assume that they could escape such an act consequence-free.

his knees hit the floor, and foreign hands, fumbly, uncoordinated ones wrestled off the thin cloth over his eyes. paul could hear voices around him, of course, hushed ones, like the faint hisses of a nest of vipers, as if he were a particularly interesting animal corpse they were unsure of; if it was dead or alive.

his surroundings were dull, lit by what he assumed were lamps. an underground enclave of miscreants surrounded him, or perhaps the clandestine sanctum of a rival house seeking to ensnare him. the atreides name held quite a measure of power in the imperium, after all.

you however, were the first person he saw, a derisive scoff leaving his lips once his green eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of low light. "well well." he intoned, having the gall to tilt his head up slightly, as if boring into you. as if you were the prey, not himself.

he had no interest in acknowledging the others, nor the man who had removed the badly torn blindfold; only in you. "i thought you of all people would have more sagacity to refrain from such a reckless endeavor."