Chapter Text
DAPHNE
Suspended in the inky void of the cosmos, the heavy cloud cover of Caladan’s atmosphere clung to the small world like an impenetrable veil. A silver, swirling mist that shrouded any forewarning of what Daphne Lumerien’s future may hold. From where she sat, it appeared that the entire planet meant to pull her into its murky uncertainty and swallow her whole.
Blankly, Daphne stared out the small window of the starship, watching the foreign world draw closer. As the compact craft slipped into the thick canopy of clouds, the entire vessel shuddered with unexpected turbulence; jolting Daphne back into herself and out of any remaining hope she had that this wasn’t really happening.
“Sincerest apologies, my lady,” the rotund man seated at her side said kindly, “It is just the change in the atmospheric pressure.” Daphne made no acknowledgment. The man had introduced himself as Thufir Hawat when he had come to collect her. That had been three days ago. Which was one week to the day from when another man had come to the palace and asked for her sister Kalliste. Daphne had clung to her little sister, while Kalliste trembled and swallowed heaving sobs. And two days before that, her sister Eudora had literally been dragged screaming down the halls of the palace while their father bellowed for silence.
Daphne fidgeted in her seat; it took every ounce of her resolve to keep her wrath caged between tight lips. She was filled with the bitter venom of resentment and each day of travel had only served to make her hatred more potent. Daphne took solace in imagining that she may, someday, get to hurl all of this rage – and preferably a sizeable wad of spit – directly into her father’s face. Orontes Lumerien was a foolish old man. Especially if he believed that his children were somehow better off scattered across the far reaches of the Imperium – separated from all that was familiar.
Lumerous had known war before. In Daphne’s twenty-seven years she had seen the might of Lumerien armies ward off invaders double and triple their numbers. Her home world was isolated on the edge of the Imperium, but commanded respect nonetheless. What made this conflict any different? More pointedly, Daphne wondered, why hadn’t she been sent away with Kalliste? It had been her father’s will. That was reason enough to distrust it.
The sound of Eudora’s screaming echoed in her ears and Daphne’s frown deepened. Thinking of Kalliste, in particular, sent a sharp pang through her heart, with the spreading heat of fury following close on its heels. Thufir Hawat cleared his throat, awkwardly fumbling through the one-sided conversation, “You should be able to see the primary keep of Castle Caladan soon. It would appear that the rains are falling gently for you, dear lady.”
He was right. Gradually, the gloomy fog gave way to views of deep emerald hillsides. The mountains of Caladan erupted from stormy seas, carpeted in lush grass and dark forests. In spite of herself, Daphne peered through the window in interest with the hope of identifying whatever was being cultivated in the planet’s rich farmland.
As far as exiles went, Caladan was at least pretty to look at.
“Lady Daphne,” Thufir smiled jovially, gesturing a fat, pale finger in front of her face, “May I be the first to welcome you to Castle Caladan.”
Daphne’s gaze followed the direction in which he pointed, her eyes widening to accommodate the colossal structure that materialized from the mist. The rain-slicked stone of the keep almost appeared black, constructed of massive boulders that looked as though they had stood for a thousand years and would stand for ten thousand more.
As if to assert dominance over the sea itself, the castle jutted proudly from craggy cliffsides that plummeted straight into the frothy waves below. Verdant terraces and gardens punctuated the domes of steel, stone, and wood. Castle Caladan was a far cry from the golden stone and polished blue marble of the royal palace at Lumerous. Strange to imagine that this was to be her home.
For now.
“Twenty-six generations of Atreides have dwelled and ruled here,” Thufir prattled on, “You will find that Lumerous and Caladan share a robust agricultural tradition. In fact, Caladanian wine…”
Daphne forced the friendly drone of the man’s voice from her mind, assessing the fast-approaching castle in search of any sort of insight into her circumstances. Why had her father sent her to Caladan, of all places?
She was perfectly aware that House Atreides – her ‘gracious hosts’ – held a seat on the Landsraad body of Great Houses, as did House Lumerien. Daphne also understood that Duke Leto Atreides, sovereign steward of Caladan and head of the Atreides Clan, had apparently served as a junior officer in military service to the Imperium under her father. At least, this is what Thufir Hawat had alleged over small talk.
Funny, Daphne seethed internally, Father never made mention of an honorable ‘Uncle Leto.’
“… will make a point of escorting you, if you should wish to see them.” Thufir concluded his monologue and beamed into Daphne’s face expectantly.
“Yes,” Daphne lied through a tight smile, “I am looking forward to it.”
“Wonderful,” the elder man visibly brightened, “It is my honor and the honor of Duke Leto to have you here, Lady Daphne.” Daphne hummed her half-hearted acknowledgment, suddenly feeling her heart jump into her throat as the ship slipped carefully into a spacious aircraft bay.
In anticipation of their arrival, a modest company of grim-faced guards in dark dress uniforms stood at attention whilst the starcraft maneuvered its landing. Daphne’s eyes lighted on a cluster of pinched face, pale women in conservative grey gowns; no doubt here for her.
Terribly dowdy, Daphne frowned, nevertheless feeling self-conscious in the shining gold threads of her dress. It only served as further evidence that she shouldn’t be here. Thufir Hawat rose slowly, with an expression of subtle sympathy.
“The sweetest moment of any journey is its end,” he spoke softly, sensing her discomfort, “If I may, dear lady… you already bring a certain brightness to these ancient halls. We are fortunate.”
His unexpected kindness threatened to crack Daphne’s carefully constructed façade of compliance. Sudden emotion threatened to spill from the eyes. Daphne permitted a small smile in return for Thufir’s compliment, keeping her eyes dry by sheer force of will, “You are kind, sir.”
“Shall we?” The elder offered her a plump arm, guiding her to the narrow ramp that led from the hull of the ship. In that moment, it felt as if every eye in Caladan was turned in Daphne’s direction. Daphne’s eyes flitted around the massive room; finding the gazes of soldiers and servants, nobles and civilians. Each averted their glances before Daphne’s could plead for anything resembling welcome or reassurance. Instead, she faced visages of intrigue, titillation, and chilly skepticism.
Thufir’s hand reached for where her fingertips grasped his arm, patting her softly. It was only then that Daphne realized that her knuckles had gone white. She had hooked her nails into the fleshiness of his arm like a gorgon’s claws. Prickling heat rose to her cheeks; humiliation spoiling his kind gesture. She was not fragile. Nor was she a frightened child.
Then stop acting like it, Daphne scolded herself.
When Daphne cut her gaze to Thufir’s face, the man appeared to be elsewhere – his lips downturned ever so slightly as his glances bounced across the faces of the assembled welcoming committee.
Primly, Thufir addressed a stern looking officer, “Are we expecting anyone else?”
“No, sir,” the man answered flatly.
“I see.” Thufir’s brow crinkled in thought momentarily before his entire countenance returned to its usual cheeriness. “My lady, may I introduce some of the staff. Layla is the chief housemaid,” he nodded in the direction of a waifish woman, slight and severe, “She will see to it that you are settled in properly. If you want for anything, you need only speak to her.”
Judging by the expression on Layla’s face, Daphne already imagined she would be better served left to her own devices.
“My lady,” Layla’s clipped tone matched the dismissive nod of her head. Just behind her, a girl in the same garb of a maid stepped forward with a heavy wooden box in her arms. The brisk shake of Thufir’s head was near imperceptible, as was Layla’s swift sidestep to place herself in the path of Daphne’s gaze.
A little early for secrets, Daphne’s eyes narrowed in a vain attempt to glare through Layla’s skinny torso and gain some clue as to the contents of the box. Daphne had grown accustomed to the sensation of knowing when someone was keeping something from her. It was a symptom of her station that absolutely enraged her.
Daphne’s palm itched and she indulged a fantasy of what satisfaction it would bring to reach out and slap Layla across her drawn, insolent face. The longer Thufir Hawat held onto her arm, the less it felt like chivalry and more like being held on rein. She’d had it with secrets. She’d grown weary of being kept in the dark and, therefore, caught unawares.
Daphne could feel the tremble in her limbs and the flush spreading across her skin; her control was slipping. The dark little voice in the back of her mind teased and coaxed – if she screamed loud enough, would House Atreides realize their mistake and send her back to Lumerous? The way Daphne was feeling, she didn’t fear her father’s wrath. Quite the opposite.
“Please, my dear,” Thufir stroked her arm like she was a frightened horse about to bolt, “Allow me to walk you to your quarters. The journey has absolutely taken a toll.”
Daphne saw red. The ridiculous old man had mistaken her quivering for some asinine evidence of feminine frailty.
Her eyes sought out the ship that had brought her one final time. It was the last remaining tether to Lumerous. To her sisters. To home.
As Thufir guided her forward – through the parting ranks of Atreides guards – Daphne felt each step she took severing those fragile bonds. The heavy creaking of the keep’s doors was the final cut.
Castle Caladan meant to take her for itself.
DAPHNE
Daphne kept her stare trained on the shimmering sweep of her gown’s hem. The fine golden fabric was traditional in Lumerous; ladies of all stations adorned themselves in the gilded threads. One of her mothers had thought the light, flowing garment was a compliment to Daphne’s figure and had selected it specially for Daphne to wear when she arrived. Now, against the dark, smooth stones of the castle’s halls, Daphne hated the way the fabric shone. It was a beacon, making it impossible for her to disappear. The feeling of curious eyes raking over her only further grated her nerves. She wanted to break something. And her new home seemed to brim over with treasures that would shatter musically –
“I must apologize for the duke,” Thufir broke the silence between them.
Irritation was evident in his voice and it put Daphne on edge. Something had gone awry.
“Of course, he had wished to receive you himself, as your host,” Thufir continued, his genteel cadence restored, “Though it seems that urgent state matters prevented him.”
“Will I have the opportunity to speak with him?” Daphne didn’t give a damn about Leto Atreides, but the sting of being slighted grated at her nonetheless. He may be a duke, but she was a princess in one of the longest royal bloodlines in the Imperium.
Layla spoke up loudly from her place behind them, “A formal audience with the duke is not something that can simply be demanded.”
The ire that had been building in Daphne for days finally leapt from her lips like tongues of flame, “Is it your place to tell me who I can and cannot speak to in this house, maid??”
Thufir intervened quickly, “Lady Daphne, of course you are held here in the highest esteem and honor. Duke Leto lays himself at your disposal and convenience. Of course, he would be glad to speak with you.”
But not so glad that he would deign to meet me on arrival, Daphne fumed inwardly.
Their small entourage continued down the corridors in tense silence. Daphne could practically feel Layla glaring daggers into her back. Go ahead and hate me. I hate you too, the thought brought a wicked smirk to her lips. Berating a servant was low, even for her. But Daphne now prized that tiny foothold of power she had gained.
It was far better to be viewed as a viper than as a mouse.
The deep echo of men’s voices reverberated in the hall ahead. Low, strong tones, sharpened by the heat of debate. Almost immediately, Thufir launched into a spirited monologue about how the ornate window decorations had taken some ludicrous stretch of time to complete. A weak attempt at distraction. Daphne ignored him, craning her neck to peer through the row of arched openings that revealed fleeting glimpses into the room.
It was a gathering of nobles and their advisors. The massive council table was covered with charts and thick packets fanned before each seat at the table. Economic reporting, she guessed. Hardly critical affairs of state…
At one end of the room, two men were currently embroiled in a vicious disagreement. Both strained to keep their voices at a respectable volume. The scene they put on held the attention of each individual surrounding the table – save for one.
Standing against the wall was a weathered-looking man that carried the bearing of a fighter. The deep lines of his face only added to his severity and his closely shorn hair was a stark contrast to the slicked locks of the gentry. Watchful eyes tracked Daphne’s movements from opening to opening. She bristled under his brazen appraisal, which he answered with a smirk that appeared as more of a sneer.
The warrior hinged forward, bringing his lips to the ear of the man seated just in front of him. The man at the table leaned back, turning his head to better hear whatever his grizzled companion was whispering. Daphne’s breath halted when her eyes fell to the shining rank insignias at the nobleman’s collar. Gold and styled to resemble a hawk’s wings. The symbol of House Atreides.
Without warning, the man at the table flicked his gaze upward and Daphne found herself staring directly back into a set of dark, pensive eyes. The nobleman’s bold, aquiline features betrayed his pedigree and he regarded her with an indecipherable expression. Like the warrior by the wall, Daphne felt skewered by his stare and it only further ignited her temper. She stared back, refusing to avert her eyes – chin tilted up slightly so that she may also look down her nose at him. It was only fair.
Nothing in the nobleman’s expression wavered, his eyes simply following her progress from window to window until Daphne finally stepped beyond the view of the room. If she’d had any doubt, Thufir’s sudden silence confirmed her suspicions.
So, that was Duke Leto Atreides.
DAPHNE
The quarters that Daphne had been brought to were exceptionally large and beautifully appointed. Every corner of the space boasted dainty filigree that mimicked the motifs of the more lavish castle windows. A massive wardrobe and an abundance of mirrors gave away that these quarters were particularly reserved for noble ladies and their presumed entourages of attendants.
All around her a veritable army of servants bustled about the room. It had been a shock to Daphne to realize that there were more of her possessions being brought into the quarters than she had remembered packing when Thufir Hawat had arrived on Lumerous. Her father must have sent these items ahead of time – before Daphne could have known what was coming.
“Just lovely,” Thufir attested, nodding approvingly at the high, vaulted ceilings of the chamber, “Perhaps the finest room in the house, after the Duke’s own suite. I hope you are pleased.”
Daphne fixed him with a withering glare. She was, in fact, the very opposite of pleased. It gave her no shortage of satisfaction to see the slight flush of pink on the man’s fat cheeks; finally, they were being honest with each other.
“Well,” he pressed on, “I leave you in Layla’s capable hands.”
“Before you go,” Daphne interjected, her voice pitched with anxiety, “Do you think I may write to my father? To assure him that I have arrived safely?” Maybe there was still time to right this.
Thufir’s hesitation did nothing to reassure her and Daphne resorted to her most beguiling smile. “I imagine Father is already missing me,” Daphne smoothed her voice like honey, finding the practiced balance between innocence and suggestion.
The old man clamped his lips into a thin line, a brief war breaking out behind his eyes. “Your request is reasonable, Lady Daphne,” Thufir answered carefully, “But the Duke has given strict orders regarding correspondence to Lumerous. It is a matter of security and preserving your safety.”
“Oh? Strict orders? I see.” Daphne’s smile froze in place, the softness of her lips pulling tightly as she bared her teeth.
“Please understand, dear lady,” Thufir soothed, “You are here so that you remain at a safe distance from these troubling events. House Atreides is charged to guard and keep you. And it is a duty that each of us gladly accepts.”
If Daphne were to open her mouth there was no telling what would fly out, so she restrained herself to a congenial nod. With a stiff bow, Thufir retreated quickly from the chambers – leaving Daphne completely alone in the crowd of silent servants. She herself mounted a small retreat, striding across the room to a massive window. Beyond the rain-streaked glass a view of the grey, churning oceans of Caladan. The source of the Atreides’ wealth and power.
Daphne found a fixed point on a tall boulder that pierced the choppy waters like a dagger. Eons of waves had no doubt slapped its sides and shaped it into such an unyielding point, a centuries long assault. Yet, the stone stood. There it would remain.
“My lady,” a meek voice sounded over her shoulder, “Your jewelry. Is there a particular way you would have it arranged?”
“If you are unsure of what I would wish, just place it on the bed and I will see to it myself,” Daphne answered, never taking her eyes off the boulder. She dispatched every other servant that approached her in the same manner until the room emptied. The quiet click of the final maid shutting the door behind her echoed like blasterfire.
The sigh that rushed from Daphne’s lungs was one she had been holding since Thufir Hawat and his starship had appeared on the Lumerien horizon. Her stiff posture disintegrated into hunched shoulders and quick, stalking strides as she paced the perimeter of the room. Each time she circled the rounded walls of the bed chamber, the walls pressed in tighter. Unyielding Caladanian stone advancing to embrace, capture, and crush her.
Daphne screamed.
A high, piercing shriek, birthing her fury and indignation into the world. It bounced off the ceiling and the walls, echoing in Daphne’s ears to finally drown out the memory of her sisters and their cries. When Daphne’s lungs burned for air, she sucked in a breath and screamed again.
A panicked guard surged through the door, blade drawn and eyes frantically searching the empty room for a threat, “My lady?! Are you alright??”
No sooner than he had spoken, the guard ducked to narrowly miss a flying ceramic vase – which shattered explosively on the hallway wall just outside the room.
“OUT! DAMN YOU,” Daphne squealed, frantically searching for another object to hurl. The door slammed so hard that she could feel the vibration of it through the floor.
Ragged cries ripped from her throat as Daphne howled her anguish up to the ceilings. She screamed so loud that she wondered if she would shake the stones too. Not satisfied, Daphne rushed to one of the mirrors by her wardrobe. The woman reflected back to her was wild-eyed and panting; dark, wavy tendrils had escaped their perfectly arranged prison and framed her face. Her eyes – which normally resembled liquid amber – burned like magma with the heat of her rage. Daphne’s cheeks flushed pink, the inferno within her setting the gold of her skin aglow.
Daphne yanked off the impractical sandal that had adorned her foot, brandishing the heel. The sound of crashing glass was like a cool, soothing hand on her perspiring brow. Daphne examined her handiwork – a neat little crater where she’d driven the sandal’s blocked heel through the glass; cracks spiderwebbing from the center. Daphne grinned and chose another place on the mirror’s pristine surface to destroy.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
Each strike was punctuated with a throaty groan, grunts of exertion, or a tapestry of obscenity woven in the old Lumerien tongue. Daphne grit her teeth and fought to keep up the violent drumbeat of her fist; even as her strength sapped from her body. More of her hair shook loose and plastered to her face; her throat tore around her screams, diminishing them to hoarse gasps.
She wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d broken off a shard of glass for every tear Kalliste had shed the day she was spirited away.
LETO
The silence of the duke’s study was such that even his quiet breathing felt thunderous in the space. Leto had cloistered himself immediately after his meeting, determined to provide quick answers to the queries of the nobles that had sought council today. Harvests were yielding above expected production and transport was anticipated to run on schedule, despite the conflict unfolding in the Kuentsing system.
Leto could recognize the abrupt cadence of his Warmaster, Gurney Halleck, approaching. Nevertheless, years of training had taught him to always face the door in anticipation of any threat. Leto glanced over his shoulder, confirming the arrival of his friend when the brutish man pushed into his study.
If Gurney’s smug grin was any indication, things were not going smoothly with Lady Daphne Lumerien.
“Has Lady Daphne settled in?” Leto inquired placidly, continuing to sign the grants and trade agreements that were the topic of today’s meeting.
“I suppose she has,” Gurney’s gravelly voice was tinged with mirth, “In her own way.”
Leto had no desire to engage his friend on the matter. Lady Daphne’s displeasure had been evident on her face when he had seen her pass; Leto saw no reason to make a mockery of that fact. When he did not offer any acknowledgment of the remark, Gurney continued impishly, “She’s got Layla in a lather over some broken glass. And a junior guardsman begging for reassignment.”
When Leto did not so much as glance up from his tasks, Gurney added wistfully, “She is very much the fruit of her father’s vine. Disturbing.”
Gurney laughed boisterously at the idea; a sound equal parts jovial and harsh. Leto’s brows knitted in annoyance, a scowl creasing his face while he continued his work. He was a reasonable man. There was no pleasure to be taken in such a messy affair. Orontes Lumerien had chosen the worst possible means of managing his house and his daughters. Leto could hardly blame his newly-arrived charge for being upset.
Still. House Atreides rested comfortably on its lofty foundations of honor and decorum. Leto had little patience for disruptions to the peace of his keep.
DAPHNE
When her voice left her, Daphne settled for tears. Her raw throat tightened painfully around choking sobs and her cheeks were hot and streaked. The cool, soft sheets of her bed were an unwelcome comfort. Daphne did not wish for solace – she wanted to hate Caladan and all within it, unburdened by perspective. A prison with downy pillows and decadent furs was still a prison and she wouldn’t forget it.
Daphne had wept in self-pity. She’d wept for hopelessness. She’d wept for her sisters and for missing her mamma. And she’d even shed bitter, wrathful tears for her father, Orontes. Daphne soothed herself with the knowledge that if it was possible to waste away with grief, she would surely know by evening. Then they would all be sorry.
There was no knock at the door before it opened and Daphne stilled her breathing to hear the faintest ruffle of long skirts. The practiced silence of those meant to remain invisible. Daphne didn’t have the strength to fly off the handle again, settling instead for cold indifference.
Just as quickly as the footsteps had approached, they withdrew.
“My lady,” a clear voice beseeched, “A cup of tea is sometimes just what is needed. There is honey for your throat.”
Daphne snapped herself upright, twisting to meet Layla’s grey gaze. The woman was straight-backed and poised, but suddenly her face didn’t seem so gaunt and bird-like.
Layla nodded her head in a small showing of respect for Daphne’s rank before slipping back into the hall. Daphne sniffled, staring blankly at the dainty china cup that Layla had left steaming on a small table that somehow had remained upright following Daphne’s rampage.
No sense in leaving myself without a voice, Daphne relented, eyeing the pot of rich golden honey.