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Caladan was a world of myth.
For example, it was said that progenitor of House Atreides was a king, cursed by the gods. What king? What gods? Feyd didn't know. But what arrogance! To claim both bloodline to another royal and that any deity would be interested in them, even if only to bring misfortune to their line.
And then there were the monsters. A water planet, the seas teeming with unpleasantness. Within their depths were rumors of krakens—some sort of enormous squid, said to be the size of bull Bjondax whale. It was said they surfaced occasionally to pluck sailors from their vessels, devouring them whole before descending beneath the waves once more.
That would be a sight to see! He remarked as such to his attendants as he meandered the castle, prompting one bold Atreides guard to comment, "Most young men would prefer to see a selkie, I would think."
He did not add Feyd's title of Na-Baron to his statement, nor did his tone convey the proper subordination of a subject for his superior, but the unfamiliar term piqued Feyd's interest, and so he forgave such impudence to inquire further. "A selkie?"
They were creatures part-seal, part-human—or, perhaps, seals that could become human? The guard's story hadn't made much sense. Myths and folk tales rarely did. But what Feyd did understand was that they were lovely creatures, and that to take ownership of their sealskin meant that one also took ownership of the selkie, and that some men had found themselves a spouse of otherworldly beauty that way.
The guard warned of unhappy endings—that a selkie's children had found her sealskin and, ignorant of its origins, showed it to her and asked her what it was, prompting her to don it and dive into the sea, never to be seen again, or the husband who'd thought to burn the sealskin to prevent his selkie-wife from ever leaving and watched, horrified, as she dove into the conflagration after it and was lost to the flames.
Feyd scoffed. Such tales were obviously moral lessons. The first man lost his wife because through the years he'd become lax in guarding the sealskin, assuming that their children had changed the selkie's nature. The second brought about his wife's death because he'd been too cruel, destroying her sealskin in front of her—even Feyd knew that in some cases brutality had to be tempered by mercy.
Still, it was an enticing image. A pale, dark-haired figure, naked and glistening, ripe for the taking if one only had the enterprise to take.
He'd ordered his attendants to leave him be, and the Atreides guards did not follow him to the shore. They probably hoped Feyd would drown in Caladan's waves before he could marry their ducal heir.
Duke Leto and his advisors would not allow him and Paul to speak to one another. Supposedly, his schedule was such that it left him little free time, even to meet with his betrothed—or so they said. Beyond that first greeting when Feyd had disembarked from his ship, he'd barely even seen the heir of Caladan.
But what Feyd had seen he'd found pleasing. They were near the same height, though Paul straddled the line between slim and lean. An angular face, sharp cheekbones, an imperious set of his mouth, large, piercing green eyes that had surveyed Feyd with a wary curiosity.
It'd be no hardship to take Paul Atreides to bed. He'd assumed that was part of why he was here on this swamp of a planet—to see how compatible they were. But after yet another dismissal by that ancient Mentat of Duke Leto's, he'd had enough. Better to see whatever sights this damned place could provide than to spend another day inside that castle!
A biting wind buffeted him as he walked along the rocky shoreline. The cold always brought Lankiveil to his mind. It was what he remembered the most—the climate, the sight of the churning sea, thick with ice floes. Caladan had none of those. It's surface was clear, save for the occasional colorful sail. The ships kept their distance; respect for their Duke's land, or some sort of shield preventing them from drifting closer? Feyd had heard that House Atreides stored their spacefaring vessels in the watery depths—if that were true, then surely they could build a shield in the sea as well.
He walked, turned, stared at the receding castle in the distance, walked further, pulling the collar of his coat more firmly around his neck. Feyd noted that the beach was clean—that was, as clean as nature could be. White sand, beach grass, rocks and pebbles, tangles of seaweed here and there, a few stray pieces of driftwood, but no man made detritus.
Which made the folded bundle of clothing resting on a current-worn plank of wood all that more out of place.
Feyd stopped, stared at it. Tried to make sense of the sight. Coat, tunic, pants, an immaculate and well-polished pair of boots.
Was someone swimming in this weather? The air was cold—who would be so mad as to brave the sea?
He glanced at horizon and saw the answer.
Paul Atreides.
But not the buttoned-up Paul Atreides who had greeted him on his arrival to Caladan. This Paul was completely naked, for one. The clothes at Feyd's feet were a clue, but when Paul dove beneath the surface, when he maneuvered to his back or front, Feyd caught extremely enticing glimpses of his betrothed. And with what elegance he swam! He'd seemed so stiff and formal before, whereas here—here Feyd watched with rapt fascination at the way the muscles of Paul's back rippled with each stroke of his arms, how it seemed like he glided through the water, sliced through it with measured, steady movements, as though he were born with the tide.
A selkie, Feyd thought, awed, amused. Perhaps there was something to those stories after all. If House Atreides had the blood of ancient kings running through their veins, then why couldn't there be a selkie in that lineage as well? And here was his sealskin, unprotected, ripe for the taking!
His clothes for a kiss. With a wicked smile, Feyd took the coat and, facing the water, waved it like a flag. It only took a moment for Paul to notice. When he did, his expression shifted from focus on his recreation to irritation, dark, thick brows furrowed, green eyes bright with anger. He swiftly made his way toward Feyd, but stopped a distance from the shore, only his head and shoulders bared to the open air.
"What do you think you're doing?" Paul called to him.
Feyd observed the tide lapping at the beach with distaste before stepping into the wet sand, water and sea foam curling around his boots. He held the coat aloft. "You're courting danger to be swimming like that, Atreides. What if your father's men saw you? Who knows what might happen."
"My father's men are trained soldiers and gentlemen," said Paul. "I've nothing to fear from them."
He said, "Then that is the difference between myself and them."
"What, you're no soldier? Or no gentleman?"
The waves had brought him slightly closer. Paul's nipples were very pink, and hard from the chill. Feyd allowed himself a long, lingering look, then replied, "Neither. I am the Na-Baron of House Harkonnen, and I am your betrothed." He gave Paul a grin. "Won't you come out? Here's your coat. I promise not to look if you're shy—but only if you promise me a kiss." It was said that an Atreides never broke vow.
Paul made a noise that was a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. Instead of responding, he stood, seawater dripping from his bare body, every inch and every piece of him on display. How was it that he could stand there without shivering with cold? And without the barest hint of shame? Feyd devoured the sight of him, his dark, damp hair, his rosy, freckled skin, his belly button, his slim hips, the equally dark, damp curls between his legs, his—
"Well?" asked Paul.
Feyd said, "You're lovelier than I could have imagined." He offered Paul the coat, held it for him while he slipped his arms into the sleeves.
"Do you imagine me often, Na-Baron?"
"How else would I see you but in my fantasies? Your father is intent on keeping us separated."
"With good reason, perhaps," Paul said archly as he tied the front of his pants. "You were spying on me." He stepped into his boots.
"I was admiring you."
His betrothed hummed. "Hm-m. I see." Paul picked up his shirt, shook stray grains of sand from it, then handed it to Feyd. "Here, Na-Baron. Something to assist with your fantasies."
Feyd swallowed and found his mouth suddenly dry. "I'll gladly take it. But I'd prefer the real thing."
"Well, I don't think you're acclimated enough to Caladan's weather to join me for my morning swims, but—" Paul drew closer, lips against his ear, and whispered, "I enjoy a solitary walk in the castle gardens after lunch."
Ah.
"There are no gardens in the citadel. Perhaps I might decide to explore the exotic flora of your planet."
Paul murmured, low and inviting, "I would not stop you."
And then he turned and walked away, back to the castle, leaving Feyd there with a shirt clenched in his fist and an opportunity for a future rendezvous.
All in return for a coat.
Those men who stole the sealskins, Feyd thought, should have negotiated with more skill.