Chapter Text
Irulan Corrino sat under the gloomy shadows of her chambers, her living room scantly lightened by a mere glowglobe suspended in the air above her study desk, sipping through her wine. A brief memory of home, the flavors of breeze and lilacs with the finest Kaitain Shiraz grapes. Small shows of kindness for the Princess Consort from the Emperor.
Irulan pursed her lips with bitter resentment and contempt, bottoming her drink, and poured the last drops of the bottle into her goblet. She had already finished the bottle. Her head was half dizzy, spinning, the fermented sweet-sour liquid hitting her bloodstream after many years. After many years, Irulan was getting intoxicated. Her strict training did not allow such occasions for idle purposes, drugs and alcohol were only allowed to a Bene Gesserit for enhancement of their mind powers, allowing them to enhance their perception of nuances. Irulan did not seek such a purpose now, her only purpose tonight was oblivion.
The sweet call of nothingness and oblivion.
She wanted to forget this dreadful day, which just brought another shame upon her with her failure. She imagined the faces of the council as her good husband denied her once more in front of everyone, she imagined the reaction she was going to get from the Reverend Mother hearing yet another rejection and failure on her part. She told herself it did not matter, the conspiracy was in place, it would not matter, but the tightness in her chest and a foul taste in her mouth did say otherwise.
Irulan should have gotten familiar with getting ridiculed and humiliated, but it still…hurt. As the matters stand, though, I reject this proposal. Irulan herself had insisted the matter should have been discussed openly as hard as it must be, but the humiliation of his rejection still hurt.
I know the political arguments. It’s the human arguments which concerns me. I think if the Princess Consort were not bound by the commands of the Bene Gesserit, if she did not seek this out of desires for personal power, my reaction might be very different. As the matters stand, though, I reject this proposal.
But what had she expected? After twelve years would he have finally seen the sense and sensibility? Losing his hope for an heir from his concubine? No, it was not unexpected nor she was that humiliated by yet another public refusal. She had grown immune to his refusal to see her as a woman perhaps, or perhaps she just did not care anymore. It was something else.
The atrocity of him, the hypocrisy of him for the refusal, not the refusal itself. The arrogance of it.
Her face souring, Irulan bottomed up her drink once more, the fermented liquid hitting her bloodstream with her fury invoked as she recalled… It’s the human arguments which concerns me.
The atrocity of him to judge her for not having human arguments to seek his heir!
As if he had given her any reason whatsoever to seek him beyond what he had been judging her!
A woman in the throes of greed, seeking only personal power, if she was not a pawn of the Sisterhood. That was how her husband, Paul Muad’Dib Atreides, still continued to see her after twelve years, either as a pawn or a woman driven by only the calculus of power.
Irulan stood up from her chair and went to her study to bring out another bottle. Her steps were staggering, her always certain and deft movements were wobbly with her intoxication. Irulan laughed suddenly, finding it amusing although she could not be sure what was exactly so funny. She still laughed, though. It felt…nice.
She had forgotten smiling, laughing. How long it had been since she laughed for true? Meaning it. She could not remember. Sometimes it felt like this horrible dune planet had sucked every joy out of her existence.
Irulan grasped the bottle by the neck after corking it out and wobbled back to her study, but this time, she did not bother herself with her goblet and drank the liquid directly from the bottle. She did not recall if she had ever done something so out of the decorum, drinking something directly from a bottle, but she did not care for the decorum at the moment, either. It also felt nice, liberating. She threw off her slippers, flung her bare feet over her study desk, and took another big sip from the bottle. The acidic taste of the liquid burned her throat, soothing her frayed nerves and cobwebbing her mind more.
We all know she holds no love for me, Paul had commented right at her face in front of everyone. Irulan laughed again, finding it incredibly funny, acerbic and ironic, but funny.
Did he truly expect love from her, after all his treatment toward her for years, after ignoring her for years, after swearing to another woman Irulan would not have anything of his in front of her on their wedding day? On their freaking wedding day? On the day her father had been dethroned and her whole life had turned upside down, and she found herself being forced to wed to save her father and the rest of her Family, being taken as a war prize along with the throne so that he could claim himself as the Emperor?
Irulan had not expected understanding or compassion from him as being a fallen princess, but this…this was unfathomable. She wondered if their good Emperor ever looked in the mirror. She was being accused of not loving him, and being rejected to carry his child consequently, but had he ever loved her? Had he ever considered her as a human being, not a necessity for his throne, a mere inconvenience he and his dear lover had to suffer?
The hypocrisy was a long path to walk in Dune, it seemed, never-ending.
Irulan laughed again, her laughter a peculiar mix of amusement, resentment, and bitterness. She took another sip from the bottle, swaying her feet over her neat desk study, gazing at her notes, tidily arranged over the surface. Her work of twelve years, keeping herself busy with her aspirations so that she would not grow mad in her loneliness.
On a sudden urge, unbidden and destructive, Irulan dropped her legs off the table’s edge, her eyes glowing with primal, raw fury, straightening her back as she leaned forward in her seat. She paused only for a split second as her arm raised before she poured the liquid all over her studies of the last twelve years, ruining her life's work about the Imperium and its Emperor in a mere second.
She laughed as she shook her hand, sweeping the bottle for the last drops wine of the bottle, the destructive urge singing in her a crescendo, urging more for ruin. It seemed fitting. Everything in her life was laid in ruins, it just felt natural that all her hard work of the last years also turned to ruin. Especially if it concerned him. She absently wondered whilst watching the red wine soaking her work beyond repair if Paul would have considered this enough human now.
It’s the human arguments which concerns me.
Her eyes narrowed, Irulan set the empty bottle on the soaked desk with a heavy and deceiving thud, her gaze still captured by the little destruction she had created. On the outside, it seemed trivial, her silly writings meant nothing to His Majesty, but for Irulan, it felt like she had surpassed a threshold. A critical threshold. She stood up from her ornate chair, the whispers of her folly were like a sirens’ song in her ears, enchanting her.
It’s the human arguments which concerns me.
Desire rose in her strong, whipping at her edges for a confrontation, wanting to hear those so-called human arguments further in detail. It felt like it was past due.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the most hypocritical of us all?
Paul seldom stayed alone in his chambers at nighttime, but as Irulan opened her doors and slipped past her Fremen guards without a word, she did not care if he would have company for a confrontation. The Fremen woman had been in the middle of their…situation since the beginning, so Irulan did not see any reason to stop herself from facing him in her company. Or perhaps she had just drunk too much liquid courage to care at the moment.
She snickered very unladylike as she walked past her guards, rounding the corner, feeling the Fremen’s silent but critical eyes on her back. Everyone judged her on this dune planet, harsh and unforgiving, so Irulan did not falter, but when her gaze cut down over her feet, feeling a coolness under her soles, she did realize the purpose of those judgmental stares better. Her feet were still bare without slippers, Irulan had forgotten to slip them back on her feet before she left her chambers.
She laughed lowly again, somehow finding it hilarious this time. She was striding toward her husband’s chambers that he shared with his concubine in the middle of the night, barefoot. She told herself she had never done anything crazier than this, including agreeing on a dangerous conspiracy against him that she could not still comprehend fully and spiking his lovers’ food with contraceptives.
Oops.
She also should not think of those while she sought him out for a confrontation, so she quickly shielded her thoughts as she strode off. The last sane part of her inebriated mind told her this was high time to return to her quarters, and just crawl back to her cold bed in loneliness as she had done for the last twelve years and prepare herself instead for facing the Reverend Mother and her fury for yet another failure, but that prospect even seemed drearier than facing the Muad’Dib now. So Irulan walked on.
When she forced herself to stand in front of his quarters without staggering on her feet, the two Fedaykin guards gave her an assessing look, their gaze lingering on her bare feet before they fixated on her. Irulan tried to hold their intense blue eyes as staunchly as she could, and carefully arranged her voice too not to slur before she announced, “I wish to see Muad’Dib.”
Irulan seldom used his Fremen name, hated it if she had to be honest, but tonight, she also made an exception for herself. The guards gave her another look, almost dismissive before stating, “Muad’Dib has retired, Princess wife.”
“It’s very urgent…” Irulan insisted. “I need to speak to him.”
They still looked unconvinced. Irulan let out a long sigh. At another time, she would have convinced them to let her in, but she just did not…care tonight. She arranged her vocal into her best pitch, which was harder than usual in her current disposition, but it would make do with this folk. “Open the door.”
The echoes resonated, and the doors swung open, and Irulan congratulated herself inwardly managing it in her inebriated state. She grinned with contentment, the barely adept Bene Gesserit using her medium skills, shocking her rival.
Her rival turned toward his doors with the unexpected intrusion, his eyes slightly widened with surprise upon seeing them swinging open and revealing Irulan in his doorway. He was only wearing his breeches over his cotton loose shirt, draped over his waist in his leisure time. His slightly widened eyes narrowed quickly as he assessed her, his gaze lingering for a fraction on her bare feet as well as they peeked out under the hems of her own white leisure gown when Irulan crossed his threshold.
“Did you just use your powers on my guards to pass them through, Princess?” he asked lowly as the doors closed behind her with a silent thud. The door of the adjourned room in his chambers was closed, but Irulan knew the woman was there, waiting for her beloved. Paul’s gaze cut over toward it for a second before it turned back on Irulan.
“That I did,” Irulan accepted without a bother and walked over to him. “I wanted to talk with you, but they did not let me in.”
“Because I’d retired to my chambers,” he pointed out.
Irulan shrugged. “It was urgent.” She paused and snickered as she maneuvered her way and sauntered toward his cabinet for drinks.
“I might be dying,” she chided with a low, throaty laugh, sending him a look over her shoulder before she chose the bottle she was seeking. Kaitain wine, not one of those hideous spice-tinged sour things that passed as wine on this planet. “In dire need of my dearest husband.”
She could feel his squinting eyes on her even without seeing it. “Are you drunk?”
“Not quite yet,” she replied, fixing herself another goblet from the bottle she picked. “Not quite yet, husband.”
“Irulan—”
She swirled toward him, holding her goblet, and faced him. “Be at ease. I did not come to throw myself at you in an inebriated haze. I just came to ask you a question.”
“Hmm.”
She walked back to him again and sat on the chair in front of his desk as he stood beside it, staring down at her. She flung her leg one over the other with an idle flourish and stated in an unremarked, placid voice, “Just a mere curiosity if I may.”
“Perhaps you should leave,” he tried to send her away.
She smiled, almost wickedly, thinking all the conspiracies she had managed to web behind his back despite all his powers for years. Sometimes—whenever she was not frightened out of her mind, Irulan used to feel sad…as if she was betraying him, despite all the reasons she had listed to herself, but there was nothing left in her for that sadness anymore.
Irulan, I am truly sorry, he had told her today, sounding sincere, and Irulan had hated it. Hated his pity. No. There was no sadness in her anymore, only cold fury.
“Aren’t you curious?” she asked, so sweet it was sickening. “Perhaps I came to… confess.”
“Confess what?”
She stayed silent, dipping her head and taking a sip from her wine, letting him read whatever he wished from her silence. Confess…her sins, or her love. Sometimes, on long, cold nights when her loneliness bested her, Irulan also wondered about it. If she indeed bore any love for him in her heart.
And some nights, Irulan could not find any answer in her. Twelve years were long to hate someone. But not tonight.
We all know she holds no love for me.
Oh, she exactly knew how she felt about him tonight.
But hate…simply could not be sufficient for the job. She would need to invent a new word if she wanted to express how she felt about him tonight.
“Did you mean what you said today?” she asked, lifting her head, no furry in her look or voice this time, just a mere curiosity. “That you would have wanted my heir if I loved you?”
“Irulan—”
“It’s just a question, Paul,” she cut him off. “A mere curiosity. It would not hurt your integrity.”
“My integrity would not also tell lies,” he replied, lips clenching. “I would have felt differently if that was the case as I already confessed.”
She laughed, taking another sip from the drink. “Oh, so it’s true. You truly expect my sincere love.”
“I did not say that. I understand why you hold no love for me. I bear no ill feelings for you because of the lack of love in our marriage.”
She clinked her tongue. “No ill feelings, no heir, too.”
“Princess—”
She stood up, cutting him off again, “You’re the most egotistical, hypocritical man I have ever had the misfortune to meet, and that coming from me says a lot, Your Majesty.”
Paul looked at her with the same stern look as Irulan continued to insult the most powerful man in the universe. “You judge me for not having human reasons for wanting your child, for not loving you but having only political reasons when you actually did it, wed me to keep the throne, has been acting like I’m nothing but a war prize, and I’m still being the one who was being judged because I hold no love for you.” She croaked another laugh bitterly again. “Funny, isn’t it?”
“I do not judge you.”
“Again, I repeat. You’re not letting me have your child.”
“You know the reason—”
“I could have loved you,” her intervention cut him off once more, rendered him more thoughtful and bleaker with her confession. “If you ever showed me even an ounce of affection, if you ever gave me a reason, I would have loved you.”
Suddenly, he looked tired, letting out a gruff, grave sound. “I know, Irulan,” he admitted as she frowned. “That’s why I don’t do it.”
So that she could not love him, Irulan realized as if something clicked into its places, and she laughed again with no humor, with only bitterness.
“Oh, I see. Me loving you would have made things harder for you, wouldn’t it?” she asked. “It’s easier when I hate you, doesn’t it? Easier to refuse me, imagine if my affections would confuse your mind! Such dismay it would cause you!” She laughed again because it was funny, cruel but still funny. “Pardon me, Your Majesty. I underestimated how self-centered and inconsistent you can be.”
His intense blue eyes darkened like the purple desert night without stars as he fixated on her. “You shall take your leave, Princess, before you say more you may regret later on.”
Irulan did not take his hint, although it sounded very much like a warning.
“I wonder if you can hold your word and execute me if I bear a child from another man,” she mused out almost conversationally, sitting back on the chair instead of heeding his warning. She craned up her head an inch, twisting her neck as she regarded in seriousness. “Something tells me you could not.”
His lips thinned with tension at her challenge. “Do you want to test me?”
She lifted her drink toward him, and replied coolly after a second of careful reflection, “Perhaps one day. When I drink more liquid courage than tonight.”
“So tell me,” he replied, a challenge entering into his voice, too. “Do you want an heir or a child?”
He was gazing down at her with all his intensity now, slicing through her barriers as the question caught her unguarded, the inquiry swirling in her hazed mind. Do you want an heir or a child?
She knew for what she had been commanded and what she had been trained for, she had been prepared for the continuation of their bloodlines and the longevity of the Imperium, but as she considered the question, the first image that came to her mind was a little baby, sleeping with her in her bed, her arms holding her small frame against her bosom, a small baby girl.
Her chest feeling tighter, she averted her eyes, and muttered, “It matters not.” She was avoiding to answer now, but she reckoned she did not owe him a sincere answer this time. “You would give me neither.”
She twisted her neck and fixated on him with another look, something inside her clawing once more, wishing to cause him to hurt as much as he hurt her.
“Why do you even keep me here beside you?” she questioned. “Why don’t you send me to exile?” She paused. “It’s very clear your lover hates me being here.”
Once being sent to exile would have made her drop to her knees and beg him not to do it, but not anymore. If the Reverend Mother had seen what Irulan was prompting him now, she would also have had her hide, but Irulan was simply beyond caring. He was never going to accept her having his heir, so she did not see any reason why she had to suffer through this more. She had suffered enough. Twelve years. She had done her part. They had to think of other ways to fulfill their purpose now without spending Irulan further. This chip was done.
“Do you want to be sent to exile, Princess wife?” Paul read through her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“I see no reason for me to stay here,” she admitted. “I’ve spent all my chances.” She paused and smiled sweetly, encouraging him. “Imagine a life without me, Your Grace. How happy Chani would be getting rid of me,” she taunted, even using the woman’s name, her voice mockingly silky. “Would you not want to make her happy at least?”
“Your Sisterhood would be very disappointed in you, Irulan,” he replied, and Irulan sensed his avoidance to answer her point. “If they saw you now.”
“They’re going to have to deal with it,” she replied coolly. “And who knows? Perhaps the unknown quality of Fremen's genetics would enhance the gene pool they had been trying to protect for generations. Who wouldn’t enjoy plot twists from time to time?”
“That’s very un-Bene Gesserit,” he remarked snappish.
“And why do you care?” she pressed further, nearing him closer. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of torturing me with your sterile kindness and indifference.”
He glowered at her as Irulan stopped just a foot away from his personal space, so close but stars apart. “I do not torture you, Princess. I did not choose you for this. You were chosen for this role just like me.”
“Spare me from the destiny talk,” she snapped. “I’m not one of you fanatics, Muad’Dib! I know who keeps me here, and it’s not so-called destiny.”
“Do you really want to leave?”
“As the matters stand,” she shot back his words in the council sardonically, “I fail to see any reason for me to continue this farce.”
“The Bene Gesserit would truly hurt you, Irulan,” he replied, and for a second, Irulan thought he actually cared, for a second it felt like he did before it passed.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to read his nuances, his avoidance and refusal to let her go.
“Why do you not want me to go?” she questioned. “Why this persistence?” Irulan would understand his persistence not to impregnate her or consummate their marriage, but keeping her at his side, when she was almost…begging him to let her go, it made no sense.
Irulan was no fool to consider he was harboring secret feelings for her inside him that he could not even confess to himself. It must be something else. “We both know you don’t have any human arguments for wanting me here which concerns me. What’s your angle?”
His spine straightened, and Irulan knew she hit a cord. “I do not have any angle. Your presence and intellect are worth keeping around.” Irulan arched an eyebrow. He was the only one who was taking her inputs and suggestions seriously in the council, sometimes, but not that much. “You’re a valuable part of my court.”
She laughed at that, loudly. “Valuable for menial tasks?” she mocked. “Surely, you can afford another scribbler, my Lord.”
He fixated on her with a hard look. “You’re my link between my enemies,” he stated, voice stoic and stony before he repeated, “Like I said, your presence is worth keeping around.”
She glowered with contempt, understanding now his reasons for wanting to keep her around better. “I thank you for sincerity, my Lord. I did not realize I was your double-spy but then again I have always known you let me send messages to Wallach IX for that purpose.”
It was hardly a surprise, but as Irulan comprehended it had become her chain, she decided to break it as well. She had earned her freedom, both from him and from the Sisterhood. Neither of them had brought her anything but pain. She was going to bring all the wrath of the Sisterhood and the Spacing Guild onto herself for what she was about to do, but Irulan still did not care.
“Then allow me to function my duty better, Your Grace. You were right. They mixed me into something which I’m still not particularly comfortable being a part of when I visited the Sisterhood,” she confessed. “They set up a conspiracy about you. Soon, the Tleilaxu will send you a gift, and they believe it will bring your downfall. I honestly don’t know how it will happen, they did not tell us that much, but they guaranteed me I would have something from you renained to father an heir.”
She paused and smiled again as she had outed the most delicate, intricate, elaborate conspiracy in the universe. “Something.”
And, it sounded as sinister as the Scytla had promised it.
His face grew darker and bleaker, but his expression only bore a tint of surprise. “I know my enemies’ ambitions, Irulan. If you’re trying to render yourself useless for their schemes, I’m warning you again. You’re walking on a very thin line right now. They would kill you for what you have just done.”
She paused and averted her eyes. “Maybe I just want it to end now…” she whispered.
He deeply breathed, looking tired once more before he shook his head slowly. “Go back to your room, Princess, and forget what happened tonight. So will I in the morning.”
Irulan snapped a look at him in fury, seeing clear pity in his blue-within-blue gaze, even accepting to forget what she had confessed to him tonight. “I don’t want your pity!” she hissed, and that destructive force hit her stronger than before, a raw urge to lay everything in ruins, even her own life.
“It’s me,” she whispered, stepping closer and holding his eyes. “I’m the reason why Chani has not given you the heir you so desire. I’ve been spiking her food with contraceptives for years so that she could not get pregnant with your child.”
She tilted her head and laughed acerbic, feeling the noose tighten around her neck, and she did not care. “How about that? Do you still wish me to stay?”