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The na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had spent the past six months on a Grand Tour of the Imperium. Numerous gifts and even more letters addressed to Paul had arrived with surprising regularity and even more surprising candor.
If not for the spice, Arrakis would be a completely worthless planet. Dreary in its vast emptiness, and the luxuries that were available were so artificial that there was no real satisfaction in them.
The latter observation was so unexpectedly astute that Leto had to reassess the na-Baron's character. A mere spoiled playboy wouldn't write something like that.
He thought Ecaz would soon be swallowed by its vegetation—you would enjoy it, Feyd-Rautha had written Paul. A large, bright feather, an iridescent black-purple-green had accompanied that message, along with a note that the avian it came from was still alive—it had merely molted.
Leto was discomfited by the thought that Feyd-Rautha would know his son well enough to assure him that no harm had come to an animal.
Kaitain was largely a bore. The Princess Irulan was attractive but lacked sensuality. He gifted Paul a bolt of silk—white, patterned with silver embroidery. She wore a gown made of this. It suits your coloring better.
To Leto's great displeasure, he'd decided to end his adventure in Caladan.
They met Feyd-Rautha with all the honor befitting the heir of a Great House, ignoring the history between their families. Leto himself came to greet him, with Paul at his side, pretending not to be eager to see his peer and long-term pen pal after this extended separation. Paul's uniform, Leto noted, was crisply pressed, and he had taken the time to shine his boots himself, but his curls were unruly in the deliberate way that the youth of the Imperium thought fashionable these days.
He caught Gurney's eye; his War Master grimaced.
Worse, however, was when they caught a glimpse of Feyd-Rautha as he exited his ship. Dressed in the manner of a Kaitain nobleman, one of those that spent his time trailing through the Emperor's palace; trousers tucked into high boots, tunic with trailing sleeves. And his hair!
Well, Feyd-Rautha had hair now, was the thing. Dark, wavy locks, longer than Paul's, reaching his shoulders. It made his blue eyes particularly striking.
Damn it all! thought Leto. Now he looks like some sort of prince! And he knows it, too—how smug his expression is! And Paul... He glanced at his son and saw Paul had stilled, staring at Feyd-Rautha in shock. We'll never be rid of him now.
"A warm welcome, Duke," drawled Feyd-Rautha. "Caladan never disappoints."
"Na-Baron," said Leto, stiffly.
Feyd-Rautha scarcely looked at him. His gaze was fixed on Paul. "Your military uniform? I sent you a gift, Paul. You ought to have greeted me in silk."
Leto quickly signed a command to Gurney to still his sword-hand; the War Master's fingers had twitched as soon as he realized Feyd-Rautha's innuendo. Leto's own jaw clenched as he swallowed a sharp rebuke.
It took a moment for Paul to respond. "So you did." He could not seem to take his eyes off Feyd-Rautha. "But I've not yet decided what I want to do with it. The Princess Irulan wore a gown made of such material? That's difficult for me to believe—it seems more suited for the bedchambers than the palace court."
At the word bedchambers Feyd-Rautha perked up like a hound that had spotted a scrap of meat in its master's hand. While Gurney glowered, Leto stifled a long-suffering groan. Here was an aspect of fatherhood he'd never expected! Having to listen to his son and the heir of House Harkonnen flirt.
"Teenagers," Gurney muttered when they were out of earshot of Paul and Feyd-Rautha. "We've got to keep a close watch on the Harkonnen. At his age—they only want one thing."
Unhappily, Leto said, "Paul is nearly the same age." Old enough for courtship—even marriage, if Leto gave his permission, which he would not. It galled and perplexed him; Paul had shown little to no interest in anyone romantically or—otherwise intimately—and then, after a chance meeting with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen—
Pen pals! Letters from the na-Baron that held unabashed want! Gifts that skirted the line of decency! And now, this verbal sparring laced with double-meanings that were, unfortunately for Leto, not as well-hidden as he would have liked!
He looked at Paul and Feyd-Rautha speaking together; the latter brushed a lock of dark hair from his face. Paul watched the movement and appeared to grow flustered, cheeks reddening, glancing not at Feyd-Rautha but the floor. The Harkonnen heir grinned. Those teeth were still black as night!
Was this his son's taste in paramours? Leto despaired.
At dinner, Jessica observed Feyd-Rautha and Paul's interactions for a time, and then said quietly to Leto, "Paul dislikes it."
"Dislikes Feyd-Rautha?" he asked hopefully.
Her lips curled into a wry smile. "No—he dislikes that hair."
They spoke in hushed tones, though nothing could sway Paul and Feyd-Rautha's attention from one another. They sat across from each other at the dinner table, conversing and flirting and occasionally missing their mouths with their forks, so focused were they on mooning over each other. Leto said, "That can't be right. Paul hasn't been able to stop staring at Feyd-Rautha since he disembarked from his ship."
"Trust me, he dislikes it." At Leto's doubtful expression, Jessica added, "You shaved your beard, that one year—"
His ears went red as he flushed with embarrassment. Hastily, Leto said, "I was in disguise! The diplomatic mission to—"
"Yes, and that man was still very handsome, but he was not my duke," replied Jessica.
As usual, his Lady of Caladan proved right. Feyd-Rautha tossed his hair behind his shoulder and Paul was struck speechless—but this time Leto noticed a slight furrow of his brows, a minute pursing of his lips.
Smugly, Feyd-Rautha gestured to his locks and said, "I had to grow it out, of course. Otherwise everyone would recognize me as a Harkonnen. Not all would welcome me with open arms as you do, Paul—" He ignored the sound of Gurney growling in the corner. "But I will say—the court ladies on Kaitain found it quite becoming." Feyd-Rautha smiled, a slash of black across his face.
Paul set his knife and fork down on the table. He said, carefully, "The style suits you very well. It is only..." He paused. "When I look at you, I no longer see my Feyd-Rautha.
In an instant, the dynamic of the conversation shifted. "Your Feyd-Rautha?" the Harkonnen eagerly asked.
"Now you look to me almost a stranger. I don't know quite how to speak to you. But before..." Paul trailed off. He glanced away, his eyes lowered. It should have been bashful, but instead it was somehow coy, teasing.
Feyd-Rautha leaned forward in his seat. "Yes?"
"Well," murmured Paul. "We spoke so much more—intimately—before. Each time I received one of your letters, I could only think of our time on Kaitain, and how I enjoyed it."
What! What intimacy? How intimate? When would that have happened? Paul had been well-guarded on that visit! Why did Jessica not look surprised? What exactly had transpired on Kaitain? Leto felt as astonished as Feyd-Rautha looked. The Harkonnen's mouth gaped open. His blue eyes were wide. He was no longer smug; Paul had caught him off guard.
"It is—" Feyd-Rautha swallowed. He ran his fingers through his hair, along his scalp. "It is quite a lot of work to maintain."
Paul did not speak of it again. Instead, he passed a cup of Pongi rice pudding to Feyd-Rautha, saying, "You mentioned that you wanted to try more Caladanin fare. This is one of my favorites."
Feyd-Rautha took it.
Leto looked at Jessica, who merely shrugged and sipped at her wine.
The next afternoon, an extremely displeased Gurney reported that a wash basin in Feyd-Rautha's assigned room had been filled with shorn locks of dark hair, and that Feyd-Rautha himself had been found in the gardens with Paul. They'd been necking.
"Teenagers," he growled.
Leto agreed.