Confessions of an Imperial Concubine

Chapter One: Best Laid Plans

Throw me in a landfill; don't think about the consequences.- Daughter, Landfill

Sera hadn't attended the Emperor's speech, as she hadn't cared what he had to say. He'd made such speeches on dozens of planets in the five years since he'd ascended to the throne, and Beakkal was no exception. She wondered if anyone had actually thrown rotten vegetables at him, the way they'd bragged about having planned to do. Clearly no one who'd boasted their intent to kill him had done so, at least. But then, no one but Sera had actually prepared for the task.

She'd trained for months, and she'd fully accepted the likelihood of her own demise, whether she was successful or not. That was fine, she figured; one less mouth taking food from her younger siblings. Her mother always said she ate too much of the bread they made to sell, and that it showed.

She wasn't skilled enough—or strong enough—to best a warrior like Paul Atreides in combat, so she was relying on the element of surprise. She'd have one chance at cutting his throat with her knife. One chance to right the wrongs he'd done, avenge the lives he'd taken in his foolish war of revenge.

The late afternoon sun was hot on Sera's back as she moved silently between the buildings, noting the shift in material as she moved between the buildings the Emperor walked past; rotting wood that changed to well-kept stone in the rich part of town. This was good— there were less people here. Not that anyone would get in her way, of course. No one on Beakkal would take issue with the Emperor being killed.

Except, she thought with a smirk, the glint of her dark green eyes locked on her oblivious target, for those idiot officials who didn't think to instill extra guards to protect the Emperor, of all people.

Well. Their foolishness was Sera's gain. No, it was the Known Universe's gain. Every single one of the Atreides' subjects would benefit from his death, they just didn't know it yet. Centuries from now, they'd thank her. She didn't need to be a martyr, didn't need to be a hero, but it sure as hell wouldn't hurt if people appreciated her taking one for the team. There was no way she'd make it out of this situation alive, but she'd do her damnedest to take him down with her.

She inched closer to him. Damn. He was so much taller than she'd expected; men on Beakkal didn't tower over her half as much, but this snooty rich boy born of the Bene Gesserit breeding program must've had at least a foot on her, the bastard. She'd have to use the extra weight she had on him to her advantage. That was fine; she could do that.

She was close enough now. Just a few more steps, and then...

Sera launched herself at him, tackling him to the ground and straddling his waist. Her knife wasn't the best quality, but she put it to his throat anyway.

Except—

The air around his form vibrated and changed color, much to her astonishment, and she realized there was a crucial fact she hadn't thought to account for:

The bastard could afford a shield.

Frozen in shock, Sera looked into his eyes. A strange, incomprehensible feeling washed over her.

You, her mind told her in an unfamiliar, echoing voice. I am meant to know you as I know no other. I was crafted for you and you alone.

To make matters even worse—if that were possible—he was staring into her eyes intently, the blue glow of his gaze eerie, and then he reached up and yanked the cloth that covered her face down so that it pooled at her neck. An unmistakable glint of both recognition and awe filtered into his shocked expression.
"Sera," he breathed.

Her eyes widened, and before she could blink, she was pulled off of him with a jerk.

Two of his guards held her by her arms so her feet were barely touching the ground. "How do you know my name?" she demanded, the abrupt hiss of her voice hiding the sharpness of her fear.