“This has gone on quite long enough,” Shaddam said, looking at the latest reports. “I have been generous, benevolent, and forgiving. I don’t care what kind of bribes Viscount Moritani has paid to the Lion Throne — I will not continue to be insulted.”

At his side on the spacious private terrace, regarding the lavish expanse of the capital city on Kaitain, Hasimir Fenring bobbed his head. “Hmmm, Sire, I was wondering when you would reach your limit. And what, aahh, will you do about it? How do you propose to respond to this flagrant defiance by the Grummans?”

Shaddam had shooed away his concubines and spent many hours in his private quarters. Lately, he was also beginning to lose interest in his new wife, Firenza, which was a decidedly bad sign, certainly for her. Instead, the Emperor preferred to survey the metropolis from this balcony. While the city itself was only the tiniest fraction of all the worlds and peoples he ruled, the impressive view helped remind him of his importance. It was good for an Emperor to shore up his confidence when he was about to take drastic but necessary action.

“The Imperium operates within a safety net of rules and laws. Any person who tries to sever the strands of our safety net endangers us all.” Shaddam smiled to himself. He liked that. The words had been spontaneous, but eloquent; he would have to use them in a proclamation someday. “Years ago, we stationed Sardaukar on Grumman to keep that Moritani madman in line, but as soon as the troops left, he returned to his old antics. Obviously the Viscount does not fear my military as much as he should.”

“More importantly, Sire, he does not fear you as much as he should.”

Shaddam turned abruptly to his friend. Fenring’s assessment was entirely correct. He scowled. “Then we must do something about him, Hasimir. I will take as many Sardaukar as I can load aboard our frigates and go personally to Grumman. This time I will bring my camp and my supporters, and we will occupy the Viscount’s planet. I will strip him of his titles and find someone else to take over the siridar fief of House Moritani.”

Fenring pursed his lips, tapped his fingers on the burnished gold balustrade. “Hmmm, it may be difficult to find someone who even wants Grumman. The planet is all used up. Even the Moritanis have been trying to unencumber themselves for some time.”

“Then we shall assign it to someone we don’t like! Either way, I want House Moritani out of there — and I mean to do it personally. I must show the Landsraad that the Emperor pays attention to any slight against his good name.”

Fenring did not seem quite as overjoyed or enthusiastic as Shaddam thought he should be. The sounds and smells of the nighttime city wafted about the men in a rich and heady stew. “Have you considered, aaahh, Sire, that this may be exactly what the Viscount wants? He has been baiting you, pushing you, as though hoping you would go there in person, rather than let someone else dirty their hands on your behalf.”

Shaddam sniffed. “For something so important, I would not delegate the responsibility — even to you, my trusted friend. Once we land with all the might of my Imperium, Viscount Moritani will abase himself before me to beg my forgiveness.”

Fenring suddenly showed interest in sparkling holographic flames that erupted as an illusionary torch from a tower, so that Shaddam couldn’t see the expression on his face when he said, “Aaahh, perhaps you expect a little too much.”

“That is not possible. I am Emperor.”

Despite the Count’s lackluster reaction, Shaddam felt good about what he had decided to do. This would not be a mere military campaign, but an awe-inspiring event, a genuine spectacle with all the pomp and glory that House Corrino could provide. This would teach Viscount Hundro Moritani — and all the Houses of the Landsraad — a valuable lesson in obedience.