Just outside the imperial birthing room, the man disguised as a Sardaukar guard wore expertly applied makeup to conceal his sapho-stained lips. At the back of the thin man’s creased trousers, just beneath the uniform jacket, a faint blood splotch could still be seen. Hardly noticeable at all…

With heightened speed and senses, Piter de Vries had slipped a knife beneath the real guard’s coat into his left kidney as the man walked to his post; then he had moved quickly to salvage the uniform. He took pride in his work.

Within only a few minutes, de Vries had dragged the dead man into an empty room, donned the gray-and-black uniform, and rapidly applied smears of enzyme chemicals to eliminate bloodstains. He composed himself, then assumed his station outside the birthing room.

The dead guard’s companion looked at him skeptically. “Where’s Dankers?”

“Who can say? I got pulled from lion-tending duty to stand here while some lady-in-waiting has a brat,” de Vries said, his voice gruff with disgust. “I was told to come here and replace him.”

Grunting as if he didn’t care, the other guard checked his ceremonial dagger and adjusted the strap of a neuro-stun baton on his shoulder.

De Vries had another blade sheathed beneath his jacket sleeve. He also felt the sticky wetness of the bloody shirt against his back and rather liked the sensation.

They heard a sudden outcry, surprised and anguished voices inside the birthing room. Then a bawling baby. De Vries and the guard looked at each other, and the Mentat’s sense of danger heightened. Perhaps the pretty mother, the Baron’s secret daughter, had died in childbirth. Oh, but that would be too much to hope for— too simple. Now he heard only low tones of conversation… and the continuing cry of the baby.

Duke Leto’s infant offered so many possibilities… the Baron’s own secret grandchild. Maybe de Vries could take the baby hostage, use it to make the beautiful Jessica submit to him as a love slave— and then kill them both before he tired of her. He could toy with the Duke’s woman for a while….

Or, the child itself might be even more valuable than Jessica. The newborn was both Atreides and Harkonnen. Perhaps the safest course of action would be to remove the brat to Giedi Prime to be raised beside Feyd-Rautha— what a fabulous revenge against House Atreides that would be! An alternative Harkonnen heir, if Feyd turned out to be as much of a clod as his older brother Rabban? Depending upon how he played out the situation, de Vries might gain leverage against the Sisterhood, against two Great Houses, and against Jessica herself. All in a day’s work.

He salivated, considering the delicious possibilities.

The women’s voices grew louder, and the birthing-room door slid open smoothly. With a rustle of clothing, three witches walked into the corridor— the foul Mohiam, the Emperor’s unsteady wife, and Margot Fenring, all of them dressed in black aba robes and preoccupied with a hushed, muttered argument.

De Vries held his breath. If Mohiam looked in his direction, she might recognize him, in spite of the makeup and stolen uniform. Fortunately, the women were too upset about something to notice anything as they hurried down the corridor.

Leaving the mother and child unprotected.

After the witches rounded a corner, de Vries said gruffly to his companion, “Should check inside to make sure everything’s all right.” Before the guard could decide upon a response, the Mentat slithered into the birthing room.

The loud cries of a baby came from the bright area ahead, and more female voices. He heard the guard hurrying to join him, boots clicking on the floor. The door closed behind them.

With a swift, silent movement, de Vries spun and cut the Sardaukar’s throat before the man could utter a sound. The vicious slash of the knife made a whistling sound in the air and splattered gouts of red on the wall.

After easing the uniformed body down to the floor, the Mentat prowled deeper into the delivery room. He touched the neuro-stun baton against his wrist, activating the field.

At a wall-mounted workstation he saw two short Medical Sisters tending a baby, taking cellular and hair samples and studying the screen of a diagnostic machine. Their backs were to him. The taller woman scowled down at the baby, as if it were an experiment gone wrong.

Hearing a buzzing sound, the shorter, heavier woman started to turn. But de Vries leaped forward and swung the stun-baton like a bat. It caught her in the face, smashing her nose and sending crackling impulses through her brain.

Before she hit the floor, her companion stepped in front of the baby and raised her arms in a defensive posture. De Vries struck with the stun-baton. She blocked the blows— only to find both of her arms paralyzed. His blow to her neck was so hard that he heard her vertebrae shatter.

Panting, exhilarated, he stabbed both motionless forms, just to make sure. No point in taking chances.

The baby boy lay on the table, kicking and crying. Nicely vulnerable.

On the other side of the birthing room, he saw Jessica lying on a wide bed, exhausted from the delivery, her eyes bleary with analgesics. Even haggard and sweat-streaked, she looked beautiful and fascinating. He thought about killing her, so that Duke Leto could no longer have her.

Only seconds had passed, but he could spare no more time. When he reached for the baby, Jessica’s eyes widened with shock. Her expression changed to one of misery and anguish.

Oh, this is much better than killing her.

She reached out, struggling to sit. She was going to crawl off the bed and come after him! Such devotion, such maternal distress. He smiled at her— but through his makeup and disguise, he knew she would never recognize him again.

Deciding to take what he had before anyone interrupted, the Mentat tucked the stun-baton and dueling dagger into his uniform belt. While Jessica dragged herself off the bed, he bundled the baby in a blanket, his movements calm and efficient. She could never reach him in time.

He saw a seep of crimson spreading across her kai-sateen birthing gown. She staggered, then fell to the floor. De Vries held up the baby, taunting her, then fled out into the corridor. Even as he ran down a stairway, trying to stifle the wailing infant, his mind spun through possibilities.

There were so many of them….

Marching out of the Hall of Oratory after his well-received speech, Leto Atreides held his head high. His father would have admired that performance. This time, he had gotten it right. He had not asked anyone’s permission for what he had done. He had notified them, and his actions were irrevocable.

When he was out of sight of the assemblage, his hands began to shake, though he had held them steady all through the oration. He knew from the applause that the majority of the Landsraad genuinely admired his actions. His deeds might well become legendary among the nobles.

Politics, however, had a way of taking strange twists and turns. The gains of one moment could be lost in the next. Many delegates might have applauded only because they’d been caught up in the moment. They could still reconsider. Even so, Leto had made new allies today. It only remained to determine the extent of his gains.

Now, though, it was time to see Jessica.

At a rapid pace he crossed the flagstone-paved ellipse. Once inside the Palace, he bypassed the grand staircase and instead caught a lift tube to the birthing room. Perhaps his child was already born!

But as he stepped out on the top floor, four Sardaukar guards blocked his path with weapons drawn. An alarmed crowd milled in the corridor behind them, including a number of black-robed Bene Gesserits.

He saw Jessica slumped in a chair, wrapped in an oversize white robe. The sight of her so weak, so drained, shocked him. Her skin was damp with sweat, translucent with pain.

“I am Duke Leto Atreides, the Emperor’s cousin. The Lady Jessica is my bound concubine. Let me through.” He thrust his way past, employing moves Duncan Idaho had taught him to knock aside threatening blades.

When Jessica saw him, she pushed aside the clinging arms of her Bene Gesserit Sisters and tried to stand. “Leto!”

He caught her and embraced her, afraid to ask about the baby. Had it been stillborn? If so, what was Jessica doing here outside the birthing room, and why all the security?

Reverend Mother Mohiam stepped close, her face a mask of anger and distress. Jessica tried to say something, but broke down in tears. He noticed blood on the floor under her. Leto’s words were cold, but he had to voice the question. “My child has died?”

“You have a son, Duke Leto, a healthy child,” Mohiam said curtly. “But he has been kidnapped. Two guards and two Medical Sisters are dead. Whoever took the boy wanted him very badly.”

Leto could not absorb the terrible news all at once. He managed only to hold Jessica more tightly.