(( This was written by Frank Herbert, not by me! Am pasting here to provide backstory. ))
"Welcome," Paul said.
Irulan wore a robe of gray whale fur. She pulled it close, touched a hand to her hair. He could see her wondering at his mild tone. The angry words she'd obviously prepared for this meeting could be sensed leaving her mind in a welter of second thoughts.
"You came to report that the Sisterhood has lost its last vestige of morality," he said.
"Isn't it dangerous to be that ridiculous?" she asked.
"To be ridiculous and dangerous, a questionable alliance," he said. His renegade Bene Gesserit training detected her putting down an impulse to withdraw. The effort exposed a brief glimpse of underlying fear, and he saw she'd been assigned a task not to her liking.
"They expect a bit too much from a princess of the blood royal," he said.
Irulan grew very still and Paul became aware that she had locked herself into a viselike control. A heavy burden indeed, he thought. And he wondered why his prescient visions had given him no glimpse of this possible future.
Slowly, Irulan relaxed. There was no point in surrendering to fear, no point in retreat, she had decided.
"You've allowed the weather to fall into a very primitive pattern," she said, rubbing her arms through the robe. "It was dry and there was a sandstorm today. Are you never going to let it rain here?"
"You didn't come here to talk about the weather," Paul said. He felt that he had been submerged in double meanings. Was Irulan trying to tell him something which her training would not permit her to say openly? It seemed that way. He felt that he had been cast adrift suddenly and now must thrash his way back to some steady place.
"I must have a child," she said.
He shook his head from side to side.
"I must have my way!" she snapped. "If need be, I'll find another father for my child. I'll cuckold you and dare you to expose me."
"Cuckold me all you wish," he said, "but no child."
"How can you stop me?"
With a smile of utmost kindness, he said: "I'd have you garrotted, if it came to that."
Shocked silence held her for a moment and Paul sensed Chani listening behind the heavy draperies into their private apartments.
"I am your wife," Irulan whispered.
"Let us not play these silly games," he said. "You play a part, no more. We both know who my wife is."
"And I am a convenience, nothing more," she said, voice heavy with bitterness.
"I have no wish to be cruel to you," he said.
"You chose me for this position."
"Not I," he said. "Fate chose you. Your father chose you. The Bene Gesserit chose you. The Guild chose you. And they have chosen you once more. For what have they chosen you, Irulan?"
"Why can't I have your child?"
"Because that's a role for which you weren't chosen."
"It's my right to bear the royal heir! My father was --"
"Your father was and is a beast. We both know he'd lost almost all touch with the humanity he was supposed to rule and protect."
"Was he hated less than you're hated?" she flared.
"A good question," he agreed, a sardonic smile touching the edges of his mouth.
"You say you've no wish to be cruel to me, yet ... "
"And that's why I agree that you can take any lover you choose. But understand me well: take a lover, but bring no sour-fathered child into my household. I would deny such a child. I don't begrudge you any male alliance as long as you are discreet ... and childless. I'd be silly to feel otherwise under the circumstances. But don't presume upon this license which I freely bestow. Where the throne is concerned, I control which blood is heir to it. The Bene Gesserit doesn't control this, nor does the Guild. This is one of the privileges I won when I smashed your father's Sardaukar legions out there on the Plain of Arrakeen."
"It's on your head then," Irulan said. She whirled and swept out of the chamber.
Remembering the encounter now, Paul brought his awareness out of it and focused on Chani seated beside him on their bed. He could understand his ambivalent feelings about Irulan, understand Chani's Fremen decision. Under other circumstances Chani and Irulan might have been friends.
"What have you decided?" Chani asked.
"No child," he said.
Chani made the Fremen crysknife sign with the index finger and thumb of her right hand.
"It could come to that," he agreed.
"You don't think a child would solve anything with Irulan?" she asked.
"Only a fool would think that."
"I am not a fool, my love."
Anger possessed him. "I've never said you were! But this isn't some damned romantic novel we're discussing. That's a real princess down the hall. She was raised in all the nasty intrigues of an Imperial Court. Plotting is as natural to her as writing her stupid histories!"
"They are not stupid, love."
"Probably not." He brought his anger under control, took her hand in his. "Sorry. But that woman has many plots -- plots within plots. Give in to one of her ambitions and you could advance another of them."
Her voice mild, Chani said: "Haven't I always said as much?"
"Yes, of course you have." He stared at her. "Then what are you really trying to say to me?"
She lay down beside him, placed her head against his neck. "They have come to a decision on how to fight you," she said. "Irulan reeks of secret decisions."
Paul stroked her hair.
Chani had peeled away the dross.
Terrible purpose brushed him. It was a coriolis wind in his soul. It whistled through the framework of his being. His body knew things then never learned in consciousness.