The Great Ballroom was a shimmering cavern of spice-gold light and the rhythmic pulse of ancient Caladan strings. While the elder nobility spoke of water rights and troop movements, a different kind of tension was coiling near the refreshment dais.
A group of "Royal Teens"—the heirs of the minor Houses and the wealthiest Arrakeen merchant families—had gravitated toward Anastasia like moths to a blinding, "naive" flame. They stood in a tight circle, their silk finery a riot of desert colors, their young faces masks of practiced arrogance that were rapidly melting under the Influence.
"It's true, then," whispered the daughter of Count Fenring's distant cousin, her eyes wide as she scanned Anastasia's petite frame. "You really do look like you're made of sea-foam."
"I just use the rose-water from home," Anastasia chirped, her voice a soft, melodic chime of kindness. She stood at the center of the circle, looking impossibly small in her gold-and-white gown. "But your desert jewels are much prettier! They look like captured sunlight."
The Forbidden TouchOne of the boys—the heir to the Habbanya ridge-hold, a tall, over-confident youth of seventeen—leaned in closer than was strictly permitted by protocol. He was entranced, his hand moving as if possessed by a will of its own.
"Is it as soft as it looks?" he murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, obsessive fascination.
Before Jia could lunge from the shadows, the boy's fingers reached out and lightly brushed a golden lock of Anastasia's hair, trailing down to the Caladan pearls woven into her braid.
Anastasia didn't pull away; she simply tilted her head with a "naive" curiosity. "It's just hair," she giggled. "But thank you for being so gentle."
The Mother's WrathAcross the room, Lady Jessica stood with a glass of spiced wine held in a white-knuckled grip. Her Bene Gesserit composure was a thin veil over a roiling sea of yandere-like anger. She didn't see a boy admiring a girl; she saw a commoner defiling a holy relic.
Her eyes narrowed, the muscles in her jaw ticking with a lethal rhythm. That hand, Jessica thought, her internal Voice already beginning to vibrate with a sub-vocal frequency that could shatter glass. That hand should be severed for such a transgression.
Beside her, she felt the temperature of the room drop as Jia moved a step forward from the pillars, her hand resting on the hilt of a hidden bodkin. The two women shared a silent, murderous look of pure jealousy. They had spent years ensuring Anastasia remained "untouched," and now, in a room full of strangers, the perimeter had been breached.
The Brother's InterventionThe boy's hand was still lingering near Anastasia's shoulder when a shadow fell over the group.
Paul appeared as if he had stepped out of the air itself. He didn't look at the other teens; he looked only at his sister. His face was a mask of cold, Ducal authority, but his eyes burned with a dark, possessive fire that made the heirs stumble back in sudden, instinctual fear.
"The music is changing, 'Stasia," Paul said, his voice dropping into a low, commanding register that silenced the circle.
He stepped directly between the Habbanya heir and Anastasia, his shoulder forcing the boy back with a subtle, overwhelming pressure. Paul's hand didn't just take hers; he enveloped it, pulling her petite frame firmly against his side.
"Paul! You're back," Anastasia said, her face lighting up with a radiant joy.
"I believe I am owed the first dance of the Arrakeen night," Paul said, his gaze flicking briefly to the boy who had touched her hair. It wasn't a look of annoyance—it was the look of a predator marking a target. "The floor is waiting."
"Oh, may I?" Anastasia turned to her new "friends" with a polite, "naive" wave. "It was so nice to meet you all! I hope we can play in the garden tomorrow."
Paul didn't give them a chance to answer. He swept her away toward the center of the ballroom, his arm locked securely around her waist. As they began to move to the slow, haunting rhythm of the dance, Paul leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.
"Stay close to me tonight, Anastasia," he whispered, his voice thick with a brotherly obsession that bordered on the divine. "The people here... they don't know how to handle something as precious as you. I won't have them marking you with their hands."
From the edge of the floor, Jessica watched them dance, her anger cooling into a sharp, protective satisfaction. Paul had reclaimed the Gem. For now, the world was at bay.