Deep within the heart of Giedi Prime's orbital station, the air was heavy with the smell of industrial lubricants and the cloying, synthetic musk favored by the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. He floated in his suspensor harness, a grotesque mountain of flesh and malice, his small, black eyes peering through the gloom at a holographic projection of the Arrakeen ballroom.
Beside him stood Feyd-Rautha, the younger nephew and heir-designate. Feyd watched the flickering image of the dance with a hungry, predatory intensity. His gaze wasn't on the Duke, or even the boy-hero Paul. It was fixed on the petite girl in the gold-and-white gown.
"She looks like a porcelain doll, Uncle," Feyd whispered, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. "Almost too fragile to break."
"Do not let the 'naive' face fool you, Feyd," the Baron rumbled, his voice a wet, gravelly slide. "That girl is the Atreides' greatest weakness. She is the glue that holds the Duke's sanity together. If we pluck that 'Gem,' the House of Atreides will shatter into a thousand jagged pieces."
The Baron tapped a button on his control console, zooming in on the image of Anastasia being swept across the floor by Paul. "I have sent a 'gift' to the ballroom. A messenger of the Guild. He carries a box of Caladan sea-glass, supposedly a gesture of goodwill from the Emperor. But inside..."
The Baron's face twisted into a horrific, toothy grin.
"Inside is a frequency-lock. It won't kill her, Feyd. It will simply... dampen her mind. A temporary fog to make her pliant. In the confusion of the banquet, we will have our opening. I want her here, Feyd. I want the 'Water-Bringer' kneeling at my feet, weeping for her brother's life."
Feyd-Rautha tightened his grip on the hilt of his poisoned blade. "I will be the one to bring her back, Uncle. I want to see if that 'Influence' they whisper about works on a Harkonnen."
The Poisoned GestureBack in the Arrakeen ballroom, the music was a soft, haunting swirl. Paul still held Anastasia close, his hand possessively resting on the small of her back as they finished their dance. The Influence of the room was at its peak; the nobility watched them with a mix of awe and a strange, desperate devotion.
The doors at the far end of the hall opened with a heavy thud. A messenger dressed in the high-collared, mustard-yellow robes of a minor Guild functionary stepped forward. He carried a chest of dark, polished wood, inlaid with pearls that matched the ones in Anastasia's hair.
"A tribute!" the messenger cried out, his voice echoing off the stone. "From the Imperial Court, to the Princess Anastasia Atreides. A reminder of the seas she left behind."
The Shadow's InstinctLady Jessica, standing near the dais, felt a sudden, icy needle of dread pierce her spine. Her Bene Gesserit training screamed at her. The messenger's pulse was too high—it wasn't the rhythm of a man in awe; it was the rhythm of a man in a trap.
She caught Jia's eye across the room. The maid was already moving.
At twenty, Jia had the instincts of a desert viper. She didn't wait for the Duke to speak. She didn't wait for the guards to clear the path. She moved through the crowd like a blur of dark silk, her hand reaching for the hidden crysknife at her waist.
"Anastasia, stay back," Paul whispered, his voice turning into a low, dangerous growl as he felt the shift in the air. He pulled her petite frame behind his shoulder, his body acting as a human shield.
"But Paul, it's a gift!" Anastasia said, her "naive" kindness still blinding her to the danger. She tried to peek around his arm, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity. "He looks so nervous. Maybe he just needs some water?"
The messenger reached the center of the floor and began to unlatch the chest.
"For the Gem," he whispered, his eyes darting to Anastasia's golden head.
As the lid creaked open, a faint, high-pitched hum began to vibrate through the floorboards—a frequency designed to disrupt the neural pathways of a child's delicate mind.
But he had underestimated the Silent Hand.
Before the lid was fully open, Jia was there. She didn't strike the box; she struck the man. With a yandere-level fury, she drove her shoulder into the messenger's chest, sending him—and the poisoned gift—sprawling across the cold marble floor.
"NO ONE TOUCHES THE PRINCESS!" Jia's voice was a terrifying shriek that silenced the entire ballroom.