The high-pitched vibration from the chest sliced through the ballroom like a physical blade. It wasn't a sound heard with the ears, but a pressure felt in the skull. To the hardened soldiers like Gurney and the Bene Gesserit-trained Jessica, it was a nuisance—a buzzing fly in the mind.
But for Anastasia, whose "naive" spirit was as delicate as the sea-glass inside the box, the frequency hit her like a wave of cold fog.
She didn't faint. Her Atreides blood was too stubborn for that. Instead, she stumbled, her small hands reaching out to grab Paul's tunic for stability. Her eyes, usually so bright with kindness, clouded over with a sudden, sharp confusion.
"Paul? Why is the floor... why is it screaming?" she whispered, her voice trembling. She looked around at the glittering nobility, but their faces seemed to melt into distorted masks of gold and shadow. "I don't like this song. Make it stop."
The Shadow's RetributionJia didn't wait for a command. Seeing Anastasia's distress—seeing that petite frame shiver from a Harkonnen trick—triggered a yandere-level explosion of violence.
She didn't just tackle the messenger; she became a whirlwind of dark silk and steel. As the man scrambled to reach for a hidden sidearm, Jia's boot connected with his jaw, the sound of breaking bone echoing over the hum. She pinned him to the marble, her crysknife hovering a fraction of an inch from his throat.
"You brought a curse into her presence," Jia hissed, her eyes black with a murderous, possessive rage. "I will carve the frequency into your own skin until you forget how to breathe."
Gurney Halleck was already there, his ink-vine scar livid on his face. He kicked the wooden chest shut, instantly severing the neural hum. The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating.
"Get him to the dampening cells," Gurney growled to the Atreides guards. "And find out who gave a Guild livery to a Harkonnen dog."
The Protective WallThe moment the chest was closed, the fog in Anastasia's mind began to lift, but the nervousness remained. She clung to Paul, her heart hammering against his chest like a trapped bird.
"Is everyone okay?" she asked, her voice small. Even in her confusion, her first instinct was the safety of others. "The man... Jia hurt him. Is he alright?"
Lady Jessica appeared at her side, her face a mask of cold, regal fury. She ignored the messenger and the chaos, focusing entirely on her daughter. She took Anastasia's face in her hands, her thumbs tracing the girl's cheekbones with a trembling, obsessive intensity.
"He is exactly as he deserves to be, my Gem," Jessica murmured, her voice laced with a dark, protective edge. "He tried to steal the light from your eyes. He will never be 'alright' again."
Paul didn't let go. He swept Anastasia up into his arms, lifting her petite frame as if she weighed nothing at all. He looked out at the room—at the terrified nobles and the hidden spies—and his voice dropped into the register of a young god.
"The festivities are concluded," Paul announced, his gaze lingering on the spot where the Habbanya heir had touched Anastasia's hair earlier. "The Princess is retiring. If any guest is found in the North Wing corridors tonight, they will be treated as an assassin. There will be no second warnings."
The Retreat to the SanctuaryAs Paul carried Anastasia toward the private elevators, flanked by a silent, blood-splattered Jia and the weeping Lila and Mina, the girl looked over his shoulder at the empty ballroom.
"I didn't get to say goodbye to my friends," she whispered, her "naive" sadness cutting through Paul's anger.
"They aren't your friends, 'Stasia," Paul said, his grip tightening as he stepped into the safety of the armored lift. "They are spectators. And I am done letting them watch you."
Inside the lift, Jia knelt at Anastasia's feet, obsessively checking her ankles and hands for any signs of the frequency's "burn," her eyes never leaving the girl. The fortress was closing again, tighter and darker than before.