The air in the Princess's dressing suite was thick with the scent of jasmine and the frantic, rhythmic energy of the "Gem's" protectors. Outside, the Great Ball of Arrakeen was beginning—a sea of stiff uniforms and calculating nobility—but here, time belonged only to the ritual of the transformation.
Anastasia stood on a low pedestal of white marble, her petite frame looking almost ethereal in the soft glow of the hovering lamps. She was a canvas of "naive" grace, her eyes wide with a quiet, curious wonder as she watched her three shadows work.
Jia moved with a silent, predatory focus. At twenty, she was the undisputed conductor of this ceremony. Her hands, usually so ready to grip a blade, were surprisingly steady as she laced the inner stays of Anastasia's gown. Her yandere-level possessiveness was palpable; she didn't just dress the Princess, she seemed to be armor-plating her against the world.
"Stand still, Little Star," Jia whispered, her voice a low, obsessive hum. "The desert heat will try to wilt this silk. We must ensure the fit is perfect so you do not tire."
The Handmaidens' DevotionOn either side, the sixteen-year-old twins, Lila and Mina, were a blur of blue-tinted eyes and shimmering fabrics. They handled the Princess as if she were made of spun glass, their faces flushed with the Influence of being so close to her.
"The pearls, Mina! The Caladan pearls for her hair," Lila hissed, her voice trembling with a fanatical need for perfection.
Mina scrambled to fetch a velvet tray, her fingers shaking as she began to weave the lustrous, sea-born gems into Anastasia's golden braids. "She looks like a goddess," Mina breathed, her eyes fixed on the back of Anastasia's neck. "The people downstairs... they aren't worthy to even see her shadow."
Jia flicked a sharp, warning glance at Mina. "They are not," she agreed coldly. "Which is why you will stay two paces behind her at all times. If a single Noble tries to touch her hand without an invitation, you step in. Do you understand?"
"With our lives, Jia," the twins whispered in unison.
The Final TouchThe gown itself was a masterpiece of Atreides wealth—a deep, shimmering gold that looked like molten sun, layered over skirts of gossamer white. It made Anastasia look regal, yet heartbreakingly small.
As the final silk wrap was pinned, Anastasia turned and reached out, pulling all three women into a sudden, impulsive hug.
"You all worked so hard," she chirped, her voice full of that radiant kindness that made Jia's heart ache. "I feel like a butterfly! But I don't want to go down there if you three aren't with me. We have to stay together, okay?"
Jia's stiff posture melted as she felt the petite girl's arms around her waist. She closed her eyes, a dark, triumphant warmth spreading through her chest. Together, Jia thought. Always.
"We are your shadow, Princess," Jia whispered, pulling back to straighten a stray lock of hair with a lingering, possessive touch. "We are never far."
The DescentThe doors to the Great Hall swung open, and the music—a haunting, stringed melody of the Imperium—seemed to falter.
Duke Leto and Paul stood at the base of the grand staircase, but as Anastasia appeared at the top, flanked by the stern, dark-eyed Jia and the twin handmaidens, the room fell into a stunned silence.
She didn't walk with the arrogance of a Great House; she walked with a "naive" curiosity, her eyes searching the crowd for friendly faces. The local Arrakeen nobility, hardened by years of Harkonnen cruelty, felt the Influence wash over them like a cool rain. They didn't see a political threat; they saw a miracle.
"The Pearl of the Atreides," a Count whispered, his hand instinctively moving to his heart.
Paul watched her descend, his eyes cold and protective. He saw the way the room shifted toward her, the way the hidden knives were forgotten as men and women alike were drawn into her orbit.
"They're staring, Paul," Anastasia whispered as she reached his side, tucked safely under his arm. "Do I look okay?"
"You look like the reason empires fall, 'Stasia," Paul said, his voice thick with a dark, brotherly obsession.