On Giedi Prime, the air was a choking fog of industrial soot and spent fuel. Inside the central command spire, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen drifted in his suspensor harness, his massive, bloated form draped in heavy black silks. Before him, a tactical holomap of Arrakis glowed with the jagged red lines of troop movements.
"The Atreides think they have won the hearts of the sand-rats," the Baron rumbled, his voice a wet, subterranean growl. "They let the girl walk the streets like a saint. They do not realize that every hand she touches is a hand I will eventually cut off."
Feyd-Rautha stood nearby, stripped to the waist, his skin glistening with the oil of the practice pits. He wiped a blood-stained blade on a rag, his eyes burning with a manic, yandere-like focus.
"The 'Goddess' is their shield, Uncle," Feyd whispered, his voice trembling with a dark anticipation. "When we strike, I want her intact. I want to see that 'naive' light go out of her eyes when she realizes the desert belongs to me."
"Patience, Feyd," the Baron chuckled, a sound like grinding stones. "The trap is set. We move when the moon is high. We will drown their 'Pearl' in an ocean of her own people's blood."
The Ritual of the BasinFar away, in the cool, fortified depths of the Arrakeen residency, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of steaming jasmine and expensive Caladan oils. The royal bath was a sanctuary of white marble and gold leaf, a place where the harshness of the desert was strictly forbidden.
Anastasia sat in the center of the sunken pool, the warm water reaching her shoulders. She looked particularly petite and fragile, her pale skin glowing under the soft glow of the floating lanterns.
Lady Jessica stood at the edge of the water, her emerald robes discarded for a lighter silk wrap. She moved with a maternal, obsessive kindness, dipping a sponge into the scented water to wash Anastasia's back. Beside her, Jessica's personal senior maids—women trained in the subtle arts of the Sisterhood—moved with rhythmic precision.
"You must be perfect tonight, my Gem," Jessica murmured, her voice a soothing hum. "The nobility must see not just a Princess, but a vision they cannot hope to touch."
"It feels so nice, Mama," Anastasia chirped, her "naive" eyes closed in contentment. "But I wish the children from the street could have a bath like this. The water is so soft."
Jessica's eyes sharpened with a flash of protective anger. "They are not you, Anastasia. This water is for the blood of kings, not the dust of the commons."
The Crowning of the GoddessOnce the bath was finished, the maids led Anastasia to a high-backed chair of carved ivory. They began the long, laborious process of drying and styling her hair. Because of the upcoming gala, they had been ordered to style it in the Imperial Bridal Braids—a complex, gravity-defying arrangement of golden coils, woven with microscopic diamonds and white sea-pearls.
It was a style reserved for the highest sanctum of womanhood, making Anastasia look regal, ethereal, and heartbreakingly beautiful.
"You look like a dream of the sea," one of the maids whispered, her fingers trembling with the Influence of being so close to the girl.
The Shadow's HungerIn the deep shadows of the arched doorway, Jia stood as motionless as a statue. Her dark uniform made her invisible against the stone, but her eyes were twin points of cold, jealous fire.
She watched the other maids touch the Princess's hair. She watched them brush the golden strands she considered her own sacred duty to protect. Her yandere-level possessiveness made her breath come in shallow, jagged hitches. Every time a maid's finger lingered on Anastasia's neck, Jia's hand twitched toward the hilt of her hidden blade.
They are marking her with their common touch, Jia thought, her jaw tight with a murderous envy. They dress her like a bride for a world that doesn't deserve her. Only I should be the one to touch the Goddess. Only I know how to keep her pure.
Anastasia caught a glimpse of a shadow moving in the corner of the mirror. "Jia? Is that you? Come out and see! I have diamonds in my hair!"
Jia didn't move. She remained in the dark, a silent, obsessed guardian, watching her light being polished by hands she loathed.
"I am here, Little Star," Jia's voice drifted from the darkness, a low, haunting promise. "I am always watching."