Chapter Text
She closed her eyes and, against this wasteland, conjured in her mind a scene from Caladan. There had been a vacation trip once on Caladan—she and the Duke Leto, before Paul’s birth. They’d flown over the southern jungles, above the weed-wild shouting leaves and rice paddies of the deltas. And they had seen the ant lines in the greenery—man-gangs carrying their loads on suspensor-buoyed shoulder poles. And in the sea reaches there’d been the white petals of trimaran dhows.
— Frank Herbert’s Dune
There was much to learn of the Caladan Castle routine in the early days.
One of the things she found most interesting — and instructive, — was that they dined together in the beautiful hall and carried on discussing business as usual, glowglobes lighting the glistening cutlery as they spoke of fishing, trade and politics with as much levity as her newfound presence allowed. Hawat, Gurney, the Duke, herself and some guests, an endless variety of those, kept the table alive all through dinner.
As for herself, Jessica kept silent for the vast majority of it, lest they asked her a question directly as the right answers still seemed muddled in the sea of options and unless she wanted to be sent back to Wallach IX with the other acolytes, it would be best if she did all she could with the opportunity she was afforded; which, therefore, meant that she ought to stick to the right answers.
The new Duke, on his end, was plagued by a consistent parade of transitional obligations and noble folk whose fealty had to be shown at once. Tested, even, a discovery she found lurking under Hawat's conversational inquiries to their guests. Loyalty to a new duke— and a new era for Caladan— was not to be presumed, it seemed. Not when so many of the minor house lords wished to raise their standings in the interregnum, before the puzzle pieces were locked in place.
One such way to move ahead in this dynastic game was simply to marry into the major house, a most obvious solution given the unwed status of their new duke— and so all eyes seemed to appraise her. Hawat himself sent the Bene Gesserit his fair share of calculating glances, though he didn't press the matter. Hers was an obviously divided allegiance; won by an upbringing's worth of education. The Atreides allure would have to wear it’s way down into her heart, one who had been told to avoid emotional attachment at all costs— water versus rock. Still, to take an opportunity and to be loyal to it could be entirely opposite matters— and often were. She was hardly surprised to be under his close watch at this juncture and something in his carefully kept distance told her she might always be.
Thus, they stood each at one side of the young Duke's shoulders. To ask her what he wished to know would be a stain to the mentat’s pride; to speak at all would be as much to the Bene Gesserit’s. The thick silence was sustained between them as they answered each other's gaze meaningfully and wordlessly over the dinner table until he raised a matter towards the duke, his gaze flickering towards her for a second to rouse her attention.
“And there’s, of course, the matter of the Caladan tour,” Hawat mentioned, a debonair manner to his words making them seem almost unimportant, nothing to fret over— and still, her heart skipped a beat. Her spoon stopped halfway to her lips for a moment before she carried on with it, both ears perked to hear more of the conversation. She sneaks a look up at them and looks away as she finds the young duke, Leto I, looking her way as well, an slight discomfort overtaking his expression.
“Indeed,” he coughed, giving it away. “It must be dealt with at some point. Why not sooner, rather than later, I suppose.” Under the Atreides imposing banner, the young man’s turning of his ducal signet around his finger felt too simple a display, but Jessica trusted her awareness of his honest ways. Her eyes wandered towards his fidgeting fingers and then stole a look to his face, curious, though she had to school herself into stillness.
“Indeed, my lord.” Gurney chimed in, a friendly smile stretching the inkvine scar that crossed his face just so.
“Why, yes.” he pressed on, glancing at his mentat awkwardly as she gave them her full attention. “Lady Jessica, at this point you must’ve heard of the many— traditional steps that go into establishing a new dukedom.”
She drew in a breath and nodded, “Yes, my lord.”
“One such step in Caladan has been, traditionally, that the new duke will travel to a series of key places and meet his people. Oftentimes, the duke does it accompanied by their duchess and his close advisors. Since I am not married as of yet, there is no duchess and… it is my wish that you accompany us instead. As my advisor and concubine.”
“Oh.” She noted that their intimate group seemed to each find different things to pay close attention to, only his gaze remaining fixed on her. Oh. It pulled her in all sorts of new directions, with the way she felt under his full attention, the weight of the house's banner — and it's history of duty above all else — sitting just over his face where something of expectation burned just beyond the reach of her innate understanding. The thought of going places when most of her life had been spent inside the walls of the academy and, later, the very castle they lived in, was a most euphoric proposition, she would’ve vibrated with joy if no one could see it. Instead, she calmed herself into agreeable interest, and agreed: “Yes, when do we leave?”
It didn't seem to occur to him that she had very little choice on this matter, as in most others, as her acquiescence seemed to put him at ease, somehow. Understanding his machinations would take her a lot more than pure observation, she found.
“We are hoping to start in a fortnight. That should be enough for the preparations, Hawat?”
“More than enough.” The mentat assured the duke, a sly smile on his lips that did nothing whatsoever to the rise in her stomach the Atreides heir willed into being.
“Then that’s settled, I suppose.” The duke breathed in with a vigorous nod before he turned to Gurney and changed subjects, one after the other in a industrious procession until dinner became naught but a memory as Jessica waited and listened, deeply curious and probing for clues as the constant anxiety of late buzzed in her core, alive and wanton, ready to consume her entirely.
Later, the concubine excused herself to her quarters as the men nursed their drinks in their familial, comfortable stretches of silence. She bowed her head gracefully before rushing upstairs towards the safe haven of her private room.
Only then, hidden within the cool stonewalls of her private quarters, did the coldness in her insides grow into nervousness, her mind racing circles around her. What did any of it mean? The tour was an ordinary request, surely enough, and it made sense that he ought to make his position a public knowledge, to build trust in their new leader, however young he might seem. And yet, she couldn’t help but find his apparent reticence unnerving. Was he secretly hoping that she would decline and step out of sight, as a good concubine ought? Was she too eager? Or did she prove herself a part of their team?
The lack of certainty frustrated her deeply and the bene gesserit slumped her body against the comfortable bed, picturing all the embarrassing ways it would be disclosed to her that she would actually return to the academy as an embarrassment. Out of practice, she recited the litany against fear to herself (I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer, fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration...) and slowly, repetition brought her back to equilibrium, as her thoughts slowed down to normalcy. She sat up, pulling at the strings behind her back to undo the tight corset binding slowly, meditatively, and then losing the long dark skirt she donned. She knew it looked all too much like the Bene Gesserit acolyte’s uniform, too simple for a royal house.
Despite her feelings of inadequacy, it brought her some comfort to find connection to the only home she knew before.
Soon, when the new clothes the castle's seamstresses were making were ready for her, even that would be replaced and taken away. She did her best not to lose sight of her education, trying to let go of those mere attachments. A waste of time, they berated her time and time again, yet without them she felt perfectly unmoored. Her quarters were spacious and comfortable, if only oddly empty as she had brought very little of her own. To one side, an opening led to a small alcove where a bath hid and directly opposite it, a veranda from where the moonlight poured in, glistening and inviting against the darkened room. From the open doors, the wind swung the white flimsy curtains inwards, allowing the sea to come in as her visitor, the smell so pungent she could almost taste the saltwater and algae on her lips. Changed into her underclothes, a severe looking white smock, she stepped out to see it in full, the most famous sight of Caladan, this beautiful neighbor.
The ocean spread unfathomably, a moving velvet carpet reaching towards the horizon, reflecting starlight in shades of green, beckoning her attention completely, as the crescent moon smiled over them. Sometimes, she was informed on her very first day, the algae and the fish would come to a combination so particular that all through the night, as the sea animals feasted, the ocean floor glowed shades of aquamarine. At least once a year, she was assured and she couldn’t help but dare it against herself: When the day comes that the ocean shines, I’ll still be here.
She sighed, brushing her auburn hair. People often lose dares.
A few meters over, a new light broke through the night highlighting another veranda. The duke’s quarters, she recalled, and when a shadow split the pouring out of light, marking a body approaching the balcony, she quickly retreated into the room, a less than covert avoidance in the face of her task.
He, the young Duke, still so unsure of himself, was the assignment, winning him over was the objective. Yet, to move towards his honor with anything less than honesty in her heart felt like a fatal mistake. Not when he looked at her as if he could read into her intentions from the second they met.
Jessica knew, stepping off the craft into the eden Caladan was reported to be, however, that this was an assignment of utmost importance: these were the final steps towards the famed kwisatz haderach. She let the pride of being chosen herself sit in the farthest corner of her mind, glistening like pure gold; the weight of it made her stand straighter as she met the man to whom she had been called to, though man was barely the word. A young man, not as hardened as his father was famed to have been— the old Duke had enough backbone to put mountains to shame, it was told.
Behind him, two others stood proud of being his right hand men. Thufir Hawat, a mentat, and Gurney Halleck, the warmaster. The young duke’s brain and power— strategy and execution. She understood the simple language of this introduction, she was joining him as an advisor in the only art these men could not master.
The gentle breeze of Caladan swept her robe around her feet, lifting her veil as she raised her eyes for the first time to meet him as he lifted his head before she herself could bow. Before that moment, she had only ever been Jessica , orphan and apprentice, but his words elevated her to his equal. The sun high on the sky, his gentle hand taking hers before his close advisors and servants, naming her a Lady.
It was a knighthood of sorts, a courtesy of trust that he asked to be reciprocated only with honesty. To feign heartlessly, as she had been taught, felt instantly impossible. The weeks since had been a lesson in unmet expectations, as everything she was taught to expect of the men who bought concubines was simply tossed aside unceremoniously.
When her burgeoning anxiety surrounding this issue became too large to be ignored, Jessica took up walking up and down the castle until she felt tired, finding new rooms along the way. One such discovery was the library two doors down from his study. A collection of truly ancient works, probably inherited by generations of Atreides before him. It was an old room completely taken up by the smell of old paper, but not dusty which probably meant it was used much more than those of other houses, who preferred the much more simplified versions of those stories rather than the originals. It brought her back to her training, those hallowed halls where revered mothers and acolytes shared space in deference and devotion, hierarchy painting every interaction with its colors. Even in it’s grim undertones, it felt like home, safer than the many pitfalls she expected to meet in the Castle.
She picked up a copy, a frail looking epic about Helen and started reading it slowly, lavishing in the lost pleasure of turning pages until she felt tired. It took her a moment to decide whether to bring it to her bedroom with her or to keep coming back to this room, a fear that she would find it locked the next night over settling inside her. Worse, even, was the fear that she would get caught and be called a thief for it. She put it back where she found it, determined to find her way back to the end of the story.
Through the days, she poured over the housekeeping minutia. Accountbooks, tending to servants, figuring out where the lack of a lady of the house showed most and fixing those issues with due haste— but the nights were her own to make of what she wished. The next night over, the library’s door remained unlocked, and she thanked the heavens above for it as she settled in the leather reading chair under the window’s light.
A week later, however, as she left the library, she ran into his study’s open door pouring light out onto the hall.
Her stomach froze at once, knowing that she had been caught in the act, but either she hid back in the library until they came to grab her off it and scold her like a child or she could face whatever admonishment she ought to on her feet, as a woman.
She took a step forward, then, into the light and looked into the study to see him reading, too.
A puzzled expression on his face as he faced the papers, looking like the perfect picture of exhaustion with the way his eyes peered lowly, sunken and dark over his aquiline nose. It was engrossing enough that he didn’t see her standing there until she knocked on the chamber’s door.
“Late night, my lord?” She dared to ask, feigning calmness despite how startled he seemed to be thus distracted. “I apologize.”
“It’s no matter.” he claimed, pushing his hand back into his hair to keep it from curling back over his forehead as it seemed intent to do, she found. “I’m just… Stuck. I should probably call for Hawat’s aid, but I don’t wish to disturb his rest. He gets so little as it is.”
If she smiles a little, it is so soft it escapes her own self-control— it cannot, however, avoid his sight. “May I be of assistance?”
“Actually, I don’t think I can look at this for a second longer... Do you play cheops, by any chance?” he gestured towards a round table on the corner where a deck of cards sat, used most often by himself and Hawat she supposed.
“I do, my lord.”
“Would you join me?” he asked, “It helps me greatly, I don’t know why.”
“Of course,” she agrees before she even realizes how eager she’d been for such a chance. He moved towards the set quickly, a small desperation to his gait as if he was terrified of the idea she might actually change her mind and decline his invitation, her gentle smile grew a little further at her observation. He pulled her chair first and she walked to it quickly, letting her mind bury the ice in her stomach from before. This was an opportunity the likes of which she hadn’t had before, an opportunity to further the plan on her own terms.
He reset the deck slowly, his gaze still cloudy with concern, probably still mulling over the papers he was reading before she arrived. “Do you often work until it’s so late?” she asked, mostly to grab his attention, a ploy that worked. His gaze flitted up to her face and then down to the pieces again, a little ashamed at being caught.
“Not always. Only when I have to learn more in order to make a good decision. I don’t enjoy leaving all the responsibility to my mentat.”
“Don’t you trust his assessments?”
“Oh, I do. Completely.” He was honest, albeit overwhelmed. “However, it’s my house now. It’s my responsibility.”
He seemed proud, then, a dynastic energy raising his spirits just so, but only for a moment until fatigue caught up with him again, the shadow of it overcoming his expression once more.
“And your burden, no doubt.” She dared, glancing at the cards for a moment. “You go first, host’s prerogative.”
“Avoiding showing your hand so soon, my Lady?” though tired he might have been, his words were laced with friendly sympathy. He didn't look up at her while he picked his first play, speaking instead: “And… yes, indeed. If I must stand by an action, I must know exactly what I’m doing. It’s the most honorable way to take this job on, I think.”
“The old Duke must have been a great teacher.” she offered, “As you seem so well suited to the task.”
“Demanding, too.” he clarified. “He was a fairly severe man, but maybe he knew the challenges of the job better than I did, then.”
Something coy in him awoke at the praise and she kept her eyes on her cards to avoid smiling at such an endearing display of humility. “And I am the one keeping my cards to my chest, my lord?”
She looked up to catch his face turning into a grimace of humorous uncertainty, “maybe I don’t know the nature of my cards just yet, my lady.”
“In that case, you ought to trust your advisors.” she pressed, voice laden with gentleness.
“Rest assured I do, my Lady.” he conceded, “Why were you wandering around anyhow?”
There it was, she supposed, drawing in a breath before admitting: “I was reading. In the library. I did not know if it was allowed, but I do not wish to lie.”
“No, no, no.” he explained, “You’re allowed everywhere, Jessica. You may do as you wish, it is your duty to be the lady of the house…”
Until a duchess wed into the Atreides family, of course. It was of no matter, not enough to humble her— who understood her position perfectly, and repetition of that fact was probably good to avoid falling into simple traps. “Yes.” She provided where his gap left the conversation void. “Thank you, my lord.”
“That place is all too empty these days, that’s good to hear.” he carried along, his voice distant as he considered the board with maybe more attention than it earned. “I’m not a big reader, not like my mother anyhow. I leave the stories to Gurney, these days.”
“As good a plan as any.” she replied, eager to change the subject of it made him so uncomfortable. The moment hung in the air as she expected the admonishment she surely deserved for walking in shadows, lurking around the castle in the late hours. It painted a most nefarious image, she recognized.
Then, he inquired, “What were you reading?”
“It’s a very old story about a crew’s journey towards their homeland after years of war. It is very good, if a little long. I’ll be waiting to find how it ends for the whole tour.”
“Take it, then. As our secret.” he proposed, a conspiratorial tone to his words when he leaned over their cards to speak: “Hawat would hate to know of precious books being tossed around but you shouldn’t have to wait so long. The library has waited a long time for you already.”
“It’s all right, I enjoy having things to look forward to.” She felt as if he chose to cut his words short, but did not press further, his words being sweet as they were, a rise to her cheeks that bordered dangerously on an uncontrollable smile. “The house is buzzing in preparation for the banquet; I don’t think many of us have time to spare on reading these days.”
He seemed troubled, his brows furrowing unconsciously of their own tell, “How many people are we expecting, again?”
“Around two hundred guests, my lord.” She provided, looking up to glance at him. He winced, his brows furrowing in a telltale way that made her want to press her thumb there until it was gone. To be read so easily is not ideal, not in a court’s halls. Not as the court’s head. An endearing weakness. “I’ll stand by you in case you need any assistance.”
“Promise?”
Her answer was quick, “I do.”
In the end, the game came to a quick head after an unwise choice of his and she took over the tower gingerly, a competitive grin gaining space on her lips to his amusement. He wasn't a sore loser about it no matter how merciless a defeat it had been, but made her promise a rematch as quickly as they could spare the time; like Scheherazade, she said yes.
Every day earned was another chance to succeed. Jessica would take every chance she got.
They walked together mostly in silence to her chamber’s door and she felt overly aware of the rustling of her dress against the floor, an expectant feeling weighing heavy on the bottom of her stomach as they grew closer to the hall where both his and her door waited, a mostly safe haven from the curious eyes of those old halls who raised him— a sense of privacy made greater by the small glow globes that lit the way being dimmed for the late hour making it seem like a much different course than the one she took by herself.
She kept her eyes down turned, avoiding glancing at him as not to seem willful in what chance had given them. It would not be unlike a Bene Gesserit to plan such an evening, but she had not, and therefore the thought of making it seem so felt distasteful. She was almost too distracted by her own thoughts when he stopped and turned to her where she recognized her door would be, ending up one step closer to him than she normally would— breath caught on her throat.
If he noticed it, he did not seem perturbed by it, his dark eyes partly concealed by the dim light; instead, he held her hand and lifted it to his face, pressing a kiss to it, faintly, skin barely brushing skin. “Good night, Jessica.”
His voice a soft rasp, too close and far too intimate under his stare in this warm patch of light. Then, too far too soon as he stepped away.
“Good night, your grace.”
Thus, a routine began.
*
The memorization came easily to her. She flicked through the cards of each guest quickly— face, planet, name, fact; face, planet, name, fact— through their cheops matches in later nights, whenever possible, where she would make sure to ask questions about these guests, not only to know but to aid him in preparation.
In fact, the whole castle seemed to hum in industrious activity. It became apparent to Jessica in those days how much affection they seemed to hold for him, every last one of those people. How much respect and understanding they spared him as he fixed himself a duke worth of their land. Only then did she fully comprehend the tour’s importance to establish a dukedom. It’s the people’s embrace of a new era. The activity swell took the house up in such a way that she herself felt the time flee by them, landing her clad in an emerald colored gown and gold jewelry behind him when the doors opened to receive the noble and the notorious people of Caladan.
Quickly, a procession of names, all of them important, started beelining for the new duke to sing his praises and wish him prosperity that would slide right back onto their own pockets. Each of them vying for profit, privilege— or a profitable marriage for their eligible daughters.
Leto, ever the valiant charmer, played the game sheepishly but well, passing them on satisfied though empty handed, despite his turning to repeatedly introduce her— now, that reminds me, you’ll love to meet the wonderful Lady Jessica…— before turning onto the next group in a seemingly endless line.
It was a simple language, this elegant violence of empire. It bore no great ethical weight; it simply moved the pawns around so a different duke could emerge victorious. Each of them, however minor in their position, walked into the palace hoping to come out bigger for the favor they could earn with him.
Yet, for some of them, that wasn’t quite so innocent. A pocket of secondary members of the House of Atreides’ line of succession mingled, too, cursing his good luck under their breath and each of them hoping for an early, heirless death to bring them that much nearer.
Jessica noticed their motives grow more obvious through the night as the wine loosened their limbs. Their kind words revealed the blade concealed under silky satin, laughter marred by bitter patrician revolt. Among them, a silent type stalked the packs, observing as well as he folded himself into each collective, an outsider well acquainted into the art of feigning belonging— Lucian Odyss, a blonde longsword of a man and just as cutting, heir of prominent minor house of Caladan and the young duke’s cousin. Second in line of succession.
He watched Leto's moves with a shade of mischief on his expression, Jessica noted, and dipped the odd riveting quip in diverse groups around the room— a charming blade. An urge to stick close by her duke grew stronger— and she trusted it, taking the role of being his advisor as an excuse for it.
When he approached the end of their line, languid in movement and soft voiced, he took a most graceful bow, only bordering on the humorous, only a hit of pantomime in it. Jessica stepped aside, brushing the back of her hand against the duke’s, who glanced over. She gave him a look deep with meaning, which he seemed to know the situation well enough himself by the boisterous friendliness he took on.
“I’m so glad you made it, Lucian!” He called, smiling, all nicety.
“Couldn’t miss on my dear cousin’s big day, now could I?” he responded in kind, “In time, I extend my condolences. Uncle was, truly , one of a kind.”
Leto seemed to respond at surface level, determined to smooth over the cavernous depths where his cousin’s schemes may hide. “Indeed. We miss him dearly, though I cannot say he would have it any other way.”
“A butchered demise?” Lucian asked, a quizzical expression on his expression.
“Slain by a better beast.” Leto responded, something of a deep humour and morbid pride ringing in his words. “It’s that way or no way at all for Atreides men everywhere.”
By the strained look on the cousin’s face, Jessica guessed he had displayed the ways of his old man then. “So when are you donning the matador outfit at last?”
“Not ever, cousin, I intend on leaving the performance for the artists and the politics for the leaders. Speaking of politics… You should meet our new addition, Lady Jessica.” He called, turning to her as she stepped forward, his hand settling on her elbow for a moment as he nudged her towards the cousin while another guest, an eager distant family member, took his vacant spot.
Focused now on her, Lucian spared her a glance that hid poorly the derision he felt towards her presence. “Something about Bene Gesserit women… Aren’t you omnipresent?”
She smiled gently, barely, “I cannot speak for all of my sisters, but as for myself, only so far as I am wanted.”
“How fragile,” he pressed, as though he pitied her, and a scarlet feeling took hold of her insides.
“Freedom often is.”
He seemed amused by her, intrigued by what answers may lay where she won’t allow him to reach so easily. Jessica, on another hand, decided it would be best to avoid being singled out by him moving forward.
"I have to say, Lady Jessica," he started, tilting his head towards her as if to share a secret, his voice hushed when he spoke: "You are not the lady of the house I expected to greet when this day came. None of us, really." then he smiled, leaning back to speak in his normal tone, "But I do think you fit the part marvelously."
He had meant that they expected the Duke's previous romantic engagement to take this honour position when he rose to power— Lady Sofia of Chaobar, the pride of Caladan. If he expected to gleam any information on why their engagement was so hastily broken off or why she hadn't attended the event, Jessica decided to keep him cold. "We live to serve."
An invitation had been sent for the Argive family, of which the Lady Sofia came from; she memorized their faces and names as well as any other guest but when the time came...
"Spoken like a true sister," he conceded.
She could not lie to herself about the relief she felt at those empty spots they cleared from the table, but to dwell on those in front of him seemed much too dangerous somehow with how he watched her. Unlike a good sister, when faced with the uncertainty of her place in the castle, she feared more than she cared to admit. "If there is anything we can help you with to make your stay more enjoyable, do not hesitate to inform us." She offered instead, ever the hostess.
“Much appreciated, my fair lady. Yet, if we do not speak again... may freedom prove to be not so fragile, if only so we may meet again?”
If he could not unseat the duke one way, embarrassing him utterly might be an option, she supposed. She kept her placid smile rigidly in place, unwavering, denying him. “Time will tell.”
“An intriguing proposition, indeed.”
“Lady Jessica?” Leto called, his voice bearing a hard undertone that beckoned her attention as she stepped away from the Odyss heir, back to his right hand’s reach when he touched her, again, as if he couldn’t quite help it and when the guest continued rambling on about corn crops, she understood why.
She listened intently, vaguely aware of his impatience beside her until she had fine tuned in her mind the frequency to easily guide the line forward, asking the earl to hold that thought for later discussion. “Yes, my lady,” the farmer acquiesced, a proud look lingering as he stepped away.
Only when his hands slid down her elbow to her palm, pressing it gratefully, did she realize he hadn’t let go of her yet. She hoped her long wide sleeves did enough to conceal it, tightening her hold on his hands too for a moment, a silent answer of her own before she let him go.
Around them, the parade marched on until, sated, the groups took the space and they had their attentions whisked to other matters, rather than introductions. Before she knew any better of it, she found herself being guided by the stream of polite conversation until she was alone by the window, sparing a glance towards the endlessly blue night sky.
She felt a longing to detach from the ruckus and step towards the open balconies where groups had taken residence, claimed as their own, anyone who approached being assimilated into their conversation and released at their own will. Knowing this, she stood as she was, nursing her wine glass, hoping to have a moment to herself before her attention was called again.
It did not take much for her to be called upon by a woman’s voice through the baliset orchestra’s sounds. “That’s a good omen, you know.” remarked a voice behind her; and turning on her heel to look, Jessica found that it belonged to a short, full-bodied young girl. Perfectly sleek black hair slid off her shoulders like curtains all the way to her waist, her dress a youthful shade of blue that highlighted her hair’s cool undertones against her brown skin. “New moon the night before a voyage— very auspicious.”
She smiled. Another cousin, only further down the line to the throne. The young Lady Jaci of Manaan, a southern patch of the planet where the thick jungles kept most of the universal empire at arm’s length— all deep country and vines thick as rope balancing on the tide, hiding snakes as long as folktales could make them. Not to mention being the place where the wild moonfish trekked to reproduce. Caladan’s prized export. Face, planet, name, fact.
It was widely known that they much preferred to not be disturbed, though Jessica found it hard to believe anything but friendliness hailed from such a birthplace. Still, they diplomatically did not include a stop at their neck of the woods. Even an Atreides knows which lines in the sand to cross and which to avoid.
Jessica honored her with a curtsy before addressing her. “I take it you will be leaving tomorrow as well?” Jessica asked, smiling in kind.
“Indeed,” she agreed with a nod, her hair waving with the motion. “A family reunion is all good and well, but I do think it has a rather short expiration date. Especially with Lucian lurking around.”
Jessica avoided having to reply by sipping from her cup instead, which did not go unnoticed by her companion who laughed. “Word of advice, Lady Jessica,” she continued, warmth seeping into her words though they seemed heavy with meaning, “Caladan might be a back of the woods planet in the grand scheme of things, but we are a people of dynastic culture— which is to say we have a very long memory. For better or worse, and what is best left forgotten might live a long life in the shadows until it can no more.”
"Is that a warning?"
"Of sorts. Mostly advice. Do not concern yourself too greatly with the court's pettiness. It gets ugly, but it is not always actually harmful, though it may sound so at first blush. It's a very straight-forward culture, here."
The strident chime that marked the beginning of dinner rang through and they made their way into the banquet hall. With a small curtsy, the young lady disengaged herself from the concubine’s company and Jessica swiftly moved past the crowd to take her rightful seat, at his side, all eyes following her steps as she did so.
Though it had been a delightful feast, an assortment of foreign meals and cultural essentials planned expertly by the castle’s proud cooks, Jessica spent most of her time concerned with keeping up conversation with her neighbor, Eugene Ellington, an older man with skin marred by the sun who seemed determined to make her enjoy herself even under the persistent scrutiny all around her. It was almost palpable the string of gazes set on her every move, little lines stuck at her wrist and whose every motion seemed to pull a crowd in tow.
“You mustn’t pay them any mind,” he warned, gentle voiced to the point of near silence so only her keen ears could heed his advice. She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, begging clarification. He carried on. “The castle has been without a mistress for too long, too many of them had their hearts set on staking claim to it... and its owner.”
“Indeed.” she conceded, uncertain as to what his statement was supposed to mean beyond the obvious.
“Now they have been perfectly shaken out of their confidence,” he smiled ruefully. “Hawat chose you, surely, and what a marvelous choice you were, my Lady.”
Unsure as to how one could respond to such a statement, she simply drank from her cup, letting his words ring until he himself spoke again. “It serves them right. Nonetheless, have you ever heard of the seawomen of Caladan? They’ll tell you it’s only folklore, those young ones, faithless as they are— but I've seen them.”
And the conversation changed in a whirl once more, to which Jessica could scarcely hide her gratefulness.
When the five courses had been cleared away and most guests bore red cheeked looks of satisfaction— or drunkenness, as no glass was allowed to remain empty for too long— one of the servants approached the duke and whispered something quickly before bowing out.
He stood up and raised his glass, bumping his knife to it with a ring, at which sign the conversation hushed quickly in anticipation, halting their breaths for a speech. “First of all, welcome, again, to our home.” he called, “It is a pleasure to receive so many old friends in our halls again, especially now, as we move towards calmer, simpler times again in our beloved Caladan. I do not wish to make promises, but I can vow to strive to being worthy of the trust of my people — you — bestowed upon me. By dynasty and by honour. For the greater cause that is our land.” she was struck at how important he seemed, addressing his loyal servants, how imposing in his dark attire.
How noble , all of a sudden. There was a glint to his brown eyes that told stories of men who fought and won; men who gave their blood to their land, she was certain that was his nature. “Now, I know any Atreides invitation comes with two promises attached.” he teased and some laughter erupted across the long table, “the first one will continue to be drunk throughout the evening, I promise,” now cheers to which he smiled, “and in my father’s honour, there will be dancing, too.”
Then the baliset orchestra seemed to be resurrected with twice as much energy when the dining hall’s doors were opened anew, the guests pairing on the way to meet the merriment in the middle. He turned to her, his hands smoothing the front of his deeply blue coat, “I do think there will be a riot if they do not see the Lady dance.”
“Or their beloved Duke,” she agreed, catching his hand mid-smoothing motion with her own left hand. “Shall we?”
He turned his hand to hold hers in his palm with a strong nod, “Good.”
The crowd seemed to part ways to them as the duke guided her towards the center. Jessica didn’t know how to still her heart when he lifted her hand with his as his other palm settled on her waist, pressed against her so it fit against the slope of her lower back, only the fabric of her dress standing guard between. He kept his gaze on her sure and strong and when she looked up at him, the moment hung between them as thick curtains parted to give way to something much more daring.
A moment passed, the message flitted through them, to which he nodded and moved, a fluidity to his step coming from within only to surprise her— he, who seemed so stout and strong, mountain-like, was born in water after all.
I was not too fast at first, which she was grateful for and to skirt the heat threatening to take her cheeks she focused on following the guidance of his muscles. Her hands spread against his biceps on one arm and the edge of his shoulder on another, spreading her awareness enough to feel him completely, to predict his next move and follow suit.
By the time the song picked up to a climax, the baliset orchestra overjoyed at the honor of being danced to by their beloved Duke, they are already two pieces of a puzzle pressed together. They are now only one picture, one moving body stepping around the wide circle opened for them, which they feel only marginally, aware that there are eyes on them but thoroughly unable to avoid the rapture of their locked gaze.
It could’ve lasted hours and she wouldn’t have noticed, in a trance of awareness as she was. Could have lasted forever, and he wouldn’t have cared. It felt right, with her. Not only the dancing, but also the being seen. Being Duke of Caladan despite the challenge it posed, the threat that loomed in the distance, closing in like dark clouds of political storm.
When the orchestra slowed to an end, however, he let go of her hand for the first time, the weight of it lingering, a lack begging for completeness again— he turned to his people, his hand left at her waist and they bowed together, to thunderous applause. Then, as if in unison, drawn by some secret sign she couldn’t place, they chanted thrice: For Caladan!