Archive of Our Own

Jessica has been a resident of Castle Caladan for five months now.

She is, generally, liked, but she is not yet trusted.

Her assignment is to ingratiate herself with Caladan's duke, to become his most intimate advisor, the one he turns to for counsel, and, eventually, the one who shall be the mother of his daughters. The last objective is not, on its own, a difficult one. Duke Leto happily welcomes her to his bed, and sharing the evenings with him is no hardship. But their future child shall be a student of the Bene Gesserit. She will be sent to Wallach IX and receive the same education that Jessica did—under Mohiam herself, if she is still breathing by the time the girl is of age—and when she is grown she will be given to a man of the Bene Gesserit's choosing, and she will readily accept her mission, as Jessica did.

This asks much of a man such as Duke Leto Atreides. There is in him a general wariness of the Sisterhood, but then, all men in the Imperium are wary of the Bene Gesserit and still they clamor for the hand of the beauties of the Bene Gesserit schools. No, Duke Leto would be reluctant to be separated from a child of his own blood, even if it was only by a bound concubine. Jessica understands him well enough to know that; an only child, his father the Old Duke killed suddenly, thrust into leadership. He is serious bordering on grim, and his humor is rather wry, and Jessica knows, from these first few months, that he has a desire for a family.

Like all noblemen, he yearns for a male heir, but she knows a daughter would be cherished, and he might very well refuse to send a girl away at all and insist on keeping her here, on this planet of oceans and storms, to be a gem in House Atreides's treasury.

He is a good man, one who is capable of loving dearly and deeply, and that is why Jessica must gain his confidence before a child is born. He will see, long before a squalling babe is placed in his arms, how important it is that a girl-child be given the same education that Jessica had, the same opportunities.

The soldiers of Castle Caladan still consider her half-witch, half-siren, but Jessica has never needed any enchantment or song to bend others to her will—

Only herself.

Some sisters are skilled in Truthsay, others in the Voice, and Jessica has been commended for her training in the latter. The trick of it is to use the Voice rarely, in only the most extreme instances. For the most part, all that is needed is the right nudge at the right time in the correct cadence.

So, trust must come, but trust comes slowly. Jessica is a sculptor, chipping carefully away at marble, certain of the masterpiece that lies beneath. It time, it will be achieved.

Time she has aplenty. Far too much, really. The duke only calls for her in the evenings. For her first few mornings at Castle Caladan, she'd accepted Duke Leto's offer to join him at breakfast, but found that when she entered the great halls his advisors grew tense and conversation became strained, and so Jessica had demurred and now takes her meals in her room and joins the duke only on formal occasions. She has no real duties beyond acting as Duke Leto's companion—she does not dare yet ask for more responsibilities in case the House Mentat and Warmaster accuse her of subterfuge and espionage. 

Jessica's days, then, are filled with much of nothing. She reads filmbooks, studies the history of House Atreides, of Duke Leto's ancestors, the geography of Caladan, its economics—anything that will give her the knowledge to better integrate into this Great House. She learns the routines of the castle's inhabitants, from the duke himself to the youngest and newest chambermaid.

She walks. She's found that she is fond of walking.

Visitors to Wallach IX often called the planet beautiful. Jessica, trained to be amiable, had agreed, though she had never seen anything but Wallach IX and had no other environment in which to compare it to. But Caladan—Caladan has become her reference point for beauty. It is rugged, wild, and the skies are filled with storms just as often they are clear, the seas are dark and immense, and from the cliffs she can see the rocky beaches, the sloping hills, the verdant pine forests.

What is Wallach IX compared to this? Sterile, orderly, the climate and novices fastidiously controlled. Both flowers and girls are clipped and molded into place, and if they do not satisfy then they are replaced. 

Not so on Caladan! Perfectly imperfect, untamed, flourishing, always a feast for the eyes no matter where she looks!

Every day Jessica goes a little farther from the castle. Her strolls in the gardens became walks of the castle grounds and now have transformed into treks. Gone are her gauzy veils, her silk gowns. One of the servants kindly gave her a cast-off linen dress that she wears over an undershirt and pants. She's acquired study boots and a warm, heavy cloak as well. Now, when she starts along the path away from the castle, she waves at the soldiers standing guard and receives an inclination of their heads in reply and she walks.

No doubt they report her movements to Thufir Hawat, but what can they say? That each morning, after breakfast, the duke's bound concubine traverses the forests and then returns up to her ankles in mud? The thought that they might suspect she is meeting a secret lover had occurred to her, and that is part of the reason why she keeps to the wilderness rather than the town, but she truly enjoys the solitude of her daily constitutionals—the chance to exist without having to study, to react. A bird can flutter by, a flash of yellow, and Jessica can think, That is a pretty creature, and that is all—a sight to simply to behold, something that can just be, with no underlying motive.

Which is why she is so displeased when Duke Leto curtails them.

His request to see her that morning was initially very welcome indeed—was she finally making progress in her mission? But instead the duke stands before her with his hands clasped behind his back, clears his throat, and says, gravely, "My lady, I've been informed that you've been hiking in the forests."

"Yes," says Jessica. She tries to analyze his tone, examines the contrast between my lady and hiking, and comes to the conclusion that he does not approve. "But hiking goes too far, I think—I merely walk."

"You walk very far, then."

"I always make certain that I return in time to prepare for your summons, my lord," she murmurs.

The duke is not a man who blushes, but he looks away, discomposed. "That is not the issue. It is the distance from the castle that is the problem, and that you take no guards. Surely you can understand my concern?"

Yes, she can. The duke's concubine, traipsing alone through the forests. Jessica can imagine how it appears—she just didn't think that appearances mattered so much on Caladan. For the first time in her life, she feels disappointment settling over her. A curious thing, how heavy her heart feels.

She bows her head, staring at the floor as she says, "Of course, my lord. I understand."

Duke Leto clears his throat again. "Don't think that I am forbidding it completely. It's only—if you would stay closer—"

"Yes, my lord," says Jessica.

"Or, if you wanted to take guards—"

"No, my lord," says Jessica. "I understand. I will stay closer to Castle Caladan. I apologize for troubling you with this matter."

The duke grimaces. "It is no trouble, my lady, but for your safety—"

"Yes, my lord," says Jessica.

He does not call for her that night. Any other time and Jessica would wonder about it, replay the day's events in her mind, try and see where she might have erred, gauged the duke's temperament, the potential stress of his responsibilities, sought an answer for his lack of attention.

This time, she finds she does not mind it. She does not particularly want to see him.

Jessica decides that she will swim instead.

This pivot comes to her a week after her shortened walks, which—after having explored the depths of Caladan's forests and having now been denied them—are not nearly as satisfying as they once were. She cuts across the path to the beach instead, and steps right into the tide and feels the strength of its pull, as though the waves are trying to gather her into their arms and whisk her to sea.

Something else tugs at her as she stares at the horizon. A wine-dark sea and a deep blue sky dotted with white, thick, feathery clouds. Cumulus, she thinks, idly.

Jessica removes her cloak and her linen dress. She folds them, places them on the sand, and keeps them in place with three heavy rocks. She removes her boots and stuffs her stockings inside them. She stands there clad in an undershirt and pants, the wet sand between her toes, and considers the strength of her arms, the fineness of her form, wondering how they will hold up against Caladan's seas. They'd taught her to swim on Wallach IX, but those had been placid, indoor pools, overseen by elder Sisters. Here, Jessica's only companions are seagulls flying overhead, a crab skittering across the sea-foam, the roar of the waves.

Taking one deep, measured breath, then another, she steadies herself, focuses on stabilizing her body's temperature in order to protect it against the shock of diving into the water and then—

She meets the sea.

The duke is staring at her with appreciation and curiosity. Jessica pretends she does not notice, merely shakes loose her braid and runs her fingers through her hair—a part of her routine that he seems to like, his heart rate increasing and pupils dilating when she lifts her head to greet him, her hair thrown over her shoulders in an auburn cascade.

When she removes her gown, however, Duke Leto sits up and exclaims, "You have gotten some sun today, haven't you?"

He refers to the now-tanned, freckled skin of her face, her arms—where the sun caressed her as she swam. No longer is she the slim, pale creature from Wallach IX. This Jessica is now blemished; the duke has noticed. Furthermore, he might wonder how it happened, and this—her swimming—might also become an issue.

So long is her pause that Duke Leto says, abashed, "I did not mean to offend. It was only—I wondered when I saw you, and then, when you took off your dress, I..." He trails off, clears his throat. It is something he does when he's nervous or impatient.

Jessica sits at the edge of the bed. "Perhaps I sunbathed for too long."

"No—I think it becomes you." Then the duke asks, "Sunbathing? Was it warm enough for that?"

"More than warm enough."

"My men told me that Wallach IX has very pleasant weather. Is Caladan so much different?"

Jessica thinks of those white, smooth, sterile buildings, of four girls to a room and the only hint of their existence the beds, of manicured, symmetrical gardens, carefully fenced in, of her day always organized up to the very minute, of having to examine her every action, every word.

She thinks of the sea whirling around her, of the ache in her limbs when she finally crawled ashore, the cool salt-air sweeping gooseflesh along her skin, the burning in her chest and lungs, the triumph she felt when she surfaced, the exhilaration.

"My lord, I tell you that I prefer Caladan's climate over anything," Jessica says.

Duke Leto gives her a rare smile. He looks almost relieved. 

The beach is a completely different sort of ecosystem. Jessica explores it with relish. Sandpipers pluck small mussels from the surf and consume the soft insides. In the tidepools there are barnacles, algae, fat starfish, tiny fish, crabs. She dips her finger beneath the surface and lets a particularly brave crab pinch at it.

It stings, Jessica thinks, delighted.

Her walks are now short only because she reaches the beach and then she swims as far as she can, a little farther each day, until she is too far out to touch the sand with her feet and all that is beneath her is depths.

It's there, floating on the waves, gasping for breath, that she first sees it:

A craggy outcrop of rocks that is just large enough to perhaps be called an island.

Like a storybook illustration—a fantastic place, ripe for exploration.

Jessica wants, suddenly, to reach that island, to be able to point at it and answer, should anyone ever ask her, "Yes, I've stepped foot there."

Not today, though. She's not nearly ready for a swim of that length. But as she returns to the shore, Jessica promises herself that she will one day look at Castle Caladan from that island. 

She studies at as many maps of Caladan as she can find without arousing the suspicion of House Atreides's spymaster. From flickering holographic images to ink drawings on frayed, yellowed parchment, the little island is nowhere to be found. Perhaps a relatively recent formation? A hidden piece of land revealed by the sea. Now she's veering into reverie, fanciful inventions—it is merely a pile of rocks in the sea—but Jessica likes to think of it as a secret spot, a clandestine location known only to her, waiting for her presence.

Jessica was born with a purpose, but here she gives herself another: Swim to that island, and exalt!

The ring that Duke Leto gives her has a gold band set with an onyx stone, old-fashioned and, though it fits her perfectly, is overall rather bulky. Jessica realizes with a sudden burst of fondness that the duke has resized one of his own rings as a gift to her—affection, she surmises, tinged with masculine possessiveness. 

"Do you like it?" he asks. His gaze flits from her hand to her face, scrutinizing her expression. "I know that is is far from the latest fashions of Kaitain, but I thought, perhaps..."

House Atreides is a noble and venerable Great House, but it is not one of extreme wealth. The castle is well-maintained, certain palatial styes adapted for guests, but his own furnishings are antiques, passed down through generations, kept less for sentimentality and more because Duke Leto is a practical man.

Still, it was not just practicality on his mind when he chose this ring for her. It was his once, something that he wore occasionally against skin; now it graces her finger.

Jessica extends her hand, admiring the ring. She likes the weight of it. The color. "It reminds me of your eyes," she says. A gray so dark that they are almost black. 

The duke startles and mutters, "I never know how to respond to the things you say." There is guilt in his voice as well as a tinge of shame.

In an attempt at levity, Jessica smiles and says, "I could speak less, my lord."

"No! No, I don't want that, I only wish—" He growls in frustration, and the sound sends a thrill down her spine. Duke Leto takes a moment to compose himself. After a moment, he asks, "But you do like it? The ring?"

"Yes, my lord," says Jessica.

He takes her hand and kisses it, murmuring, "Excellent."

This progress in their relationship prompts Jessica to ask for an assignment. Might she be a help with the bookkeeping? She has always been very good with numbers and sums. Or, perhaps she could assist the duke with correspondence; given a template and a stack of letters, she would reply to the messages of lesser importance with great courtesy.

Jessica did not ask after taking the duke to bed—it seemed best to her to keep those things separate so as not to be seen as wheedling him for favors in the afterglow. His study would be the best place to offer her services, surely.

But at Duke Leto's troubled expression and the glance that he exchanges with Thufir, Jessica knows that he will refuse her request and wonders if she should have been bolder the night before and asked when he held her in his arms.

"My lady," says the duke. "There's no need for you to undertake such tasks. Your presence is more than enough for me."

Ah, she is to be merely a bedwarmer, then. A companion for his evenings, someone with which to have a bit of dinner conversation or a game of Cheops before falling into bed. Jessica tastes sour disappointment once more and then immediately chastises herself for it. What does it matter, truly? If this is what she is to the duke, then this is what she is. She has a mission to complete. This answer has merely reminded her that it will take time.

"Yes, my lord," replies Jessica, forcing a gentle smile on her face. "I understand."

Duke Leto clears his throat. "You know that there is always a seat for you at the breakfast table, yes?"

"Yes, my lord," says Jessica. The offer was never rescinded; she merely ceased to join him when it was obvious that her attendance caused some discomfort. Besides—she likes her routine of a light breakfast followed by her walk and swim. With a curtsy that would have made Mohiam proud, she takes her leave. "I will not waste any more of your time. Thank you for speaking with me."

Caladan's ruler looks extremely unhappy. "My lady, I always have time for you, should you need me."

Jessica hums. She thinks of her island the the progress she's made there—in her stamina, her breathing, her technique—and takes solace in that instead. So much so that she finds she does not mind when the duke decides to spend the night without her once more.

Nor does Duke Leto call for her the next night, or the night after. He is polite to her when they pass in the halls, always stopping to greet her, but he does not kiss her hand again even when she wears his ring, and he does not react to her wearing her hair loosely underneath a sheer veil. Jessica reads more filmbooks, memorizes poems to recite, comes up with questions to ask about the history of House Atreides for him to answer, but all goes unsaid since she sleeps alone in her quarters.

With that in mind, her journeys from the castle steadily lengthen. Before, she made certain to return to her room in time to wash the sand and sea salt from her body, to rearrange herself into a Sister of the Bene Gesserit once more, and then to eat and study until the duke called for her. But since the time has been given to her, Jessica stays at the beach longer, skipping stones and arranging shells and watching the tide lick the shore.

Never before has she had such leisure. Never before has she done exactly what she wants to do.

It is an overcast day that Jessica decides she will finally swim the distance to her island. Why not? she asks herself, giddy. Now is as good a time as any. There is a part of her that knows she should be searching for a way into Duke Leto's favor, but that is drowned out by the roar of the waves, as loud as her heartbeat.

She leaves her boots, her linen dress, her cloak tucked away on a small sand dune where seagrass grows and sways in the wind. Jessica considers the sky for a moment before deeming the weather acceptable. The water is cool; she allows herself a shiver before regulating her body temperature.

The task she will be undertaking is so simple on the face of it—just swim, from here to there! But there is the tide, the current the cold sea breeze; environmental factors that could affect the possibility of her success. Jessica steels herself for the task.

One thing she has always been able to count on is her own fortitude.

Jessica dives into the water with the same exhilaration as when Leto's body moves against hers. She is surrounded, enveloped, embraced by Caladan's sea and there is such a joy to it—that she is here, now here, that with every kick of her legs and every stroke of her arms she is somewhere else and closer than she was before to her goal.

Her heart thrums. Jessica breathes. Her lungs ache. The island still seems far away, but when she turns her head to glance at the shore she sees that it's disappeared. The sight makes her laugh. She tastes saltwater on her tongue.

Nowhere to go but forward, then!

The Bene Gesserit have taught her to push the limits of her body. If she can feel the fatigue in her limbs then that only means her limbs still have feeling. Jessica pushes on, breathing, swimming, breathing, swimming, forcing her arms and legs to move, to keep going.

Finally, the island draws near. It's larger than she thought. The rock formations loom over her, like craggy fingers reaching out of the sea. As she draws closer her feet touch stone, slippery with algae and studded with barnacles. She is more careful now so as not to cut her flesh open on the latter.

Sopping wet and exhausted, she hauls herself onto the rocks and collapses onto her back. She lays there, spread-eagled, ridiculous, proud. Jessica laughs, to herself to the sea, to the sky above.

Here is triumph! Here is victory! 

Now it is Castle Caladan in the distance, a fortress set on the cliff side, the size of a child's toy. She pretends to hold it between her thumb and forefinger and laughs again. All a matter of perspective.

The Reverend Mothers controlled Wallach IX, Duke Leto controlled Caladan, but here was a bit of earth in the middle of the sea that was unknown to anyone but herself—a piece of the universe, entirely for the woman known only as Jessica!

She sits cross-legged with her back against the rocks and closes her eyes. There is the wind, whipping around her. There is the rolling of the waves, thunderous even when the sea is calm. There is the scent of salt upon the air, that marine fragrance that is so impossible to forget once caught.

Here is my palace, Jessica thinks.

She wakes to a day quickly fading. Jessica stands, shocked, and calculates the time by the position of the sun. Late in the afternoon—she will have to hurry if she wants to return to Castle Caladan in time to await Duke Leto's summons. Whether or not he requests her company, it would be unthinkable for her to not be in her quarters at the designated time.

Still, she cannot over exhaust herself on the swim back to shore or the waves will surely take her. And the tide is against her! Damn! 

Slowly, then, and steadily. It will take as long as it takes. So long as I reach the shore.

Jessica runs her palm along the craggy rockface. The texture scrapes at her skin, rugged and sharp. If she had pockets, perhaps she'd tuck a pebble into them, a keepsake of a time when she fulfilled something that was her own pure desire. But she doesn't, and so she stares at her surroundings, commits it to memory, and then returns to the sea.

The swim back is even more difficult. She stops multiple times and merely lets the waves carry her where they will in an attempt to gather her energy.

You will make it. The voice is not Mohiam's, not any elder Sister or Reverend Mother, but entirely hers. You have made it thus far, and you shall reach the shore.

And she does.

Less like a sea nymph and more like a shipwrecked sailor she emerges from the surf. An amusing thought, but Jessica is too drained to laugh. But here she is! She's done it! There and back!

Her relief and joy fades to puzzlement as she realizes she cannot find her clothes. Even taking into account her drifting, she should be able to spot the sand dune. Did the tide pull her further than she thought? Jessica shivers, the cold finally seeping into her bones. She rubs her shoulders, searches the beach for her cloak, her dress, her boots—imagines having to walk all the way back to Castle Caladan in bare feet covered in sand and grit—and then she hears someone calling for her.

"Jessica!"

She turns at the sound of her name, eyes widening with surprise when she sees the speaker.

Duke Leto, sprinting along the sand, clutching her clothing to his chest. Behind him are a number of soldiers, the squat figure of Thufir Hawat, the broad shoulders and scarred face of Gurney Halleck.

Mortification overcomes her. Heat suffuses her face from the blush. To meet her lord in such a way! He has never seen her when she has not been ready for him, perfumed and dressed to be undressed. Jessica's hair clings to her face in sea-swept tangles, her clothes are dirty and soaked, her hands and feet pruning from the time spent in the water. Still, she does not forget herself. With as much dignity as she can muster, she kneels, her legs hitting the sand.

The duke reaches her and asks, voice filled with alarm, "What has happened? Are you hurt? Jessica, can you stand? Damn it all, I knew I should have sent the guards along with you—"

She can stand, so she does so. Jessica says, "Forgive me, my lord." Her teeth chatter from the cold. 

Immediately, her cloak is wrapped around her. Duke Leto tucks it tightly, then cups her face in his hands, his eyes blazing. "Tell me—are you hurt? Your clothes—I found your dress in the tide—"

"They must have come loose—I set them aside and weighed them down with rocks—"

"But what were you doing, Jessica? Where have you been? Do you know the hour? My God, you're freezing—"

Jessica blinks. "Forgive me, my lord," she says again. "I did not mean to miss your summons."

"Good God, woman, I thought you'd been lost at sea! Or that someone had—your dress—and your cloak—" Duke Leto makes a strained, wounded noise.

"No," says Jessica. "No, I was only swimming."

"This entire time?" The duke presses the back of his hand to her forehead. He is checking her temperature—checking for fever.

Swallowing, Jessica raises her arm and points to her island, the size of a thumbnail in the distance. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the duke's men pause and follow her gesture.

"Goddamn," says Gurney Halleck.

Duke Leto laughs in disbelief, though there is no humor in his voice, only incredulity. "There—you swam all the way there? God! Why? You could have—there was no one here to—"

Jessica stares at the duke for long moment. She considers the worry that lines his face, how absolutely frazzled he appears. She decides to tell him the truth.

"Because I could," she says, earnestly. "Because I wanted to, more than anything." She does not say: I have not wanted before Caladan. I was not taught to want. 

Something flickers in Duke Leto's expression. Before she can identify it, he suddenly wraps his arms around her in an embrace, and rests his chin upon her head. "Okay," he murmurs. "Okay, then."

Jessica is swiftly returned to her quarters. She is brought warm, mulled wine, a bowl of hot soup and freshly baked, buttered bread. A tub is brought to her room and filled with water so hot that she can see the steam rising from its surface.

She approaches it with anticipation before remembering that Duke Leto is still there, has been there the entire time, a stern, looming figure. Jessica looks over her shoulder, uncertain.

"Do you wish me to leave?" the duke asks.

More truth, she decides. "I don't know why you would wish to stay." They'll not have sex tonight; Jessica is far too exhausted to play the seductress, and nothing in Duke Leto's posture tells her that he is in the mood for it. What can she offer him now?

But Duke Leto approaches, slowly, as though she were a skittish creature, ready to flee at a moment's notice—a doe of the forest. "If you wish me to leave, then I will. But if you allow me, I would—help you wash." His eyes are dark and entreating.

Slowly, Jessica nods. 

The duke's shoulders sag with relief.

She strips herself of her sodden underclothes. There is a new intimacy in this—a vulnerability that embarrasses her. Feeling extraordinarily shy, she glances at Duke Leto, and sees that he is staring at her with utter gentleness. Jessica steps into the the tub; the heat of the water is delicious. She sinks into it with a satisfied sigh.

Then the duke moves beside her. He unbuttons his jacket, rolls up the sleeves of his shirt—she notices the musculature of his arms in a completely new way, now—searches for the pitcher, and then, softly, asks, "May I?" At another nod, he has her tilt her head back, and then he carefully, carefully pours the water over her head, running his fingers through her hair as he does so, combing out the tangles, the stray bit of seaweed.

"You swam?" Duke Leto asks. "On Wallach IX?"

"It was taught as a survival skill—something every girl should know."

A large, callused hand gently rubs her bare shoulder. "Do you think of your time here as surviving?"

Jessica leans into his touch. "No, my lord. I think that I am finally enjoying the world. Caladan is—unlike anything I ever imagined." She did not imagine, before. 

He is quiet as he lifts the curtain of her hair and draws a washcloth along her back. "I'm very heartened to hear that, Jessica. You've no idea how much. But—might I be so selfish as to ask if you also enjoy me?"

The question surprises her. She turns her head, fixes him with a sharp look. Her first instinct is to wonder what he is playing at. But then she sees a boyish bashfulness on his face, notes how though it is she who is naked between them it seems as though it is he who is stripped bare. Jessica does not know how to answer him. "Have I given you cause to think that I dislike you, my lord?"

Duke Leto leans forward, his fingers gripping the rim of the tub. "You spend all your time wandering the wilds of Caladan—I only see you in the evenings! Do you think that is enough for a man to sate himself on?"

Bewildered, Jessica replies, "It is you who decides what is enough, my lord. You refused my offer to assist you with your duties."

"Refused? I didn't—you need not ever bother yourself with such things! You don't have to earn your keep here—"

"No, my lord," says Jessica. "I must only warm your bed—when you have the inclination."

"I can hardly call on you when you're cross with me!" Duke Leto exclaims. "You've barely spoken to me in days—"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Jessica asks, too tired to hide her sullen tone. She stands, dripping water, and reaches for a towel.

The duke hands her one and says, "Everything! I only want you to be happy here—to be happy with me!"

"I would be happy if only you would trust me!" she snaps. Jessica dries herself off and tosses the towel away with a huff. "I am fond of Caladan! I am fond of you! If only you would be as fond of me to let me into your life! I want to help you, to work beside you, not just sit and wait for your touch every night!"

For the first time since she's arrived on Caladan, she sees a roaring blush cover Duke Leto's face. He says, "Please, let's continue this argument when you're clothed. I can't focus otherwise." 

Jessica is startled out of her anger. With wry amusement, she replies, "I would never dare argue with the Duke of Caladan," as she searches her chest of drawers for a nightgown. It's silk, the color of copper; it matches her hair. Jessica ties it at the front with a bow. "Is this better?"

He ignores her question. "I don't know how to do this," says Duke Leto. "I'm trying, but I think I must be completely useless at it. Jessica, I would court you, if only you'd let me."

This duke is truly unlike any other person she's ever met. Jessica cannot hide her bewilderment when she says, "But I am already your concubine, my lord."

"I am selfish enough to want your attention beyond your duties! The foundation of our relationship is built upon that contract—but need it only ever be transactional? Could I not—" He takes a breath. "You are my bound concubine, yes. But could I not just be Leto to you? If only when we're alone?"

Leto.

Her mission was to gain the trust of the Duke of Caladan and to bear him a daughter. Nothing was ever mentioned of the man behind the title—this Leto who gazes at her with dark, pleading, hopeful eyes. This is beyond her—courtship, romance, the idea of entangling herself with another so utterly, the idea the the woman that he wants to be his is simply her.

But is it beyond her, really? She thinks of her island. It was not as far away as it first seemed, not as inaccessible as she first thought. And what wonder it was to reach it! What bliss!

Jessica decides to take the plunge.

"Ask me another question," she tells him, warmly.

He smiles. "Might I sometimes accompany you on your walks, Jessica?"

"Yes, Leto," says Jessica.