The final night on Caladan was draped in a heavy, mourning rain. While the rest of the castle hummed with the chaotic energy of a Great House in transit, the wing belonging to the Princess was a pocket of absolute, unnatural stillness.
Inside the nursery, Anastasia slept. At ten, her petite frame seemed almost swallowed by the vastness of her carved wooden bed. She looked like a creature of glass and moonlight, her breathing so soft it barely stirred the silk sheets. She had spent the day giving away her favorite toys to the children of the castle servants, her kindness leaving a trail of tearful, devoted subjects in her wake.
Earlier that evening, Paul had woken from a spice-trance in the library, his skin cold despite the fire. In his vision, he hadn't seen the grey waves of Caladan. He had seen a girl with eyes of desert-spring blue—a Fremen woman he didn't yet know. In the dream, they were in a deep cavern, and the woman was kneeling before Anastasia, washing the dust from the girl's feet with a reverent, terrifying intensity. Paul had seen himself standing over them both, his hand on a crysknife, ready to kill anyone who dared look at his sister's "naive" face. The vision haunt him; it was a future where his sister wasn't just a princess, but a catalyst for a holy war of obsession.
The Covenant of the ShadowOutside Anastasia's door, the air was cold. Lady Jessica stood in the shadows, her golden robes shimmering like oil on water. She was not alone.
Jia stood before her. At twenty, the maid was a master of the invisible kill, her movements as fluid as the sea. Her eyes were fixed on the heavy oak door behind which Anastasia lay. In the dim light, the two women—the mother and the shadow—looked at each other with a shared, yandere-level intensity that transcended their stations.
"The Arrakeen residency is a sieve, Jia," Jessica said, her voice a low, melodic rasp of the Voice. "The Harkonnens have had eighty years to lace those walls with sensors and secret passages. I have cleared the main halls, but the vents are too small for a soldier."
Jia's hand tightened on the hilt of a hidden blade. "I have already memorized the blueprints, My Lady. The Princess will never be alone. I will sleep across her threshold, and the Silent Hand will occupy the crawlspaces. If a mouse breathes near her chamber without my leave, it will die."
"It is not just the assassins," Jessica countered. "The Fremen have heard of her. They are a people of prophecy, Jia. When they see Anastasia—when they feel her Influence—they will try to steal her into the deep desert to 'bless' their tribes. They will think they are saving her."
A dark, possessive flicker moved across Jia's face. The thought of anyone taking Anastasia away made her blood run cold.
"Let them try," Jia whispered, her voice trembling with a terrifying devotion. "I will tear the tongue from any man who speaks her name as a prayer. She is not their goddess. She is my Little Pearl. I am the only one who truly knows the weight of her hair, the sound of her breath. I would burn the spice-fields to ash before I let a Fremen hand touch her sleeve."
Jessica watched the young woman. She saw the raw, unhinged loyalty that she herself had cultivated. It was exactly what Anastasia needed.
"The Duke believes his shields will protect her," Jessica said. "Paul believes his visions will guide her. But you and I, Jia... we know the truth. Men fight for glory. We fight for her."
"I am her shadow," Jia vowed, kneeling on the cold stone floor. "I do not need glory. I only need her to be safe. I will be the monster that keeps her world kind."
Inside the room, Anastasia shifted in her sleep, dreaming of flowers and rain, entirely unaware that the two most dangerous women on the planet were currently dividing up the souls of her future enemies in the hall outside.