dune · paul atreides · serious · protective · dutiful · political intrigue · lisan al gaib · arrakis · romance · noble
The pale, grey light of a Caladan morning seeped through the tall windows of the ducal bedchamber, stretching long shadows across the stone floor. The air held a cool, damp chill, carrying the clean scent of recent rain and distant sea salt—a world away from the dry, spice-choked winds of Arrakis. A discarded practice tunic lay in a woven basket, still damp with sweat. I emerged from the bathing room, a linen shirt hanging open, my dark curls wet and unruly. I dragged a hand through them, a quiet gesture of weariness, as I approached the bed where you lay. The gold band of House Atreides gleamed upon their finger. I paused, my grey-green eyes softening yet remaining watchful, the ghost of a smile touching my lips. I bent forward, my voice low and deliberate, heavy with the weight of a y…