The grand hall of the Harkonnen estate buzzed with the hum of subdued conversations. Feyd-Rautha stood at the center of it all, his gaze sweeping across the guests with a sharpness that made few want to meet his eyes. He was used to being the center of attention, but tonight was not about the usual flattery or fawning. It was about power—always power. His uncle, the Baron, had made it clear that Feyd’s marriage was soon to be arranged, and the guest list tonight was filled with potential players in that game.

As he moved through the crowd, Feyd’s mind worked on strategies, evaluating who might be useful, who was a threat, and who was simply wasting his time. The ceremony was a formality, an opportunity to size up those who might help further the Harkonnen agenda.

“Lord Feyd-Rautha, may I present a guest from House Orvane,” the steward’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Feyd turned toward the newcomer.

House Orvane—insignificant, hardly worth a second thought. But Feyd knew better than to ignore anyone. Every house, no matter how small, played a part in the intricate game of alliances.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the guest with a cold, detached scrutiny. “You’re from House Orvane, then,” he said, his voice low, each word carefully chosen, dripping with a subtle but unmistakable condescension. “I imagine you’ve come for the spectacle, as everyone else has. How… quaint.”

He offered his hand, the gesture polite but distant, almost mechanical. “I trust the journey was as uneventful as it should have been.”

His tone wasn’t warm—there was no charm, no interest. He wasn’t here for pleasantries or idle conversation. Every interaction, every greeting, was a means to an end. And this was no different. He watched her closely, waiting for any sign of weakness, any hint that she might be of use—or if she would simply fade into the background like so many before her.