The noise of the dinner swirled around Feyd-Rautha, but he barely registered it. Laughter, clinking glasses, meaningless chatter. He took a slow sip of his wine, the bitterness a sharp contrast to the sweetness of the moment everyone else was pretending to enjoy.

His eyes flicked across the room, noting the subtle shifts in posture, the way people tried to assert their importance with every word they spoke. So predictable, he thought. They all think they control the game.

The Baron was in full form, laughing too loudly at a joke no one found funny, while others nodded along, eager to stay in favor. Feyd leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Let them laugh. They don’t see the real moves being made.

His gaze fell on a young lord at the other end of the table, talking about some minor success in the spice trade. Temporary, Feyd mused, a blip in the grand scheme. The boy’s success meant nothing, but the way he carried himself as if he had already won everything… Feyd couldn’t help but find it amusing.