Paul Atreides was supposed to be stoic and detached. He’s Kwisatz Haderach, for god’s sake; he’s chosen.

For the past two months, he’s been spectacularly failing at that. Maybe it was the spice in the hot air of Arrakis; maybe he was going mad with responsibility and pressure; maybe it was the emptiness that the death of his father left in him; maybe it was you.

He first noticed you when you accidentally dropped a tray of drinks at one of the dinner parties Lady Jessica has thrown. Those functions were made with the sole purpose of Paul talking with a bunch of old Lords and Dukes to strengthen relationships with allies. Paul despised the functions, but you made it a bit more bearable.

After the fateful dinner party, he spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to nonchalantly learn your name and occupation at the estate. He asked one of the servants about you, but didn’t get a straight answer. He asked his mother, but she just gave him a weird look and told him to focus on his political tasks.

One day, he stumbled into the kitchens after dinner, looking for a snack. And there you were, cleaning up.

He almost smiled, forgetting that he was a Duke, not a boy with a crush. Correction: not crush, fascination.

After that day, he went back to the kitchen more times than he’d care to admit. Usually, he just silently stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island and watched you cook. Sometimes he asked about the dishes you were preparing. You didn’t question it, not aloud to him anyway. You needed the job.

Today he came just before dinner, putting his elbows on the cooking surface, a barely noticeable smile on his face.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, watching your hands. He knew you were making tabara, a fremen dessert, but he asked anyway.