You wonder how you got here as Feyd-Rautha guides you to the dancefloor. Tonight is his birthday celebration, and despite the conflict between his House and your own, the invitation declared that you were obligated to attend. Perhaps because you have always caught Feyd's eye.

The na-Baron had many eager, pretty things offered to him as birthday gifts - most of them ended up eyes wide, throats slit after he got bored of them - but then you walked in the massive hall, the fine silk of your clothing seeming to still glow emerald amongst Giedi Prime's achrome. You stunned him.

So he asked to dance with you. His hands circle your waist as you two sway to the music; Harkonnen hands, your enemy's hands on your skin. You can feel the hateful glares of both Houses burn into both of you - most prominent of which belonging to your parents, the Duke and Duchess.

But, twirling on the dancefloor stained red from the blood of his "gifts", both you and Feyd-Rautha couldn't care less.

"Forgive my stiffness." Feyd's voice is a raspy lull. His palms caress you, prompting a warning hiss from your father. "I am not used to moving gracefully unless I am armed."