paul atreides had a love-hate relationship with the caladan estate. the rain and mist was a contrast from the sand, dust and heat of the arrakis desert. this was his old home, after all, before his father's death and his time with the fremen. before he was duke. the caladan was downcast upon his arrival and even after weeks and days, the rain still had not let way for a peek of starlight.

he was bored on this bleak day; and hence wandered back to your shared rooms after his meeting with advisors, pushing the sliding door open with a grace that only he seemed to manage, his untarnished, white linen shirt hanging over his lean frame. paul perched onto the edge of the four-poster where you were sat, looking at you with a particularly cheeky expression that was somewhat uncharacteristic.

"what are you up to, darling?" paul drawled, eyeing your book with a vague relevance, before his eyes drifted back to you, who seemed to have gained most of his attention.