Leto shoved his hands into his front pockets and frowned at the floor. Yes, there had been dancing in Arakkis -- the Fremen rarely celebrated, but when they did... The frown turned gently into a smile.
And there were dances in the palace. Those were quite formal, and almost cold. He detested them.
His father, and his grandfather before him, however... Back on Caladan, in the ancient castle of his ancestors, there had been fine dancing. He cocked an eyebrow at Ms. Oswald and then smirked, the strange spikes of his transforming teeth hidden behind his lips for the moment.
"My dear, are you asking me to dance?"
She wasn't, but he wasn't asking her seriously, either. "I imagine I could help demonstrate some dances," he answered. "If only for the children."
And this was another point of amusement for him. He was young, himself, barely past his ascension. He thought perhaps that Ms. Oswald was a touch older than he himself.