Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Arion’s office smelled like paper, ink, expensive coffee, and the lingering remains of a military campaign that had technically ended but still required approximately four hundred signatures to become official.

Which was why Nero was currently slumped sideways in one of the chairs across from the desk like a prince personally betrayed by bureaucracy.

”This,” Nero declared, staring at the stack of documents in front of Arion, ”is oppression.”

Arion signed another page without looking up.

”This is administration.”

”Exactly.”

Outside the tall windows of the office, Alamina’s capital glowed beneath pale afternoon sunlight, calmer now that the campaign season had ended successfully. The palace had shifted away from emergency operations and back toward political normalcy, which somehow felt more dangerous.

Inside the office, Hale stood near the door reviewing security notes with the exhausted posture of a man who had survived both infected beasts and Nero simultaneously.

Nero reached for another document, signed it with violent elegance, and dropped the pen dramatically onto the desk.

”There. I officially survived another year.”

”You survived because Hendrik likes results more than murder,” Arion replied.

”Hendrik respects me.”

”Hendrik tolerates your effectiveness.”

”That is basically affection.”

Hale made a deeply unconvinced sound without looking up.

Arion finally set his own pen down and leaned back slightly in his chair. Unlike Nero, he looked entirely composed. Rested even.

Which, admittedly, was because Dean had spent the last day and a half thoroughly improving his mood.

Nero narrowed his eyes immediately.

”You look suspiciously happy.”

Arion’s expression remained perfectly neutral.

”I’m getting married.”

”That is not the suspicious part.”

Hale glanced upward briefly.

”I do not want details.”

”Coward,” Nero informed him.

”Alive,” Hale corrected.

Arion ignored both of them.

”Will you attend the wedding?” he asked Nero.

Nero blinked once and grinned.

”Of course.”

”That sounded threatening.”

”It was affectionate.”

”That is worse,” Hale muttered.

Nero stretched lazily in the chair, long white-blond hair falling over one shoulder as he considered the question more seriously.

”Father and Chris will probably come too.”

Arion’s brows lifted slightly.

”And Dax?”

Nero looked delighted by the prospect already.

”Please imagine trying to stop him from attending his nephew’s wedding.”

That was fair.

Dax of Saha did not believe in being excluded from important family events. Or unimportant family events. Or events in general.

Arion took a slow sip of coffee.

”The palace security teams are going to panic.”

”They panic every time Father visits another country,” Nero said cheerfully. ”One unfortunate diplomat called him ’a walking military escalation’ last year.”

”He heard that?”

”He absolutely heard that.”

Hale rubbed his forehead.

”The diplomat survived only because Chris was there.”

Arion’s mouth twitched.

The image alone was enough.

Dax arriving at a royal wedding like a beautifully dressed natural disaster, while Chris emotionally adopted half the palace staff within forty-eight hours.

Then Arion remembered something else.

”Dax said that you wanted to say something,” Arion said slowly, ”and the fact there was a need for Dax to say this when you usually speak your mind unbothered is giving me the ick.”

Nero stayed quiet for a second too long.

Hale lowered the report in his hands slightly.

Arion’s expression flattened into command-mode stillness almost immediately.

Nero turned slightly toward the tall windows behind Arion’s desk, his gaze drifting through the glass toward the imperial summer gardens below. Sunlight caught pale strands of his hair, making him look softer than the conversation deserved.

”Well,” Nero said lightly, which immediately made Hale suspicious, ”I didn’t mention it to Hendrik or anyone besides Dax, but you should track Andrea’s movements.”

Arion’s eyes sharpened instantly.

”What do you mean?”

Nero’s expression lost some of its humor, turning in that cold tone he was using as the Crown Prince of Saha.

”The last battle.”

The office was quiet fully now.

Outside, somewhere far below, palace life continued normally, while inside, the atmosphere changed with frightening speed.

Nero folded his arms loosely over his chest.

”You know I can feel pheromones even when someone suppresses them aggressively,” he said, trying to get his own thoughts in order.

Hale still looked disturbed every time Nero described that ability.

”Andrea was wrong,” Nero continued.

Arion leaned forward slightly.

”Wrong how?”

Nero’s violet eyes narrowed faintly in memory.

”Cold.”

That word landed strangely.

”Not calm,” Nero clarified. ”Not disciplined. Cold.”

Hale frowned.

”You think he’s destabilized?”

”No.” Nero shook his head once. ”That would have been easier.”

Arion’s gaze stayed fixed on him now, entirely focused.

Nero continued quietly.

”Thomas was strained by the end of the campaign. Anyone with eyes could see it. His pheromones fluctuated twice during the last containment push near Central. Not enough to break discipline, but enough that Andrea should’ve reacted instinctively.”

He paused.

”He didn’t.”

Arion frowned slightly.

”Andrea maintained formation.”

”Yes,” Nero agreed. ”Perfectly.”

The way he said it made the word sound dangerous.

”He neutralized correctly. Supported command structure. Followed tactical order.” Nero’s fingers tapped once against his arm. ”But his scent never moved toward Thomas.”

Hale looked confused.

”That’s not enough for suspicion.”

”No,” Nero agreed calmly. ”Not normally.”

Then his eyes shifted back toward Arion.

”But Thomas’s pheromones reached for him three separate times during the final breach.”

Silence.

Arion understood immediately; his expression hardened by degrees.

A dominant alpha under battlefield strain reaching instinctively for his omega mate, or future mate, was normal. Expected, even.

Andrea not responding at all was not.

Nero exhaled softly.

”I watched Andrea prioritize the formation every single time.”

”That sounds responsible,” Hale said carefully.

Nero looked at him, his light purple eyes so still that even Hale had a hard time suppressing the shiver threatening to crawl up his spine.

”It does if Andrea were another soldier or someone dispatched to keep the formation from breaking,” Nero said. ”But Andrea was there to stabilize Thomas and the other alphas in the team. Not one of them had Andrea’s pheromones on them.”

Arion’s fingers stilled over the page he had been about to sign.

”Not one?” he asked.

Nero shook his head once. ”Not Thomas. Not the second line. Not the agents who took residue exposure after the third breach. Andrea kept his field contained around himself.”

Hale’s brows drew together. ”Could he have been conserving strength?”

”He was a dominant omega positioned in central containment.” Nero’s voice stayed light, but the edge beneath it sharpened. ”Conserving strength is not the same as refusing to bleed warmth into the people he was assigned to stabilize.”

Arion leaned back slowly.

The chair did not creak. Nothing in the room was rude enough to make unnecessary noise.

”Andrea’s reports?” he asked.

”Perfect.” Nero’s mouth curved without amusement. ”Field formation maintained. No civilian breach. No casualties. The central ridge was stable. Thomas Lancaster: moderate strain. Secondary alphas: acceptable strain. Andrea: No overextension.”

”That sounds too clean,” Hale said.

”Yes.” Nero’s eyes moved toward Arion again. ”That is why I disliked it.”

Arion’s face had gone cold in the way Nero recognized too well. Not angry yet. Not outwardly. But the part of the Crown Prince that had survived court politics, beast seasons, and Dean’s sarcasm without flinching had started rearranging the room around a new threat.

”And you told Dax,” Arion said.

”I told Father because Saha’s team was near enough to Central’s relay to have witnessed fragments, and because I wanted someone outside Alamina’s command structure to hear it first.”

Hale’s gaze sharpened. ”You did not trust Hendrik?”

”I trust Hendrik to investigate battlefield failure.” Nero’s smile became thin. ”I do not yet know whether this is battlefield failure.”

Arion’s eyes lifted.

There it was.

The ugly shape beneath the clean report.

”If Andrea refused to stabilize Thomas,” Arion said slowly, ”then either he is compromised...”

”Or he made a choice,” Nero finished.

Hale was quiet for a moment.

Then, carefully, ”A personal choice?”

”A political one,” Arion said before Nero could answer.