Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

The private waiting lounge assigned to the paternal households was quieter than it should have been.

Otto stood near the window, already dressed for the ceremony, formal and severe in dark imperial tailoring softened only by the quiet gold at his cuffs. He looked like an emperor pretending to be merely a father for a few minutes before history dragged him back into position.

Dax sat in one of the armchairs with the quiet danger of a king who had outlived several enemies and learned to look bored while considering murder. At sixty, he remained striking in the way certain men only became sharper with age, white-blond hair falling neatly around his shoulders, violet eyes calm, half-lidded, and profoundly untrustworthy.

Trevor stood with his arms folded, dressed in black, silent, and displeased with everything on principle.

Dean was being dressed elsewhere.

Lucas was with him, and that was the only thought that kept Trevor in that room.

Minerva, fortunately or unfortunately depending on the person asked, was not there. She was currently attempting to convince Chris to take a place in the main procession instead of remaining as far from the center of ceremony as possible.

Chris did not want to be in the procession.

Chris had already endured enough ceremony in Saha in August, during Dax’s birthday national event, where he had been displayed, adored, whispered about, praised, measured, and politically consumed by a nation that still treated their king’s mate as a rare national treasure even after twenty-five years of marriage.

At fifty-one, Chris had long since perfected the art of elegant refusal.

Unfortunately, Minerva had perfected the art of elegant pressure.

Trevor had seen Chris’s face when Minerva made the suggestion.

That man wanted to disappear into the architecture.

Dax had smiled at the news in a way that made three aides immediately rediscover urgent work elsewhere.

”He will survive,” Otto said.

Dax’s gaze shifted to him. ”Chris?”

”Yes.”

Dax’s smile remained calm. ”He will. Everyone inconveniencing him may not.”

Trevor looked at him.

Dax looked back, perfectly composed.

”He is being rational,” Dax added. ”He has already endured more ceremony in the last month than most consorts should be forced to survive in a year.”

”Twenty-five years,” Otto said mildly. ”One would think he had developed tolerance.”

”He developed standards.”

Trevor’s mouth twitched despite himself.

That, unfortunately, sounded true.

”And patience,” Dax added. ”Mostly for me. Occasionally for our children. Rarely for everyone else.”

”Nero included?” Trevor asked, amused.

Dax’s expression shifted by a fraction. ”Nero inherited too much of me to require patience. He requires supervision.”

Otto huffed softly. ”Nayra?”

”My daughter requires admiration, boundaries, and careful handling of her temper.”

”And Jax?”

For the first time that morning, Dax looked genuinely amused. ”Jax is six. He requires snacks, naps, and someone to prevent him from declaring war on furniture.”

Trevor stared at him for a beat.

Then, despite himself, he laughed once.

A soft chime sounded from one of the secure panels near Otto’s hand. He glanced down at the message, then dismissed it.

His expression did not change.

Trevor noticed anyway.

Dax noticed too.

For a moment, the wedding seemed to step back from the room, leaving only three men standing in the quiet machinery behind it. An emperor, a king, and a grand duke who had spent enough years around power to recognize the exact silence that preceded a political body being moved.

Otto turned from the window. ”House Vale will be dealt with a month after the wedding.”

Trevor’s jaw tightened.

Dax’s expression did not move at all.

”Executed?” Dax asked.

”Yes,” Otto said.

Trevor looked toward the untouched drinks on the side table. ”All of them?”

”The principal line,” Otto said. ”Those directly involved in the conspiracy, the falsification of security access, the attempted destabilization of the succession, and Andrea’s actions against Dean and Arion.”

Trevor’s eyes darkened at Dean’s name.

”Those not directly involved have already been separated,” Otto continued. ”Several minors will be absorbed into collateral households under supervision. Some older relatives will be stripped of property and relocated. The rank and influence will not remain with the current line.”

Dax’s gaze sharpened faintly. ”Who receives it?”

”A removed cousin,” Otto said. ”Elian Vale. Third branch. No direct involvement with Andrea or his father’s circle. Loyal to the Crown. Quiet enough to be useful and intelligent enough to understand that survival is a privilege, not a right.”

Trevor gave a humorless smile. ”Convenient.”

”Necessary,” Otto corrected.

”They tried to ruin your son’s marriage before it began.”

”They tried to weaken the imperial family,” Otto said. ”Dean was the method.”

Trevor’s hands curled slowly at his sides.

That was the part he did not like.

Dean was his son. His child. His ridiculous, sharp-tongued, too-brave omega who was currently preparing to walk into a wedding hall dressed in black and silver like a beautiful disaster waiting to happen.

To Otto, Dean was also an imperial structure now.

A target. A symbol. A future consort.

Trevor understood politics.

He also wanted to tear Andrea Vale apart with his bare hands.

Both truths sat badly in the same body.

”And Andrea?” Dax asked.

Otto’s gaze shifted toward him. ”Andrea will be transferred to Draxil.”

Trevor looked at him sharply.

Dax’s smile disappeared.

”He lives?” Dax asked.

”For now.”

”That was not my question.”

”I know.”

Trevor folded his arms more tightly. ”Draxil?”

”A marriage arrangement has been negotiated,” Otto said. ”A dominant alpha woman from a loyal Draxil military house. Politically ambitious. Old blood. Strong enough to manage him and far enough from Roslew that the public will eventually lose interest.”

Dax stared at Otto.

Trevor felt the same cold disbelief settling into him.

Then a chuckle escaped Dax.

”You know,” he said slowly, ”I like the phrasing. For now.”

He tasted the words, and a terrible grin spread across his face.

Otto’s mouth curved into a slow smirk. ”We cannot remove him outright without other dominant alphas screaming unfairness. Unfortunately for them, Andrea is not the type to listen to reason.”

Trevor’s eyes narrowed. ”You expect him to resist.”

”I expect him to be himself,” Otto said. ”Proud, humiliated, angry, and convinced that every boundary placed around him is a personal insult.”

Dax’s grin sharpened.

”So you are not sparing him.”

”No,” Otto said calmly. ”I am giving him enough rope, enough witnesses, and a setting far enough from my son’s wedding that when he hangs himself with it, no one important will object.”

Trevor looked at him for a long second.

Then, despite the cold anger still sitting in his chest, he understood.

Otto wanted Andrea dead.

He was simply waiting for the cleanest moment.

Dax laughed softly. ”Now that,” he said, ”is a plan I can respect.”

Otto’s smirk faded back into imperial calm. ”Patience is not mercy.”