Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

”Yes.”

The answer landed flatly.

Dean’s breath caught.

Ilara looked up.

”I know,” she said. ”That is why I asked to meet you here, away from the court, away from formal temple channels, away from anyone who could turn this into doctrine before it became intelligence.”

Arion’s expression did not change.

Ilara looked at Dean then, and the clarity in her eyes was no longer prophetic. It was frightened.

”I was wrong to frame this first as Sebastian needing to come here,” she said. ”That was fear speaking faster than judgment.”

Dean swallowed.

Ilara continued, ”But I will not withdraw the warning itself. Something is building around your brother. Nero is part of it. Sebastian’s inheritance may be part of it. The infected beasts are part of it, or will become part of it, and I do not know which thread pulls the others tight.”

Dean’s hand went cold again.

Arion said, ”Then the temple will give us everything.”

Ilara held his gaze.

”Every record,” Arion continued. ”Every fragment. Every name of every person who carried memory from the prior timelines. Every contradiction. Every location mentioned. Every date, if there is one. Every recording, transcript, medical note, recovered rite, and archived warning.”

Ilara nodded once. ”Yes.”

Dean wanted to clench his hand into a fist, but Arion slid his fingers through his before he could. His palm was warm. Steady. Annoyingly effective.

Dean hated that it helped.

”I understand your point,” Arion said, his voice still low and cold. ”But Alamina will make the final decision.”

Ilara’s gaze lifted to him.

”We are already using Dean’s pheromonal ability to neutralize the corrupted pheromones of infected beasts,” Arion continued. ”There are other weapons being developed. Other plans in motion. Other specialists involved. We are not basing world security on two people.”

Dean’s throat tightened.

Not because Arion was wrong.

Because he was right.

And because some part of Dean, the part that had been raised by Lucas and Trevor and had inherited far too much protective fury from both of them, had already begun placing Sebastian at the center of the disaster. Sebastian’s possible awakening. Sebastian’s distance from Nero. Sebastian’s future death. Sebastian’s body as a door, a warning, a siren inheritance, and a possible hinge upon which the world might break.

Arion cut through that with one sentence.

We are not basing world security on two people.

Ilara did not look offended.

If anything, she looked relieved.

”That is what I hoped you would say,” she admitted.

Dean stared at her. ”You hoped he would tell you no?”

”I hoped he would remember he is not a priest.”

Arion scoffed and rose from his chair, his hand still holding Dean’s. ”Send everything you have to Otto and Hendrik. My husband and I have a honeymoon to recover.”

Dean blinked up at him.

For one second, the words did not fully enter his mind.

Then they did.

My husband and I.

A honeymoon to recover.

The world had just been placed between prophecy, infected beasts, Sebastian, Nero, possible siren awakening, and a future where both of them died, and Arion had decided with terrifying royal confidence that this was no longer their immediate problem.

Dean should have objected.

Probably.

Instead, he stood because Arion’s hand tugged lightly, and Dean had apparently lost the ability to resist anything that came with warmth, certainty, and the promise of escape from temple tea.

Ilara rose as well. ”Your Highness, I can send the preliminary index immediately, but not everything at once.”

Arion stopped.

The air cooled again.

Ilara did not retreat. ”The archive is not a single file. Some fragments are digitized. Some are handwritten records. If I send it carelessly, half of it will be meaningless, and the other half may be misread.”

Arion’s gaze remained hard. ”Then send the index now. Full records to Otto and Hendrik through secure channels as soon as your archivists prepare them.”

Ilara bowed her head. ”Yes.”

Dean watched her closely.

She looked tired.

She had wanted someone to take the burden from her hands, perhaps. Or at least to make the decision she had been too afraid to make and too afraid not to make.

Arion had done that.

Very rudely.

Dean loved him a little more for it.

”And,” Arion added, ”unless infected beasts break through the nearest street in the next hour, you will not call us back today.”

Ilara’s mouth moved as if she almost smiled.

”I would not dare.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. ”You absolutely would.”

”I would consider it,” Ilara admitted. ”Then remember that I have already ruined enough of your honeymoon.”

”Good,” Dean said. ”Reflection is important for spiritual growth.”

Arion looked down at him.

Dean looked back. ”What? She started it.”

Hunter lowered his phone near the door. ”Your Highness, Hendrik’s secure office has been contacted. They are opening a private channel for the temple archive.”

”Good,” Arion said.

Ilara nodded to one of her attendants. ”Send the index first. Then have Sorel begin preparing the sealed files. No copies leave without my authorization and royal encryption.”

The attendant’s fingers moved quickly over the tablet. ”Yes, Matron.”

Dean felt the pressure loosen in his chest.

The pressure to solve it now, here, while cold tea sat in front of him and the ugliest painting in Alamina judged him from the wall.

Otto would know.

Hendrik would know.

Soon Trevor and Lucas would know.

And whatever disaster waited around Sebastian and Nero, it would not be carried by Dean alone in a temple tea room during his honeymoon.

Arion turned to Ilara. ”If there is anything else, send it through Hendrik.”

”Yes, Your Highness.”

Dean expected Arion to leave immediately after that, because Arion had the decisive elegance of someone who could end meetings by standing up.

Instead, Arion looked at him.

Only him.

The coldness in his deep gold eyes softened, becoming something quieter and warmer and entirely unfair.

”Do you want to go?” he asked.

Dean stared.

They were already standing.

Arion had already dismissed the entire temple from their lives for the day.

Security had moved.

The preliminary archive transfer had begun.

And still, Arion asked.

Dean’s throat tightened.

”Yes,” he said, rougher than he intended.

Arion’s thumb brushed once over his knuckles. ”Then we go.”

That was all.

No blessing.

No final temple phrase.

No sacred warning thrown at their backs.

Ilara only stepped aside and let them leave.

Dean appreciated that more than he wanted to.

The walk back through the temple felt different from the tour. The sunlight was still there, pouring through the high glass panels. The pale stone still held warmth. The children’s drawings of fish still looked like vegetables with fins. Nothing had changed.

And yet Dean noticed every exit.

Every camera.

Every guard.

Every attendant who looked away politely as the crown prince of Alamina led his husband out of the temple with the expression of a man who had decided even prophecy could wait until after lunch.

Outside, the sea wind hit Dean’s face.

He inhaled too quickly.

Arion stopped beside him on the steps.

The old quarter of Ylico spread below them, bright and white and modern under the morning sun. Cars moved slowly through the narrow streets. A delivery drone passed above the rooftops with a faint mechanical hum. Tourists gathered behind the security line, pretending not to stare and failing with enthusiasm.

The world looked unbearably normal.

Arion released his hand only to settle his palm at the small of Dean’s back. ”Breathe.”

”I am breathing.”

”You are preparing to argue with oxygen.”

”Oxygen has poor timing.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. ”True.”

Dean looked up at him.

The sunlight caught the edge of Arion’s scar, turning it pale for a moment. His husband looked calm again. But Dean knew him well enough now to see what sat beneath it: anger, calculation, protection, and a ruthless refusal to let Dean disappear into the machinery of crisis.

”There are people who can deal with this,” Arion said.

Dean swallowed.

Arion continued before Dean could speak. ”My father. Hendrik. Lucas, Trevor, and Dax, if he must be informed. Chris, if Dax becomes a problem. There are security teams, physicians, analysts, border units, and enough arrogant royal men in three countries to make the future regret becoming inconvenient.”

Dean stared at him.

Then, despite everything, he laughed.

It came out weak, but real.

Arion’s gaze softened.

”You are absurd,” Dean said.

”I am accurate.”

”You are always accurate when you want to win.”

”I always want to win.”

”That explains so much.”

Arion leaned slightly closer. ”And there are other weapons and plans already moving. Your ability matters, but it is not the only shield in the world. Sebastian matters, but he is not the only hinge the world turns on. Nero is dangerous, but he is not the world’s only monster.”

Dean looked away, toward the white streets below.

”I know.”

”Do you?”

Dean’s mouth twisted. ”Not emotionally.”

”Then I will remind you.”

”Is that your new honeymoon activity? Reminding me not to adopt global security as a personal panic hobby?”

”Yes.”