Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

The imperial jet began its descent through a thick bank of winter clouds shortly after noon.

Dean had spent most of the flight stretched across the wide leather seat beside Arion, one boot abandoned beneath the table and a tablet balanced against his thigh. The itinerary remained open on the screen, though he had stopped reading it somewhere between the second island and the formal dinner scheduled for their first evening in Palatine.

Across the cabin, Boreas occupied almost the entire aisle.

The dog had tolerated takeoff with the grave offense of an animal personally betrayed by physics and then settled between Lucas and Trevor and refused to move for the following two hours.

Lucas had eventually rested his feet against Boreas’s side.

Boreas accepted that.

Trevor had stepped over both of them several times without comment.

The jet emerged beneath the clouds, and Palatine appeared below in white and grey: broad forests stripped bare for winter, frozen rivers cutting between dark ridges, villages clustered around illuminated roads. Farther ahead, the capital spread across the valley beneath a light covering of snow, its older stone districts rising toward the imperial hill.

Dean straightened and looked through the window.

He had grown up seeing this view.

It felt different now.

Not unfamiliar. If anything, the opposite.

Coming back no longer carried the strange resistance he had once felt toward anything that reminded him too strongly of where he belonged.

Lucas leaned across the opposite seat, blonde hair falling over the collar of his pale wool coat as he looked outside.

”The western gardens are already decorated.”

Dean followed his gaze toward the imperial complex.

Even from the air, the winter lights were visible along the terraces surrounding the palace.

”They started early.”

”They always start early.”

”You complained last year.”

”I complained because Sirius put silver lights beside gold stone.”

Trevor closed the report he had been reading and slipped it into his coat. His dark suit was immaculate despite the flight, the charcoal fabric severe beside Lucas’s softer cream and grey.

”He changed them after you complained.”

”As he should.”

Dean glanced toward Arion.

Arion was fastening the cuffs of his black winter coat over a dark high-collared shirt, apparently uninterested in becoming involved in half-brother decorating disputes before they had even landed.

Dean approved.

The aircraft touched down smoothly.

Boreas immediately lifted his head.

His ears rose.

Then the brakes engaged and the enormous dog planted all four paws against the carpet as though personally responsible for preventing the jet from sliding off the runway.

Dean looked at him.

”You contributed greatly.”

Boreas sneezed.

Outside, Palatine’s imperial terminal was surrounded by a thin layer of fresh snow. Security vehicles waited beyond the marked landing zone, their dark roofs dusted white, while palace guards stood beneath the covered arrival platform in heavy winter uniforms.

At the center waited Zion.

Dean recognized him before the jet had fully stopped.

At thirty, Zion had settled comfortably into the role of Palatine’s crown prince. He stood tall beneath a long midnight-blue coat with silver fastenings at the throat, his blonde hair pushed back neatly despite the wind cutting across the runway. There was enough of Sirius in his face to make their relation obvious, though Ethan had softened the severity around his eyes.

Dean pulled on his own coat.

His was pale grey, fitted closely through the waist and falling to his knees over black trousers and high leather boots. Arion adjusted the scarf Dean had loosely looped around his neck before Dean could protest that it was unnecessary.

The cabin doors opened.

Cold air entered immediately.

Lucas was first down the stairs.

Zion abandoned every trace of formal reception the moment he saw him.

”Uncle.”

Lucas barely reached the bottom before Zion caught him in an embrace.

Dean paused halfway down the stairs beside Arion.

”He likes him more.”

”He has known Lucas longer.”

”That is not an excuse.”

Trevor passed them without sympathy.

Dean followed.

Zion released Lucas and greeted Trevor more formally, though the affection between them was obvious in the firm clasp of their hands and the way Zion briefly touched Trevor’s shoulder.

Then his attention shifted toward Dean.

His expression changed.

Dean barely had enough time to remove one glove before Zion pulled him into a hug.

Dean accepted it without complaint.

Apparently that was what his life had become.

”You actually came for more than one night.”

”We usually do.”

”You usually spend half the visit working from another room.”

”That still counts as presence.”

Zion released him and stepped back, looking Dean over before turning toward Arion.

His greeting became formal only in structure.

”Welcome back.”

Arion clasped his forearm. ”Thank you for receiving us.”

”Sirius wanted to come himself. Ethan stopped him because there is already an entire dinner planned for tonight and apparently greeting you twice would be excessive.”

Dean glanced toward Lucas. ”That has never stopped him before.”

”No. Which is why Mother physically retained the schedule.”

Boreas chose that moment to descend from the jet.

Every nearby guard noticed.

The animal came down the stairs with surprising care for something his size, his black-and-brown coat thickened for winter, and heavy paws landed solidly on each metal step.

Zion stared.

”He became larger.”

”He did not,” Dean said.

Boreas reached the ground and immediately pressed his enormous head against Dean’s hip.

Dean corrected himself.

”He may have become slightly larger.”

Arion took Boreas’s lead before the dog could investigate the royal guard formation.

The motorcade waiting beyond the terminal was understated by imperial standards: four dark vehicles, two security escorts, and one transport vehicle for luggage.

Their visit was supposed to look exactly like what it officially was.

Dean climbed into the central vehicle beside Arion, while Lucas and Trevor joined Zion in the one ahead.

Boreas settled between Dean’s boots and Arion’s legs, taking up most of the floor.

As they left the terminal, Palatine passed beyond the tinted glass in familiar winter colors. Snow rested along the roofs of the outer districts, market streets were crowded beneath strings of lights, and evergreen wreaths hung from nearly every government building they passed.

Dean watched the city quietly.

Their security team had already begun coordinating the second stage of the journey.

In three days, they would leave Palatine openly.

After that would come two larger neutral islands, carefully chosen resorts, photographs, public dinners, and enough visible leisure to make the route convincing.

Then Snake Island.

Arion’s hand settled over Dean’s knee.

Dean looked at him.

No words were necessary.

For the next three days, they were visiting family.

After that, their holiday became an investigation.