Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

”You know... this could look good on you,” Dean said with a mischievous smile.

Arion looked at the object in his hand.

Then at Dean.

Then back at the object.

It was a pair of bright yellow socks covered in tiny black ducks wearing crowns.

”No.”

Dean’s smile widened.

”Yes.”

Arion had kept his promise.

That morning, after breakfast and exactly one unavoidable security briefing, he had handed his tablet to Hunter, changed out of anything remotely imperial, and taken Dean into the city for the date he had demanded.

What Arion had not anticipated was that Dean’s definition of shopping involved a completely ordinary department store inside one of Alamina’s busiest commercial centers.

Not the private galleries used by the royal household.

Not one of the luxury streets where an appointment meant the building mysteriously emptied fifteen minutes before their arrival.

Not even the high-end shopping center several members of Arion’s family used when they wanted to pretend they were behaving like civilians while spending enough money on one jacket to fund a small village.

Dean had chosen a shopping mall full of teenagers, families, food counters, bright advertisements, and shops where half the merchandise was discounted because the winter season was ending.

Hunter had stared at the location when Dean gave him the address.

Then he had looked at Arion.

Arion had declined to intervene.

Now he was paying for that decision.

Dean held the socks against Arion’s black sweater.

”The yellow works.”

”It does not.”

”It brings out your eyes.”

”My eyes are not yellow.”

”Gold.”

Dean considered the ducks.

”Still works.”

Arion took the socks from him and returned them to the rack.

Dean immediately picked them up again and dropped them into their basket.

Arion looked down.

There were already three candles, a ceramic frog, two packets of sour candy, a set of unnecessarily small glass containers, novelty ice molds shaped like stars, and a mug that read ”I HAVE A PLAN” in enormous letters.

Arion had made the mistake of asking what Dean needed when they entered.

Apparently Dean needed nothing.

That had not prevented him from wanting everything.

”You have cups,” Arion said.

Dean looked at the mug.

”Not this one.”

”You have hundreds.”

”I do not have one that accurately represents my personality.”

Arion stared at him.

Dean hugged the mug against his chest.

”It is staying.”

Three meters behind them, Hunter turned his face away.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

”Are you laughing?”

”No, Your Highness.”

”You’re becoming suspiciously similar to Hale.”

Hunter continued inspecting a display of storage boxes with the focused expression of a man whose actual job involved identifying threats rather than witnessing Dean debate the emotional significance of discount kitchenware.

Two other guards remained farther away in civilian clothes.

That had been the compromise.

Dean was allowed a normal shopping trip.

Arion was not allowed to wander through one of the busiest malls in Alamina with only Dean and optimism for protection.

Dean accepted that with surprisingly little argument, mostly because Hunter had agreed not to follow closely enough to make every shopkeeper nervous.

People still recognized them.

Dean had seen three phones lifted discreetly since they entered the store and one woman nearly walked into a shelving unit after recognizing Arion beside the household cleaners.

Nobody had approached yet.

The absence of formal clothing helped.

Dean wore faded black jeans, white sneakers, and a pale blue sweatshirt beneath a short cream jacket. His blond hair had been left loose and slightly messy from the wind outside.

Arion had chosen dark jeans and heavy black boots with a charcoal sweater beneath a plain black coat.

He still looked like Arion.

There were limits to disguise when one was seven feet tall.

Dean wandered into the homewares aisle.

Arion followed with the basket.

That had also happened naturally.

Dean picked things.

Arion carried them.

Somewhere during their third year of marriage, this had apparently become an established system.

Dean stopped beside an enormous wall of cushions.

”Oh.”

Arion immediately distrusted the sound.

Dean touched one shaped like a slice of bread.

”No.”

”I didn’t say anything.”

”You made the sound.”

”What sound?”

”The one before you buy something useless.”

Dean looked down at the cushion beneath his hand.

”It has a purpose.”

”You already have cushions.”

”Not one shaped like bread.”

Arion considered the enormous slice of toast printed across the fabric.

”That is not a purpose.”

Dean lifted it from the shelf and hugged it against his chest.

It was offensively soft.

Arion knew because Dean immediately pushed one corner against his arm.

”Feel it.”

”I can see it.”

”That is not the same.”

Arion touched the cushion.

Dean smiled triumphantly and placed it on top of the basket.

Hunter looked away again.

It entered the basket.

There were things about Dean that Arion sometimes forgot until moments like this.

Dean had been raised inside one of Palatine’s most powerful families, surrounded by wealth, political expectations, and security from birth.

But Lucas and Trevor had sent both sons through ordinary civilian education until university.

Dean and Sebastian had gone to school with children whose parents were doctors, mechanics, teachers, shop owners, and office workers. They had eaten cafeteria food, taken public examinations, complained about teachers, and spent afternoons in shopping centers where nobody cared who their uncle was as long as they did not block the escalator.

It had left strange little habits in both brothers.

Sebastian could negotiate military procurement involving billions and still become personally offended by an overpriced sandwich.

Dean owned custom clothing made specifically for his measurements and became delighted when he found something useful for five credits.

Arion had stopped attempting to reconcile those facts years ago.

The next aisle contained stationery, which turned out to be considerably more dangerous.

Dean slowed in front of an entire wall of notebooks and picked up a black one with gold-edged pages.

Then a dark green one.

Then one with removable dividers.

”You use a tablet,” Arion said.