Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

An hour later, Dean finally felt well enough to call Sylvia.

The improvement had less to do with medication than with Arion abandoning any attempt to keep his pheromones restrained. Vetiver still lingered through the private sitting room in a warm, steady layer, blending with the faint scent of winter air slipping around the tall windows and the tea cooling untouched on the low table.

Dean had managed breakfast while tucked against Arion’s side. More importantly, breakfast had stayed where it belonged.

That qualified as progress.

Now he occupied the corner of the long charcoal sofa beneath one of the ridiculous soft blankets Rina had brought after learning about the pregnancy. His cream knit shirt hung loosely over his waist, pale hair falling around his face because he had abandoned any effort to make it respectable after showering.

Arion had reluctantly gone to his office fifteen minutes earlier after Dean promised that making a video call did not constitute dangerous physical exertion.

Dean had not told anyone beyond their immediate families yet.

That could not continue indefinitely.

The pregnancy involved the future rulers of Alamina. Even if the palace managed to control the medical information, changes to Dean’s security arrangements, appointments, schedule, and eventually his appearance would make secrecy increasingly difficult. A formal announcement would happen when they were ready.

Before that, however, there were people Dean refused to let discover it from a news alert.

Sylvia was one.

Nero was very much another.

Dean had generously assigned Nero to Arion.

Some problems belonged inside a marriage.

Sylvia answered after several rings.

The screen filled with her office in Rohan, all high windows, pale stone, and the slightly chaotic evidence of a newly married woman who still had wedding gifts occupying one corner beneath the windows even a month later. Sylvia sat behind a broad desk in a fitted navy blouse, dark hair pinned loosely at the nape of her neck, with several open documents spread beneath one hand.

The moment she saw Dean, her expression sharpened.

”You are calling me in the middle of the morning instead of sending a message with some insulting comment attached to it. That usually means either you want something or something happened.”

Dean adjusted the blanket over his legs.

”That is a terrible assessment of my personality.”

”It is based on years of evidence.”

There was no point delaying.

Dean had discovered over the last week that saying the words became easier every time but never entirely ordinary.

He rested one hand unconsciously over his abdomen.

”I’m pregnant.”

Sylvia stopped moving.

Her hand remained on the document in front of her while her eyes fixed on Dean’s face.

For several seconds, the only movement on the screen came from people crossing the courtyard visible beyond her windows.

Then Sylvia slowly leaned back.

”You are serious.”

”Very.”

”When did you find out?”

”About a week ago. I took three tests because apparently I thought the first two might be conspiring against me.”

The shock in Sylvia’s expression cracked.

She laughed, then immediately covered her mouth with one hand.

”Oh, Dean.”

That particular softness affected him far more than surprise had.

Dean smiled.

”I know.”

Sylvia stood, picked up the tablet, and moved away from her desk toward the quieter seating area near the windows. She settled onto a pale sofa and angled the screen closer.

”Are you alright? And I mean actually alright, not your version where you’re technically upright and therefore insist nothing is wrong.”

Dean glanced toward the untouched tea.

”The pregnancy is healthy so far. The medical board has taken personal offense that we failed to arrange conception through official channels, so I have been tested for nearly everything human medicine is capable of measuring.”

”That sounds like them.”

”They are vindictive people.”

”They are keeping you safe.”

”Both statements can be true.”

Sylvia smiled, but her attention remained careful.

”And you’re happy?”

That question was quieter.

Dean looked down at his hand.

The answer no longer surprised him.

”Yes. I’m very happy.”

Sylvia’s expression softened completely.

”Then I’m happy for you.”

Dean swallowed against an unexpected tightness in his throat.

”Thank you.”

”And Arion?”

Dean laughed.

”Impossible.”

”I assumed.”

”He is currently convinced stairs require supervision.”

”That also sounds like Arion.”

”He moved my chair yesterday because the carpet underneath it looked uneven.”

Sylvia laughed hard enough to lean back against the sofa.

Dean waited until she recovered.

”There is one reason I’m calling now rather than waiting.”

”You don’t want me finding out publicly.”

”Exactly. We’ll announce it when the doctors are satisfied and security has finished turning pregnancy into a classified military operation, but I wanted you to know first.”

Sylvia nodded.

”And Nero?”

Dean smiled with complete innocence.

”Arion has Nero.”

Sylvia stared.

Then laughed again.

”You assigned him the difficult one.”

”I am pregnant. Delegation is medically recommended.”

”I don’t believe Seven said that.”

”He would if asked correctly.”

The call ended several minutes later, after Sylvia demanded updates from the next scan and promised not to fly to Alamina simply because Dean had looked tired for half a second.

Dean set the tablet aside with a satisfied sigh.

–

Arion waited until Dean’s call ended before contacting Nero.

He had heard fragments of Dean’s laughter through the partially open office door, which reassured him more than he intended to admit.

His own office overlooked the eastern gardens, though most of the morning light was diffused behind cloud and thin snowfall. A stack of infrastructure reports remained untouched beside his left hand. The tablet in front of him held significantly more immediate importance.

Nero answered from the rear seat of a moving vehicle.

White hair fell in a loose braid over one shoulder, and he wore a dark purple formal coat embroidered subtly in silver over black. The blurred city beyond the tinted window suggested he was somewhere in Saha’s administrative district.

Nero took one look at Arion.

”You have the expression people use before telling me something politically inconvenient.”

”It isn’t political yet.”

That got his full attention.

Arion leaned back in his chair.

”Dean is pregnant.”

Nero stared. Then his purple eyes widened and his whole expression transformed.

”Dean is pregnant with your child?”

Arion gave him a flat look.

Nero smiled immediately.

”I knew the second half was unnecessary. I wanted to see how offended you became.”

Arion ignored that.

”We found out last week. Everything is healthy so far.”

For once, Nero did not immediately turn the information into another joke.

His posture eased against the leather seat, and genuine warmth replaced the amusement.

”Am I the godfather?”

Arion stared at him.

Nero’s expression remained perfectly serious.

”You have known for less than a minute.”

”I prefer to address important matters early.”

”There is no godfather yet.”

”That was not a no.”

”It was very close.”

Nero leaned back, visibly satisfied by whatever interpretation he had chosen.

Arion already regretted telling him.

”You do understand that Dean has family.”

”So do you. I’m your cousin.”

”Second cousin.”

”Arion.”

”Nero.”