Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

A boy.

Dean stared at the screen for several seconds after the physician said it, as though the image might suddenly become clearer now that one more piece of their child had a name.

The grainy profile did not change.

A small head. Curved spine. One arm tucked close to his chest while the other moved with enough determination that the physician had already commented on how cooperative he had been for measurements.

Their son.

Dean felt something warm expand beneath his ribs.

Then the image from the department store returned with such ridiculous precision that he started laughing.

Arion turned from the monitor.

”What?”

Dean covered his mouth briefly, shoulders shaking.

”The miniature version of you.”

Arion’s brows lifted.

”I was joking about a tiny Arion walking around in a black coat, judging everyone, and now there is actually going to be a boy.”

”You requested my personality too.”

”That was before I understood the consequences.”

The obstetric specialist hid a smile while adjusting the probe.

Dean looked back at the monitor, still grinning.

”Knowing our luck, fate will spite me, and he’ll look exactly like me.”

Arion’s expression softened immediately.

”I would hardly consider that spite.”

Dean glanced toward him.

There was no teasing in the answer.

Arion sat close enough that one knee pressed against the examination bed, dark green shirt stretched across his shoulders beneath the clinical lighting. His hand remained wrapped around Dean’s, thumb moving slowly over his knuckles.

Dean’s smile gentled.

”You say that now. Imagine two of me arguing with you before breakfast.”

”I have had years of practice with one.”

”That sounded like military service.”

”It occasionally feels comparable.”

Dean squeezed his fingers.

The physician continued through the remainder of the anatomical scan, identifying structures Dean could only distinguish after they were pointed out.

The curve of a cheek that Dean immediately decided looked like Arion despite having no scientific basis whatsoever for the claim.

Everything measured appropriately.

That mattered more than anything else.

By the time the lights brightened again, Dean had relaxed enough that the tension he had carried into the appointment seemed foolish in retrospect.

Arion collected the printed images before Dean had even finished lowering his shirt.

Dean watched him arrange every photograph carefully inside the clinic folder.

”You know half of those look identical.”

”They don’t.”

”You’re keeping all of them?”

”Yes.”

Dean looked toward Seven, who had joined them near the end of the appointment.

Seven checked something on his tablet and wisely declined to comment.

Dean slid from the examination bed.

Arion’s hand immediately settled against his lower back.

Dean looked up.

”I am eighteen weeks pregnant, not ninety.”

”I know.”

”You continue behaving as if gravity has become personally interested in me.”

”Gravity is consistent.”

”That was somehow worse.”

Seven opened the door for them.

”Your results will be finalized this afternoon. Nothing I saw requires concern.”

Dean smiled.

”See? We can leave without anyone taking more blood.”

Seven glanced at him.

”For today.”

Dean’s expression flattened.

Arion looked far too amused.

They escaped before the medical board discovered another reason to keep them.

The covered corridor connecting the medical wing to the residential palace was bright with late-spring sun, climbing vines already green against the pale stone pillars. Dean had abandoned the grey overshirt over one arm because the temperature had risen again, leaving the cream shirt stretched slightly over the growing curve of his stomach.

Arion carried the clinic folder.

Dean walked beside him for several meters before stopping.

Arion stopped too.

”We have a problem.”

”What?”

Dean looked at his stomach.

”He needs a name.”

Arion became thoughtful.

They had discussed security arrangements, possible nursery locations, medical schedules, travel restrictions, and whether Boreas could reasonably be prevented from sleeping outside the nursery door once the baby arrived.

They had somehow avoided the most basic decision.

Dean resumed walking.

”This is going to be terrible.”

”We have months.”

”That only gives us more time to reject things.”

Arion hummed.

By the time they crossed into the main residence, Dean had already rejected two names Arion had not actually proposed.

Then Hunter appeared at the end of the corridor.

The security chief wore a lightweight black suit without a tie, an earpiece barely visible beneath his hair.

”Saha arrived early.”

Arion glanced toward him.

”The delegation was scheduled for tomorrow.”

”Their flight plan changed this morning. King Dax and Nero are already with Emperor Otto in the northern receiving rooms.”

Dean’s attention went immediately to the folder in Arion’s hand.

Nero had demanded images.

A smile began forming.

Arion noticed.

”You are supposed to rest.”

”I sat through the entire appointment.”

”That was not rest.”

”It involved lying down.”

”For forty minutes.”

Dean took Arion’s hand and started toward the northern wing.

”That sounds medically excellent.”

Arion allowed himself to be dragged, which was mostly symbolic given their height difference.

The receiving room was one of Otto’s less formal spaces, with tall windows overlooking the spring gardens and low cream sofas arranged around a central table rather than a diplomatic conference desk.

Nero saw them first.

He stood near the windows in a long dark-purple coat worked with silver at the collar and cuffs, with white hair falling loose. The moment his gaze dropped to the folder, he abandoned whatever conversation he had been having.

”You had the scan.”

Dean smiled.

”It’s a boy.”

Nero’s face lit immediately.

Dax turned from Otto.

For a moment the room shifted entirely toward them.

Nero crossed the carpet.

”Give me the pictures.”

Arion moved the folder out of reach.

”They’re ours.”

Dean laughed.

”You can look at them.”

”I was promised photographic evidence.”

”You were promised nothing.”

Nero ignored Arion and looked at Dean.

”May I see my future godson?”

Arion’s expression changed.

”Your what?”

Dean started laughing again.

Nero looked perfectly sincere.

”I am maintaining the campaign.”

”There is no campaign.”

”That sounds increasingly defensive.”

Otto sighed from across the room.

Dax’s mouth almost curved.

Dean rescued one of the clearer images from the folder and handed it over.

”This one has the profile.”

Nero took it carefully.

His teasing disappeared for a moment while he studied the grainy image.

”He looks like nothing.”

Dean stared at him.

”He looks like our son.”

”He looks like a very expensive shadow.”

Arion reached for the picture.

Nero moved it beyond his hand.

Dean laughed hard enough that the baby shifted beneath his shirt.

He stopped abruptly and pressed his palm to the curve.

Nero noticed.

”Did he move?”

”Yes.”

Arion’s attention dropped immediately to Dean’s stomach, pride appearing so openly across his face that Dean wanted to laugh all over again.

Across the room, Dax watched them.

Then his focus shifted to Arion.

His expression changed by barely anything.

A narrowing of the eyes.

A stillness that lasted one beat too long.

Dax had known Arion since infancy, long before his pheromones matured into what they were now. He knew the shape of Arion’s scent through childhood, adolescence, ruts, illness, anger, and adulthood.

Something was different.

Subtle enough that the room ignored it.

Subtle enough that Nero, standing much closer, showed no reaction.

Dax said nothing.

Not with Dean beside Arion, pregnant and laughing while Nero attempted to steal the ultrasound photograph.

He could speak to Arion alone later.

For now, Dax merely inclined his head.

”Congratulations.”

Arion looked toward him.

”Thank you.”

The moment passed.

Dean had already taken the photograph back from Nero and was arguing that their son clearly possessed an excellent profile.

Nero disagreed on the grounds that unborn children lacked sufficient evidence for aesthetic judgment.