Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina-Chapter 120: Too many in the palace

The air in the room became heavier, as if the heirs couldn’t argue with it.

Arion’s gaze flickered to her. "That is the smartest thing someone of age can say."

"Aside of telling you that Dean really likes you?" Sylvia asked with a predatory grin.

For half a second, the room froze.

Dean didn’t breathe.

His entire body went still in the way prey went still when it realized the predator had learned language.

Then Arion laughed. A genuine laugh, warm, caught off guard, and entertained, as if Sylvia had landed a hit right through protocol and into his ribs.

Dean’s soul attempted to exit his body and file for asylum.

"Sylvia," Dean hissed, his voice tight with mortification.

Sylvia looked pleased with herself, which was the worst possible outcome. "What? It’s true."

"It is not—" Dean started.

Zion made a noise of immediate delight, then burst into laughter like he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life. He leaned forward, elbow on knee, grinning so wide it looked painful.

"Oh my God," Zion wheezed. "She said it. She just... she just said it."

Sebastian’s control cracked right along with his patience.

He turned his head slightly toward the window like he was trying to find a place to put the laughter where it wouldn’t be seen, but it escaped anyway - one quiet, helpless sound that made his shoulders shift.

Dean stared at him, betrayed. "Sebastian."

Sebastian raised a hand, as if to say ’I’m trying,’ but his eyes were bright with restrained amusement. "I’m sorry," he said, which was a lie, because he clearly wasn’t.

Arion, still laughing, lifted a hand to his mouth like he was attempting to regain dignity and failing. His gaze shifted to Dean: warm, pleased, and dangerous.

"Is that so," Arion murmured, voice still threaded with laughter.

Dean’s face went hot enough to qualify as a fire hazard.

He didn’t deny it because denying it would turn it into a trial, and Dean did not have the energy to argue against three heirs and one civilian menace in the same sitting room.

Instead, he did what he always did when cornered.

He went flat. Resigned.

"Congratulations," Dean said, voice deadpan. "This is Sylvia."

Sylvia preened. "Thank you."

Dean’s eyes narrowed. "That wasn’t praise."

"It still counts," Sylvia replied.

Boreas, sensing heightened emotion in the room, lifted his head and wagged his tail once, as if he also supported Sylvia’s statement.

Dean stared at the dog. "Don’t you start too."

Zion laughed harder. "Even the dog agrees!"

Sylvia patted Boreas’s head with deep satisfaction. "See? Pack dynamics."

Dean’s gaze cut to Arion, because Arion was the most dangerous one here - not because he could fight, but because he looked genuinely happy.

Arion’s laughter had softened into a smile, one that made Dean feel vulnerable in ways unrelated to pheromones.

"You don’t have to be embarrassed," Arion said lightly, which was the worst thing he could have said, because it implied Dean had something to be embarrassed about.

Dean’s voice came out dry. "I’m not embarrassed."

Sebastian let out another quiet laugh, immediately betrayed by his own face.

Zion wiped at his eyes like he’d cried from joy. "Dean," he said, delighted, "you’re blushing."

Dean snapped, "I am not."

Sylvia leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "You are. It’s cute."

Dean stared at her like he might actually follow through on the defenestration threats.

Arion’s smile widened.

Dean realized, with cold clarity, that Arion liked Sylvia.

Of course he did.

Arion liked competence. Arion liked loyalty. Arion liked people who didn’t bow and didn’t flatter.

And Sylvia was a walking lack of fear.

Dean exhaled slowly, defeated. "You are all terrible."

Zion nodded, cheerful. "Yes."

Sebastian’s eyes softened toward Dean, the amusement fading into something protective again. "We’re family."

Dean’s mouth twitched despite himself. "That’s not a defense."

"It’s an explanation," Sebastian replied.

Arion, still smiling, leaned back with that infuriating ease of a man who had everything he wanted in the room and didn’t need to pretend otherwise.

Sylvia, satisfied she’d detonated the conversation properly, rested back in her chair like she’d just finished a civic duty.

Boreas sighed and lowered his head onto Sylvia’s foot, content.

Dean sat there, mortified, resigned, and painfully aware that the palace had become even more crowded with the type of attention he couldn’t avoid any longer.

—

Eventually, the conversation drifted back to logistics. Zion got pulled into a briefing. Sebastian got pulled into another. Sylvia got pulled into Boreas’s orbit like gravity was a dog before leaving for her own home.

And Dean... Dean got pulled into the hallway with Arion at his side, because Arion didn’t ’walk with’ people so much as he quietly rearranged the world until they were where he wanted them to be.

The corridor outside the sitting room was quieter than the room had been, colder too; the air filtered into neutrality again.

Dean exhaled like he’d been holding tension in his lungs for an hour.

Arion walked beside him in that calm, controlled silence he wore so well, hands clasped behind his back for half the corridor, posture straight, expression composed.

Dean tried to relax.

He failed.

Because even now, even with protocol behind them, Dean could still feel his own pheromones faintly threaded with Arion’s. Like a lingering imprint. Like a private fact, the palace could smell if it tried hard enough.

Dean kept his gaze forward. "Zion is going to ruin my life."

Arion’s mouth twitched. "Zion ruins everyone’s life."

Dean glanced at him. "You say that like it’s affectionate."

"It is," Arion said, unapologetic.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, then rubbed a hand over his face. "Sylvia is worse."

Arion’s eyes warmed. "Sylvia is honest."

Dean’s tone went flat. "Sylvia is a threat."

Arion didn’t disagree.

They walked in silence again. The palace halls stretched long, softly lit, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by expensive materials designed to hide human presence. Security stood at intervals. Cameras watched with polite disinterest.

Dean’s suite wing was coming up.

He saw the familiar turn ahead, the corridor that would lead back to his door, his safe little controlled space where he could pretend he was still himself.

His shoulders loosened a fraction in relief.

He turned slightly, already angling his body toward that corridor...

And Arion didn’t.

Arion’s hand landed at the small of Dean’s back, gentle enough to be called guiding and firm enough to be called steering, and shifted him - not toward Dean’s suite, but past it.

Dean’s steps stuttered.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, voice low and immediate.

Arion didn’t slow. "Walking you home."

Dean’s brows knitted. "My home is—"

Arion’s hand stayed there, the quiet pressure of certainty. "Not tonight."

Dean stopped. Fully stopped, forcing Arion to stop with him.

Arion turned his head, calm, as if Dean had simply asked about the weather.

Dean stared at him. "Arion."

Arion’s gaze held his. "Dean."

Dean’s eyes narrowed. "I agreed to move in your suite, thinking I would move in the next days. Maybe weeks. After... formalities."

Arion’s mouth twitched like he found "formalities" adorable. "Formalities are for press releases.

Dean stared at him.

Arion continued, voice even. "Tonight, you are tired. Your brother arrived. Zion arrived. Tomorrow Nero arrives. Your suite is already flagged for maintenance."

Dean’s throat tightened, because that was all true, and Dean hated the way Arion could stack reality into a wall and call it care.

Dean tried to keep his tone sharp. "I can sleep in my suite."

Arion’s eyes softened, and that softness was more dangerous than any dominance. "You can," he admitted. "But you won’t."

Dean’s spine stiffened. "Don’t tell me what I—"

Arion leaned in slightly, close enough that Dean could feel the warmth of him. "You asked Sylvia to stay because you didn’t want to be alone with me so soon," Arion murmured, his voice low so the corridor couldn’t steal it. "And then you ate, and you laughed, and you survived. Now you’re trying to retreat like the day didn’t happen."

Dean’s mouth opened.

Closed again.

Arion straightened, hand still at Dean’s back, steady. "I’m not letting you retreat into a separate wing and spend the night spiraling yourself into an early grave."

Dean’s eyes flashed. "I don’t spiral."

Arion’s mouth twitched. "You do. Quietly. With dignity. It’s impressive."

Dean looked like he wanted to bite him.

Arion looked like he’d enjoy it. Again.