Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina-Chapter 134: Networking

Arion looked at the odd trio, and for a second he could have sworn the universe had assembled them purely to test his patience.

Nero had never met Sylvia before tonight. Nothing aside from their chaotic nature could explain the sudden, coordinated terror.

And yet all three of them stood there with the same grim conviction, like they’d attended a seminar titled ’How to Survive Dean’ and passed with honors.

Arion’s gaze moved between them, slow and assessing.

"You," he gestured with two fingers, minimal, polite, and slightly insulting, "are unusually in sync for strangers?"

Sylvia didn’t flinch. Sebastian didn’t move. Nero smiled like he’d been praised.

Nero turned sharply to Sylvia, then tipped his head down so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Even that small adjustment made him look annoyingly considerate for a man who enjoyed chaos like oxygen.

He extended his hand to her in a gesture that was part greeting, part performance.

"Nero Ezekiel Altera," he said brightly. "The first friend of Dean. You are honored."

Sylvia stared at his open hand.

Then at his face.

Then at Arion, as if asking permission to commit violence in a ballroom.

Arion didn’t give her permission.

So Sylvia did the only thing she could do with dignity intact.

She ignored Nero’s hand entirely.

She lifted her chin and smiled with sweet, dangerous politeness. "Sylvia Croft," she said. "The only friend of Dean who isn’t royalty, which means I’m the one with real-life experience."

Nero’s grin widened.

Sebastian made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh if he ever allowed himself joy in public.

Arion’s mouth twitched, just once, because unfortunately that was funny.

Nero kept his hand out for a beat longer, stubborn and theatrical, then withdrew it like he’d meant to do that all along.

"I like you," Nero announced.

Sylvia’s smile didn’t waver. "That’s unfortunate."

Nero’s eyes glittered. "For you."

"For my blood pressure," Sylvia corrected.

Arion watched them, expression composed, but his attention kept pulling back toward Dean.

Across the room, Dean was still speaking with his sisters, smiling like everything was normal, blond hair catching the light every time he tipped it to enunciate his words. From a distance, he looked calm. Controlled.

Arion knew better.

He could smell the suppressant doing its job, holding Dean’s preheat down like a lid over something hot.

And he could see it too, if he watched closely: Dean’s eyes were a little brighter, his movements a fraction sharper, and the subtle tension in his jaw was like he was using willpower to stay civilized.

Sebastian tracked Arion’s gaze and stepped half a pace closer, not crowding Arion, just aligning with him instinctively.

"He’s fine right now," Sebastian said quietly, because Sebastian had been reading Dean since they were children. "But he won’t stay fine if someone pushes."

Nero’s tone was cheerful, as if adding seasoning to a conversation about imminent disaster. "Especially not if someone tries to touch him."

Sylvia nodded once, grim. "Or patronize him."

Arion’s gaze slid back to them, sharp and controlled. "Then we prevent it."

Nero’s smile turned wicked. "That’s the spirit."

—

Sylvia regretted being helpful earlier.

’Sure,’ she thought bitterly as she navigated the edge of the ballroom. ’Let’s prevent it. Nobody said I - ME, JE - would be responsible for a feral, dominant omega.’

She threaded between clusters of nobles with the smooth confidence of a woman who refused to look like she was searching for anyone. Which was impressive, considering she was, in fact, searching for Dean like her life insurance depended on it.

The room was a living organism. People gathered and broke apart in slow, elegant tides. Laughter rose in controlled waves. Glasses clinked as if it was part of the music. Security was everywhere without ever being seen, which meant Sylvia kept spotting men with the posture of violence pretending to be decor.

Dean stood near the center-right of the ballroom, still in conversation with the two women Sylvia had identified earlier by their pins.

Dean looked... fine.

Which, Sylvia realized with a sinking feeling, meant the suppressant was working just well enough for him to behave while the danger stayed loaded underneath.

She closed the distance slowly, ready to slide into Dean’s orbit like she belonged there, because apparently, the crown prince himself had decided she was now part of the containment plan.

Behind her, Arion, Nero, and Sebastian had drifted away as if they had ’important duties.’

Sylvia didn’t buy it for a second.

The rest of them - the crown princes, the future grand duke, the walking geopolitical disasters - were ’networking.’

Networking.

Sylvia could barely keep her expression polite.

’How much networking do literal crown princes of empires and kingdoms and future grand dukes need?’ she thought, annoyed. ’You are the network.’

They weren’t networking.

They were escaping.

It had to be an excuse.

Which meant Sylvia, a civilian friend and apparently now acting hazard officer, was the one left to approach Dean first.

Sylvia swallowed her irritation and stepped into the outer ring of Dean’s conversation.

The two women turned first. Both were elegant, sharp-eyed, and built out of court training. One of them wore a deep green gown that made her look like she’d been poured out of a jewel. The other’s dress was dark and sleek, minimal and expensive, and could easily pay a year of special tuition back in Palatine.

Sylvia put on her best smile. The one she used when someone was trying to measure her worth and she needed them to understand she had teeth.

Dean noticed her a second later.

His purple eyes flicked to her, and for the briefest moment the perfect gala smile cracked into relief.

Then Dean recovered instantly, because Dean had been trained for rooms like this since childhood and also because Dean would rather die than be caught looking needy in public.

"Sylvia," Dean said smoothly, like he hadn’t just been the subject of a containment plan five minutes ago.

Sylvia smiled brighter. "Dean."

Dean’s gaze slid over her outfit, quick, approving, and then sharpened, because Dean noticed everything.

"Why do you look like you’re about to commit a crime?" Dean murmured under his breath, polite smile still in place for the sisters.

Sylvia’s smile did not move. Her voice stayed sweet. "Because I was informed you’re in preheat."

Dean’s eyes widened by a fraction.

Then his smile became very, very controlled.

"Oh," Dean said softly. "They told you."

Sylvia kept her tone light. "They told me like it was a casual weather update."

Dean’s jaw tightened. "Arion."

Sylvia decided that she didn’t want to know how Dean would take his anger on Arion later.