Three days later, Andrea sat across from Arion’s desk beneath the cold light of the imperial office while half of Alamina’s intelligence apparatus quietly dismantled his life in the rooms below.

The investigation folder, black and oddly slim for the dangerous data inside, rested near Arion’s hand.

That alone irritated Otto.

The Emperor had reviewed the preliminary findings personally the previous evening with the exact expression he usually reserved for assassination attempts and ministers who believed a technically accurate answer was not, still, a lie. Otto trusted Nero’s instincts in military matters more than most generals trusted their own reports, largely because Nero rarely accused anyone of anything directly unless the situation had already crossed into dangerous territory.

Nero mocked people. He provoked them. He set small decorative fires beside them if boredom became severe enough.

But the accusations were different, and Nero had not called Andrea incompetent.

He had called him cold.

Which was worse.

Arion watched Andrea calmly over the rim of his coffee cup.

Andrea looked composed as always, beautiful in the polished way dominant omegas trained for court politics often become. His long fiery red hair was perfectly styled, falling onto his shoulders and back in seamless waves. Dark blue eyes faintly shadowed under the heavy lashes.

He didn’t ask anything, as he was expecting this to be just another technical meeting between them.

Arion looked at the man that once served as his rut partner and who had dared to arrive at his and Dean’s engagement celebration wearing white in the imperial capital as if subtlety were a disease he refused to catch.

Arion had not forgotten.

He had simply filed the offense under future problems.

Andrea sat elegantly beneath the cold office light with the composure of someone deeply accustomed to surviving powerful men through intelligence rather than force. His posture remained perfect, one leg crossed neatly over the other, soft pale hands resting lightly against the arm of the chair.

The contrast between him and Dean hit Arion unexpectedly hard.

Dean burned through rooms. Dean fought people directly. Dean weaponized honesty, irritation, affection, and pheromones with equal recklessness. Even when Dean lied, it sounded emotional.

Andrea sounded edited.

Arion disliked that realization immediately.

"You requested a private meeting before our departure," Andrea said politely at last. "I assumed this concerned the transition reports for Rohan."

That was the official reason.

Thomas Lancaster and Andrea were scheduled to leave Alamina within the week. The beast season had ended. Rohan’s delegation was already preparing transport routes, personnel transfers, and reconstruction briefings for the northern territories damaged during the containment operations.

Thomas would return home.

Andrea was expected to return with him.

Arion set his coffee cup down softly.

"It concerns the campaign," he said.

Andrea’s gaze sharpened almost invisibly.

"That narrows it very little."

"That’s intentional."

Silence settled between them briefly.

Outside the office windows, summer light spilled across the palace gardens in warm gold sheets. Inside, the office remained cool enough that the untouched coffee near Andrea’s chair no longer steamed.

Arion opened the folder.

Andrea’s eyes flicked toward it once, like he was trying not to acknowledge it.

"Your reports were excellent," Arion said calmly.

"They were accurate."

"I’m sure they were."

Andrea folded his hands loosely in his lap. "If there is a concern regarding Central’s performance, I would prefer directness."

Arion almost smiled, knowing that he hit at least something in the iceberg of a person in front of him.

"That depends," Arion replied evenly. "Do you believe there was a concern?"

Andrea met his gaze without hesitation.

"No."

Arion leaned back slightly in his chair, the light spilling like a halo around him.

"Thomas destabilized twice during the final breach."

Andrea’s expression barely shifted.

"Moderately," he corrected. "Still within acceptable operational parameters."

"You remember the measurements precisely."

"I wrote the report."

"Yes," Arion said quietly. "You did."

The office fell silent again.

Andrea was intelligent enough to understand this conversation was no longer administrative.

That realization did not seem to unsettle him.

If anything, it made him colder.

Arion watched him carefully now, trying to understand where Andrea started and what his goal was in the end.

"My question is," Arion said quietly, "why aren’t you marked by your dominant alpha?"

Andrea’s expression remained smooth, but the silence after the question stretched a fraction too long.

Arion continued before he could redirect the conversation.

"I’m sure an omega like you understands that a proper mating mark would handle most of the stabilization automatically." His gaze sharpened slightly. "Over ninety percent, actually. Especially during beast season."

Andrea’s fingers tightened once against his sleeve.

"That," Andrea replied carefully, "is a personal matter, Your Highness."

"Andrea..."

Arion’s voice lowered warningly enough that the room itself seemed to tense around it.

"Thomas is not merely another foreign noble passing through Alamina," he said. "He is a childhood friend. We trained together. We learned containment protocols together. I know exactly how hard he pushes his pheromones down during field operations because I watched him learn to do it."

Andrea stayed silent.

"I gave you the opportunity to speak first because you are from Alamina," Arion continued evenly. "But if necessary, I will ask Thomas directly." 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

That landed.

Not visibly for most people, but Arion saw the shift immediately.

Andrea’s shoulders remained elegant and relaxed, yet something colder flickered behind his eyes now.

"You assume Thomas would answer differently," Andrea said softly.

"I assume Thomas would answer honestly."

Andrea looked at him for a long moment, and then he smiled beautifully, almost sadly, though the expression never reached the corners of his eyes.

"That is because Thomas still believes honesty fixes things."

Arion’s eyes narrowed.

He remembered Andrea from before Dean with uncomfortable clarity. Not fondly, not bitterly, but correctly. Andrea had always been clever, always elegant, always convinced that if he wanted something badly enough and arranged the world around himself with enough patience, eventually reality would make space for him.

Arion had once mistaken that for ambition.

Now, looking at the cold polish of him across the desk, he wondered if it had always been resentment wearing court manners.

"Andrea," Arion said quietly, "let me explain this plainly, so that even someone as stubborn and spoiled as you will understand."

Andrea’s expression did not change.

That was fine.

Arion did not need him frightened. He needed him listening.

He closed the file with one hand and rested his palm over the cover. The sound was soft but final enough to make the room feel smaller.

"I never intended to mate with you," Arion said. "I never intended to marry you. You had no path to the throne of Alamina through me, no matter what ideas you built around our arrangement, and no matter who encouraged you to believe otherwise. Whatever you thought existed between us, it was never going to become imperial."

Andrea’s fingers tightened once.

"You were given what you asked for after that," Arion continued. "A powerful match. A respected house. A dominant alpha who wanted you openly enough that half the court called him foolish for it. Position, protection, influence, and a country where your status would matter." His voice lowered. "And somehow, after receiving all of that, you still failed to do the one duty your role required during beast season because of resentment."

Andrea’s eyes sharpened. "That is an assumption."

"No," Arion said. "It is a conclusion built from too many clean reports."

Andrea’s mouth curved faintly. "Clean reports are not crimes, Your Highness."

"They become suspicious when they describe a field where everyone except you carries the cost."

The office quieted.

Arion leaned forward slightly.

"Hear me out," he said, his voice calm enough to become dangerous. "The only reason you are sitting here alive, instead of being treated like a foreign military risk who endangered a containment team, is because you are a dominant omega."

Andrea went still. For the first time, truly still.

Arion let the words settle.

"Not because you are Andrea. Not because you once shared my rut. Not because Thomas loves you. Not because your family has influence. Because dominant omegas are rare, politically valuable, and medically difficult to replace. That is the only reason Otto did not order this handled with less patience."

Andrea’s face lost a little color.

"You think I am exaggerating," Arion said.

"I think," Andrea replied carefully, "that threatening a dominant omega from Alamina days before he leaves with a foreign delegation would be politically inconvenient."

"It would be," Arion nodded once. "And if Nero had accused you publicly, instead of privately through Dax, the inconvenience would already be a catastrophe."

Andrea’s gaze flickered.

"Nero," Arion continued, "is Saha’s crown prince. He was positioned close enough to Central’s relay to observe your team. He noticed what our own reports failed to say. Dax knows. Chris will know by now if Dax believes it concerns Saha’s campaign integrity. My father knows. Hendrik does not yet know the full scope because Otto and I chose not to turn this into a military inquiry before speaking to you."

Andrea’s breathing remained even, but Arion watched the calculation beneath it change shape.

The room no longer belonged to him.

He understood that now.

"You should be grateful," Arion said. "Not because we are being kind, but because we are being careful."

Andrea’s voice came out quieter. "Thomas was never in danger."

Arion’s expression hardened.

"You do not get to say that."