"I know."

Neither Arion nor Dean interrupted her this time.

Sylvia’s mouth curved faintly, though it looked more tired than amused. "I know what Thomas is. I know what he needs. I know how dominant alphas work long term, especially military dominants under strain. I’m not stupid."

"No one said you were," Dean replied quietly.

"No, but everyone keeps looking at me like I accidentally adopted a natural disaster." Sylvia leaned back in her chair. "I’m aware of the situation. I’m aware this could become painful and ridiculous and biologically unsustainable in ways modern medicine still hasn’t fully solved."

Arion watched her carefully now, the earlier teasing gone.

Sylvia looked toward the gray sky above the gardens. "But emotions exist without consent most of the time."

The words settled softly between them.

Dean’s expression eased first.

Sylvia laughed once under her breath. "Honestly, if emotions required permission, half this palace would be significantly more functional."

"Only half?" Dean asked.

"Fine. Twenty percent. Boreas is emotionally stable."

Boreas thumped his tail once from beneath the table without lifting his head.

Arion studied Sylvia for another quiet moment. "Thomas knows."

Sylvia blinked. "Knows what?"

"That you’re falling for him."

Dean immediately turned toward Arion. "What?"

Arion looked entirely unrepentant. "Thomas Lancaster notices everything. He simply pretends not to when he believes acknowledging it may hurt someone."

Sylvia’s ears turned pink. "That is deeply inconvenient information."

Dean’s eyes narrowed with sudden interest. "Wait. Did Thomas react?"

A pause.

Arion reached for Dean’s coffee this time.

Dean slapped his hand away automatically.

Arion ignored the violence. "He looked calmer after seeing her."

Sylvia went very still.

Dean looked between them slowly, realization blooming across his face with catastrophic speed. "Oh, this is serious."

"It is not serious," Sylvia said immediately.

"You nearly walked into a fountain because of wedding stress and then emotionally attached yourself to a seven-foot military commander with sad eyes."

"That sentence sounds unreasonable when you say it like that."

"Because it is unreasonable."

Sylvia pointed at him. "You kissed Arion after insulting him for three months."

Dean sat back. "That is different."

"How?"

Dean opened his mouth.

Paused.

Then looked offended because no answer arrived immediately.

Arion’s mouth curved slightly. "You see the issue."

Dean crossed his arms. "I dislike both of you."

"No, you don’t," Sylvia said.

"No," Arion agreed calmly. "You’re just emotionally invested now."

Dean looked absolutely furious about how accurate that was.

Sylvia started laughing.

Real laughing this time.

Not the exhausted, brittle kind from the previous days, but something lighter that bent her forward slightly in her chair.

Dean stared at her, then at Arion, and a terrible idea bloomed in his mind with the unmistakable speed of a future disaster.

"I have a question."

Arion immediately narrowed his eyes.

Dean pointed at him before anyone could interrupt. "No. Let me finish before you start sounding responsible."

"That sentence alone is concerning," Sylvia muttered.

Dean ignored her. "What if my neutralizing pheromones can stabilize other dominant alphas?"

Silence.

Arion hummed softly, which Dean had learned usually meant: ’I dislike this conversation already but unfortunately it contains logic.’

"The researchers are already working on it," Arion admitted. "But there is more than pheromones involved in a dominant bond."

Dean leaned forward immediately. "Yes, but biologically speaking, most of the instability is pheromonal overload, stress response, and instinctive escalation. If the neutralization effect interrupts the cascade before it reaches critical aggression thresholds—"

Sylvia blinked. "You got smarter halfway through that sentence."

"I was always smart."

"No, but now you sound expensive."

Dean pointed at her without looking away from Arion. "Thank you."

"That was not praise."

Arion watched Dean carefully now, the earlier amusement fading into something more thoughtful. "You are talking about temporary stabilization."

"Yes."

"You are also talking about putting yourself in range of unstable dominant alphas repeatedly outside of the battlefield."

Dean paused.

Then shrugged. "Technically."

"Dean."

"Oh, don’t use that tone. You already let scientists take my blood every week."

"That is different."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

Dean tilted his head. "Because?"

"Because blood samples do not involve enraged dominant alphas potentially imprinting on the person stabilizing them."

The garden quieted again.

Sylvia slowly lowered her wine glass. "Oh."

Dean blinked once. "Oh."

Arion looked profoundly unimpressed by both of them reaching the conclusion at exactly the same speed.

"Yes," he said flatly. "Oh."

Dean leaned back against his chair. "That would be inconvenient."

"That would be catastrophic," Arion corrected.

Sylvia pointed vaguely between them. "Wait, but you’re already bonded."

"Yes," Arion said.

Sylvia frowned, thinking through it properly now. "Then another alpha couldn’t actually imprint on Dean, right?"

"No," Arion replied calmly. "Not unless I die."

The garden went quiet for exactly one second.

Dean stared at him. "That was phrased with all the emotional comfort of a military report."

Arion raised his coffee cup slightly and grinned, slow and sharp. "Well, anyone trying to kill me to get to you would become a military report."

Sylvia inhaled sharply. "There he is."

Dean looked deeply offended. "You cannot flirt with murder threats."

"I absolutely can."

"That was not romantic."

Arion looked at him over the edge of the cup. "You seemed pleased."

"That is not the point."

"It rarely is with you."

Sylvia pointed between them. "No, genuinely, this is terrifying. You two talk like emotionally attached warlords."

Dean leaned back in his chair with dignity. "That is because we are emotionally attached warlords."

"You’re nineteen."

"And thriving."

Arion’s hand settled lazily over the back of Dean’s chair again, fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder like contact had become instinct somewhere along the way.

Sylvia watched the movement happen automatically and sighed dramatically. "I miss when relationships were simple."

Dean blinked. "Were they ever?"

"No, but I used to be optimistic."

"That sounds like a personal failure."

"I hate both of you."

"No, you don’t," Arion said calmly.

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "You’re very smug for someone who nearly suffered pheromonal backlash before Dean kissed you into stability."

Dean immediately pointed at her. "See? This is why I like you. You weaponize information beautifully."

Arion looked entirely unbothered. "I survived."

"Yes," Sylvia replied. "But now you pet Boreas with one hand and hold Dean like someone might steal him."

Arion didn’t even deny it.

Dean looked at him suspiciously. "You could at least pretend embarrassment."

"I’m not embarrassed."

"That somehow makes it worse."

"It makes it honest," Arion corrected.

The answer landed too softly for Dean to keep joking immediately.

Sylvia noticed at once.

"Oh no," she muttered. "You activated sincerity. We were having fun."

Dean grabbed his coffee again before the warmth threatening his face became visible. "I blame him."

"You usually do."

"Because he says emotionally devastating things in the same tone people use to discuss weather forecasts."

Arion considered that. "You’re still here."

"That is unfortunately true."

Sylvia looked between them, then down at her wine. "I understand Thomas now."

Dean turned toward her immediately with predatory interest. "Oh?"

She groaned softly. "Do not do that with your face."

"With what face?"

"The one that says gossip is now a military objective."

Arion took another slow sip of coffee. "You walked into that yourself."

Sylvia stared at him in betrayal. "Why are you like this?"

"Excellent genetics."

Dean nearly choked laughing.

For a few minutes the tension eased again, folding into the strange warmth that had started appearing more often around them lately. The palace still carried investigations, treason charges, wedding logistics, diplomatic panic, and Andrea Vale somewhere in a secured residence plotting his next mistake.

But here, in the garden, Dean was laughing.

Arion was relaxed enough to grin openly.

And Sylvia, despite every warning she’d given herself, was already thinking about Thomas Lancaster again.

Which, honestly, felt like the beginning of another disaster.