Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina Chapter 257: Civilian Recovery

Arion’s mouth twitched.

Nero pointed toward the malamute. "He knows how to use the handle."

Dean looked down slowly at Boreas.

Boreas looked back with enormous brown eyes full of innocence and absolutely no innocence whatsoever.

Dean felt betrayed on a spiritual level.

"You trained him to commit treason."

"He trained himself," Arion corrected.

"That is worse."

Nero leaned back deeper into the chair, entirely too comfortable. "Actually, I think he likes because I feed him illegally."

Arion sighed. "Nero."

"What? He enjoys smoked at."

"He also enjoys eating entire socks. That does not make it wise."

Boreas sneezed directly onto Dean’s shoulder in support of criminal behavior.

Dean closed his eyes.

"I fought infected beasts for this country."

"You did," Arion agreed solemnly.

"I neutralized corrupted pheromones."

"Yes."

"I prevented zombie flies from reaching civilians."

"You were very impressive."

"And my reward is being crushed to death by a furry traitor while Nero watches suffer."

Nero smiled brightly. "That does sound accurate."

Dean pointed weakly at him with the coffee cup. "You should be illegal in at least three countries."

"I am banned from two."

"That is not the reassuring answer."

Arion finally sat on the edge of the bed, one hand settling automatically against Dean’s hair.

Boreas imdiately rested his enormous head on Dean’s chest possessively, as if reminding Arion that he, too, had claims.

Dean looked between the alpha prince, the Sahan nace, and the emotionally manipulative dog.

Then he took a long sip of coffee and accepted that the universe simply hated him personally.

—

An hour later, Dean was stretched across the sofa in the private sitting room he and Arion almost never used when the Empire was functioning normally.

Which, in hindsight, probably explained why the room was so comfortable.

The television hidden behind one of the carved wall panels was on, the massive screen glowing softly in the dim room while so detective series played in the background. Dean had stopped following the plot twenty minutes ago, sowhere around the third murder and second affair, but the noise was pleasant.

Civilian noise.

Not battlefield noise.

The room slled faintly like coffee, clean fabric, and Boreas, who had followed Dean downstairs and was now occupying most of the carpet directly in front of the sofa like a furry siege blockade.

Arion sat at the opposite end of the couch reading reports on a tablet with the expression of a man personally offended by administrative incompetence.

Peaceful.

Almost suspiciously peaceful.

Which was exactly when Sebastian arrived.

Dean heard the private door open and looked up just in ti to see his older brother step inside, still dressed in dark field clothes despite the season officially ending yesterday. His long black hair was tied back loosely now, a few strands escaping near his temples, and there was sothing profoundly exhausted hidden beneath his usual composed expression.

Boreas lifted his head imdiately.

Sebastian looked at the dog.

The dog looked at Sebastian.

Boreas huffed once and dropped his head back down, apparently deciding Sebastian had been approved for entry by whatever ancient wolf laws governed the household now.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You let him in too?"

Boreas thumped his tail once.

Traitor.

Sebastian’s mouth twitched faintly as he walked further into the room. "Am I interrupting sothing?"

"Yes," Dean said flatly. "My recovery."

Arion didn’t look up from the tablet. "He’s half asleep."

"I am conscious enough to resent both of you."

"That’s reassuring," Sebastian said quietly.

Dean studied him for a mont longer.

The season had ended cleanly, but ’clean’ was relative when people spent days knee-deep in infected mud trying not to beco pheromonal disasters. Sebastian looked balanced and controlled.

Dean knew that look.

"Sit down before you fall down elegantly," he said.

Sebastian sighed once through his nose but obeyed, lowering himself into the armchair near the sofa. The movent was careful enough that Dean imdiately noticed.

Arion noticed too.

"You overextended your pheromones," Arion said calmly.

Sebastian gave him a look. "Hello to you too."

"That’s a yes," Dean muttered.

"I managed my flank without incident."

"That was not the question."

Sebastian leaned his head back briefly against the chair. "Moderate strain."

Dean stared.

Arion stared.

Sebastian opened one eye. "Stop making that face."

"You are using the Hendrik language now," Dean inford him. "That is how I know you’re damaged."

"It ans I’m tired."

"It ans you’re lying professionally."

Sebastian’s mouth curved despite himself.

For a mont the room quieted again, filled only by the television and the soft clicking sound of Arion scrolling through reports.

Then Sebastian made the mistake of asking, "Where’s Nero?"

Dean imdiately looked interested.

Arion’s expression beca profoundly unimpressed.

"I removed him from our suite," Arion said.

Sebastian blinked once. "Removed?"

"He invaded our space at seven in the morning."

"Understandable," Sebastian said while sinking further into the armchair. "I was sent here by Lucas, so I am not invading. He wants to inform Dean that even three weeks on a battlefield are not an excuse not to call back and tell him the date for the wedding was set."

Dean went very still.

Arion’s head turned slowly toward him.

The detective series continued playing in the background, deeply unaware it had just lost all narrative relevance.

Dean lowered his coffee cup. "Lucas said that."

"Yes."

"Those exact words?"

Sebastian’s mouth curved faintly. "There were more adjectives."

Dean closed his eyes.

Arion looked far too pleased for a man who valued survival. "Which date?"

Dean’s eyes snapped open. "Do not sound interested."

"I am interested."

"That was not permission."

"You chose autumn."

"I chose a season, not a date."

Sebastian lifted one hand without opening his eyes. "Lucas says that is how dates work. One starts with a season and then stops emotionally running."

Dean stared at him.

Sebastian added, "He also said to tell you he survived contracts, public marriage politics, two imperial courts, and Cressida, so he is not impressed by your battlefield excuse."

Dean took a slow breath. "Lucas is a nace."