Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Chapter 356: Chapter 356: About me?

Otto’s eyebrow lifted.

"I am serious."

Hendrik added it.

Dean felt slightly better.

The projection reorganized itself, every questionable temple layer gaining a red border.

That pleased him more than it should have.

Arion studied the remaining raw file. "Until we have the original testimony, the visions have no predictive authority."

"Warning-level intelligence only," Hendrik said.

"Not enough to inform Sebastian with certainty," Otto added.

Dean’s gaze snapped to him. "But enough that he still needs to know something is happening."

"Yes," Otto said. "He needs to know enough to understand why we may ask him questions and why decisions concerning Nero may change around him. But not a temple conclusion we no longer trust."

Arion rose.

Dean looked up immediately. "Where are you going?"

"To speak with Sebastian."

Dean stood too quickly.

His body objected.

He ignored it.

"I am coming with you."

Arion turned toward him, and the softness in his face was immediate, which meant Dean was about to lose an argument in the most infuriating way possible.

"No."

Dean stared. "Excuse me?"

"No."

"He is my brother."

"I know."

"He trusts me."

"Yes."

"Then why—"

"Because Sebastian will not feel better knowing his little brother already knows this."

The words cut through him cleanly.

Dean stopped.

Arion stepped closer, lowering his voice even though Otto and Hendrik could clearly still hear everything because kings and commanders were professionally terrible at pretending not to.

"He will hear that people discussed him before he was brought in," Arion said. "His body. His future. Nero. The visions. Even if we tell him we fought for his choice, even if we tell him no one has told Lucas or Trevor, he will still look at you and know you knew first."

Dean’s throat tightened.

Arion’s expression remained gentle.

"That will hurt more because it is you."

Dean let out a pained laugh. "Sebastian would know that I know. He would know that either I found out with you, which is true, or that you told me because we are mates."

He took his coat from the chair.

"I’m coming with you. Seb is still in Roslew. I will invite him for dinner."

Arion watched him for one second.

Then another.

Dean expected an argument. He was ready for it, too. He had a full arsenal prepared, beginning with "Sebastian is my brother" and ending somewhere near "I will bite you in front of your father," which was not diplomatic, but Dean had never claimed diplomacy as a personal virtue.

Instead, Arion’s gaze softened in the worst possible way.

"You are certain?"

Dean’s fingers tightened around the coat.

"No," he said honestly. "But I am more certain about being there than about staying behind."

Arion rose slowly.

Otto said nothing from the head of the table. Hendrik, wise in the ways of not interfering with newly married dangerous people, looked down at the projection as if it had suddenly become fascinating.

Dean appreciated him for that.

Arion stepped close enough that his voice lowered only for Dean. "If he becomes angry—"

"He has the right."

"If he asks why you knew first—"

"I will answer."

"If he needs you to leave—"

Dean flinched.

Arion saw it, of course.

Dean hated that too.

"If he needs me to leave," Dean said, forcing the words out, "I will leave."

Arion’s expression shifted, quiet pride moving through his eyes like warmth behind glass.

Dean pointed at him. "Do not look like that. I am one emotional inconvenience away from starting a fight with architecture."

"I will be careful."

"With Sebastian or the architecture?"

"Both."

Dean huffed and pulled his phone from his pocket.

The screen lit.

For a second, his thumb hovered over Sebastian’s name.

Sebastian, who had brought Dean tea after one of Trevor’s training lectures because Dean had looked like he was preparing to commit patricide with a teaspoon. Sebastian, who laughed softly when cornered and became terrifyingly gentle when hurt. Sebastian, who noticed things no one else did and pretended he had not because sometimes kindness was letting people keep their secrets until they were ready.

Dean swallowed.

Then he typed.

Seb, are you free for dinner?

He stared at the message.

It looked wrong.

He deleted it.

Typed again.

Are you still in Roslew? Arion and I got back. Dinner tonight?

He stared at that too.

Terrible.

He deleted it again.

Across from him, Hendrik lifted his eyes.

Dean glared. "Do not observe me."

"I was not."

"You have the energy of a man observing."

"That is my face."

Otto’s mouth moved faintly.

Dean ignored all of them and typed a third time.

Seb, are you busy tonight? Arion and I are back in the capital. I wanted to see you if you have time. Dinner, maybe? Nothing formal.

He read it.

It still sounded like someone had polished it until it became suspicious.

Before he could delete it, Arion’s hand covered his wrist.

"Send it."

Dean looked up.

Arion’s gaze was steady.

Dean breathed once, then sent the message before cowardice could discover administrative procedure.

The little delivered mark appeared.

Dean stared at it as if it might explode.

For three seconds, nothing happened.

Then Sebastian began typing.

Stopped.

Typed again.

Stopped.

Dean’s stomach sank.

A message appeared.

Why are you typing like Trevor when he is trying not to say "urgent"?

Dean closed his eyes.

"See?" he said.

Arion’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

Otto looked mildly interested.

Hendrik looked as if this confirmed several things he had suspected about Sebastian’s intelligence and Dean’s lack of subtlety.

Dean typed back.

I am not.

Sebastian’s answer came almost immediately.

You deleted at least two messages before sending that one.

Dean stared at the screen.

Then slowly looked up. "He cannot know that."

Arion’s expression was painfully calm. "Apparently he can infer it."

Dean looked back down.

Another message appeared.

Also, "nothing formal" means there is something formal that you are trying pass as casual.

Dean made a sound somewhere between a laugh and despair.

"He is impossible."

Arion’s eyes softened. "He is your brother."

"That is not an explanation."

"It is a partial one."

Dean typed.

I wanted to see you. That part is true.

This time, Sebastian’s response took longer.

The typing mark appeared, vanished, then returned.

Is something wrong with you?

Dean’s chest tightened.

Not Is something wrong?

Not What happened?

Is something wrong with you?

Because of course Sebastian would go there first. Of course his first fear would curve around Dean rather than himself.

Dean’s anger at the temple returned so sharply that his hand trembled.

Arion stepped closer.

Dean forced himself to type carefully.

No. I am safe. Arion is with me. I just want to talk to you.

A pause.

Then:

That made it worse.

Dean looked up at Arion helplessly.

Arion held out his hand. "May I?"

Dean hesitated.

Then gave him the phone.

Arion typed with the same calm he used in briefings and battle reports, which made Dean want to either trust him or throw the phone at him. Possibly both.

Sebastian, this is Arion. We need to speak with you privately. You are not in trouble. No decision has been made about you. No one has told Lucas or Trevor anything. Dean wanted you told first.

Dean’s breath caught.

Arion sent it.

The room went very quiet.

This time, Sebastian did not answer immediately.

The typing mark did not appear.

Nothing moved on the screen.

Dean felt every second pass like a hand closing around his throat.

Then Sebastian replied.

About me?

Dean looked at Arion.

Arion’s expression softened with pain.

He typed.

Yes.