Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Chapter 360: Chapter 360: Short Meeting

Sylvia had made a lot of questionable decisions in her short life as a twenty-year-old beta woman, but sleeping with Tom seemed to be one of the right ones.

Until the man insisted on taking her to the imperial palace in his own car.

Well, he was not driving. That would have been somehow less overwhelming.

He sat in the back with her, one arm securely wrapped around her waist, as if she might be kidnapped by upholstery, palace traffic, or her own second thoughts if he let go for more than three seconds.

Sylvia was beginning to understand the loving irritation Dean had for Arion.

Dominant men in love were not subtle.

Tom was not even pretending.

"You do know I can enter the palace by myself," Sylvia said.

"Yes."

"And I have done so many times."

"Mhm..."

"And the palace gates are not an active battlefield."

"Not today."

Sylvia turned her head slowly. "That answer did not comfort me."

Tom smiled. "It was not meant to alarm you."

"It failed."

His arm tightened enough to make her very aware that Thomas Lancaster existed beside her in a fitted dark coat, looking calm, rested, and entirely too composed for a man who had spent every night for the last week in her apartment and had absolutely ruined her ability to think normal thoughts about military tailoring.

Sylvia looked out the window immediately.

"You have a meeting?" she asked.

"With Rohan’s delegation and Alamina’s defense office."

"That sounds aggressively boring."

"It may become aggressive."

"Again, Tom, your idea of reassurance requires work."

This time he smiled a little more, and Sylvia’s entire nervous system behaved like that was public policy.

The car stopped at the inner palace entrance. Guards opened the doors before Sylvia could decide whether stepping out of Thomas Lancaster’s car would permanently damage her reputation or simply confirm something the palace had already guessed by breakfast.

Tom stepped out first and offered his hand.

Sylvia stared at it for half a second too long.

Then took it, because dignity was nice, but balance was also important.

The moment her feet touched the stone, she felt several people not looking at them with intense professional effort.

Wonderful.

Her life had become a corridor rumor with boots.

Tom walked her inside, his hand resting briefly at her back, so the entire imperial palace would understand that Thomas Lancaster had opinions about Sylvia Croft’s location and safety.

"I have to go," he said near the central hall.

"I know."

His gaze lingered on her face. "You are meeting Dean?"

"Yes. He messaged me last night. He is back from the honeymoon, which means either he wants to complain, gossip, or emotionally collapse in a controlled way."

Tom’s brow lifted. "That is specific."

"That is Dean."

His expression softened faintly. "I will find you after the meeting."

Sylvia tried very hard not to look pleased.

She failed, judging by the way his eyes warmed.

"Fine," she said, as if granting a diplomatic concession. "Do not start a war with Alamina before lunch."

"I will try."

"Try harder."

He bent, brushed his mouth against her temple with terrifying calm, and left before Sylvia could decide whether to melt into the palace floor or accuse him of attempted murder.

She stood there for a moment.

Then a palace secretary appeared from a side corridor with the smooth precision of someone trained to intercept scandals before they reached decorative staircases.

"Miss Croft?"

Sylvia straightened so quickly her spine filed a complaint. "Yes?"

"Her Majesty Empress Minerva would like a short meeting, if you are available."

Sylvia’s soul stopped walking and sat down.

This was about Rina. It had to be about Rina.

Sylvia swallowed. "Of course."

The secretary smiled politely and led her through two halls, up a small staircase, and into a private sitting room that looked too beautiful for bad news.

That was also suspicious.

Empress Minerva stood near the window, dressed in a dark green and gold suit, her hair pinned elegantly, her presence calm enough to make the air behave. She turned when Sylvia entered and smiled.

"Sylvia. Thank you for coming."

Sylvia bowed quickly. "Your Majesty."

"Sit, please. This will not take long."

Sylvia sat.

Minerva took the chair across from her, and that made the room feel like a conversation conducted by a woman who could still ruin ten families before tea.

"I imagine you think this is about Rina," Minerva said.

Sylvia froze.

Minerva’s mouth curved with amusement. "It is not."

"Oh," Sylvia said, then immediately regretted making a sound.

"My daughter is a menace," Minerva continued pleasantly. "But she is a familiar menace. We will survive her."

Sylvia did not know whether she was allowed to agree.

Minerva’s eyes warmed, as if she had heard the agreement anyway.

"This is about your training under Dean," she said.

Sylvia’s stomach dropped.

The warmth vanished from the room, not because Minerva became unkind, but because Sylvia understood suddenly that this was not a joke, not gossip, and not Rina-related palace chaos.

This was real.

Minerva folded her hands in her lap. "We will suspend your training as Dean’s secretary for now."

Sylvia stared at her.

For one horrible second, she could not speak.

Minerva continued gently, "Not because you have done anything wrong."

That sentence never helped as much as people thought it did.

Sylvia’s fingers tightened around each other. "Is it because of Tom?"

"Yes."

At least she did not soften it into something useless.

Sylvia appreciated that, even while her chest tightened.

"Thomas Lancaster is tied to Rohan’s military command and to active defense negotiations with Alamina," Minerva said. "Dean is Crown Consort. His office will handle sensitive internal material, family correspondence, political schedules, and eventually matters connected to Alaminian intelligence. Your relationship with Commander Lancaster would be interpreted as a possible vulnerability."

Sylvia swallowed.

"A danger."

"Not you," Minerva said at once. "The interpretation."

Sylvia looked down at her hands.

She understood the words.

She understood enough to feel embarrassed, frightened, and strangely small. Dean would have understood this immediately. Dean would have seen the lines connecting offices, loyalties, rumors, access, and political backlash before Minerva finished the first sentence.

Sylvia, unfortunately, was not Dean.

She was a beta woman who had slept with a beautiful military commander, arrived at the palace in his car, and apparently stepped directly into intelligence complications before drinking her coffee.

"I did not think about that," she admitted.

"That is normal."

Sylvia looked up.

Minerva’s expression was kind, and maybe that made it harder.

"You are twenty," the empress said. "You are intelligent, loyal, and very good for Dean. But you have not been raised inside politics the way he has. You are not expected to immediately see every consequence of standing beside powerful people."

Sylvia let out a weak laugh. "That feels generous."

"It is realistic." Minerva’s smile deepened slightly. "Politics is not instinct for most people. It is training, exposure, and repeated embarrassment."

Sylvia blinked.

Then, despite herself, she laughed.

Minerva looked pleased.

"You will learn," she said. "Experience is very efficient, though rarely polite."

"That sounds horrifying."

"It can be. But also useful."

Sylvia breathed a little easier, then hesitated. "Does this mean I cannot work with Dean at all?"