Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Chapter 363: Chapter 363: Familiar betrayal

Dean’s face softened at once.

"Sylvia."

"I mean it. Not as your secretary. I think Minerva was right to take that away before it became something I could not carry properly. But maybe one day I will understand enough to help without walking into traps wearing a cheerful smile and comfortable shoes."

Dean looked at her for a long second.

Then he said, very gently, "I do not have you as my best friend because you are useful."

Sylvia went still.

Dean’s voice remained light, but the words were not. "If I want usefulness, I can hire a capable professional. Several, probably. With terrifying credentials and a complete inability to make me laugh."

Sylvia swallowed.

She then smiled, because smiling was easier than letting her eyes sting in Dean’s very expensive sitting room.

"You should do that for the secretary position."

"I intend to."

"Good. Hire someone painfully competent."

"I will."

"Someone who understands intelligence risk, state documents, and palace politics."

"Yes."

"Someone who does not arrive smelling like Thomas Lancaster."

Dean’s nose wrinkled immediately. "That is a requirement now."

Sylvia laughed. "Excellent. I support this hiring process."

"You are very calm about being replaced."

"I am not being replaced," Sylvia said, and was surprised by how true it felt. "I was never that person. Not really. I think I wanted to be because I wanted to stay close to you, but I can do that without becoming a professional political hazard."

Dean gave her a look. "You will always be a political hazard."

"That is different. That is personal branding."

"Ah. Of course."

Sylvia stretched her legs slightly, settling deeper into the cushions with a sigh that felt almost luxurious. "Besides, I want to enjoy my jobless days."

Dean stared. "Your jobless days."

"Yes."

"You are making unemployment sound like a spa treatment."

"I am a university student with a dangerous romantic development and no secretary duties. I intend to study, drink coffee, visit you, possibly kiss Tom if he behaves, and refuse to understand tax structures unless absolutely necessary."

Dean’s eyes narrowed. "Possibly kiss Tom?"

"If he behaves."

"He told Rina to fuck off in a hallway."

Sylvia’s face heated up. "That was good behavior."

Dean opened his mouth.

Before he could destroy her dignity further, the door opened.

A security staff member stepped inside with the posture of a man who had just escorted something technically domesticated and politically immune.

Beside him came Boreas.

Arion’s giant malamute entered with the calm confidence of a creature who had never once doubted that every palace corridor existed for his personal use. His tail moved once, heavy and satisfied, and the small decorative table near the door trembled in immediate survival instinct.

Dean turned.

Boreas saw him first.

His ears lifted.

"Oh no," Dean said.

Boreas started forward, then stopped.

Not because of Dean.

Because his nose had found Sylvia.

The dog’s entire expression changed.

Sylvia went very still on the sofa.

Dean looked between them slowly. "Why does he look like that?"

Sylvia cleared her throat. "Like what?"

"Like he has found a business partner."

Boreas sat.

Perfectly.

Instantly.

With the solemn obedience of an animal waiting for payment.

Dean stared at him. "He never does that for me."

"That is because you rely on affection," Sylvia said, already reaching into her bag with the resignation of a woman fulfilling the terms of a treaty. "Amateur mistake."

Dean’s eyes narrowed. "Sylvia."

"What?"

"Are you still giving Boreas treats for love?"

"Dean, I am his aunt. Someone has to spoil him." She pulled a small wrapped packet from her bag and gave Boreas one piece. "Besides, this is not love. This is family maintenance."

Boreas accepted the treat with astonishing delicacy for something built like winter had learned to hunt.

He chewed once.

Closed his eyes.

Looked spiritually fulfilled.

Sylvia nodded. "Good. We remain family."

Dean stared at them both.

Then he turned slowly toward the security staff member, who had chosen the very wise strategy of looking at a point slightly above everyone’s shoulder and pretending he understood nothing.

"Where was he?"

"Western exercise route, Your Grace," the man said. "He was being returned to His Highness’s wing, but he detected Miss Croft’s presence and refused alternate routing."

Sylvia lifted a finger. "That is called visiting family."

Dean pointed at her. "You do not get to normalize this."

"I am not normalizing it. I am honoring his emotional needs."

Boreas placed one massive paw forward, then another, until he reached Sylvia’s sofa with the gravity of a sovereign arriving at a treaty table. He set his head on her knee, eyes lifted, ears relaxed, and entire body radiating the quiet expectation of continued tribute.

Sylvia sighed and scratched behind one ear.

Dean’s expression became one of deep betrayal. "He likes you more than me."

"That is not true."

Boreas huffed.

Dean looked offended. "Did he just disagree?"

"He is honest."

"He is a traitor."

"He is your husband’s dog. Betrayal is probably a family trait."

Dean opened his mouth.

Stopped.

Closed it again.

"That was extremely rude."

"That was extremely accurate."

The security staff member coughed into his fist.

Dean glanced at him. "You may go."

The man bowed, visibly relieved to have transferred custody of the furry diplomatic incident, and left with the quiet speed of palace staff who recognized when absurdity was above their rank.

Boreas sighed into Sylvia’s lap as if pleased with the staffing decision.

Sylvia scratched beneath his chin. "You see? Everything is fine."

Dean leaned back and crossed his arms. "Everything is not fine. You have been secretly feeding my husband’s enormous dog."

"It was not secret. Boreas knew; you knew before the wedding wiped your memory and you got freaky with Arion."

"Sylvia... please stop talking."

"I am being honest."

"You are being legally dangerous."

Boreas huffed, apparently in support of Sylvia’s constitutional right to speak.

Dean pointed at him. "Do not take her side. You live here."

"He visits me emotionally," Sylvia corrected.

Dean closed his eyes. "I am surrounded by traitors."

Sylvia smiled, softer now, fingers buried in Boreas’s fur. "No. You are surrounded by family. Some of us just require smoked meat."

Dean opened one eye.

Despite himself, his expression gentled.

Then Boreas thumped his tail and nearly knocked over the table again.

Dean sighed. "Fine. But I am telling Arion."

Sylvia’s smile widened. "Good. He should know I am winning custody."

Dean stared.

"Sylvia."

She laughed, bright and unafraid, and Boreas looked deeply proud.