CHAPTER 466: CHAPTER 466: A MONTH

Dean, meanwhile, was losing his mind.

Every day someone briefed him, argued on his behalf or someone from Alamina managed to make the idea of living there sound... less terrifying and more like a strategic opportunity.

Dean had installed himself on the opposite balcony, far enough that the wind carried every trace of his scent away from the courtyard below. The garden was in full bloom, roses and ivy spilling over the stone railings, their perfume thick enough to mask even the faintest omega signature. From this height, partially hidden by the curve of a pillar and the drifting autumn air, he was certain no dominant alpha could possibly pick him out.

He was using strategy, the same kind Trevor used before marrying Lucas, whenever nobles cornered him with marriage proposals, where he’d retreat, analyze, then counter with a ten-page argument on the virtues of remaining single.

Dean was simply gathering data.

Arion stood below with Sirius, flanked by guards and diplomats, every inch the terrifyingly controlled presence Dean had been warned about. Even at this distance, the prince looked impossible to dismiss: broad shoulders wrapped in black and gold, medals glinting dull in the courtyard light, and posture carved with military discipline. His golden eyes caught every movement around him like a man used to anticipating threats.

Dean remained still at the elegant table on the balcony and watched the new meeting of the Alamina with Palatine from his laptop through one of the cameras. He even decided to take suppressants, and Marin assured him that there were no pheromones from him.

"Are you spying on the prince?" Sebastian asked from behind. He was nursing a coffee like it was his savior. As heir of the Fitzgeralt and already named Marquis by their fathers, he was forced to take part in the negotiation.

Sebastian dragged the chair out with the air of a man who had forgotten what sleep felt like and dropped into it like gravity had declared a personal vendetta. His coffee steamed pitifully in his hands.

"Are you spying on the prince?" he asked again, sounding like someone who had absolutely run out of patience this month. Being heir and newly named Marquis had aged him roughly ten diplomatic years.

"I’m gathering intel," Dean hissed, not taking his eyes off his laptop. "And the cameras are public-security feeds. Technically."

"You have his face zoomed in so close I can diagnose his pores," Sebastian muttered.

Dean shut the window with a guilty click.

Sebastian took a long, pained sip and leaned back. "Just so you know... I already met him. Twice. Maybe three times? I lost count after the breakfast that started at seven in the morning."

Dean looked like he’d swallowed his own tongue. "You... what? Why didn’t you... how was... Sebastian?!"

Sebastian pressed the warm mug against his forehead like he hoped it would erase the memory. "Arion is tall. Like Dax-tall. Until now I saw him as calm and controlled. Not the sort who raises his voice, but he could level a room without changing his expression."

Dean’s mouth fell open.

"And," Sebastian added, voice dropping into a grim whisper, "he’s not backing down."

Dean blinked. "What do you mean... not backing down?"

Sebastian met his gaze, tired and blunt. "They’ve been negotiating for over a month, Dean. Alamina has sent three delegations: one diplomatic, one military, and one from their Council. The Council. That never happens. Their crown prince has turned down three other alliances, including one with the northern empire, and keeps insisting he’ll wait... for Palatine."

Dean’s pulse spiked so hard he felt it in his teeth. "But... but they can’t force..."

"They’re not trying to force you," Sebastian said gently. "They’re cornering Palatine. Different tactic, same result. They want you. Very specifically you. And Arion won’t let his council pick anyone else. Every time Serathine or Caelan tries to push for more time, he sends another polite, perfectly worded message that says ’I will wait."’

Dean stared at him, panic blooming like a second heartbeat.

"I’m not exaggerating," Sebastian continued. "He’s the calm type with the nuclear resolve. The worst combination. He smiles once every decade and drops political bombs like it’s weather."

Dean made a strangled noise. "So I can’t say no."

"No," Sebastian agreed quietly. "You can’t. Not really. Not unless you want a full diplomatic incident with a country that has every reason to stay our ally."

Dean sagged back in his chair, staring up at the stone ceiling like it might give him divine guidance.

"Seb... what if he’s actually nice?"

"He’s polite," Sebastian said.

"That’s not the same!"

Sebastian gave him a tired, almost sympathetic look. "Dean... he’s calm like Dax is calm. Rational like Dax is rational. And probably just as possessive, except he hides it under military etiquette instead of... whatever Dax thinks he’s doing."

Dean slapped a hand over his face. "That’s worse."

Sebastian shrugged. "Welcome to my life for the last month."

Dean peeked over the balcony rail again, just a peek, and swore he saw Arion tilt his head, gaze skimming toward the upper floors with that unnerving awareness.

Dean yanked back so fast he hit the pillar.

Sebastian watched him with dead eyes. "He didn’t see you."

"You don’t know that."

"Dean," Sebastian sighed, "if he’d scented you, he’d already be politely requesting a private audience."

Dean let out a noise halfway between a groan and a wail.

Sebastian reached over and ruffled his hair like he was soothing a distressed cat. "Coffee?"

"Please."

"And maybe stop clicking through all three camera feeds."

Dean shut the laptop.

Two seconds later, he whispered, "Seb... do you think he’s looking for me?"

Sebastian didn’t even blink. "Absolutely."

Dean nearly levitated out of the chair.

Sebastian disappeared inside with the empty mug, leaving Dean alone on the balcony. The roses below swayed in the autumn wind, carrying every trace of his scent away. Suppressants in his system, blockers on his skin, and a stone pillar at his back, it should’ve been enough to make him invisible.

He was still telling himself that when he heard the sound.

A soft scrape of boot leather against stone.

Dean’s breath snagged as he slowly turned and his stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Arion was on the balcony.

Not at the door, not anywhere reasonable... he had climbed up the side of the palace and was standing on the railing with one hand still braced against the carved stone, as if scaling royal architecture was normal diplomatic behavior. His uniform wasn’t even wrinkled.

He stepped down from the rail with quiet, controlled ease.

"Oh," he said, smiling brightly. "I found you."