Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

They were gone long enough that Alamina felt different when they returned.

The imperial residence still rose above the capital in pale stone and dark glass, winter gardens stretching between the older wings while the mountains beyond the city remained covered in snow. Guards changed shifts at the same gates. Staff crossed the corridors carrying documents, flowers, laundry, and all the other ordinary things required to keep an imperial household functioning.

Nobody was waiting with an emergency.

Dean decided he appreciated Alamina considerably more when it was boring.

Their luggage had barely reached the private suite before he abandoned it.

Arion stood near the windows, removing the watch he had worn through the flight while his tablet continued downloading several days of reports from the offices they had left behind.

Dean looked at the tablet.

Then at Arion.

"No."

Arion glanced toward him.

"No?"

"You are not opening that."

"I wasn’t."

"You were thinking about it."

Arion placed the watch beside the tablet.

Dean crossed the room before he could reconsider his priorities.

They had been surrounded by people for weeks.

There had always been someone nearby who wanted an answer, a signature, or an explanation for something none of them completely understood.

Now the suite doors were closed.

Dean stopped in front of Arion.

Arion looked down at him.

"What?"

Dean reached for the front of his shirt and pulled him lower.

Then he kissed him.

Arion responded immediately.

One large hand settled at Dean’s waist while the other slid around his back, drawing him close enough that Dean had to rise slightly onto his toes to keep the kiss comfortable.

Dean had intended something brief.

A welcome-home kiss.

Possibly a reminder that Arion belonged to him before his husband remembered the existence of government.

Instead, Arion wrapped both arms around him.

Dean stopped caring about brief.

He slid his hands around Arion’s neck and let himself be held, the familiar weight of Arion’s body and scent surrounding him without the layered pheromones of a ballroom, hospital, or aircraft interfering.

Just Arion.

Dean kissed him again before finally resting his forehead against his chest.

"This," he said.

Arion’s arms remained around him.

"This?"

"I missed this."

"We were together."

"That is not the same."

Arion understood.

They had been together almost constantly since leaving Alamina.

They had also been working almost constantly.

Even their nights had been interrupted by calls from Saha, reports from Hendrik, updates from Amaru’s physicians, or negotiations that somehow acquired urgency simply because three kingdoms were involved.

Dean tightened his arms around Arion’s waist.

"I want to be married again."

Arion looked down at him.

Dean felt the beginning of amusement before he saw it.

"We stopped?"

"Temporarily."

"That seems serious."

"It was."

Arion kissed the top of his head.

Dean accepted the apology.

Beyond the windows, late afternoon spread slowly over the capital. The sky had cleared during their flight, leaving the snow on the distant mountain ridges bright beneath the lowering sun.

For the first time in weeks, Dean did not need to know what time it was.

Amaru had work ahead of him.

A great deal of it.

His public return had done exactly what they hoped. Old supporters were resurfacing across Draxil; military officers who had remained neutral between his brothers had begun making contact, and several provincial officials had already requested private discussions through the channels established in the alliance.

None of that meant Amaru would become king tomorrow.

Probably not next month either.

Taking Draxil back after eight years would require political work, military positioning, and a careful enough transition that the country did not collapse around whichever prince eventually won.

Dean could not accelerate that from his sitting room.

More importantly, he no longer needed to.

They had something they had lacked before Snake Island.

A direction.

Claudia had not controlled Amaru with one simple pheromonal trick. She had built combinations: copied pieces of abilities, synthetic carriers, suppressants, and biological material layered together until the effect became something none of the individual components could produce alone.

There was every reason to suspect she had done the same thing with the beasts.

Seven had already begun reorganizing the samples around combinations rather than individual triggers. Hendrik’s teams continued watching the dormant populations without approaching them. The beasts had not moved.

For now, that was enough.

Dean leaned back slightly.

"We can stop."

Arion studied him.

"For a while," Dean added.

"I know."

"You say that as though you intend to read reports tonight."

"I don’t."

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Tomorrow morning?"

Arion’s mouth moved.

"Possibly."

"That is unacceptable."

"We do still rule a country."

"Tragic."

Arion finally smiled properly.

Dean liked that considerably more than the exhausted expression he had been wearing in Rohan.

The tiredness had not vanished. Dean could still see it around his eyes, just as Dean could feel his own exhaustion sitting heavily behind the relief of finally being home.

But they had agreed on rest.

Dean intended to enforce it.

"I want dates."

Arion’s brows rose.

"Dates?"

"Yes."

"We have been married three years."

"I am aware."

"We live together."

"Yes."

"We eat together almost every day."

"That is not a date."

Arion appeared to consider the distinction.

Dean pulled away enough to look up at him properly.

"I want to leave this palace with you for something that does not involve infected beasts, foreign succession, military strategy, weddings, funerals, assassination attempts, or diplomatic cover."

"That removes many of our recent activities."

"That is the point."

"What do you want to do?"

Dean had been thinking about that since the flight.

"Dinner."

Arion waited.

"At a restaurant."

"We have restaurants here."

"Outside."

Another pause.

Dean could see the moment Arion understood the requirement.

"Without a state dinner."

"Yes."

"Or ministers."

"Yes."

"Hunter will still come."

Dean sighed.

"I know. He can sit somewhere far enough away that I can pretend he isn’t there."

That was probably the greatest concession Alaminan security would permit.

Arion’s hand moved slowly along Dean’s back.

"Anything else?"

"Yes."

Dean had an entire list now that someone had asked.

"I want to go shopping."

Arion’s expression became cautious.

"With you," Dean clarified. "Not because we need clothes for some ceremony. I want to walk around and buy something stupid."

"You already buy things online."

"That is not the experience."

Arion wisely did not argue.

"And I want coffee somewhere normal. I want to go to the cinema. I want to take Boreas somewhere without it becoming a security operation."

"That last one may be impossible."

Dean considered their enormous dog.

"Fine. A moderate security operation."

Arion’s mouth twitched.

Dean continued.

"And I want one weekend where nobody tells me anything about Draxil."

"That may be difficult."

"Then they tell you."

Arion stared at him.

Dean smiled sweetly.

"You wanted to marry me."

"I did."

"Consequences."

Arion caught him around the waist again.

Dean laughed when he was pulled against him.

"That is not an argument."

"No."

Arion bent and kissed him.

This one was slower.

Dean let himself relax into it, fingers sliding into the dark hair at the back of Arion’s head.

When the kiss ended, neither moved far.

Arion’s forehead rested against his.

"Tomorrow," Arion said.

Dean blinked. "Tomorrow what?"

"A date."

The answer pleased him far more than it should have.

"Where?"

"You said normal."

"Yes."

"Then I decide."

Dean immediately became suspicious.

"You have questionable definitions of normal."

"So do you."

"That is fair."

A heavy impact sounded against the private-suite door.

Then another.

Dean looked toward it.

Arion did too.

Boreas barked once from the corridor.

Apparently someone had finally brought him up from the vehicle.

Dean smiled.

"Home."

Arion released him reluctantly enough that Dean noticed.

They crossed toward the door together.

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