Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Chapter 366: Chapter 366: Clear terms.

"It is about Sebastian," Arion said.

Nero’s expression did not change.

That was worse than if it had.

The playful heir vanished so completely that, for a moment, Arion saw the man Saha showed the world: Prince Nero Ezekiel, son of Dax and Chris, enigma of impossible strength, beautiful in the way dangerous things were often beautiful before someone got close enough to bleed.

The menace was for family.

This was the prince.

"Then say the terms clearly," Nero said.

Arion did not soften them. "You will not use what I tell you. You will not allow anyone to know that you know. You will not approach Sebastian because of it, directly or indirectly."

Nero’s mouth twitched once, faint and humorless. "You have learned me well."

"I have watched Dax for years."

"That is an insult to both of us."

"It is accuracy."

For a heartbeat, something like amusement returned to Nero’s eyes.

Then it was gone.

Arion leaned back slightly, gaze steady. "Most importantly, you will not turn this into an opening. Keep your word to Sebastian. Do not reach for him unless he asks."

Nero looked at him for a long time.

Outside the private dining hall, Sahan guards shifted quietly at their posts. Inside, warm light slid over polished plates, untouched wine, the dark glass wall overlooking the city, and Nero’s face, which had become too still.

Then he placed both hands flat on the table.

"I give you my word," Nero said.

Arion raised a finger, his rings catching the light: the official wedding band stacked over the ring Dean had given him. "Also, do not get mad."

Nero raised a brow. "How bad is it?"

"Horrifying." Arion picked up the encrypted tablet beside his plate and unlocked a sealed file with his ring and biometric scan. "I will send you a private report that neither Otto, Dean, nor Sebastian knows exists. It is not in the official archive. It is my own extraction from the raw statements, cross-referenced with Sahan pheromone research and Hendrik’s infection models."

Nero’s gaze dropped to the tablet.

The warmth in his face disappeared entirely.

Arion continued, because stopping would be worse. "The summary is this: there are multiple visions involving you and Sebastian. Yes, in several of them Sebastian shifts into a dominant omega because of you. In the strongest branches, the two of you mate. Then something happens, the infection breaks containment, and both of you die."

The room went so silent that even the soft mechanical hum from the climate system seemed suddenly too loud.

Nero did not move for several seconds. His hands remained flat against the table, fingers relaxed, rings catching the light, wrists bare beneath his rolled sleeves.

His breathing was calm, and there were absolutely no pheromones around him.

When he spoke, his voice was pleasant. "You are very bad at telling people not to get mad."

"Yes."

"You led with a command that is physically impossible."

"Yes."

"And then delivered a report about Sebastian becoming what the temple thinks I want him to become, mating with me, dying with me, and taking Roslew with us."

"That is the summary."

Nero’s eyes lifted from the tablet to Arion’s face. "The summary?"

"The details are worse."

A faint smile touched Nero’s mouth.

It was the kind of smile that ministers mistook for composure before realizing they’d already lost.

"Send it."

Arion did.

The file transferred through a direct encrypted channel, not Sahan state servers, not Alaminian royal archives, and not any system Dean’s office could casually touch during one of his three-in-the-morning work spirals.

Arion did it anyway.

Nero’s tablet chimed once.

He did not open the file immediately.

Instead, he stared at the black screen as if the report had weight.

"Does Sebastian know all of this?"

"He knows the official parts. The visions. The shift. The siren-type possibility. The death warning. He does not know I made this version of the report."

Nero’s eyes sharpened slightly. "That is unlike you."

"No," Arion said. "It is unlike the man Dean deserves. Unfortunately, it is very much like me."

For the first time, Nero looked away, his eyes filled with tears he would never spill.

Arion understood what it meant to be away from the one person his body considered mate.

Arion had found Dean and nearly torn himself apart resisting him. He had known the brutal edge of rut, the way instinct could make even a controlled man feel like survival had narrowed to one body, one scent, and one pulse. He had Dean now, collared, chosen, close enough to breathe.

Nero had nothing.

Nero had been fifteen when his first rut came.

Fifteen, sealed in Sahan containment rooms while Chris stood outside waiting while sedation failed with each increased dose, and Dax became so silent half the palace stopped speaking above a whisper. After that, there had been options. Royal options. Medical options. Omega attendants trained for rut support, contracts written in absolute discretion, and controlled stabilization protocols.

Nero had refused every one.

At fifteen.

At sixteen.

At seventeen, when the suppressants failed cleanly and Hale nearly broke a door getting to him.

At eighteen, after Sebastian refused him.

At nineteen.

At twenty.

Not once had Nero taken an omega into his rut.

Not once had he allowed anyone to stand in Sebastian’s place.

That was madness to some people.

To Arion, it was not madness.

Dangerous, yes.

Unhealthy, possibly.

A political nightmare, certainly.

But not madness... yet.

"I am not giving you this because I want you to chase him," Arion said.

Nero’s gaze returned to him, violet and unreadable.

"I know."

"I am giving it to you because if the temple, or anyone else, reaches you first with a cleaner, prettier version, they will turn your want into a weapon."

Nero smiled bitterly. "I hope you lie better to Dean, or he will find out about this the moment you return."

Arion leaned back in his chair, legs crossing beneath the table. "Fine. I told you because I know you need something to keep waiting for Sebastian."

The bitterness disappeared from Nero’s face as if Arion had placed a hand over the one wound Nero had not intended to show him.

Arion rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, the rings on his hand catching the warm light. "And because I know what you are doing."

The silence that followed was colder than the air-conditioning hidden behind the carved screens.

Nero’s voice remained pleasant. "That sounds accusatory."

"It is."