Free Web NovelChapter 372: Chapter 372: Enough
Dean leaned back in his chair and decided to be a danger to everyone.
"Did you ask Nero to change your secondary gender?"
Sylvia choked on absolutely nothing.
It was impressive, really. No tea. No biscuit. No air taken incorrectly, as far as Dean could tell. Only one sentence, one normal chair, one beta woman, and suddenly Sylvia Croft was coughing like Dean had personally thrown her into a lake.
Boreas lifted his head.
Dean pointed at him. "Do not bark."
Boreas barked.
Sylvia coughed harder.
Dean sighed and reached for the glass of water on the table. "Here."
Sylvia snatched it from him, drank half of it, and then stared at him with watering eyes. "Do you have any subtlety?"
"No."
"How are you, Crown Consort, with that mouth?"
"Marriage."
"That is not what I actually asked."
"It explains most things."
Sylvia pressed the glass against her chest as if it might protect her from him. "You cannot simply ask people things like that."
"I can. I did. You are avoiding the answer."
"I am avoiding prison," Sylvia snapped. "Because apparently murdering royalty is still frowned upon."
Dean glanced toward Boreas. "Witness?"
Boreas wagged his tail once.
"Traitor," Sylvia muttered.
Dean’s expression softened, which was worse. Sylvia could handle Dean being sharp. Sharp Dean was familiar. Sharp Dean could be argued with, mocked, threatened with emotional banishment. Gentle Dean was dangerous because he looked at people and found whatever they had tried to hide under the rug.
"You thought about it," he said.
Sylvia’s grip tightened around the glass.
Outside the window, the palace grounds continued their careful preparation for beast season. Vehicles moved along secure roads. Temporary barriers unfolded under the supervision of engineers. Somewhere, soldiers were being briefed by people who sounded calm because everyone had agreed panic was bad for morale.
Inside, Sylvia felt suddenly very small.
"Nero is coming in two days," Dean continued quietly.
"I know."
"And you thought about asking him."
Sylvia swallowed.
She buried the ugly little thought beneath pacing, jokes, coffee, and pretending her fear was only about Thomas being on a flank.
It was about Thomas.
But it was also about her body. Her secondary gender. Her ordinary beta scent. Her inability to stand near an active battlefield without becoming one more risk. Her lack of pheromone support, lack of a compatibility field, and lack of everything the royal world seemed to treat as useful when disasters started bleeding through barricades.
Thomas had never said she was lacking.
"He loves me as I am," Sylvia said, her voice smaller than she liked.
Dean said nothing.
"He told me that. More than once. He said there are not enough dominant omegas anyway, and even if there were, he does not want one just because it is convenient. He said he can get stabilization, use the new suppressants, and follow medical protocols—all of it. He said he does not mind."
Dean’s eyes remained on her.
Sylvia hated that her own eyes burned.
"He said it like it was simple."
"It is simple to him," Dean said.
"It is not simple to me."
"No."
Sylvia set the glass down because her hands were starting to shake. "He is a dominant alpha, Dean. Not only an alpha, Thomas Lancaster. Commander. Seven feet of terrifying military discipline and cheekbones. He can pretend all he wants, but his body still needs things mine cannot give."
Dean tilted his head. "And you think Nero can solve that."
"I think Nero can change people."
"Not people," Dean said, very softly. "A person. Maybe. Under conditions we do not fully understand."
Sylvia looked away.
Her reflection in the glass was too ordinary. Brown hair, worried hazel eyes, civilian clothes, a soft cardigan, no royal collar, no pheromone field, and no biological miracle hidden under her skin.
"I know it is stupid," she whispered.
"No, it is not."
She laughed once, harshly. "Do not be nice now. It is unsettling."
Dean rose from his chair and came to stand beside her. "It is not stupid to want to be able to stand beside the person you love when the world becomes dangerous."
Sylvia’s mouth trembled.
"It is also not stupid to hate that biology keeps turning into politics," Dean added. "I hate it constantly."
"You have terrifying magic lemonade pheromones."
"And paperwork."
"That is not the same."
"No. But I also had people decide what my body meant before I understood half of it. I know the feeling."
Sylvia looked at him then.
Dean’s expression was calm, but not distant.
"You are not insufficient because Thomas needs medical management," he said. "Dominants have always needed support systems. Courts simply prefer pretending the support must be romantic, fertile, scented, obedient, and politically convenient."
Sylvia snorted wetly. "That was oddly specific."
"I am Crown Consort with this mouth because I am usually correct."
"There he is."
Dean’s mouth curved faintly.
Sylvia rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I keep thinking that if I could become something else, I would stop being afraid."
"No," Dean said.
She blinked.
"You would find new things to fear. If you became an omega, you would fear heats, compatibility, protection protocols, being targeted, and being used against him. If you became dominant, you would fear destabilizing him, failing him, or changing wrong. Fear is very creative."
"That is horrible comfort."
"It is accurate comfort."
"Minerva has ruined you."
"Minerva assigned me water-resistant blankets. She has ruined everyone."
Sylvia laughed despite herself.
Dean reached out and squeezed her hand. "Do not ask Nero in panic."
The laughter faded.
Dean’s voice lowered. "If you ever ask something like that, it should not be because you feel lacking beside Thomas. It should not be because a battlefield made you feel useless. It should not be because the royal world keeps measuring bodies like weapons."
Sylvia looked down at their joined hands.
"And," Dean added dryly, "it should absolutely not be asked casually of a Sahan enigma with too much power, too much emotional damage, and a schedule that already makes Hale look dead inside."
Sylvia huffed. "Nero is going to be awful about everything, is he not?"
"Spectacularly."
"That should not make me feel better."
"Yet?"
"A little."
Boreas rose, padded over, and placed his enormous head against Sylvia’s hip.
Sylvia’s face crumpled for half a second before she bent and hugged him around the neck.
Dean pretended not to notice.
Boreas, unfortunately, noticed everything and leaned his full emotional weight into her.
Sylvia sniffed. "Your dog is very manipulative."
"My husband’s dog."
"He loves me more."
"He loves smoked meat more."
"That is between us."
Dean returned to his chair and picked up the next approval file, giving her the mercy of not watching too closely.
After a moment, Sylvia said, very quietly, "What if Thomas changes his mind?"
Dean did not look up immediately.
Then he said, "Then he would be an idiot."
"That is your official political assessment?"
"Yes."
Sylvia laughed again, softer this time.
Dean signed the blanket approval with unnecessary aggression. "But I do not think he will. Thomas does not look at you like a man settling for less. He looks at you like someone finally found the only person in the room who makes sense."
Sylvia went still.
Dean glanced up, his expression gentler than his tone. "Believe him before you believe your fear."
Sylvia looked toward the window again.
Two days until Nero arrived.
A few more after that until beast season tore theory into practice.
Thomas on one flank.
Andrea walking into a trap.
Arion, Dean, Nero, Eva, all of them moving toward a field where bodies mattered too much and love had to wait behind sealed lines.
Sylvia breathed in.
Then out.
"I still hate waiting," she said.
Dean picked up another form. "Good. You can help me hate water-resistant blanket procurement."
Sylvia wiped her cheeks, lifted her chin, and came back to the table.
"Fine," she said. "But if this one is also flame-retardant, I am defecting with you."
Dean handed her the tablet.
Boreas barked once.
This time, Sylvia barked back.
