Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina-Chapter 96: Secondhand

Dean stared at her.

It was the long, flat stare of a man who had just realized the universe had given Sylvia free time and a plan.

"No," Dean said.

Sylvia blinked. "No what?"

"No," Dean repeated, more firmly, because apparently his life had become a sequence of saying no to women who did not respect the word. "I am not dressing up, I am not kissing anyone, and you are not stealing a war dog from the Crown Prince."

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. "I said take, not steal, and... I said nothing about a kiss." Her grin was feral. "What are you thinking of?"

Dean’s entire soul attempted to leave his body out of sheer offense.

He stared at her like she’d just committed treason with punctuation.

"You absolutely implied a kiss," Dean said, voice flat.

Sylvia’s eyes widened with innocent delight. "Did I?"

Dean took a slow breath through his nose, the kind that was supposed to restore dignity, but only succeeded in demonstrating that he was trying to keep his dignity from flying out the window.

"You said," Dean began, pointing at her like he was reciting evidence in court, "’dress up, distract the owner—’"

"Distract," Sylvia repeated, sweet.

"’With another kiss,’" Dean finished, ignoring her, "and then you take the dog."

Sylvia’s grin widened. "Ah. So there was a kiss."

Dean’s jaw tightened so hard it probably qualified as self-harm.

He did not blush. He refused to blush. He was an adult man, raised by dukes, surrounded by princes, capable of facing down an imperial council without flinching.

His ears, traitors that they were, warmed anyway.

Sylvia made a pleased sound, eyes sparkling like she’d discovered a new hobby. "Oh, this is excellent."

Dean glared. "Stop enjoying my suffering."

"I’m not enjoying your suffering," Sylvia said brightly. "I’m enjoying your character development."

Dean’s expression went murderous. "That phrase should be illegal."

Sylvia waved a hand like laws were optional. "You are going to marry him. There is nothing to be ashamed about."

Dean’s jaw tightened. "Sylvia."

She leaned back in her chair, completely unbothered, as if she hadn’t just wandered into the most sensitive corner of Dean’s dignity and started redecorating. "And I can bet there’ll be a clause," she added nonchalantly, "to require both of you to have sex."

Silence.

Dean stared at her.

For a second he didn’t even look offended. He looked like his soul had stepped outside to smoke.

Sylvia blinked at him, still casually smug, as if she’d said something normal like ’bring a coat, it’s cold.’

Dean’s voice came very soft.

"Please leave."

Sylvia’s brows lifted. "What?"

"Leave," Dean repeated, still soft, which was worse than shouting because it meant he was using every ounce of control not to explode. "Right now."

Sylvia held up both hands, as if she’d been wrongfully accused. "I’m being practical."

"You’re being horrific," Dean said, voice still quiet, still deadly polite.

Sylvia’s smile faltered for half a second, just enough to prove she had, somewhere in her body, a conscience.

Then it came back, because she was Sylvia, and remorse never lasted longer than a breath.

"Fine," she said, rising with exaggerated dignity. "I’ll leave."

Dean didn’t move. He simply stared at her, waiting for the door to close and the universe to restore order.

Sylvia took two steps.

Then she turned around as if struck by divine revelation, eyes bright with fresh violence.

"Oh," she said, pointing at Dean like she’d solved a crime. "You have a crush."

Dean’s eyelid twitched. "Get out."

"No," Sylvia said cheerfully. "You have a crush on Arion, and you’re acting like it’s a national security threat."

Dean’s mouth tightened. "It is."

Sylvia’s grin widened, delighted. "See? That’s exactly what a man with a crush says. Everything becomes dramatic. Everything becomes life or death."

Dean’s voice went flat. "Sylvia."

She ignored him with the ease of someone who had never feared consequences in her life. "You should just say it."

Dean stared at her. "Say what?"

Sylvia leaned forward, hands on her hips, absolutely fearless. "That you like him."

Dean’s throat tightened; it was one thing to say he liked Arion, but it was quite another to have a violent outburst of jealousy when Sylvia mentioned that Arion might be bitten by another omega. And Sylvia smelled the difference.

Dean recovered by weaponizing irritation. "I don’t ’like’ him. He’s a crown prince."

Sylvia made a sound of disgust. "Oh my god, you’re doing the thing again."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you pretend titles change chemistry," Sylvia snapped. "He clearly likes you back, Dean. He’s practically drooling in public and calling it duty."

Dean’s ears warmed again, traitors.

Sylvia saw it and laughed, victorious. "There. That. You’re blushing again."

"I am not."

"You are," Sylvia insisted, her voice rising like she was announcing it to the entire wing. "You have a crush, and you should just say it because you have an engagement that’s literally designed to make this easier for both of you."

Dean’s eyes narrowed. "Lower your voice."

"Why?" Sylvia demanded, louder. "So you can keep pretending you didn’t bite his lip because you wanted to feel powerful for five seconds? So you can keep pretending you don’t want him to look at you like you’re the only calm he’s ever had? So you can pretend that you are not a possessive bastard?"

Dean’s spine went rigid.

He was going to kill her.

He was going to kill her with his bare hands.

"Sylvia," Dean said, very carefully, "leave. Now."

Sylvia lifted both hands, still smiling, still not taking him seriously. "I’m leaving. I’m just—"

She backed toward the door, still talking, because of course she did.

"I’m just saying," Sylvia called, voice carrying, "you’re allowed to like him! He likes you! You’re engaged! The timing is perfect and you’re being—"

The door behind her moved.

Sylvia had, in fact, left it open.

Dean felt the cruel timing in his bones a heartbeat before he saw it.

Arion stepped into the threshold from the hallway, flanked by two of his men, who immediately stopped when they realized they had walked into something they were not paid enough to witness.

Arion’s gaze landed on Sylvia first.

Then slid to Dean.

And then, inevitably, flicked to Sylvia’s mouth as if tracking the words he’d just missed.

Dean’s soul returned from smoking just long enough to die again.

Sylvia froze mid-sentence.

Arion’s expression was calm, composed, and perfectly princely.

His lip was still bitten.

Dean’s stomach dropped.

Sylvia’s eyes widened. Then, slowly, with the shameless delight of a woman who had just been handed the best possible audience, she beamed.

"Oh," Sylvia said brightly, as if nothing had happened. "Perfect timing."

Dean’s voice came out flat, almost strangled. "Close the door."

Sylvia didn’t.

Arion’s gaze stayed on Dean, quiet and attentive in that way that made Dean feel like the only person in the corridor even when half a security detail was standing there pretending not to exist.

"What," Arion asked softly, "is happening?"

Sylvia answered for him immediately and loudly because she was incapable of self-preservation.

"Dean has a crush on you," she announced.

Dean made a sound that was not human.

Arion blinked once.

Dean’s face went hot enough to set the curtains on fire.

Sylvia continued, delighted. "And you like him back, obviously, so I’m just saying you should both stop acting like this is embarrassing and start acting like you’re engaged on purpose."

The silence that followed was lethal.

Arion’s men stared at the wall.

Boreas, somewhere deeper in the wing, thumped his tail once like applause.

Dean stared at Arion, unable to breathe.

Arion’s gaze held his for a long beat.

Then, very slowly, the corner of Arion’s mouth lifted, softened in a way Dean hadn’t been prepared for in front of witnesses.

His eyes flicked briefly to Sylvia.

Then back to Dean.

"Is that true?" Arion asked, voice low and careful, as if the answer mattered more than pride.

’He definitely heard everything.’ Dean thought grimly.