Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina-Chapter 105: The last farewell

In Palatine, Caelan’s funeral was brief and barely ceremonial, an event designed to appear solemn while actually being the end of Caelan’s story.

It began early, because Palatine loved symbolism and logistics equally. Streets around the imperial cathedral were cordoned off with discreet metal barriers and too many guards wearing earpieces beneath mourning hoods, their stance modern even when the uniforms tried to look historical. Cameras were present - hidden in carved sconces, perched on rooftops, and embedded in the ’antique’ arches - because Palatine did not trust memory when it could have footage.

The cathedral itself was an architectural lie in the most expensive sense: yes, there was old stone and stained glass, but there was also silent climate control, sensor arrays, and a security grid that could lock every door in less than a second. The air smelled of lilies, incense, and polished wood, with a faint sterile undertone from the filtration system, which worked overtime to keep the crowd comfortable and compliant.

The coffin was closed. It was polished. It was flanked by wreaths large enough to qualify as procurement contracts. Soft choral voices, supported by hidden speakers, filled the space at a volume calibrated to feel intimate even in a hall built to intimidate.

Sirius and Ethan arrived exactly on time, and the court’s body language changed as one.

Sirius wore mourning black cut like a uniform, tailored with modern severity beneath a traditional mantle that suited the camera. Ethan’s hand brushed his once, briefly and grounding, and then they stood at the front as if the cathedral belonged to them by natural law.

They framed the funeral as Caelan’s wish.

Repeated smoothly through the priest’s microphone, echoed in the printed program handed to every guest, and reinforced by the subtle placement of high-ranking nobles around the front rows like visible consensus. The former emperor, they said, had wanted a concise farewell. A dignified one. No prolonged mourning. No spectacle.

Of course it was exactly the opposite.

Anyone who had known Caelan understood he would have demanded days of public grief and a parade of loyalty large enough to remind the entire continent who had owned it.

The young emperor and his consort were saying it with calm faces in a room full of people who needed their approval.

And who, exactly, was going to stand up and contradict them?

Not in a cathedral filled with cameras, guards, and half the high-ranking nobles already aligned by ambition, fear, or survival. Not when the official version was being recorded, timestamped, and ready to become history before anyone finished swallowing their objections.

So the story held.

Alamina was present.

Arion had sent a portion of his convoy to remain back and present condolences, a clean diplomatic gesture delivered with the tact of a country that understood optics. Their entourage wore formal dark uniforms with traditional accents, but the technology was evident: subtle communications at the jawline, security scanning rings disguised as signet bands, and eyes that tracked exits and sightlines like habit.

They offered condolences with perfect diction, bowed at the correct angles, and made it clear they were witnessing history without consenting to every part of it.

Saha arrived like a different kind of pressure.

Dax and Christopher entered together, and the cathedral’s atmosphere shifted to reflect the simple reality of two reigning royals who did not require Palatine’s approval. Dax wore mourning like he was daring anyone to interpret it as submission: a black coat, severe lines, and a posture built for command. Chris beside him was beautiful and dangerous while looking faintly amused.

Rohan was represented by Marianne Lancaster and her husband, Daniel Smith - both dominant alphas, both carrying themselves like people who had no intention of being cowed by Palatine’s stone and ceremony.

Marianne wore mourning black tailored to move. Her expression stayed composed, but her gaze cataloged everything: who looked relieved, who looked hungry, and who was already rehearsing the next alliance. Daniel stood at her side like a statue brought to life.

The ceremony ended with a final prayer into a microphone that made it sound intimate. A final hymn supported by hidden speakers. The coffin was escorted out under camera angles chosen for maximum dignity and minimum opportunity for dissent.

No long speeches. No open floor. No moment for someone to "remember" Caelan in a way that threatened the new narrative.

Just the doors closing, the crowd dispersing under watchful security, and an empire pretending that what had happened was natural, inevitable, and blessed.

—

"God damn it," Marianne said, and let herself fall into one of the armchairs like her spine had been carrying diplomacy for six hours and had finally filed a complaint. "Took him long enough to leave."

Sirius huffed, amused, an unguarded crack in the emperor’s mask now that the doors were closed and the room was theirs.

Chris kicked off his shoes with the shameless ease of a man who had survived enough royal functions to stop caring what tradition thought of his feet. He didn’t flop into a chair, because he had dignity, but he did lean back with an expression that said: ’if anyone says "legacy" again, I’m biting them.’

Dax remained standing for a moment longer, shoulders broad, gaze on the door like he was checking it for weakness. Then he turned and reached out without looking, snagged the back of Chris’s chair, and dragged it two inches closer to him like the room needed to respect proximity.

Chris didn’t comment. He just let his hand rest on Dax’s wrist for half a second, a quiet touch that said, ’I’m here; stop scanning for threats like you can fight my boredroom.’

Ethan exhaled slowly and sank into the sofa with the kind of relief that was almost obscene after a funeral.

Sirius sat beside him immediately, close enough to be considered a polite barnacle, like the other alphas in the room.

Lucas dropped into the chair opposite Marianne with a controlled heaviness, like he’d been holding himself upright for the cameras and had finally decided the performance could rot. Trevor sat on the armrest near him instead of the chair because Trevor was yet another clingy husband and mate.

Daniel took the chair beside Marianne, one arm draped casually along the back, posture relaxed in a way that still read as: ’I will break you if you try something.’

"Unnecessarily ceremonial," Chris said at last, voice light, but his eyes were sharp. "And I say that as someone who has had to attend three parades for a single treaty signing."

Marianne let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a hiss. "The program had bullet points."

Ethan’s mouth twitched. "Efficiency."

"It had a QR code," Marianne added, offended on principle. "For ’Caelan’s final message.’"

Lucas’s gaze went flat. "I scanned it."

Everyone looked at him.

Lucas lifted his brows slightly, unrepentant. "It was a prerecorded video of Sirius reading a statement."

Sirius looked mildly pleased. "It was well written."

Chris stared. "That is the most evil thing you’ve done today."

Sirius’s expression remained serene. "Thank you."

Dax’s gaze flicked to Ethan. "You’re letting him enjoy this?"

Ethan’s mouth curved faintly. "He’s been suffocating in public for weeks. Let him breathe for five minutes."