Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina-Chapter 54: Ruin lives

Dean and Arion had changed into simpler clothes once the official photographs and the worst of the formal greetings were done.

Dean wore a three-piece black suit now - clean, sharp, comfortably familiar. He’d removed the gemstone from his collar and left only the gold mesh against his throat. It felt lighter without losing meaning, like he’d taken the ceremonial edge off the day without surrendering the boundary.

Arion stood beside him, coat draped over one arm, posture perfect.

And still he looked like a man ready to bolt straight through the nearest exit the moment no one was watching.

When the last cluster of well-wishers finally drifted away and the air around them cleared, Dean leaned in slightly, voice dry.

"No more patience?" he asked.

Arion kept his face calm, but his golden eyes were at the end of their leash. "Do you have any left?" he replied. "I’ve been asked if I bred you properly three times already."

Dean blinked once.

Then he exhaled, the sound dangerously close to a laugh. "Three."

Arion’s jaw tightened. "Three."

Dean’s mouth twitched. "By who?"

"Men who smiled while saying it," Arion said, still perfectly controlled, which meant he was one sentence away from violence. "Men who will go home tonight and tell their wives they were ’only being curious.’"

Dean’s expression cooled. "That’s... disgusting."

"Yes," Arion said softly. "And it wasn’t even the worst phrasing."

Dean’s brows lifted. "Arion."

Arion’s gaze flicked to Dean’s throat - collar reduced to gold mesh, skin visible above it - and something in his eyes sharpened, protective and angry all at once. "They said it like you were livestock," he added, voice low. "Like I bought a body and I’m failing to use it correctly."

Dean’s fingers curled once at his side, then relaxed. "You didn’t answer them, I hope."

Arion’s mouth twitched, humorless. "I smiled."

Dean tilted his head. "That’s never good."

Arion’s smile finally appeared. "I told them the only question they should be asking is whether they’re comfortable dying with curiosity on their tongues."

Dean stared at him for a beat.

Then he actually laughed, short and helpless. "Arion."

Arion’s eyes warmed just a fraction. "It was phrased... diplomatically."

Dean shook his head, still amused, then sobered. "I’m sorry."

Arion’s gaze snapped back to him, immediate. "Don’t."

Dean’s mouth tightened. "I hate this place."

Arion’s expression softened by a hair. "Good."

Dean blinked, utterly confused. "Good?"

Arion leaned slightly closer, voice low enough to belong only to them. "Because it means you won’t mistake it for home."

Dean’s throat tightened, so he redirected into sarcasm like instinct.

"So what now," Dean murmured. "We escape?"

Arion’s eyes flicked toward the nearest exit again, the calculation immediate. "We smile for five more minutes," he said. "Then we leave before someone asks me if your hips are ’built for heirs.’"

Dean made a face. "They did not."

Arion’s gaze went flat. "They did."

Dean stared, then muttered, "I’m going to start biting."

Arion’s mouth twitched again, pleased in a way he didn’t bother hiding. "If you bite anyone, make it someone important."

Dean’s lips parted, startled by how easily that sounded like permission.

Then he caught himself and rolled his eyes. "You’re a menace."

Arion’s gaze stayed on him, golden and intent. "For you."

"This is disgustingly sweet," Sylvia said, appearing at Dean’s shoulder with a wide grin that meant she’d done something.

Dean didn’t even flinch anymore. He just sighed. "What did you do?"

Sylvia’s grin widened. "I defended your honor."

Arion’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Define defended."

Sylvia clasped her hands together, delighted with herself. "Someone asked me, very politely, with the tone people use when they think they’re entitled to biology, whether your collar means you’re already ’tamed.’"

Dean’s expression went flat. "Oh my god."

Arion’s jaw tightened. "And you said?"

Sylvia beamed. "I told them yes."

Dean blinked. "Sylvia."

Arion went very still.

Sylvia held up a finger. "Before you both murder me, let me finish."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please finish."

Sylvia leaned in, bright with victory. "I told them yes - you’re as tamed as their audacity in poking their noses into other people’s lives." She smiled sweetly. "And then I recited Professor Anderson’s lecture about restraint and courtesy."

Dean’s hand dropped slowly. "You... recited."

Sylvia nodded. "Word for word."

Arion blinked once, very slowly, like his brain was deciding whether this was impressive or criminal. "How long was the lecture?"

Sylvia’s grin widened. "Long enough for them to regret literacy."

Dean made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Sylvia."

"What?" she said, offended. "It was educational. They asked for information. I gave them information."

Arion’s gaze narrowed. "Did you quote it accurately?"

Sylvia lifted her chin. "I took notes. Unlike certain people."

Dean glared. "I was seventeen and emotionally constipated."

Sylvia nodded solemnly. "Exactly. Prime note-taking era."

Arion’s mouth twitched, the hint of amusement breaking through his composure. "And what, precisely, did Professor Anderson say?"

Sylvia clasped her hands like she was about to perform on stage. "He said," then she cleared her throat and adopted the driest, most academic tone she could manage, "that restraint is not the absence of power, but the discipline of it. That courtesy is what separates authority from tyranny."

Dean’s brows lifted. "That’s... actually good."

Sylvia beamed. "I know. And then I looked directly at the man who asked me and said, ’So if you can’t manage courtesy, perhaps you should not be speaking at all.’"

Dean’s mouth twitched despite himself. "You’re going to get banned from the palace."

Sylvia waved a hand. "I’m moving to Alamina. Ban me. I’ll send postcards."

Arion’s gaze slid over her, assessing again, and Dean caught the shift, Arion recalibrating Sylvia from nuisance to asset with teeth.

"Did they leave," Arion asked, voice low.

Sylvia smiled brightly. "They left."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Peacefully?"

Sylvia blinked innocently. "Define peacefully."

Dean sighed. "Sylvia."

"They were crying," Sylvia admitted cheerfully. "But in a dignified way. Like... expensive crying."

Arion’s eyes warmed faintly. "Good."

Dean stared at him. "You’re encouraging her."

Arion’s gaze stayed on Dean, golden and intent. "I’m appreciating effective defense."

Sylvia pointed at Arion like she’d won something. "He likes me."

Arion didn’t even look at her. "No."

Sylvia gasped. "Liar."

Dean’s laugh escaped him and Arion’s attention snapped to the sound instantly, while Sylvia’s grin turned feral again.

"Oh," Sylvia whispered, delighted. "That’s what I’m protecting. The laugh."

Dean muttered, "Stop talking."

Sylvia ignored him. "Anyway. The vultures are regrouping."

Dean followed her gaze and saw the next wave of nobles drifting toward them, smiles reloaded, curiosity sharpened.

Arion’s expression returned to calm. "We’re leaving."

Dean exhaled. "Finally."

Sylvia clapped once, pleased. "Great. I’ll go ruin someone else’s evening."