Chapter 109: Chapter 109: The Crown Prince Joins the Chat

“By whom?”

Dean opened one eye and glanced at the phone.

It buzzed again, petulant and relentless, like it resented being ignored.

“Your future in-laws,” Dean said flatly. “And my personal enemies.”

Arion hummed, a sound that vibrated against Dean’s shoulder. It should not have been attractive. It was. Dean hated everything.

He shifted, like a man trying not to disturb a sleeping predator.

Except the predator was already awake.

Dean didn’t register the movement until it was too late.

Arion’s hand slid past Dean’s ribs in one clean motion and stole the phone out of Dean’s grasp like he’d been born to confiscate contraband.

Dean froze.

His head turned a fraction, eyes narrowing. “Arion.”

Arion didn’t look at him. He was focused on the screen, pupils still heavy with sleep but sharpening rapidly with irritation and interest.

“Give it back,” Dean said, his voice calm in the way it got right before violence.

Arion’s thumb scrolled.

Dean watched his face change in real time, confusion, then recognition, then the faintest curve of something dangerous at the corner of his mouth.

“Nero,” Arion murmured again, like an insult and a diagnosis at once.

Dean reached for the phone.

Arion lifted it higher without shifting his body away from Dean, because of course he could do that while still keeping Dean pinned with one arm like an anchor.

Dean’s jaw ticked. “Arion.”

Arion finally looked at him, eyes half-lidded, expression unbothered. “You’re being harassed.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what I said.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “I’m fixing it.”

“You are not fixing it,” Dean said, because Dean had met Arion.

Arion looked back down at the screen.

Dean tried again to grab it.

Arion caught Dean’s wrist with no effort and pressed a kiss, brief and infuriating, against Dean’s knuckles without taking his eyes off the chat.

Dean short-circuited for exactly one heartbeat.

And that was all Arion needed.

The phone buzzed again.

Arion’s thumb moved.

He typed.

Dean felt cold horror bloom in his chest. “Arion – don’t you dare.”

Arion ignored him with royal serenity.

The typing bubble appeared.

Dean stared at it like it was a detonation timer.

“What are you doing?” Dean hissed, attempting to wrench his wrist free without moving too much, because Arion was still behind him, still warm, and close enough to betray him in front of himself with one bad decision.

’Get the phone, don’t get a boner.’ Was his mantra for the last ten minutes.

“Fixing it,” Arion murmured again, maddeningly calm.

Dean’s voice went flat with dread. “You don’t fix Nero. Nero is a natural disaster.”

Arion’s thumb kept moving.

Then the message was sent.

Dean: Add me, Nero, or I’ll tell Uncle Dax about the last mission.

Dean made a sound somewhere between a choke and a prayer.

The chat went quiet for half a second, as if even their collective chaos needed a moment to process what it had just witnessed.

Nero: 😳

A heartbeat.

Nero: OH???

Nero: HELLO?????

Nero: WAIT

Nero: ARION, YOU STOLE DEAN’S PHONE

Nero: ICONIC

Dean stared at the screen, then at Arion, then back at the screen, as if reality might change its mind if he looked disappointed enough.

“You just…” Dean started, voice strangled. “You just threatened him with Uncle Dax.”

Arion’s eyes stayed on the phone, half-lidded and entirely too pleased with himself. “It’s the only thing effective with Nero,” he said calmly, “and even that works because Dax would tell Chris.”

Dean stared. As if watching someone explain the food chain of chaos.

“So,” Dean said carefully, “your deterrent isn’t Dax.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “No.”

“It’s Chris.”

Arion finally glanced at him, expression faintly fond, as if this was common knowledge. “Chris is the final boss.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “That’s a horrifying sentence.”

“It’s accurate,” Arion said, and looked back down at the chat.

The phone buzzed again in Arion’s hand, the screen flashing bright.

Nero was typing like his thumbs were powered by caffeine and poor decisions.

Nero: ARION YOU WOULDNT

Nero: YOU CANT

Nero: DAX WOULD LAUGH

Nero: CHRIS WOULD GET MAD

Nero: and then i would die

Nero: OKAY, OKAY, I WILL BE GOOD

Arion_the_blackmailer has been added to the group.

Dean stared at the line.

Then he stared at Arion.

Then he stared at the line again, like it might spontaneously develop shame and delete itself.

“What,” Dean said very slowly, “did he just name you?”

Arion blinked once, unbothered, and scrolled as if this was standard diplomatic correspondence.

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Arion.”

Arion hummed, still half-lidded with sleep, and the sound vibrated against Dean’s shoulder like a purr. It was deeply inappropriate. Dean hated that too.

The chat erupted immediately, because Nero never did anything quietly.

Nero: 😭😭😭

Nero: I AM A GENIUS

Nero: WELCOME COUSIN

Nero: WELCOME ARION_THE_BLACKMAILER

Nero: YOU EARNED IT

Dean’s ears went hot.

“I don’t want to go to the engagement party anymore,” Dean said flatly. “This will be total chaos.”

Arion didn’t look up from the phone. His thumb scrolled with the calm of a man reading casualty reports.

“No,” Arion said.

Dean blinked. “No?”

Arion hummed. “You’re going.”

Dean stared at him like he’d just watched a prince outlaw free will. “Arion. I am not a ceremonial object you can carry around to prove a point.”

Arion’s mouth twitched, faintly amused, and he nuzzled Dean’s neck with shameless warmth. “I know,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep. “But you are my fiancé.”

Dean’s throat tightened in immediate betrayal, because that sentence should have been annoying, and instead it landed like something dangerously good.

He swallowed and tried to recover with anger, because anger was safer than whatever that was.

“That doesn’t make me a public attraction,” Dean said, voice flat.

“It makes you chosen,” Arion replied, and the simplicity of it made Dean’s brain stutter.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand like it was laughing at him.

Dean stared at it with hatred.

Arion followed his gaze and, with the calm authority of someone ending a war, reached out and flipped the phone face down.

The buzzing muffled slightly, still persistent.

Dean exhaled through his nose. “Your cousin is going to set the palace on fire.”

Arion nuzzled again, a lazy brush of mouth and nose against Dean’s skin that made Dean’s body do something traitorous and humiliating. “Nero won’t set it on fire,” Arion said.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “That sounded confident.”

Arion’s mouth curved against Dean’s throat, barely a smile. “He’ll outsource it to Sebastian.”

Dean blinked. “Sebastian is the responsible one.”

Arion hummed. “Yes. That’s why he’ll be the one holding the matches.”

Dean made a strangled sound and tried to twist around to glare properly. Arion’s arm tightened around his waist, which said, ’Stay here, I’m not done.’

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