Chapter 118: Chapter 118: Greetings

By the time they reached the corridor that fed into the main hall, Dean had the distinct sensation that the palace was holding its breath.

Protocol ate sound so hard that Dean could hear each of their individual steps. Guards moved with that smooth, rehearsed silence that made everything feel sharper than it needed to be. The air itself felt freshly filtered, scrubbed of anything too human, too messy, or too honest.

Which was almost funny, because Dean was walking into it with his pheromones still faintly tangled with a crown prince’s.

He could smell it on himself if he focused.

Sylvia trudged at his other side like a woman being dragged toward a public execution. For once, the menace was muted. She looked tired, sore, and deeply offended that her life had spiraled from ’civilian with opinions’ to ’civilian present for royal greetings.’

She had both hands on Boreas’s leash like she was holding a wild animal in place through sheer spite.

Boreas, for his part, trotted happily, tail swishing, ears perked, and absolutely ready to make friends with people who had security clearance and titles.

Sylvia leaned down and muttered through her teeth, “If he tackles a crown prince, I’m moving to the countryside.”

“I’m a crown prince, and you don’t seem to be impressed,” Arion said, amused, as if Sylvia’s grip on Boreas’s leash wasn’t a hostage situation.

Sylvia didn’t even look up. “Your dog has the emotional range of a battering ram. Titles mean nothing to a malamute.”

Boreas wagged harder, like he agreed with the statement and would like it notarized.

Arion’s gaze moved to the dog, then forward down the corridor, and something in his expression changed.

“Let him off,” Arion said.

Sylvia stopped so abruptly Dean nearly clipped her shoulder. “Absolutely not.”

Arion’s brows lifted. “Sylvia.”

“He’s going to flatten someone,” Sylvia hissed. “Or worse. He’s going to flatten someone important, and then I’ll be executed on the spot for canine-related treason.”

Dean glanced at Boreas, who was sitting now with perfect patience, tongue lolling slightly, eyes bright – looking like the sweetest creature alive. Which was always how Boreas looked right before he committed a crime.

Arion’s mouth twitched. “He knows Zion.”

Sylvia froze. “He… what?”

Arion nodded toward the far end of the hall where the sound dampening wasn’t absolute – where faint voices and the soft murmur of an official escort seeped through. “Boreas has met him. More than once. Zion was here last season. Boreas spent two days trying to follow him into meetings.”

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And you didn’t think to mention that when you handed me his leash like a live grenade?”

Arion grinned like a menace. “You looked capable.”

Dean made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh if it had been safe.

Sylvia shot him a glare. “Don’t.”

Arion’s tone stayed calm, but there was a gentle kind of authority under it that made the guards nearby subtly shift their attention, ready to respond if needed. “He’ll be happier if he can greet him properly,” Arion said. “And he won’t bolt. He comes back on command.”

Sylvia’s lips parted. “That is the most royal thing you’ve ever said. ’He comes back on command.’”

Arion looked faintly offended. “Boreas is trained, Sylvia.”

Sylvia’s gaze dropped to Boreas.

Boreas looked up at her with such pure devotion that Dean almost believed in forgiveness.

Almost.

Sylvia swallowed, jaw tightening like she was about to do something brave and stupid.

“Fine,” she muttered. “If I die, I’m haunting all of you.”

Arion held out his hand.

Sylvia hesitated, then unclipped the leash with the stiff movements of a woman defusing a bomb. “Go,” she told Boreas in a low voice, as if the dog might respond better if she pretended this was her idea. “Go greet your… royal friend.”

Boreas didn’t need a second invitation.

He launched forward with the controlled enthusiasm of an avalanche that had been politely waiting.

Sylvia’s hand shot out instinctively, as if she could grab him back by sheer will.

Too late.

Boreas sprinted down the corridor, claws silent on polished stone, tail high, ears forward, a joyful missile headed straight for the arrival wing.

Sylvia stared after him, horrified. “Oh my God.”

Dean’s chest tightened. “He’s going to tackle Zion.”

Arion’s eyes followed Boreas with the calm of a man who had seen this exact disaster before. “Even if he does,” Arion said. “Zion likes it.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Sylvia snapped, already moving.

They followed at a brisk pace, Dean caught between the instinct to run and the knowledge that running in a palace corridor invited security to treat you like a threat.

Arion’s stride remained measured, but his attention was focused on the dog and the corridor ahead, as if he were watching a weapon he trusted but still respected. He was under it all, very amused at the fact that Sylvia was more intimidated by a man like Zion and not him.

The corridor opened into a wider space near the main hall – an antechamber where official greetings spilled over into private meetings. The lighting was softer here, the ceiling higher, and the air colder from overworked filtration. A few staffers stood near a glass wall with tablets and earpieces, expressions blank in the way of people who had learned to pretend they saw nothing.

And right there—

Sebastian and Zion had just cleared the formal line.

Sebastian stood slightly apart, shoulders squared, black hair neat, and green eyes scanning the space with the intensity that caused people to straighten without realizing it. He looked like someone who could be perfectly polite while calculating exits, threats, and contingencies all at once.

Beside him, Zion was in motion – dark blonde hair a little windswept from travel, green eyes bright with restless amusement, and mouth already curved like he’d arrived for entertainment and found it waiting.

Boreas reached them first.

Zion barely had time to grin before the malamute slammed into him with full-body joy.

Zion shifted instinctively, bracing, laughing as Boreas nearly knocked him sideways anyway. Big paws thumped against Zion’s chest, Boreas whining like he’d been abandoned for a hundred years.

“BOREAS!” Zion laughed, voice loud enough to make two nearby guards glance over before deciding they didn’t get paid enough to intervene. “Oh my God—hi! Hi!”

Sebastian didn’t move.

He only watched.

His expression remained controlled, but his eyes softened slightly at the sight – like even Sebastian couldn’t interpret a dog’s love as a political threat.

Sylvia reached the edge of the space and stopped, breathing hard through sheer indignation. “He really does know him.”

Arion’s mouth curved. “I told you.”

Sylvia looked like she wanted to argue, but Boreas chose that moment to spin and bound toward them again – half returning, half inviting them into the chaos.

Sylvia immediately stepped behind Dean like Dean was a shield.

Dean glanced back, deadpan. “You’re his aunt.”

Sylvia hissed, “I’m an aunt from a safe distance.”

Arion moved past them, posture shifting into something composed and official without losing the faint warmth in his eyes. He approached Sebastian first.

“Sebastian,” Arion greeted, voice smooth.

Sebastian’s green eyes flicked to him, then past him, straight to Dean.

That look landed like a hand on the back of Dean’s neck.

Then Sebastian gave Arion a small nod that read as respect and warning in equal measure. “Crown Prince.”

Zion, still half-wrestling Boreas, looked up and lit up the second he saw Dean.

“Dean!” he called again, already peeling Boreas off his chest with both hands like a man extracting himself from a fluffy hostage. “There you are—”

He started toward Dean with open arms, as if the hug was inevitable, as if Dean’s personal space was just a suggestion.

Dean’s heart kicked once.

And Arion, without rushing or being aggressive, stepped into the path with the same calm certainty as before, one fluid movement, a hand resting lightly on Dean’s forearm like punctuation.

Zion halted mid-step, blinking.

Then his grin widened, delighted.

Sebastian’s mouth twitched like he was fighting laughter.

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