Chapter 127: Chapter 127: No.

Zion was already inhaling, ready to call Dean back, ready to turn the entire hallway into a courtroom – when Arion tilted his head and leaned into the doorframe with an air that screamed danger.

“Leave him alone, Zion,” Arion said, his voice cold enough to frost the marble.

Zion stopped mid-word like someone had pressed pause on him. His grin wavered, recalculated, then returned with bravado that was mostly a coping mechanism.

“You have no fun, Arion,” Nero said instead, wickedly pleased, because Nero had never been smart enough to fear consequences in time. Or maybe because the consequences gave him more chances to fight.

“And you have no self-preservation instincts,” Arion shot back without looking away from Zion. His gaze stayed steady, his posture relaxed, but the calm in him had sharpened into something that made even the guards at the end of the corridor pretend they hadn’t heard anything.

Nero’s smile only widened. “I’m still alive.”

“Tragically,” Arion replied.

Zion lifted both hands like a man surrendering to a superior predator. “Fine. We’ll… let him go.”

Sebastian didn’t speak. He simply watched Dean’s retreating back one last time – assessing, satisfied he was upright and moving like himself – then turned his attention to Arion with the quiet respect of someone who understood controlled violence.

Arion’s gaze flicked to Sebastian once, briefly.

A silent acknowledgement.

Then Arion’s attention returned to Nero.

“Now that you were successful in driving my fiancée away from me,” Arion said, voice smooth enough to be polite and sharp enough to cut, “we’re going to discuss the spring schedule and the beast-heat season.”

Nero made a sound like someone had suggested carving his bones into paperwork. “Please. I can fight any time, but spare me today of administration and meetings.”

Arion’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

Nero blinked, as if confused by the concept of boundaries. “No?”

Arion smiled. It was not friendly.

“Nero,” Arion said calmly, “meeting room thirty-four. Twenty minutes.”

Nero opened his mouth.

Arion continued, just as calmly, “Or I will tell your parents that you’re slacking.”

Nero’s expression tightened in immediate horror. “You wouldn’t.”

Arion’s smile sharpened. “Try me.”

Zion and Sebastian were already retreating. Zion moved with exaggerated innocence, hands up like he had never once been involved in chaos in his life. Sebastian moved like a man who had survived enough family politics to know splash damage when he saw it.

Nero watched them go, offended. “Traitors.”

Zion called back over his shoulder, cheerful, “We love you! From a distance!”

The hallway cleared.

The quiet that followed felt heavier than it had any right to, like the palace itself had decided to listen.

Arion remained in the doorway for a beat longer, gaze angled down the corridor where Dean had disappeared, as if ensuring distance.

“Twenty minutes, Nero.” He said and left the hallway without another word.

—

Twenty minutes later

“No secretaries, no aides, and no security,” Nero counted as he stepped into meeting room thirty-four, his voice bright with theatrical suspicion. “Arion, are you really calling me here for the beasts, or for the compatibility between me and Dean?”

Arion didn’t look up right away.

He was already seated at the long table, one leg crossed with the easy control of a man who never needed to announce authority. A tablet rested in his hand, light reflecting off the screen across the sharp planes of his face. He scrolled once, slowly, as if Nero hadn’t spoken at all.

The silence was intentional.

Arion used silence the way other men used weapons.

Nero shut the door behind him and leaned against it, watching Arion like he was watching a storm from a safe hilltop: curious, pleased, and stupidly confident.

Arion finally lifted his gaze.

“You’re early,” Arion said.

Nero blinked. “You threatened to call my parents.”

Arion’s mouth twitched faintly. “So you do have survival instincts.”

Nero pushed off the door and sauntered toward the table, posture loose, expression wicked. “Only when it comes to family humiliation.”

Arion set the tablet down.

He did it quietly, with his palm facing up for a brief moment while adjusting his grip.

The bite mark was still there.

Nero’s violet eyes dropped to it immediately. His grin sharpened like a blade catching light.

“Oh,” Nero murmured. “Still wearing it.”

Arion’s voice stayed level. “Sit.”

Nero sat. Not obediently – Nero didn’t act obediently – but he chose a chair opposite Arion, long legs folding with the lazy grace of someone built like a war machine and dressed like a scandal.

He laced his fingers on the table. “So?”

Arion didn’t answer.

He tapped the tablet once, bringing up a map – Alamina’s borders, ward lines, and marked zones where the beasts migrated when heat season hit and the air itself turned hostile.

Nero glanced at it and sighed dramatically. “You are actually going to make me do administrative labor.”

Arion’s eyes didn’t move from him. “Yes.”

Nero’s expression turned offended. “Cruel.”

Arion’s voice remained calm. “Necessary.”

Nero leaned forward, violet eyes bright. “And the other thing?”

Arion’s gaze sharpened by a fraction. “You mean the part where you falsified medical records.”

Nero’s grin returned. “I mean the part where you looked like you wanted to tear my throat out in your breakfast room.”

Arion didn’t react. “Did you come here to provoke me again, or do you have something useful to offer?”

Nero’s brows rose. “I’m always useful.”

Arion’s gaze flicked to the faint bite mark on his palm. He could have healed it in minutes, and Nero knew it. He hadn’t – not out of spite, not to weaponize it against Dean like a leash, but because Arion liked proof. He liked reminders that Dean had chosen him close enough to leave a mark.

Arion lifted his eyes again, his voice calm and sharp.

“Why did you falsify the files? Don’t give me the leash-of-power speech. You never cared about that. You clearly like Dean as much as I do, so why?”

Nero’s easy amusement vanished in an instant, replaced by the version of himself Arion had grown up with: still, precise, and completely unplayful. The man who got what he wanted.

“I like someone else more,” Nero said.

Arion’s gaze didn’t soften. “Who?”

Nero’s violet eyes held his for a long beat.

Then, very calmly, “No.”

Arion’s jaw tightened. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“It was,” Nero replied. “Just not one you’re entitled to.”

Arion’s fingers tapped once against the table, then sighed deeply.

“Please tell me the one you’re obsessed with knows,” Arion said quietly.

Nero’s mouth curved.

It wasn’t his usual bright, easy grin. It was smaller. Sharper.

The smile reminded Arion of Dax in all the worst ways, as if the world were already arranged in his favor and everyone else just hadn’t noticed.

“No,” Nero said. “He doesn’t know.”

Arion’s gaze stayed on him, flat. “Of course he doesn’t.”

Nero leaned back, completely at ease. “Aside from Dean and you, no one knows I like someone. Not even my family.”

Arion looked at Nero and, for the first time since breakfast, felt his jealousy turn colder: understanding.

Whoever had caught Nero’s attention had done it for life.

Not because Nero was romantic.

Because Nero was persistent. Strategic. Built to win and allergic to letting go.

Arion’s jaw tightened once, then relaxed.

“Make sure,” Arion said, voice level, “that they aren’t blood-related to you and that they’re consenting to whatever you plan.”

Nero laughed, genuinely amused, like Arion had asked him not to commit a felony in public.

“Yes, yes,” Nero said, waving a hand. “I’m not a barbarian.”

Arion’s eyes narrowed. “That’s debatable.”

Nero’s grin widened. “I’m a refined barbarian.”

Arion didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched in something that might have been reluctant acceptance.

“Good,” Arion said. “Because if you turn your obsession into a scandal, I will be forced to clean it up.”

Nero’s eyes gleamed. “You’d clean it up for me?”

Arion’s gaze stayed cold. “I’d clean it up for my country. You would just happen to be attached to the mess.”

Nero sighed theatrically. “Such love.”

Arion tapped the tablet once, bringing the western corridor back into focus like a blade returning to its sheath.

“Beasts,” Arion said. “Talk.”

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