Chapter 131: Chapter 131: To the gala at last

“Oh fantastic,” he said. “The alpha is saying we. That never ends in peace.”

Arion didn’t answer immediately.

He just stood there in the hallway, an immovable seven-foot-three wall of restraint, eyes fixed on Dean’s neck like his instincts had developed a personal obsession with the concept of skin.

Dean could feel the way Arion was holding himself back on purpose. The careful distance. The controlled breathing. The fact that Arion’s scent hadn’t surged in response the way it could have if he’d let his dominance loose.

It should have been reassuring.

It was, unfortunately, also hot.

Dean hated his life.

Arion exhaled slowly. “Go back inside.”

Dean’s brows snapped down. “No.”

Arion’s gaze lifted to Dean’s face. “Dean.”

Dean folded his arms tighter, like that would stop his body from leaking honey-and-dusk into the air like a confession. “I’m not going to hide in the bathroom like a morally compromised omega from a cautionary tale.”

Arion’s mouth twitched, and Dean immediately pointed at him again. “Don’t.”

Arion’s tone stayed even. “I’m not smiling.”

“You are,” Dean said. “You’re doing the thing where you pretend you’re not.”

Arion took a cautious half-step back, not away from Dean, but from the scent density. Like he was giving his own instincts more room to breathe.

“Dean,” Arion said, voice quiet now, “I need you to be rational for two minutes.”

Dean stared at him.

Then, because he was Dean and therefore incapable of accepting help without arguing, he shot back, “I am rational.”

Arion’s eyes flicked to the bathroom, then back to Dean’s throat again, as if Dean’s pulse had started writing itself there. “You’re in pre-heat,” Arion said calmly, “and you’re almost flirting with that doorframe.”

Dean’s mouth opened.

Arion lifted one finger – an elegant, quiet no – and Dean, infuriatingly, stopped.

“Let me call Seven for a suppressant,” Arion continued, voice even.

Dean narrowed his eyes, cheeks hot with indignation and biology. “I’m not flirting with anything.”

Arion’s mouth twitched, amused despite himself. “Dean, you just threatened a piece of wood and then leaned against it like it could save you.”

Dean stared at him. “It’s a supportive doorframe.”

Arion’s gaze warmed for half a second, fondness flickering through the control, then he forced it back down because the truth was sitting under his ribs like a live wire.

They had an engagement gala.

They had an entire country waiting to watch Dean stand beside Arion and make a public claim.

And as much as Arion would have loved to take Dean to bed and forget everything else for the entire duration of Dean’s heat, that was impossible now.

He could feel the instinct, however, every alpha part of him pulling in the same direction: ’Take Dean to bed and mark him. NOW’. It was a primitive, ruthless solution to a problem that had no business existing in the modern world.

Arion didn’t move.

He didn’t touch.

He simply reached into his pocket for his phone, a man choosing responsibility over impulse.

Dean’s voice sharpened. “Don’t you dare…”

Arion lifted his eyes. “Dean.”

Dean stilled, pupils wide, scent warm and rising.

Arion’s voice stayed low. “I’m doing this so you can stand beside me today without suffering.”

Dean scoffed, because scoffing was his shield. “I can suffer just fine.”

Arion’s gaze dipped to Dean’s mouth, then back to his eyes. “I know. That’s the problem.”

Dean’s throat tightened, betraying him with a breath he couldn’t fully control.

Arion pressed the call button.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Dean stood there glaring like a man about to start a war over dignity. Or throttle the alpha and undress him.

Seven answered.

“Your Highness,” came the calm voice on the other end.

“Seven,” Arion said, clipped and controlled. “Come to my suite. Now. Short-acting suppressant. Omega approaching heat. We need it to last through the gala.”

A pause.

Dean could practically hear Seven’s mental sigh through the line.

Arion added, without changing tone, “Yes, I know the protocol. Ten minutes.”

—

Two hours later, Dean wasn’t feral anymore.

Well… no. That was a lie. He was still feral. The difference was that the suppressant had put a lid on it and told the lid to behave in public.

His scent had calmed from ’honey spill in a locked room’ to something closer to ’sweet, fresh mint and only noticeable if you were stupid enough to lean too close.’ His skin no longer felt like it was sparking at every air shift. His thoughts were still sharp, but the edges weren’t actively trying to cut through the nearest available person.

Which meant he could function.

He could stand beside Arion under cameras.

He could smile without it being a threat.

He could survive the engagement gala without committing a national incident.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed in Arion’s suite while staff moved around him, pretending not to notice anything. A stylist adjusted his collar. Someone checked the crease of his trousers. Another person held out a small bottle of water, like Dean was an overheated celebrity and not a diplomatic problem who had just been chemically prevented from destroying his own dignity.

Arion stood a few feet away, already dressed in that uniform that made Dean want to bite his knuckles, watching like a man who had shifted every ounce of his attention into protective control.

Dean caught Arion’s gaze once.

Held it.

Then looked away, because even with a suppressant in his veins, Dean was still… more.

That was the thing about heat for Dean.

He had several problems.

One: he became unfairly honest.

Not ’cute honest.’ Not ’shy confession,’ honest.

Violently honest.

If he wanted to kiss Arion, he didn’t negotiate with himself about propriety. He said it and then did it before anyone, including Arion, could stop him.

It wasn’t even about seduction.

It was about instinct selecting a target and deciding that waiting was an insult.

Two: He lost shame.

Not in the ’carefree’ way people liked to romanticize.

In the “I could dismantle you in public and feel nothing” way.

Heat stripped away the part of Dean that usually softened his bluntness into diplomacy. If someone was cruel, Dean didn’t smile politely and file it away for later. Dean went for the throat immediately because in heat he simply didn’t care about anyone’s feelings enough to pretend.

Three: It was a recipe for disaster.

A dominant omega with low shame, high honesty, and a national engagement gala?

That wasn’t romance. That was a headline.

Which was why, as a general rule, Dean was usually kept at home when his heat window approached, surrounded by people who could handle him without turning it into spectacle.

Except today, ’home’ was the palace.

And Arion was determined.

And the entire country was waiting.

Dean exhaled slowly, then muttered, mostly to himself, “This is going to be a long day.”

Arion’s low voice came from behind him. “You’ll manage.”

Dean glanced back over his shoulder.

Arion’s expression was calm, but his eyes were dark with restrained attention, the kind that made Dean’s pulse misbehave even through suppressant.

Dean’s mouth twitched. “That’s your comforting voice again.”

Arion smiled as if he were taunting the omega. “It’s my confident one.”

Dean snorted softly, then stood as the staff stepped away.

He smoothed his jacket and looked at the mirror one last time, and he could pass for normal.

He could pass for a man who was not actively one bad breath away from French kissing the crown prince in front of an entire nation.

Dean turned toward Arion, forced a neutral expression, and said, “If I do anything scandalous, it’s your fault for scheduling this today.”

Arion’s brows lifted, amused. “Noted.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Don’t look pleased.”

Arion’s gaze lingered on him, warm and dangerous. “I’m not.”

Dean stared.

Arion’s mouth twitched again.

Dean sighed, resigned. “You are. You’re absolutely enjoying the fact that I’m a problem.”

Arion’s voice dropped, only for Dean. “I’m enjoying that you’re mine.”

Dean’s cheeks heated instantly.

Suppressant or not, biology did not take criticism well.

Dean opened his mouth to argue – then stopped, because arguing would turn into flirting, and flirting would turn into kissing, and kissing would turn into Arion forgetting the concept of a gala entirely.

Dean swallowed, looked away, and snapped, “Let’s go before I commit treason.”

Arion offered his hand.

Dean took it.

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