Chapter 135: Chapter 135: Away from humans

Dean shifted slightly and placed Sylvia between him and the sisters.

Then he returned his gaze to the two women with the effortless ease of someone raised for this exact type of environment.

“Your Highnesses,” Dean said warmly, the voice he used when he needed to be a perfect diplomatic product. “May I introduce Sylvia Croft?”

Sylvia’s spine went straight.

’Oh. We’re doing full names. I’m being presented.’

The woman in deep green – tall, elegant, with hair pinned in a style that looked like it had been refined over centuries – smiled first.

“Lady Sylvia,” she said, and her voice carried the confidence of someone who had never doubted she belonged anywhere. “Tyana.”

The other woman – in a dark dress, minimalist jewelry, and soft makeup – inclined her head slightly.

“Caroline,” she added, and the name landed like a title even without one spoken aloud.

Sylvia bowed.

“Your Highnesses,” Sylvia said, smiling sweetly as if she weren’t internally screaming. “It’s an honor.”

Tyana’s eyes warmed. “Dean speaks highly of you.”

Sylvia blinked once.

Dean’s face remained serenely diplomatic, but Sylvia caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth – like he was trying not to laugh.

Caroline’s gaze moved quickly over Sylvia, assessing her without being unkind but completely thorough.

“And we’ve heard about you,” Caroline said.

Sylvia’s stomach dipped.

Heard about her.

That could mean anything from ’lovely friend’

to ’civilian threat to palace peace.’

Sylvia kept her smile in place. “I hope it was good.”

Tyana was amused now. “It was… interesting.”

“He deserved it.” Dean said with the reverence of a saint, and Sylvia started to believe that she needed an emergency sign with the others. Dean was going down.

“He deserved it,” Dean said with the reverence of a saint.

Sylvia’s smile stayed on her face by muscle memory alone.

Inside, she was already drafting an emergency signal with her eyes like a prisoner trying to communicate through glass.

Tyana smiled again. Caroline’s gaze flicked to Dean, then back to Sylvia, and the faintest hint of amusement softened the severity of her expression.

“Oh, he definitely deserved it,” Tyana agreed lightly, as if they were discussing a harmless joke and not the crown prince of Alamina being labeled a red flag in his own home.

Caroline’s lips twitched. “He was offended for three minutes.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Only three?”

Tyana’s smile widened. “He was impressed by minute two.”

Sylvia’s throat tightened. She kept her face polite. “That’s deeply concerning.”

Tyana tilted her head, eyes bright. “You have good instincts.”

Caroline nodded once. “And good courage.”

Sylvia stared at them like they were congratulating her for committing arson.

Dean remained calm, but Sylvia could see the telltale signs in him now that she knew what she was looking for: the brightness in his eyes, the slightly looser edge to his mouth, the way his attention jumped a fraction too quickly when someone spoke.

The suppressant was holding, but it was holding a disaster, not a normal person.

Tyana lifted her glass in a small toast to Sylvia. “We’ll let you breathe.”

Caroline’s gaze lingered on Sylvia for half a beat, then softened into something almost approving. “Take care of him.”

Sylvia blinked. “I…”

Dean cut in smoothly, smiling. “She will.”

Sylvia shot him a look that promised consequences later.

Tyana and Caroline both looked entertained by that too, which was somehow worse, and then they stepped away with the effortless grace of women who had been taught how to exit a conversation like it was choreography.

And just like that, the pressure eased.

Sylvia let out a breath she’d been holding. “Okay.”

Dean’s brows lifted. “Okay, what?”

Sylvia didn’t smile. She didn’t joke. She reached out and gently caught Dean by his elbow.

Dean glanced down at her hand like it was a fascinating concept.

Sylvia leaned in, voice low, sweet, and absolutely not negotiable. “We are relocating.”

Dean blinked slowly. “Why?”

“Because,” Sylvia said, still polite, “you are starting to enjoy this.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. “Enjoy what?”

“Being a menace in formalwear,” Sylvia replied. “And I’m not losing my evening to you deciding to challenge the concept of diplomacy in front of cameras.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, offended. “I’m fine.”

Sylvia nodded like a therapist indulging a lie. “You’re fine. And we’re going outside.”

Dean’s gaze shifted past her shoulder, toward the ballroom, the lights, and the people.

Then, very slowly, his eyes returned to Sylvia.

“Alright,” Dean said, and the ease of his agreement made her nervous.

She didn’t give him time to change his mind.

She guided him through the edge of the crowd, using the same social instinct she used in clubs and chaotic dinners: don’t rush, don’t look panicked, just walk like you own your direction.

Dean followed, tall nobles parting almost unconsciously, because Dean’s face was known here and Sylvia, by proximity, was temporarily granted authority.

They reached a side, and Sylvia exhaled again, this time long and relieved.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked.

Sylvia glanced at him.

“A balcony,” Sylvia said. “Away from humans.”

Dean tilted his head. “You’re a human.”

Sylvia stared at him. “Dean.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. “Sorry.”

They reached a set of glass doors framed in dark wood. Beyond them, the winter night awaited – cold air, silence, and a view of palace gardens illuminated by soft ground lights that transformed everything into silver shapes.

Sylvia pushed the door open.

Cold air hit them immediately, clean enough to reset a brain.

Dean stepped out onto the balcony, inhaled once, and his shoulders loosened by a fraction, like his body had been waiting for space.

Sylvia followed and shut the doors behind them.

The music dimmed to a muffled pulse. For a moment, it was just them, winter air, city lights far off, and Dean looking out over the gardens like he was trying to remember what ’quiet’ felt like.

Sylvia leaned her elbows on the railing beside him.

“Better,” Sylvia said.

Dean leaned with his back on one of the columns and let his eyes wander through the garden.

The quiet stretched for a while; neither talking, just watching the gardens and the people below.

Sylvia let herself breathe again, which was stupid, because the universe hated when she relaxed.

The balcony door opened behind them with a soft, controlled click.

Sylvia kept her posture loose, because you didn’t give a palace aide the satisfaction of seeing you startle.

Dean, however, lifted his head slightly, gaze focusing on instinct.

A young aide in black stepped out, earpiece visible, expression politely blank.

They bowed. Not to Sylvia.

To Dean.

“Your Highness,” the aide said quietly. “His Highness, the crown prince, requests your presence. Alone.”

Dean blinked once.

Sylvia’s spine went stiff so fast it almost hurt.

’Alone.’

’Yeah, no. Not onto my watch.’ She thought while getting ready to tackle the aide.

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