Chapter 227: Chapter 227: The Jeweler and the Case

The first week of the Month of Grace had proven to be a test of Dean’s newly acquired patience.

Arion had been summoned away for a diplomatic fracture on the northern border: four nights of an empty bed and a palace that felt far too large when it was not occupied by a man with gold eyes and a talent for ruined omegas. Dean had spent the first two nights being productive, the third being restless, and the fourth being frankly annoyed.

By the fifth morning, Dean decided that if Arion was going to be busy with the crown, then Dean would be busy with the birthday.

“He’s late,” Dean said, tapping his fingers against the low table in the private sunroom.

“He’s a legend, Dean. Legends don’t follow a timeline; they simply appear when the lighting is right,” Sylvia said without looking up from her tablet. She was reclining on a chaise longue, her feet resting on the broad, furry back of Boreas. The massive dog let out a content huff, his tail thumping once against the rug.

The double doors did not simply open. They retreated in the face of a superior personality.

“I am withered. I am a husk. I have been transported across the sky like a common parcel.”

Benjamin LaVierre, now in his fifties and somehow even more aggressively elegant than the last time Dean had seen him, strode into the room. His hair was a silver-fox masterpiece, his silk coat was an architectural statement, and his expression was one of profound, practiced suffering. He carried a matte-black case as if it contained either eternal life or enough jewels to destabilize a duchy.

“Benjamin,” Dean said, rising. “I appreciate you coming all this way from Palatine. I heard the flight was smooth.”

“Smooth?” Benjamin stopped dead and stared at him with the same nuclear-grade glare he had once reportedly used on Trevor. “The pilot had the audacity to call it ’mild turbulence.’ I told him that if my gems shifted even a millimeter, I would buy his airline and turn it into a petting zoo. I am too old for this, Dean. I have a husband at home. Alistair is currently pining, or enjoying the silence, it’s difficult to say, and I am here, in Alamina, being harassed by the youth.”

“You’re more dramatic than when my father hired you last time,” Dean said, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“I am a fine wine, Dean. I have developed complexity,” Benjamin snapped, though his eyes softened as they landed properly on him. Then he swept his gaze toward Sylvia and narrowed it. “And who is this? The palace’s official lounging consultant?”

“Sylvia. Researcher of drama, but mostly a witness to Dean’s poor judgment,” Sylvia said, waving one hand without moving from the chaise.

Benjamin’s gaze dropped to Boreas.

He froze.

“Is that a bear? Why is there a bear in the sunroom? Trevor used to just have Windstone watching me from corners. This is a significant escalation in security.”

“That’s Boreas,” Dean said. “He’s harmless unless you’re a piece of upholstery. Now, Benjamin. The case.”

Benjamin let out a long, theatrical sigh and massaged his temples. “Always the work. No ’Benjamin, how is the gout?’ No ’Benjamin, is Alistair still the only man capable of restraining your ego?’ Just the case.”

Dean laughed. “Benjamin, you do not have gout, and you love selling to special men.”

Benjamin drew himself up with immediate offense. “First of all, rude. Second, I do not ’sell.’ I curate legacies. Third, yes, obviously I love special men. I married one.”

Sylvia made a pleased sound. “I like him.”

“You are too easy,” Dean said.

“No,” Benjamin corrected, setting the velvet case down with a care that made it look more sacred than luggage, “I am expensive. There is a difference.”

He clicked the latches.

The case opened like a stage curtain rising on something holy and deeply impractical.

Inside, everything was arranged in dark velvet precision: trays of metal bands, stone packets, cards of finishes, sketches, tools, and enough restrained brilliance to make the whole room feel underdressed.

Even Sylvia sat up.

Boreas, sensing importance, rose from the rug and came to sit beside Dean’s chair with the solemn expression of a beast assigned to jewel security.

Benjamin looked down at him. “If the bear drools on the sapphires, I’m billing the palace.”

“He’s not a bear,” Dean said.

Benjamin looked at Boreas again. “I reject that classification on visual grounds.”

Then his expression changed, his eyes softening.

“I heard the rumors,” he said, his voice dropping out of theatrical register and into something much more precise. “The Alaminian Crown Prince. The one who looks like he eats lightning for breakfast. You want to put a ring on that.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. “By that you mean Lucas told you everything, and you regret not being in Palatine for the engagement party.”

Benjamin placed one hand dramatically over his heart. “I was robbed.”

Sylvia looked delighted. “You missed it?”

“I was in Valleria fixing a viscountess’s catastrophic taste,” Benjamin said bitterly. “Do you know what that woman asked me for? Matching wedding bands engraved with a sonnet. A full sonnet. On rings. I nearly retired on principle.”

Dean laughed.

Benjamin pointed at him. “Do not mock my suffering. While I was fighting illiteracy in jewelry form, your father was apparently hosting one of the most important social events in recent family history, and I had to hear about it through Lucas in three increasingly smug messages and one photograph in which you looked devastatingly well-dressed and the crown prince looked like he had already decided to kill for you.”

Sylvia sat up straighter. “There were other photos than the official ones?”

Benjamin looked at her. “Yes.”

“You are not showing her,” Dean said with a sigh.

“I am showing her nothing that would get me disinherited by Lucas, which means the excellent ones remain between me, your father, and the moral failures he calls friends.”

That, unfortunately, tracked.

Benjamin’s expression softened again as he looked properly at Dean, the theatrics giving way to something warmer and older. He had known Lucas and Trevor when they were younger and more dangerous in public. He had watched Sebastian grow into Sebastian. He had been close enough to the family for long enough that his insults had roots in affection.

“You look happy,” he said simply.

Dean, who had been prepared for more drama, blinked. “That was direct.”

“Yes. Treasure it. I don’t waste directness on strangers.”

Sylvia looked between them, interested now rather than amused.

Benjamin continued, quieter. “Lucas said the match was political. Then he said it wasn’t. Trevor said nothing at all, which was much worse. Alistair said if Trevor was calm, then the boy was probably in love. I told him not to be absurd.”

Dean lifted a brow. “And yet?”

Benjamin’s mouth curved faintly. “And yet here I am. Crossing borders with gemstones because one of my nephews has reached the stage of life where politics and romance are no longer cleanly separable.”

Sylvia made a small, pleased sound. “Nephews?”

Benjamin looked at her as if she had just caught up to the obvious. “Yes. I’ve known Lucas and Trevor long enough to have earned the right to be invasive. Their children inherited the consequences.”

Dean leaned back slightly, some of the tension leaving him. “That explains a great deal.”

“It explains everything,” Benjamin corrected. “Including why I am here with a case of materials instead of sensible professional distance. If this were any other client, I would have sent sketches, demanded a deposit large enough to frighten them, and made them wait.”

“And with me?”

Benjamin’s expression sharpened back into something glittering. “With you, I flew in person because I know the difference between a treaty ring and a ring a young man chooses when he is very much in love and pretending to be analytical about it.”

Dean stared at him.

Sylvia looked delighted enough to levitate.

Boreas sighed and settled harder against Dean’s knee, as if bracing for impact.

Dean folded his arms. “Just show me the rings.”

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