Chapter 24: Chapter 24: Soft orders.

The door opened quietly.

Dean stepped back into the room, the soft light of the corridor still clinging to his shoulders. He paused the moment he crossed the threshold, instincts flaring at the subtle, electric wrongness in the air. The kind that had nothing to do with pheromones and everything to do with words that cut too close to the bone.

“The suite is ready,” he said. “East wing. Security’s coordinated. You can stay the night.”

His gaze flicked between them. Lucas, rigid where he leaned against the doorframe, jaw tight, eyes cold with something that hadn’t been there before. Arion, seated again, composed to the point of stillness, but with that coiled, watchful focus that Dean had learned to recognize as restraint rather than calm.

The room felt like it had just survived a storm.

Dean took a step closer, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Arion.

“What did you do?”

Surprise flickered on the prince’s face. “Why did you asume that I did something?” He asked in amusement.

“Because I know my father,” Dean didn’t share his amusement. “And he only looks like that when someone has pushed past a line and then dared him to admit it.”

Lucas didn’t deny it. He merely closed his eyes for a brief second, as if collecting himself, then opened them again, gaze narrowing on Arion.

Arion, for his part, watched Dean with an intensity that had nothing to do with politics now. The amusement faded, replaced by something more honest, more dangerous in its focus.

“Your father would tell you when the time is right,” he said quietly.

Dean didn’t look convinced. “That’s a polite way of saying you pushed him before he was ready.”

A corner of Arion’s mouth lifted in acknowledgment. “Yes.”

Dean let out a slow breath through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Figures.”

He shifted his stance, squaring his shoulders in that familiar, stubborn way that always meant he was about to take control of a situation whether the people involved liked it or not.

“You’re in backlash recovery. You’ve been out of your territory for months. You just finished a conversation that could probably qualify as psychological warfare,” he said, counting on his fingers with pointed calm. “So you’re going to the east wing, you’re going to lie down, and you’re going to actually rest instead of brooding like a disaster waiting to happen.”

Arion blinked once.

Then, slowly, something almost amused softened the sharp edge of his focus. “Are you ordering me?”

“Yes,” Dean replied without hesitation. “Lightly. But still ordering.”

For a second, it looked like Arion might argue on principle alone. Then he didn’t. He inclined his head, a gesture that held no trace of mockery.

“As you wish,” he said, and this time it was just acceptance.

He rose elegantly and passed the father and son in the hallway where Windstone was already waiting. He bowed his head and showed the way.

Dean turned toward Lucas. “I’m sorry about—”

“No.” Lucas cut him off instantly.

Dean froze.

Lucas straightened from the doorframe, his voice firm, unyielding. “You do not apologize for him. Ever. You are not responsible for what a grown, overpowered, overconfident Crown Prince decides to say in my house.”

Dean frowned. “Dad, I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Lucas said more gently, but no less absolute. “And I am telling you now, so you don’t learn this the hard way later: you do not carry other people’s sins because you care about them. You do not mediate power games with your own spine.”

“Yes, you brought him into our manor because he was sick, and you helped,” Lucas went on, voice cool but edged now with bite. “That doesn’t make you responsible for the way a spoiled, overpowered Crown Prince decides to swing his weight around. And it doesn’t make you his emotional shock absorber when he chooses to be an asshole.”

Dean blinked. “Dad!”

“I mean it,” Lucas said, unimpressed. “He’s brilliant, he’s dangerous, and he’s used to getting his way because the world rearranges itself when he pushes. That does not give him the right to use my past like a crowbar and then sit there looking offended when I call him on it.”

Dean’s mouth twitched despite himself.

“You helped him because he needed help,” Lucas continued. “Not because you owe him loyalty, and certainly not because you owe him apologies. Do not blur that line. Ever.”

Dean nodded slowly, already grinning. “Okay. I get it.” Lucas might looked soft to others but Dean know that his father could become a tyrant in a blink of an eye if provoked.

Down the corridor, Arion waited with Windstone, posture flawless, every inch the Crown Prince again, but his attention was fixed on Dean. The predatory focus had softened into something watchful, almost concerned, as if he were gauging damage rather than calculating advantage.

Lucas followed Dean’s gaze and snorted quietly. “See? Even a terrifying apex ruler can look like a sulking brat when he realizes he crossed a line.”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

Lucas’s tone softened, but only a little. “Go. Make sure His Highness actually lies down instead of brooding himself into another backlash. And if he starts philosophizing about fate or sacrifice again, tell him I said to shut up and sleep.”

Dean smiled this time, small and fond. “I will.”

He turned and headed down the corridor.

“Ah, Dean?” Lucas called back with a dangerous grin. “If he touches you without your consent, I’m going to castrate him. I know a good veterinarian.”

Dean laughed, the sound easing some of the tightness still coiled in his chest. “Noted. I’ll be sure to pass along the… very specific threat.”

Lucas waved him off with a snort. “Go. Before I decide to escort His Highness to the guest suite myself and traumatize his security team for life.”

Dean shook his head, still smiling, and followed Windstone down the corridor.

Arion waited a few steps ahead, posture perfect, but his attention snapped to Dean the instant he came into view.

“Everything alright?” Arion asked softly.

Dean studied him for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. He’s just…protective. And grumpy. And very clear on his opinions about you.”

A faint, wry curve touched Arion’s mouth. “I gathered.”

“You provoked it.” Dean had no problem calling out his sorry ass.

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