Chapter 36: Chapter 36: Bold

Sylvia, unfortunately, had eyes.

“Oh,” she said again, softer this time, scandalized. “That’s illegal.”

Dean made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh and might have been his soul trying to escape.

Arion’s gaze flicked to Sylvia, then back to Dean, the smile thinning into something amused and private, as if it belonged to Dean and Sylvia had simply wandered into its radius.

“I’m just smiling,” Arion said.

His voice was soft and low in a way that made Sylvia’s brows lift despite herself, like her body had reacted before her pride could intervene.

Sylvia blinked once, then narrowed her eyes in offense at her own reflex. “That voice is also illegal.”

Dean’s shoulders shook. He covered his mouth with his hand, failing at composure.

Arion’s gaze stayed on Dean. “You’re entertained.”

Dean tried to sound bored. It came out warm. “She’s a menace.”

Sylvia jabbed Dean lightly in the ribs without looking at him, because of course she did, then kept her attention fixed on Arion like she was about to bite the concept of royalty.

“Now I see why you fell for him,” Sylvia said, turning to Dean without a single ounce of shame. “His face.”

Dean choked. “I did not—”

“You did,” Sylvia insisted, delighted. “It’s the face. It’s the stupid, criminal face. He smiles once, and suddenly I understand why you’re out here doing diplomacy and bad decisions like a hobby.”

Dean glared at her, ears warming. “This was a political engagement.”

Sylvia leaned closer, stage-whispering, “Sure. Political. And then he smiled and your brain went, ’Wow, treaties are sexy.’”

Dean made a sound of pure suffering.

Arion’s eyes flicked to Dean’s pink ears, and the corner of his mouth lifted again, like the sight pleased him more than it should have.

“You’re blaming my face,” Arion said mildly.

Sylvia turned back to him, unimpressed. “Yes.”

Arion’s brows rose. “Bold.”

Sylvia shrugged. “I’m a civilian. I can say things nobles are too cowardly to say.”

Dean muttered, “You’re going to get me killed.”

Sylvia smiled sweetly. “You’re too important to kill. You’re a dominant omega with an empire’s paperwork attached.”

Arion’s gaze sharpened at that as if the words ’dominant omega’ were an ownership marker he didn’t like hearing from anyone else.

“I don’t intend to kill him,” Arion said, still calm.

Sylvia blinked, then delivered her next line with the unbothered confidence of a woman who had never once considered the concept of shame.

“Tell me that after you two get in bed together.”

Dean made a sound that was half cough, half death rattle.

“Sylvia,” he hissed, voice cracking on sheer disbelief. “No.”

Sylvia didn’t look at him. “What. It’s a valid concern.”

“It’s not a concern,” Dean said, turning pink in real time. “It’s a felony.”

“It’s a forecast,” Sylvia corrected, nodding like she’d just presented a weather report. “High chance of… violence. Low chance of survival. Possible property damage.”

One of Arion’s guards made the smallest choking noise and then pretended he hadn’t.

Arion, however, did not flinch.

Arion simply looked at Sylvia for a long, controlled beat, expression unreadable in that infuriating way that made people nervous.

Then his mouth twitched.

“You have no filter,” Arion observed.

Sylvia smiled, bright and pleased. “Correct.”

Dean covered his face with his hand, shoulders shaking. “How did we get to this??! You wanted to get revenge on him, not me!”

Sylvia’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yeah!” Then her face immediately fell into a scowl, focus snapping back immediately. “Why did you use my name to blackmail him?”

Behind them, the corridor had started to do what corridors in palaces always did when something entertaining happened.

People slowed.

Aides pretended to consult folders they weren’t reading. A noblewoman paused in front of a vase as if the vase had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the empire. Two guards shifted into positions that were technically “routine” and absolutely “we’re listening.”

Dean lowered his hand enough to peek through his fingers and saw it. Saw the subtle gravity forming around them.

Of course. Of course this would become a thing.

Arion saw it too.

His gaze flicked once over the gathering attention. Already calculating how many steps it would take for this to become a rumor, then a headline, then a weapon.

Then his eyes returned to Dean.

Not to Sylvia. Not to the crowd.

To Dean, who was shaking with laughter he was trying to hide, cheeks warm, eyes bright in a way Arion had never seen until now.

Arion’s chest tightened in a way he did not permit to show.

He wanted more of that. He wanted Dean smiling and laughing without looking like he was bracing for impact.

And he was not going to let Palatine turn it into entertainment for everyone else.

“Come,” Arion said smoothly, the word landing like an invitation and an instruction at once.

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. “Don’t ’come’ me. Answer the question.”

Arion didn’t rise to it. He kept his voice calm, almost mild, ignoring the disrespect he would have punished if anyone else had spoken to him that way. “In a corridor?”

Sylvia lifted her chin. “Yes.”

Arion’s mouth twitched again, faintly amused. “Bold.”

Dean lowered his hand fully now, trying to look composed. “Syl, maybe we don’t interrogate the Crown Prince in public.”

Sylvia’s gaze snapped to Dean. “You’re enabling him.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. “I’m… surviving you.”

Arion’s eyes warmed at the sound of Dean’s voice, at the softness of it when he wasn’t playing noble boredom. He stepped half a pace closer, entering Dean’s space like it was natural.

The people watching leaned in without leaning in.

Arion ignored them.

“Miss Croft,” Arion said, finally giving Sylvia a title that sounded like courtesy and control all at once, “I will answer your question. But not where Palatine can collect it and trade it.”

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. “So you admit it’s tradeable information.”

Arion’s gaze stayed steady. “I admit Palatine is hungry.”

Dean let out a quiet, helpless laugh.

Arion’s eyes flicked to him instantly, and the corner of his mouth lifted like the sound pleased him more than it should have.

Dean caught it. Rolled his eyes. “Don’t.”

Arion’s gaze held, warm and infuriating. “You started it.”

“I started nothing,” Dean muttered.

Sylvia looked between them, then made a disgusted sound. “Oh, you’re that kind of terrible.”

Arion didn’t deny it. He simply gestured down the corridor toward a side hall, where a smaller sitting room waited, staffed by people trained to forget what they heard.

“Lemonade,” Arion said again, as if it was a peace treaty.

Sylvia squinted. “Is this your strategy? You offer sugar and hope I stop biting.”

Dean murmured, “It’s working a little.”

Sylvia elbowed him.

Arion’s gaze snapped to the movement, the possessiveness under his composure increasing.

Sylvia noticed.

Her smile went feral again. “Oh. Good. You do have feelings.”

Dean sighed, resigned. “You’re going to die.”

Sylvia beamed. “Not today. There are too many witnesses.”

Arion’s voice stayed polite, but there was a quiet finality under it now. “This way.”

He didn’t wait for agreement. He simply turned, and somehow the corridor rearranged itself. Guards shifted. Onlookers drifted away as if they’d remembered urgent duties. The palace made room for him because the palace always did.

Dean fell into step beside Arion without thinking.

Sylvia trailed after them, muttering things that sounded suspiciously like “red flag” and “I’m not done with you,” which made Dean’s laughter threaten again.

Arion glanced down at Dean as they walked, voice low enough to be private.

“You’re smiling,” he observed.

Dean shot him a look. “I’m coping. This is madness.”

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