Chapter 38: Chapter 38: Everyone has a price

Arion watched Dean laugh like it was a thing that shouldn’t exist in palaces and yet did. For a moment it softened the hard lines of him, made him look younger, and made him look like someone who hadn’t spent the last weeks being measured by contracts and committees and people with polite eyes.

Sylvia’s stare slid to Dean, accusatory and betrayed.

“You,” she said, pointing at him like he’d committed a crime. “You’re laughing. You’re enabling him. I came here to be scary.”

Dean wiped at the corner of his mouth, still grinning. “You were scary. Briefly. Then he smiled.”

Sylvia made a disgusted sound. “Traitor.”

Dean leaned back, pleased with himself. “You’re just mad you got hit with the face.”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. “I am not—”

“You are,” Dean cut in, delighted. “You’re weak.”

Sylvia threw the cushion again. Dean caught it again, laughing harder.

Arion’s gaze stayed on Dean through all of it, the amusement in his eyes deepening. He was amused by seeing the one he wants being so open, but gods, there was jealousy there too.

Then Arion did something that made Sylvia pause mid-glare.

“You know,” Arion said, voice calm, “you don’t have to leave Palatine only with the staff appointed officially.”

Dean’s laughter faded to a wary smile. “Arion…”

Arion held Dean’s gaze. “Bring someone with you.”

Dean blinked. “What.”

Arion’s tone didn’t change. “A companion. A friend. An aide, if you prefer the formal term.” His eyes flicked to Sylvia briefly, then back to Dean. “They would have income. Housing. University accommodation if they’re studying, or a position if they aren’t. No one in Alamina will be permitted to treat them like a removable accessory.”

Sylvia froze.

Dean froze.

Then Dean’s face did that thing it always did when someone offered him something too generous: the immediate instinct to refuse on principle, like accepting care was a debt.

“I don’t want to force anyone,” Dean started, already shaking his head. “Sylvia has a life. I can’t just—”

“How much?” Sylvia asked instantly.

Dean stopped mid-sentence and stared at her.

Sylvia stared back, utterly unapologetic. “What? It’s a valid question.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You just got done calling him a red flag.”

“I contain multitudes,” Sylvia replied, deadpan. “Also, if I’m going to relocate for your emotionally complicated apex predator, I’m going to need numbers.”

Dean made a strangled sound. “My what?”

Arion’s mouth twitched, faintly amused again, as if Sylvia’s brazenness was a language he understood. “Numbers can be arranged,” he said calmly.

Dean turned to Sylvia, scandalized. “You’re selling your loyalty.”

Sylvia gasped. “Excuse you. My loyalty is free.”

Dean lifted a brow. “That is not what your face is saying.”

Sylvia shrugged. “Everyone has a price.”

Dean pointed at her. “You are unbelievable.”

“I’m realistic,” Sylvia corrected. Then, because she could never resist a final knife twist, she added, “And I’m not the one marrying him, Dean. You are. So if you want a familiar person nearby in Alamina while you learn how to survive royal court politics and a seven-foot-three problem with cheekbones, then yes… ask the price.”

Dean choked on a laugh again, betrayed by his own amusement. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Sylvia said sweetly. “You love me. Now… how much?”

Arion’s gaze stayed on Sylvia for a beat longer than necessary, as if he was weighing her the way he weighed every variable that came near Dean.

Then he nodded once, like he’d reached a decision.

“Fine,” Arion said.

The single word sounded like a door opening.

Dean blinked. “Oh no.”

Sylvia’s eyes sharpened. “Oh yes.”

Arion leaned back with that effortless, military elegance that made the couch look too small for him. He looked unbothered by the chaos he’d triggered, which was, Dean thought, the most infuriating part.

“A stipend,” Arion began, calm and precise, “equivalent to a senior administrative salary at my imperial university. Tax-exempt. Private housing within the university quarter. Two rooms. Security detail attached to your residence, not to you.”

Sylvia’s eyebrows climbed. Dean’s mouth opened slightly.

Arion continued like he was listing weather conditions. “Guaranteed enrollment transfer if you’re studying. If you’re not, a position under the university registrar or the diplomatic office. Your choice.”

Sylvia lifted a hand slowly. “Wait. I get to choose?”

Arion’s eyes flicked to her hand like he acknowledged the interruption as a legitimate action. “Yes.”

Dean stared at him. “Arion.”

Arion didn’t look away from Sylvia. “You wanted numbers.”

Sylvia nodded slowly, as if she was hypnotized by the concept of stable income. “I did.”

Arion added, almost as an afterthought, “And travel privileges. You can return to Palatine without petition. Your family can visit you without petition. The palace will not ’misplace’ your clearance.”

Sylvia’s jaw tightened. “Oh. So you know about Palatine’s clearance games.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “I learn quickly.”

Dean pressed a hand to his forehead. “This is bribery.”

Arion finally looked at him. “It’s accommodation.”

Sylvia pointed at Dean. “This is accommodation, Dean. Bribery is when it comes with a demand.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “It does come with a demand.”

Sylvia turned to Arion, suspicious. “Does it?”

Arion’s gaze stayed steady. “Yes.”

Dean’s shoulders tightened. “See?”

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the demand?”

Arion spoke as calmly as if he were asking for a glass of water. “You remain near him.”

Dean’s heart did something irritating. “Arion.”

Sylvia blinked. “That’s it?”

Arion’s expression didn’t change. “That’s it.”

Sylvia stared at him for a long moment, processing, then slowly turned back to Dean with the most offended expression Dean had ever seen on her face.

“You’re telling me,” she said, voice flat, “that I can get a salary, private housing, a two-room apartment, security, university privileges, and travel clearance… and the price is… being near you.”

Dean opened his mouth.

Sylvia held up a hand. “Don’t answer. I know you’re annoying.”

Dean sputtered. “I’m—”

Sylvia continued, merciless. “You leave socks on the floor. You ’cope’ with humor. You’re about to marry a seven-foot-three walking red flag and pretend it’s a study abroad program.”

Dean pointed at her. “You are horrible.”

Sylvia turned back to Arion, eyes sharp again. “Add one more thing.”

Arion’s brows lifted slightly. “Negotiate.”

“Yes,” Sylvia said, entirely too pleased. “If I’m moving to Alamina, I need access to the palace library.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Why.”

Sylvia didn’t look at him. “So I can research all the ways crowns have historically ruined people and recognize the patterns early.”

Dean exhaled through his nose. “That’s… fair.”

Arion considered for a beat. “Limited access.”

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. “Full access.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “Bold.”

Sylvia smiled. “Thank you.”

Arion’s gaze slid to Dean, like he was checking whether Dean was enjoying this as much as he was.

Dean was trying very hard not to grin.

“Limited access,” Arion repeated, calm. “With a permit issued under Dean’s authority. Anything classified remains classified.”

Sylvia’s expression turned satisfied. “Deal.”

Dean sat up. “Wait—”

Sylvia slapped the cushion against Dean’s shoulder like a gavel. “He hasn’t even offered the best part yet.”

Dean blinked. “What best part?”

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