Chapter 52: Chapter 52: Mutual

Sebastian was starting to believe his family hated him.

Not hate-hate. Not in the way enemies hated you. More like… love with sharp corners. Love that came with rules and consequences and people constantly moving him like a piece on a board and expecting him to be grateful for the strategy.

He still didn’t know how to explain the fact that today, on the morning of the engagement ceremony, he was standing beside the lovely Crown Prince of Alamina instead of beside his only brother.

Sirius had said something about protocol and ceremony. Sebastian knew it from the rehearsals the other days, he’d heard the same explanations delivered with the same calm voice and the same imperial patience.

Mentally, he still couldn’t accept it.

He watched Arion finish dressing, and irritation slid up his spine like a familiar friend. The formal attire suited the man too well, which felt illegal. A long, heavy mantle settled on Arion’s shoulders with the ease of something that had always belonged there. The military uniform beneath it looked so good Sebastian took it as a personal insult.

Of course it would. Of course Arion would look like war made elegant.

And Dean wore a collar now, and that was… safe.

Sebastian understood why in a way he hated, because he was a dominant alpha too. He knew what that kind of public boundary did. He knew how it shifted rooms. How it stopped certain assumptions before they could form. How it turned Dean’s body from an invitation into a declaration.

It was useful.

It was also a reminder that the world still needed those declarations and it didn’t evolved in the last twenty years.

Sebastian told himself he was relieved for practical reasons only. He told himself he hadn’t been watching Dean’s throat with too much attention, checking for the line of metal and amber like it was a shield.

At least Dean liked it.

Even if Dean didn’t say it. Even if Dean didn’t let it show.

Sebastian found a wicked satisfaction in the fact that Dean hadn’t let it show to Arion either. Like he was still keeping something for himself. Like he was still refusing to make it easy.

So the Crown Prince was a little unsure because Dean accepted it as a necessity rather than a want.

’Perfect.’

“What made you grin like that?” a low voice cut through the haze of his thoughts.

Sebastian raised his head.

Arion was looking at him, the mantle already settled, his expression too calm for a morning this full of eyes. Golden gaze steady. Mouth neutral. The composure was either control or arrogance depending on who you asked.

Sebastian didn’t bother to pretend innocence.

“The thought,” he said, “that a man like you is unsure of himself regarding my brother.”

Arion’s brow lifted slightly. “No filter today?”

Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “We’re family now. You get the blunt version of me.”

Arion studied him for a beat, then his mouth curved. “So you noticed.”

Sebastian crossed his arms. “Hard not to. You act like you don’t care, then you stare at his collar like it’s a holy relic.”

Arion shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Envious much?”

Sebastian let out a quiet scoff. “Please. If I wanted to be someone who looks like a military recruitment poster, I’d have done it years ago.”

Arion’s mouth twitched, faint amusement threatening. “That’s not a denial.”

Sebastian tilted his head, eyes sharp. “It’s a refusal to entertain your ego.”

Arion regarded him for a moment, then said evenly, “You’re trying to provoke me.”

Sebastian didn’t blink. “I’m checking you.”

Arion’s brow lifted again. “And?”

Sebastian blinked.

Then he let out a quiet, offended huff. “Excuse you.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “You heard me.”

Sebastian’s brows lifted. “You’re the one marrying into our family.”

Arion’s eyes warmed a fraction – annoyingly amused. “I’m marrying Dean. The rest of you come as… add-ons.”

Sebastian stared at him in pure disbelief. “Add-ons.”

Arion’s tone stayed mild, which made it worse. “Necessary, loud add-ons.”

Sebastian opened his mouth, ready to bite…

The door opened.

A woman walked in with a clipboard and the expression of someone who had already decided she hated everyone equally. She wore formal black and a pin that marked her as palace staff – one of the senior planners hired specifically to herd royalty without flinching.

Her eyes swept the room once, clocked Arion’s mantle, Sebastian’s posture, the hovering attendants pretending they weren’t listening, and immediately lost what little patience she’d been born with.

“Your Highness,” she said to Arion, crisp. “Lord Fitzgeralt.”

Sebastian turned, automatically annoyed on principle. “Yes?”

She didn’t even blink at his tone. “You’re not the one being married today, sir, but you will still stand where I tell you to stand.”

Sebastian’s mouth snapped shut.

Arion’s brows lifted slightly, amused again. “Efficient.”

The planner ignored him. She tapped her clipboard once and addressed the room like it was a battlefield map.

“We begin in forty minutes,” she said. “Everyone will be in position fifteen minutes before that. No exceptions. No last-minute dramatic entrances. If anyone attempts to improvise, I will personally escort them out.”

Sebastian stared. “You can’t escort—”

She looked at him. “Try me.”

A beat.

Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Noted.”

Her gaze moved to Arion. “Your Highness, you will wait in the east corridor until the signal. You will not approach the central aisle early.”

Arion’s voice was smooth. “And if I do?”

The planner’s smile was sharp. “Then the photographers will capture it, the historians will write it wrong, and you will spend the next decade explaining why you broke Palatine protocol on the day of your engagement.”

Arion paused.

Sebastian watched, delighted, as the Crown Prince of Alamina, who intimidated generals, actually considered the threat of misrepresented history like it was worse than death.

Arion inclined his head once. “Understood.”

Sebastian’s grin widened.

The planner’s gaze slid to him. “Lord Fitzgeralt, you will stand to the left of His Highness at the opening. Your job is to look solemn, not entertained.”

Sebastian’s grin faltered. “I am always solemn.”

She stared at him.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Fine.”

“Good,” she said, and turned slightly as another attendant whispered in her ear. Then she looked back up. “Lord Dean will enter from the south hall.”

Sebastian’s breath caught, subtle but real.

Arion went still.

The planner, oblivious or simply immune, continued. “No one approaches him before the official greeting. I don’t care if you’re family. I don’t care if you’re emotionally attached. He walks alone until the signal. That is the ceremony.”

Arion’s jaw tightened by a fraction.

Sebastian felt it too – the instinctive, territorial refusal in Arion’s posture – and for a second, Sebastian almost sympathized.

Almost.

The planner snapped her clipboard shut. “Positions in ten minutes. If you’re not where you belong when I return, I will assume you’ve fled.”

She turned and left as briskly as she’d entered, leaving behind a room that felt quieter simply because someone with true authority had passed through it.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, then looked back at Arion with renewed irritation. “Mutual,” he repeated, as if he couldn’t let it go.

Arion’s gaze remained steady. “Mutual.”

Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “Good.”

Arion’s eyes warmed. “Good.”

Sebastian glared at him. “Stop mirroring me.”

Arion’s mouth curved faintly. “Stop being predictable.”

Sebastian scoffed, then his gaze flicked to the door again, because the air had changed.

Dean was close.

Sebastian straightened despite himself, irritation sharpening into focus.

Arion didn’t move.

But the moment Dean’s scent touched the edge of the room, the Crown Prince’s attention snapped so hard it made Sebastian’s earlier insult feel almost irrelevant.

And Sebastian, watching it, thought with a grudging, annoyed clarity:

’Fine.’

Maybe the man really was taking this seriously.

He still didn’t like him.

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