Chapter 61: Chapter 61: Two

“How about you?” Arion asked, tilting his head.

Dean looked away because Arion had a habit of probing for weaknesses, and Dean’s feelings were the one aspect of himself he refused to hand over on a silver tray.

“You don’t get to ask that after dropping ’eight’ like it’s a weather report,” Dean said, dry and perfectly composed.

Arion’s gaze stayed on him like he was watching a door Dean had closed and deciding when to knock again.

“I asked,” Arion said simply.

Dean exhaled through his nose, not bothered by the number he was about to give, only by what it would mean in Arion’s head. “Two,” he said.

Arion went very still in a way Dean was starting to recognize. Possessive instincts were leashed so tightly they didn’t show unless you knew how to look.

“Two,” Arion repeated, as if tasting it.

Dean lifted his brows. “Yes. Two. I’m nineteen, not a retired duke.”

Arion’s golden eye held his. “Before me,” he said.

Dean’s mouth twitched. “Obviously.”

“Were they… important?” Arion asked, and the pause before the last word was dragged out by sheer will.

Dean studied him for a second, then leaned back, comfortable in his own skin. “One mattered,” he said. “One didn’t deserve to.”

Arion’s fingers flexed once against his knee, subtle enough that someone without Dean’s current awareness would’ve missed it.

“And then you stopped,” Arion said.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t stop because I’m waiting to be collected, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I wasn’t implying,” Arion replied, smooth as glass. “I’m asking.”

Dean snorted softly. “You always sound like you’re asking. It’s your delivery that’s the problem.”

Arion’s brow lifted, the scar emphasizing the faint amusement. “My delivery is restrained.”

“That’s a terrifying way to admit you have an unrestrained version,” Dean muttered.

Arion didn’t deny it.

Dean let the silence stretch for half a heartbeat, then answered honestly, because Dean did honesty in his own careful way.

“I didn’t stop,” he said. “I got careful.”

Arion’s gaze sharpened. “Careful.”

Dean nodded once. “With my feelings,” he clarified, as if it was obvious. “With other people’s feelings. I don’t do half-things just to prove I can.”

Dean paused and reached for one of the ridiculously miniature snacks in front of him, unwrapping it with the solemn concentration of a man defusing a bomb. “If you want to know more about them,” he added, voice light again, “or listen to Sylvia telling me she was right about them, she’s the person to ask.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “I would rather face monsters.”

Dean snorted. “Sylvia is basically a monster. Just… moisturized.”

Arion’s golden eye warmed faintly. “And loud.”

“And smug,” Dean said, popping the snack into his mouth. “Don’t forget smug.”

Arion leaned back, the posture so controlled it should’ve been exhausting, but somehow it looked natural on him, as if discipline was his resting state. “She’ll like Alamina,” he said.

Dean’s brows lifted. “Because it’s practical and doesn’t do drama?”

“Because people here will answer her directly,” Arion replied. “She’ll find it refreshing.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “You say that like she’s a diplomat.”

“She’s a weapon,” Arion said matter-of-factly.

Dean paused mid-chew. “That’s my friend you’re describing.”

Arion’s gaze stayed steady on him. “And my fiancé’s,” he said, and the possessiveness was barely hidden. “So yes. I’m describing her correctly.”

Dean’s ears warmed for reasons he refused to examine.

He grabbed another miniature snack just to have something to do with his hands. “Alright,” he said, deliberately casual, “tell me something normal about you. Not rut math. Not Parliament. Something that won’t make me want to throw myself out of this expensive flying box.”

Arion considered for a beat, like the concept needed translation. Then, with the same serious tone he’d used for governance, he said, “I drink my coffee black.”

Dean stared. “That’s not normal. That’s a threat.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “I like it that way.”

Dean groaned and leaned his head back against the seat. “Of course you do.”

Arion’s gaze dipped over him briefly, slowly. “You’re tired.”

Dean opened one eye. “I’m not tired.”

Arion didn’t react. “You are.”

Dean closed the eye again out of spite. “You’re not allowed to be right this often.”

“I’m Crown Prince,” Arion said. “It’s in the job description.”

Dean laughed, quiet and unwilling, and the sound loosened something in the cabin. The jet continued its smooth forward motion, like the world couldn’t touch them in here unless they invited it.

Dean chewed, swallowed, then picked at another snack like the act of eating was a protest against feeling too much.

“Fine,” he said. “Another normal thing.”

Arion’s gaze stayed on him. “I hate sweet perfumes.”

Dean’s brows lifted. “That’s… actually normal.”

“It attracts things,” Arion said, and the words were so blandly delivered they could’ve been about insects.

Dean stared. “You’re ruining normal again.”

Arion’s mouth curved faintly. “I’m telling the truth.”

Dean sighed, then shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable without looking like he was trying to get comfortable. “Okay,” he said. “What about you and your siblings? Ten is… ridiculous. Do you even remember all their birthdays?”

Arion didn’t blink. “Yes.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”

Arion’s brow rose. “I’m not.”

Dean scoffed and provoked him. “Name them.”

Arion’s eyes flashed with arrogant defiance – bright, almost amused – and Dean was already composing a speech in his head about how normal people didn’t keep a spreadsheet of siblings in their brain…

…only for the prince to open his mouth.

“Ariana, Teyana, and Caroline,” Arion said smoothly. “My three older sisters. Thirty-six, thirty-two, and thirty-one.”

Dean lifted a hand. “Okay, stop—”

Arion didn’t even pause. He’d been baited, and apparently he was going to enjoy proving a point. “Then, of course,” he continued, “yours truly. Twenty-five.”

Dean’s mouth opened, then closed again. “Arion—”

“From Minerva,” Arion went on, calm as a report being read out loud, “there are seven more. In order: Gregoriana, Castor, and then the triplets – Levi, Lennox, and Lucia – followed by Oscar and Diego.”

Dean stared at him like he’d just watched someone recite a constitution in perfect order.

Arion met his gaze, unblinking.

“Ages,” Arion added, because he clearly wanted Dean to suffer, “assuming we don’t take birthdays into consideration: twenty, nineteen – your age – sixteen… and the last two are eight and seven.”

Dean made a strangled sound that might’ve been a laugh if his brain wasn’t short-circuiting.

“You…” Dean pointed at him. “You really do know them.”

Arion’s brow rose, the scar lifting with the motion. “You asked,” he said, like that ended the debate.

Dean leaned back, the leather catching him. “I asked as a joke.”

“I answered seriously,” Arion replied, utterly unbothered.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “And Castor is nineteen.”

“Yes.”

Dean’s lips flattened. “My age.”

Arion’s gaze stayed steady, as if he was daring Dean to be jealous of a teenager purely out of spite. “I’m aware.”

Dean blinked, then scoffed. “I hate that you’re good at this.”

“At what?” Arion asked, tone smooth.

Dean gestured vaguely. “At being… annoyingly competent. At having ten siblings like it’s normal.”

Arion’s mouth twitched faintly. “In Alamina, it is normal.”

Dean squinted. “You said Minerva’s children like you actually like them.”

Arion’s gaze sharpened, controlled, but there. “I do,” he said. “They’re my siblings.”

Dean’s brows rose. “No resentment?”

“No,” Arion replied, as if Dean had asked whether gravity applied.

Dean let out a slow breath. “In Palatine, that would be a civil war.”

Arion’s mouth twitched, not so much amused as sharp with opinion. “That would be a civil war only because of Caelan,” he said, voice calm and flat the way Alamians delivered accusations like facts. “He fed the discord between his children just to spite Sirius’s choice – to have a common omega man as a consort. Ethan the current Empress Consort.”

Dean’s fingers tightened once on the armrest. “It was more than that,” he found himself saying before he could stop himself.

Arion’s gaze slid to him immediately, intent sharpening like a blade being drawn without sound. “More than what?”

Dean blinked, annoyed at his own mouth. He hadn’t meant to defend Palatine. He didn’t even like Palatine half the time. But he’d lived there. He’d watched what rot looked like from the inside. And Arion was too clean-cut in his conclusions sometimes, like every disaster could be filed under one man’s name. The worst part was that the prince was right.

“It was more than Caelan being petty,” Dean said, quieter now, choosing his words the way he always did when feelings were involved – carefully, so no one could weaponize them later. “He didn’t just invent the problem. He just… made it worse.”

He took a long breath. “When we were with him and no parents in sight, he would do anything to make Ethan and his children seem like devils to me and Sebastian. Like they weren’t our family for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, he is not a problem anymore.” Arion said casually.

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