Chapter 63: Chapter 63: Mess

Dean snatched it with more force than necessary, fingers tight on the edges. The screen was already open to an email thread. The name at the top made something in Dean’s stomach drop.

Thomas Lancaster.

Dean blinked hard.

He hadn’t thought about Thomas in years – not because Thomas had done anything wrong, but because Thomas had existed in that category of ’political people who orbit your life and then vanish.’ Dean had been fifteen. Thomas had been seventeen, tall, clean-cut, and too polite to be interesting. He’d visited Palatine for something official Dean couldn’t even remember now, because Dean at fifteen had made a sport of not caring about adults’ agendas.

They’d barely intersected. A handshake. A few sentences. A nod across a room full of too much perfume and fake smiles.

Dean’s eyes dropped to the email. The message was addressed to Arion.

Dean’s throat went tight as he read.

Thomas’s tone was formal, but the edges were sharp with disbelief – like a man trying very hard to keep his dignity intact while realizing the world had almost shoved him into something grotesque.

Dean’s gaze flicked up to Arion, then back to the screen, and he kept reading.

The gist hit like a cold slap: Caelan had not wanted Dean paired with one alpha. He’d wanted him tethered and collared into Palatine’s sphere with multiple claims, multiple hands on him, and multiple ’legal’ owners disguised as alliances.

And Thomas… Thomas Lancaster, a dominant alpha, twenty-one now, was asking Arion if he knew. If it were true. If Arion had been aware that Caelan had been negotiating Dean like a shared investment.

Dean’s fingers went numb around the tablet.

“What the fuck,” he whispered, not quite to Arion, not quite to himself.

Arion watched him, unblinking. “Now you understand what I meant by ’other plans.’”

Dean’s breathing went shallow. He forced himself to keep reading because if he stopped, he’d spiral, and Dean hated spiraling. Spiraling made you sloppy. Spiraling made you easy to steer.

Thomas’s email referenced his mother, Marianne Lancaster of Rohan, referenced a ’legacy clause,’ and referenced Caelan’s people reaching out with soft language and hard expectations.

It was written as if someone had assumed Thomas would comply.

And the worst part?

Thomas sounded… offended, like being associated with it was an insult to his name.

Dean’s jaw clenched. He looked up again, eyes bright and dangerous now.

“You’re telling me,” Dean said slowly, voice tight, “that if I hadn’t ended up engaged to you, Caelan was going to… what? Spread me around like some diplomatic ration.”

Arion’s golden eyes stayed on him, and for a moment he didn’t speak. Then he exhaled like he was letting out something he’d kept leashed for too long.

“When we met at the restaurant,” Arion said quietly, “the first time… when I lost my composure.” His jaw tightened a fraction. “It was because of this. Because of that email.”

Dean blinked, the memory snapping into place with uncomfortable clarity: the way they argued for things, and now Arion was talking normally.

“Your parents and Sirius tried to make an agreement that you would remain in Palatine until you turned twenty-one,” Arion continued, voice even but edged. “As you know. On paper it looked like protection. ”

Dean’s brows knit. “Yes,” he said, then sharpened immediately. “But they did it because you were an ass to me and Sebastian.” He shot Arion a look that could’ve drawn blood. “They wanted to make sure you wouldn’t take advantage of me. Not that I’d end up being… one of those dominant omegas who stabilizes more than one dominant alpha.”

Arion didn’t flinch at the accusation. He took it like he deserved it.

“They wanted to protect you from me,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“They wanted to protect me from your ego,” Dean corrected, sharp. “From your ’mine’ problem.”

Arion’s mouth twitched faintly. “Yes.”

Dean stared. “Why are you agreeing so easily?”

“Because it was true,” Arion said, and there was something frustratingly honest in the way he said it. “I was rude. Territorial. I provoked them. And they responded, which had been synchronized with Caelan’s moves.”

Dean left the tablet on the low table between them. “Now that I see that… It makes sense.” He dragged a hand over his face. “Does the other know?”

“Trevor knows that I did something to Caelan; most likely Sirius would get it too. But they don’t know yet about that email. They would find out after they take over whatever was left from Caelan’s power.”

“They would lose their mind with rage,” Dean said, and the words weren’t an exaggeration. They were a prediction based on knowing exactly how Sirius’s restraint snapped when someone touched what he considered family.

Arion’s gaze stayed on him. “Yes,” he agreed, quietly. “And rage would be useful to Caelan’s people if it wasn’t controlled.”

Dean let out a slow breath through his nose. His fingers still felt wrong, as if his body hadn’t caught up with the fact he was sitting safely on a private jet instead of in Palatine with a collar waiting in a drawer somewhere.

He glanced down at the tablet on the low table, at Thomas’s name like it was a stain.

“Why is Thomas emailing you?” Dean asked, voice steadier than he felt. “Not Sirius. Not my parents. You.”

Arion’s mouth twitched faintly. “Because he can’t ask Palatine without making it real,” he said. “And he can’t ask you without dragging you into it.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s trying to keep it quiet.”

“He’s trying to keep his name clean,” Arion corrected, and there was a hint of approval in the bluntness. “And he wants confirmation from the person Palatine thinks you’re leaving with.”

Dean scoffed, then let his head fall back against the leather headrest, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might offer him a different timeline. “So what are we going to do now?”

Arion didn’t hesitate. “Nothing,” he said. “Not tonight. Not on this jet.”

Dean’s brows pulled together. “That’s your solution? We do nothing?”

“We do what matters,” Arion corrected, voice even. “You will have enough to deal with when we land in Alamina. And I have to catch up on everything that waited while I was in Palatine.” His gaze stayed on Dean. “Caelan is dead. The fallout belongs to your family.”

Dean’s mouth twisted. “You say that like they’re fine.”

“They’re capable,” Arion replied. “There’s a difference.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, still leaning back. “My family is good at cleaning messes,” he muttered. “Mostly because they’ve lived in them.”

Arion’s mouth twitched faintly. “Exactly. They are very good at it.”

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