Chapter 65: Chapter 65: Arrival (2)

The convoy slowed as it approached the main steps. The palace loomed higher and higher until Dean’s neck started to ache from looking up. The doors were immense, gilded in a way that felt… historic. Heavy. Like the building carried centuries the way some men carried scars.

Beyond the glass, Dean caught glimpses of terraces and balconies, of carved stone lions half-buried in snow, and of lamps mounted on ornate posts that looked like they belonged in a museum. The air outside was clean and cold, and everything about the place screamed “imperial,” even as Arion kept insisting Alamina didn’t do theatrics.

Dean eyed the building again, then looked at Arion. “You realize,” he said dryly, “that this palace promises drama.”

Arion didn’t even blink. “It promises history,” he corrected.

“That’s the same thing,” Dean shot back.

Arion’s gaze slid to him, amused now. “Fine, a little bit of drama.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, then shut it because the car had stopped and the doors were already being smoothly opened.

The world rushed back in – cold air, muted voices, and the distant clicking of cameras kept far enough away to be harmless. Dean stepped out, boots meeting stone, and realized that this was his new home whether he was ready to admit it or not.

At the top of the steps, waiting as if this was simply a family receiving someone they were actually happy to see, stood Otto and Minerva.

Otto was just a touch shorter than Arion, broad-shouldered, with silver threaded through dark hair and an expression that looked more like calm authority than imperial intimidation. He didn’t radiate menace. He radiated competence. Like a man who’d faced monsters and paperwork and kept both from eating the country.

Minerva stood beside him, elegant and composed, and Dean had expected… something sharper. A political stepmother. A woman who would look at Dean like an obstacle and smile anyway.

Instead, Minerva’s face softened the moment she saw him.

Warm. Kind. Almost relieved.

Dean had no idea what to do with that.

She was as tall as him, with long, dusty blonde hair falling freely on her shoulders, and she was dressed in a dark cream suit that highlighted her pale green eyes.

Arion moved first, stepping forward with the smoothness of someone who knew exactly how this choreography went. “Father,” he said. Then, with a slight dip of his head, “Minerva.”

Otto’s gaze swept Arion in a way that was visibly paternal, taking in details only a parent noticed even when their child was twenty-five and terrifying. Then Otto’s eyes landed on Dean.

And the Emperor smiled.

“Dean,” Otto said, voice warm and deep. “Welcome to Alamina.”

Dean’s instincts made him bow out of habit – clean, respectful, and perfectly trained.

Otto lifted a hand immediately, stopping the motion halfway like Dean had been caught trying to apologize for existing. “No,” he said gently. “None of that. You’re not a petitioner.”

Dean blinked, caught off guard. “I… sorry.”

Otto’s smile widened a fraction, amused, not offended. “You don’t need to be sorry for reflexes,” Otto continued, the warmth in his tone cutting through Dean’s instinct to brace. “You’ll have to do that in official settings, yes. But for now we’re just… family.”

Dean swallowed. The word sat oddly in his chest. Not because family was a foreign concept – Dean’s had been normal, in the ways that mattered. Trevor and Lucas had built a home around their children that didn’t revolve around cameras or pressure, and Sirius had pushed Palatine hard enough that the old habits didn’t get to rule everything anymore.

But Caelan had still existed in the cracks.

Minerva stepped closer, simply closing the distance like she didn’t want Dean to feel like a guest being inspected. Her gaze swept over him with the same quiet assessment as Otto’s, but where Otto’s felt like a ruler’s habit, Minerva’s felt like a mother checking whether someone had eaten.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she said matter-of-factly. Her words were not pitying, but rather genuine care.

Dean let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I slept,” he lied automatically, then sighed. “Not… properly.”

Minerva’s mouth softened. “Travel does that,” she said simply, as if it was the most normal explanation in the world, and in a way it was; Dean just had the bad luck of adding politics onto it.

Otto’s eyes flicked to Arion. “You kept him calm, at least?”

Arion didn’t look guilty. He never did. “As much as I could,” he said evenly.

Dean shot him a look. “I was calm.”

Arion’s golden eye slid to him. “You were functioning,” he corrected, and the quiet certainty of it made Dean want to argue purely out of principle.

Minerva watched the exchange like she’d just filed it away under understood. Then she touched Dean’s sleeve lightly, the gesture brief and gentle.

“You’re here now,” she said. “Whatever was circling in your head on the flight, you don’t have to keep carrying it while you’re still unpacking.”

Dean blinked. He nodded once, because he didn’t trust his voice not to make it weird.

Otto’s expression softened, steady and warm. “There will be time later for formalities,” he said. “Not today. Today you rest.”

Minerva’s smile returned. “Your rooms are ready,” she added. “Quiet. Comfortable. And yours.”

Otto’s gaze shifted to Arion. “Show him,” he said, simple as an instruction. “Then go to your meetings.”

Arion inclined his head. “Yes.”

Dean blinked. “My rooms?”

“A wing,” Minerva corrected, and her eyes warmed with quiet amusement. “Prepared for you. Close enough that you won’t feel isolated, far enough that you won’t feel like people are constantly passing your door.”

“And,” Otto added, voice dry, “with locks you control.”

Dean’s throat tightened unexpectedly. He nodded once.

“Thank you,” he managed.

Minerva’s smile softened again. “You’re welcome, Dean.”

Then Otto and Minerva stayed behind without fanfare, with no extra demands, letting Arion guide Dean deeper into the palace as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

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