Chapter 78: Chapter 78: Lunch

Dean awoke feeling warm, heavy, and slightly offended from being cared for without his consent.

For a second he didn’t know where he was. The ceiling was too high. The light was too soft. The air smelled like expensive wood and clean linen with faint pheromones underneath it. The pheromones, restrained and familiar now, threaded through the room like a quiet claim.

Then he shifted, and the truth arranged itself around him.

He was on Arion’s sofa, wrapped in a robe that looked like it belonged to an imperial chapel rather than a living room. His damp clothes were gone. His hair was dry. His stomach wasn’t empty anymore, which meant at some point he’d eaten something warm while his brain had been too exhausted to keep protesting.

And Arion…

Dean’s eyes slid sideways.

Arion was still there, a tablet in hand, posture relaxed in that infuriating way that made him look like he’d never once been humbled by fatigue. Boreas was nearby, stretched out like a satisfied beast, lifting his head just enough to blink at Dean as if checking whether Dean was still in one piece.

Dean stared at the dog. “You’re still here.”

Boreas thumped his tail once and yawned.

Arion didn’t look up. “He likes you.”

“Of course he does,” Dean muttered, shifting quietly. The movement made him realize something else. “Wait.” He paused, then looked down at himself. “How long was I asleep?”

Arion’s thumb scrolled once on the tablet. “Long enough.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “That’s not a number.”

Arion finally lifted his gaze, golden eyes catching the light. “Do you want a number, or do you want to be angry?”

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it. The worst part was that he couldn’t decide.

Arion’s mouth twitched. “We missed nothing important.”

Dean’s brows lifted. “Except lunch.”

Arion’s expression didn’t change. “We delayed lunch.”

Dean stared at him. “You delayed lunch.”

Arion’s gaze held his calmly. “Yes.”

Dean’s throat worked once. “You can’t just…”

“I can,” Arion said, and the phrasing was maddeningly familiar. Then, as if sensing Dean’s incoming argument, he added, quieter, “You needed sleep.”

Dean hated that the word needed made his chest tighten.

He shoved the feeling away and sat up properly, robe slipping slightly at the collar. “Fine,” he said, because stubbornness was one of his birthrights. “I’m awake. Take me to lunch before your stepmother starts a coup.”

Arion’s eyes warmed. “She already tried.”

Dean stared. “I knew it.”

Arion stood with the same controlled ease he did everything with, set the tablet aside, and offered Dean a hand like this was normal and not a diplomatic incident waiting to happen.

Dean took it because he was not going to fall on his face in Alamina on principle.

Boreas got up too, trotting ahead like he was escorting them.

“Does he come?” Dean asked, suspicious.

“He goes where I go,” Arion replied.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “That is excessive.”

Arion’s mouth curved faintly. “He agrees.”

Boreas’s tail thumped like a gavel.

—

Dean walked beside Arion, refusing to cling but also refusing to pretend the palace didn’t make him feel small. Staff moved around them with practiced invisibility. Guards stood where they needed to stand. No one stared at Dean like he was a circus act. No one tried to touch him.

They reached the dining room, and Dean knew it was the dining room before the doors even opened, because the smell hit first – warm bread, roasted meat, something citrusy and sharp, and coffee that actually smelled good instead of symbolic.

The doors opened.

The room inside was long and elegant, with the table set with formal but not sterile. Light poured through tall windows. There were enough dishes to feed a small army, which felt like an Alaminian joke in itself.

Otto stood at the head of the room, already in conversation with Minerva. He turned immediately when they entered, expression warm and approving in a way that made Dean’s shoulders loosen without his permission.

Minerva’s eyes flicked to Dean, then to Arion, then back to Dean, and her smile turned bright and dangerous.

“Oh,” she said, like she’d just been proven right in private. “He lives.”

Dean held her gaze, deadpan. “Barely.”

Minerva’s smile widened. “Good. I’d hate to reschedule twice.”

Arion’s hand settled lightly at Dean’s lower back, guiding him forward.

Dean hated that his body registered it like reassurance.

“Dean,” Otto greeted, voice deep and genuinely pleased. “How are you feeling?”

Dean did the polite thing. He gave the polite answer.

Then he looked at Minerva again and decided to stop being polite.

“I got tackled by a wolf,” Dean said.

Boreas, who had followed them into the room like he owned the empire, lay down near Arion’s chair with a satisfied sigh.

Otto’s brows rose. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “That would be Boreas.”

Minerva sighed, as if burdened by men. “He’s not a wolf.”

“He’s a bear,” Dean corrected, because accuracy mattered.

Minerva looked delighted. “I like you.”

Dean blinked. “That’s a terrible decision on your part.”

“Agreed,” Arion murmured, and Minerva’s smile sharpened like a blade.

Before Dean could recover, the side doors opened again.

And the room shifted.

Three women entered like they were used to space making room for them.

Ariana came first – tall, composed, with hair swept back with effortless elegance and a gaze that held the calm authority of someone who had been older-sistering an entire dynasty since Arion was small. She wore dark, structured clothing with minimal jewelry, creating an imperial look without the use of gold.

Tyana followed, more vibrant, more openly amused, her smile already forming as her eyes landed on Dean like she’d been waiting for this moment as entertainment. There was an intelligence to her gaze that made Dean feel like she was cataloguing his reactions the way Arion catalogued threats.

Caroline came last, the quietest of the three, but her stillness had weight. Her eyes swept over Dean with a sharp assessment before softening slightly, as if she had decided he wasn’t a problem, at least not one that required immediate removal.

Dean’s spine straightened out of reflex.

Arion’s hand stayed at his back.

Ariana’s gaze flicked to Arion’s hand. Then to Dean’s face. She then gave a small, controlled smile that was far too knowing.

“So,” Ariana said, voice smooth. “This is Dean.”

Dean blinked once. “Apparently.”

Tyana laughed. “Oh, I love him already.”

Caroline’s mouth twitched faintly. “He’s brave. Or suicidal.”

Dean glanced at Arion. “Are they always like this?”

Arion’s expression remained calm. “Yes.”

Otto gestured toward the table. “Come. Sit. Eat. Before Minerva decides to interrogate you.”

Minerva gasped softly, offended. “I would never.”

Tyana leaned in toward Dean as he moved to sit. “She absolutely would.”

Dean sat beside Arion, because of course he did, because the seating arrangement had been decided long before Dean entered the room, and the entire empire would apparently fall apart if Dean chose chaos at breakfast.

Arion pulled his chair back slightly for him, a subtle courtesy that made Dean’s ears warm, then sat once Dean was seated, posture composed, attention flicking across the room like a man who could enjoy lunch and still track every exit.

Boreas settled at his feet like an omen.

Ariana sat across from them, Tyana beside her, Caroline to the other side, and Minerva near Otto, the entire table arranged like a soft trap.

Dean picked up his water glass and took a sip, buying himself a second.

Then Tyana spoke, smile bright.

“So,” she said, “tell us. Did you always look like trouble, or is Arion bringing it out in you?”

Dean nearly choked.

Arion didn’t even blink.

Minerva’s eyes sparkled.

Otto looked faintly resigned, like this had been inevitable since Arion was born.

Dean set his glass down carefully and looked at Tyana with as much dignity as a nineteen-year-old omega in a palace full of predators could muster.

“I’ve always looked like trouble,” Dean said. “Arion just has terrible taste.”

Arion’s mouth twitched.

Ariana’s smile deepened.

Tyana clapped once, delighted. “Oh, yes. This is going to be fun.”

Caroline sipped her drink, gaze calm and sharp. “He’s not afraid.”

Dean glanced at Arion, then back at Caroline. “Should I be?”

Arion’s voice slid in, quiet and steady. “Only of my sisters.”

Minerva hummed approvingly. “Smart answer.”

Dean exhaled through his nose because he was awake, he was here, and apparently lunch in Alamina came with teeth.

And, annoyingly… He didn’t hate it. It reminded him of his own family.

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