Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

There was an odd tradition in Alamina.

The parents of the newlyweds chose where the new couple would spend their honeymoon.

Why?

Because nobles with unlimited money and unlimited spite had once looked at marriage and decided the vows were not enough. No, the families also had to make one final statement. A blessing, a threat, a joke, a test of taste, or, in certain cases, a very expensive insult disguised as travel arrangements.

Dean had learned this three days after the wedding, when Minerva and Lucas had sat across from each other with the calm expressions of two people who loved him and were absolutely capable of ruining him for sport.

Trevor had looked innocent.

Otto had not even tried.

That should have warned him.

Now Dean stood at the top of the aircraft stairs, watching a side of Alamina he had never seen before.

Which, to be fair, was most of Alamina.

His knowledge of the empire had so far been limited to the palace, the university campus he had briefly believed he would attend like a normal student before reality had laughed at him, and a restricted battlefield full of infected beasts and zombie mosquitoes.

Meaning infected insects.

Dean still felt the distinction was mostly academic when the insects were the size of a bad decision and wanted blood.

But this was not Roslew.

This was Ylico.

Not a large city, according to Arion, which was apparently one of those lies aristocrats told when the place in question had its own airport, three private rail connections, several corporate headquarters, a protected historical center, and a district large enough to make some small countries feel insecure.

It was October, and autumn had settled over the region with theatrical confidence.

The air that entered the open aircraft door was cool and sharp, carrying the scent of rain, wet stone, distant forests, and something faintly metallic from the runway. Beyond the tarmac, hills rolled beneath a pale gray sky, their slopes covered in gold, rust, and deep red leaves. Glass buildings rose farther away, set between old stone roads and dark-roofed estates that looked as if they had survived three wars and still judged people for bad shoes.

Dean descended onto the tarmac, his coat shifting around his legs.

”I was lied to,” he said.

Arion came down behind him, expression calm, black coat open despite the cold because apparently the weather respected him personally.

”About what?”

”You said Ylico was not a big city.”

”It is not.”

Dean stopped on the last stair and turned to look at him. ”There are three rail lines visible from here.”

”Regional lines.”

”There is a tower over there with a helipad.”

”Medical and corporate transport.”

”There are more armed vehicles than I saw at the university.”

”That is because the university was not built near a strategic industrial district.”

Dean stared.

Arion looked back.

Dean sighed. ”You hear yourself, yes?”

”Yes.”

”And you still think this counts as not big?”

”Compared to Roslew.”

”I hate capitals.”

”You are married to the future ruler of one.”

”That was before I understood the full scale of the problem.”

Arion’s mouth curved. ”You have said that before.”

”I keep discovering new scales.”

At the bottom of the stairs, a small receiving line waited, because of course there was a receiving line. Even a honeymoon could not be allowed to simply begin like a normal private trip. There had to be officials. There had to be security. There had to be a man in a formal coat who looked one bad decision away from saying something like ’on behalf of the district administration.’

Dean narrowed his eyes.

Arion leaned closer. ”They will be brief.”

Dean looked toward the cars waiting beyond the cordoned perimeter. Sleek black, tinted windows, escorted by military vehicles that were trying very hard to look discreet and failing because nothing with mounted equipment ever looked discreet.

He looked back at Arion.

”This is a honeymoon.”

”Yes.”

”We are two damn dominants with enough pheromone power between us to erase a hundred beta soldiers from existence, and we are the ones being shielded?”

Arion glanced toward the convoy, then back at him.

”Yes.”

Dean stared. ”That was not the moment to answer plainly.”

”It was the correct answer.”

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again because unfortunately that sounded like something Alamina would do.

Arion’s mouth curved faintly. ”We are not being protected because we are incapable of defending ourselves.”

”Then why?”

”Because if anything happens to us during our honeymoon, my father will remove people from government.”

Dean paused.

Arion added, very calmly, ”Possibly from life.”

Dean looked at the military vehicles again, then at the officials pretending not to hear, then back at Arion.

”That is not security,” he said. ”That is fear management.”

”Yes.”

”And the mounted equipment?”

”For everyone else’s emotional comfort.”

Dean gave him a flat look. ”I am starting to understand why your empire has so many protocols.”

”My family makes people nervous.”

”You are saying that like mine doesn’t.”

Arion’s gaze warmed with amusement. ”We are quite a collection of special people.” He placed a hand on Dean’s lower back and guided him toward the waiting officials. ”Be nice for ten minutes, and I will buy you whatever pastry you want.”

”Arion, I can buy my own pastries,” Dean said, even as he followed the movement.

”Yes, but they would not be from me.”

Dean’s brain stopped for half a second.

”You are bribing me with affection disguised as sugar.”

”I am rewarding diplomatic restraint.”

”I haven’t shown any yet.”

”You are walking toward the officials instead of away from them.”

Dean looked at the receiving line, then at the convoy, then at the district governor’s carefully polite smile.

”That is not restraint. That is choreography.”

”It still counts.”

Dean sighed, because unfortunately the hand on his lower back was warm, the October air was cold, and Arion had said ’from me’ in a way that made the pastry sound like some kind of vow.

”You are becoming dangerous with this husband thing.”

”I was dangerous before.”

”Yes, but now you have legal access to my weaknesses.”

”Pastries?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. ”Do not sound smug about it.”

Arion leaned closer, voice low enough that the officials could not hear. ”I know more than pastries.”

Dean’s face warmed.