Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Two days after the date, Sylvia was positive that she had ruined everything.

Not immediately, because immediately after the date she had floated home in a state of emotional confusion so severe that she had put her keys in the sugar bowl, thanked the door for opening, and spent twenty minutes staring at her phone while wearing only one shoe.

The date itself had been amazing.

Terrifying, but amazing.

Thomas.

Tom.

Had listened with that unwavering attention of his, as if every ridiculous thing she said deserved a proper place in his mind. He had smiled rarely, but when he did, Sylvia had felt it somewhere behind her ribs like a physical inconvenience.

And then, in the days after, he had not written much.

Not nothing.

That would have been cleaner.

He reacted to almost everything.

When Sylvia sent a photo of the palace corridor that had clearly been designed by someone who hated women in heels, he reacted with a small, amused mark, then replied, ”Accurate.”

When she sent a message saying Andrea Vale had the moral texture of wet paper, he answered, ”Insulting to paper.”

Sylvia had stared at that one for five full minutes.

When she told him she had survived a luncheon without tripping anyone, he replied, ”Impressive restraint.”

And when she sent, at midnight and with no dignity, ”Do commanders sleep, or are you grown in training halls and polished with discipline?” He had reacted with amusement and written, ”Some of us sleep. Poorly.”

So he was there.

He read.

He reacted.

He even answered.

But he did not write first.

Which meant, naturally, that he was losing interest, regretting the date, and responding only because he was too polite to let her collapse into shame without a safety railing.

Sylvia was not dramatic. For sure.

”You will dig a canal in your living room,” Rina said from the kitchen, searching for snacks with the concentration of a woman raiding a hostile country.

Sylvia stopped pacing.

”I am thinking.”

”You are wearing a trench into the floor because a terrifyingly tall commander from Rohan has been busy for two days.”

Sylvia stared toward the kitchen doorway. ”He is not just busy.”

Rina emerged with chips, sliced fruit, and the expression of someone prepared to perform emotional violence for the greater good. ”He came to Alamina for a royal wedding and somehow got trapped in military meetings about next year’s infected beast season. With Hendrik and Father. Sylvia, that man is not ignoring you. He is probably buried under maps, casualty projections, border reports, and men who use the word ’season’ to mean ’the yearly attempt of monsters to eat civilization.’”

Sylvia hugged a cushion to her chest. ”That was very specific.”

”It is also very true.”

”He could write more than one sentence.”

”He is Thomas Lancaster.”

”Tom.”

Rina stopped.

Sylvia froze.

Rina’s eyes sharpened with immediate and unforgivable delight. ”Tom.”

”I hate you.”

”You corrected me.”

”He told me to call him that.”

”He told only you to call him that.”

Sylvia looked away, her face heating. ”That does not prove anything.”

”It proves enough.”

”No, it proves he has an occasional preference for shorter names.”

”Thomas does not have a nickname,” Rina said. ”He is Thomas to everyone else. Commander Lancaster to soldiers, Lancaster to men who want to survive him, and probably silence itself to people who have seen him across a battlefield. Tom is yours.”

Sylvia’s grip tightened around the cushion. ”Do not say that.”

”I will say it again if necessary.”

”It is not necessary.”

”It is very necessary, because you are acting like a man who has been pulled into strategy meetings with Hendrik, and Otto should be composing poetry between discussions about defensive lines and infected beast migration.”

Sylvia wanted to interrupt but didn’t.

Rina pointed at her with a chip. ”Exactly.”

”He could write two sentences.”

”He did.”

”Barely.”

”He reacted to every single thing you sent.”

”That is not the same as writing.”

”He read your messages. He answered the specific parts. He remembered your jokes. And for a man whose natural communication style is probably ’Report received’ and ’Proceed,’ that is practically a love letter.”

Sylvia stared at her.

Rina ate the chip with great satisfaction.

Sylvia sank onto the sofa. ”I talked too much.”

”You talked because you were happy.”

”It makes me look childish.”

”It makes you look alive.”

Sylvia’s fingers picked at the cushion seam.

There were kinds of kindness that felt too direct, like sunlight touching a bruise. Rina had always been cruelly talented at those.

”Maybe he was only being kind,” Sylvia whispered.

Rina sat across from her. ”And maybe you are allowed to be liked kindly.”

Sylvia blinked fast.

Absolutely not.

Crying over a man who used full stops in text messages was beneath her dignity.

”He did not ask about the second date again,” she said, because that was safer than whatever had just happened inside her chest.

”Sylvia, there were two days. Two.” She ate a piece of fruit. ”Why don’t you ask him out?”

Sylvia stared at her.

The apartment went very quiet.

Even the air system seemed to reconsider its involvement.

”Why,” Sylvia said slowly, ”would you say something so violent in my living room?”

Rina blinked. ”Ask him out.”

”No.”

”Why not? He might really like it.” Rina grinned, and Sylvia wondered how there could possibly be people more chaotic than her in this world. ”You should be yourself. He liked your personality before dating was even in question.”

”You don’t know me!” Sylvia pointed at her.

”I know some of you. And you are very cute.” Rina made a thoughtful expression. ”I would have dated you if you were an omega.”

Sylvia’s face became red like a tomato, and for a second she looked like she might combust in the middle of her own living room.

”Stop overthinking it.” Rina wiped her fingers on a napkin. ”Give me your phone.”

Sylvia clutched the device to her chest with both hands. ”Absolutely not.”

”I am not going to propose marriage on your behalf.”

”That is not reassuring.”

”I am going to write a normal message.”

”You do not know how to write normal messages. You just told me you would date me if I were an omega.”

”That was normal.”

”That was a social grenade.”

”It was a compliment with useful context.”

”It made me want to leave my body.”

Rina held out her hand. ”Phone.”

”No.”