Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Nero arrived in Roslew with pent-up rage from the last two diplomatic missions, both of which had involved people being stupid, childish, and old enough that ignorance could no longer be blamed on youth.

The private Sahan aircraft had barely opened before the wind on the tarmac caught his pale hair and the loose edge of his coat. Behind him, Hale descended with the exhausted pride of a man who had prevented at least three international incidents by expression alone.

Arion waited beside the armored car, dark coat shifting in the wind, golden eyes amused in the exact way Nero found offensive.

”You look very friendly today,” Arion said.

Nero stepped onto Alaminian concrete. ”I am a delight.”

”You look like you want to remove someone’s diplomatic immunity with your teeth.”

”Only because using my hands would be considered impolite.”

Hale muttered, ”Progress.”

Nero ignored him and walked toward the car. ”Where is Dean?”

”At the Crown Prince palace.”

”Good. We are going there.”

Arion’s brow rose. ”Otto and Hendrik are waiting at the command residence.”

”How unfortunate for them.”

”They specifically asked for you.”

”I am sure they did.”

”Nero.”

Nero stopped beside the open car door and looked at him. Beautiful. Composed. Visibly one sentence away from becoming everyone’s problem.

”I have spent six days listening to grown men explain why orders are only binding when convenient, why evacuation lines are theoretical, and why beast-season restrictions are offensive to regional pride.” His smile was sharp. ”If Otto and Hendrik want to lecture me about respecting lines and orders even when I am Crown Prince of Saha, they may do so tomorrow, after I have slept and decided not to make their point irrelevant by proving I can disobey more efficiently than their officers.”

Arion stared at him, his scarred brow still raised.

Then he looked at Hale.

Hale said, ”He is calmer than yesterday.”

”That is horrifying.”

”Yes.”

Nero entered the car.

Arion followed, shutting the door behind them. The convoy moved at once, leaving the airport’s military strip for the private royal road toward the Crown Prince palace.

For several minutes, Roslew slid past the tinted glass in sharp winter light. Reinforced intersections. Temporary barriers folded along emergency routes. Patrol drones shifting above old avenues. The capital was beautiful when preparing for disaster, which Nero found very Alaminian.

His tablet chimed.

He glanced down.

Arion watched him. ”Otto?”

”Hendrik.”

”What does he say?”

Nero read aloud, blandly, ”Tell the Sahan brat that hiding in your palace does not exempt him from chain-of-command discussions.”

Arion’s mouth twitched.

Nero typed one-handed.

Arion leaned slightly to read, a grin already forming on his face.

Nero: I am not hiding. I am preserving your blood pressure.

Another message arrived almost immediately.

Hendrik: I have survived infected breaches, imperial politics, and Otto before coffee. My blood pressure is not your concern.

Nero smiled faintly, purple eyes still burning with pent-up rage.

Nero: Then it will survive until morning.

He locked the tablet.

Arion looked out the window, visibly pleased against his will. ”He will hate that.”

”He already does.”

”Otto will hear about it.”

”I was counting on it.”

”You are avoiding them.”

”Yes.”

”Because you know they are right?”

Nero turned his head slowly. ”Careful.”

Arion smiled, armed with age and the fact that Nero hated diplomatic headaches more than anything... except nagging maybe. ”That was an answer.”

”No. That was restraint.”

Hale, seated opposite them, closed his eyes briefly as if asking some ancient Sahan spirit for patience. ”Your Highness, perhaps do not threaten the Alaminian Crown Prince before we reach his house.”

”I was not threatening him.”

”You used the voice.”

Arion looked interested. ”There is a voice?”

”There are several,” Hale said. ”This one usually means someone has thirty seconds to become less stupid.”

Nero’s smile turned pleasant. ”Hale.”

”That one means twenty.”

Arion laughed.

Nero looked at him with deep offense. ”You enjoy my suffering too much.”

”I have had a difficult week. Let me have this.”

”You were with my father.”

”Exactly.”

That earned a small, unwilling huff from Nero.

The convoy turned through the outer gates of the Crown Prince palace. Unlike the main palace, this residence did not pretend to be ancient. It was newer, sharper, built with old royal stone and modern defensive logic, all clean lines, hidden systems, reinforced glass, and gardens designed to become barricades if necessary. Dean had once called it a beautiful hostage situation with good lighting.

Nero liked it.

It felt honest.

As the car stopped beneath the covered entrance, Nero’s rage shifted. Not disappeared. Never that easily with him. But narrowed, placed somewhere more useful.

Inside were Dean and Sylvia, likely surrounded by paperwork, worry, and Boreas behaving like a furry military official. Outside, Otto and Hendrik waited to tell Nero exactly how many lines he had crossed, bent, ignored, or reinterpreted.

Nero knew they were not wrong, but he knew how to use his pheromones and abilities and where beasts were weak better than anyone on the field.

Arion stepped out first, then turned back. ”You will speak to Otto and Hendrik.”

”Tomorrow.”

”Today.”

Nero looked at him.

Arion did not move. ”Dean is inside. Sylvia is anxious. Boreas is loud. I am not letting you carry diplomatic rage into my house and teach my mate stress by example.”

Nero’s mouth curved. ”You learned boundaries.”

”I learned Dean.”

”That is worse.”

”Yes.”

For a moment, they stood facing each other beneath the entrance canopy, two crown princes with too much power and too little innocence between them.

Then Nero inclined his head.

”Fine,” he said. ”I will behave for Dean.”

Arion’s eyes narrowed. ”And Sylvia.”

”And Sylvia.”

”And Boreas.”

Nero paused. ”I make no promises regarding the dog.”

A bark sounded from somewhere inside the palace, deep enough to rattle the glass.

Hale looked toward the doors. ”He heard you.”

Nero’s expression brightened for the first time since landing. ”Good. At least someone in Alamina is competent.”

Arion sighed and led him inside.