Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

”Does Amaru know the king is dying?” Arion asked.

”I have no idea.”

The answer came without hesitation.

Dean frowned. ”You have not spoken to him since he was exiled?”

”No one has, as far as I know.” Eryx returned to the sofa, though he no longer reclined against it. ”He could know everything. He could know nothing. He could be dead.”

”You said he was sent to a neutral island,” Arion said.

”I said that was the official sentence.”

Dean’s expression hardened. ”What do you think happened?”

”I do not believe anything. That is the problem.” Eryx rested his elbows on his knees, the loose fabric of his robe falling around them. ”Father wanted him removed without creating a martyr. Sending him to a neutral island accomplished that. It also placed Amaru somewhere no Draxilian officer, minister, or former supporter could reach him.”

”But your father would still have wanted control over him,” Arion said.

”He always wanted control.”

Eryx looked away from the screen for a moment.

”Our father had a preferred method of dealing with rivals whose secondary gender he considered threatening.”

Dean’s expression tightened. ”What method?”

”He removed their scent glands.”

Arion watched him carefully. ”The gland?”

Eryx’s eyes lifted to his.

”Yes.”

Dean did not ask what he meant.

Both he and Arion knew about the underground clinics operating throughout Draxil. Criminals, spies, and fugitives sometimes paid to have their scent glands removed in the belief that it would make pheromone tracking impossible.

Technically, it worked.

It was also an exceptionally stupid solution.

Removing the gland did not turn an alpha or omega into a beta. Their secondary gender remained intact while the organ responsible for regulating and expressing much of it was destroyed. Those who survived often lost most of their instinctive social perception, struggled to interpret pheromone cues, and continued suffering through heats or ruts their bodies could no longer regulate properly.

The procedure was banned in nearly every kingdom for a reason.

”King Ashar funded those clinics,” Arion said, leaning back in his chair. ”The likelihood of someone with a dominant secondary gender surviving the operation should be higher than average, but there is no reliable data for us to analyze. No dominant has been foolish enough to volunteer.”

”Well, my father was cruel enough to provide unwilling subjects.” Eryx’s mouth twisted. ”At present, he remains alive only because my brothers are still fighting over the throne. The moment one of them wins, Father will become unnecessary.”

”Lovely family,” Dean muttered.

”You married into royalty.”

”Not that kind of royalty.”

Eryx gave him a tired smile. ”Every royal family believes it is not that kind until someone opens the correct locked room.”

Arion ignored the remark. ”If Ashar intended to remove Amaru’s gland, he would have required a physician experienced with dominant patients.”

”Probably.”

”And long-term medical supervision afterward.”

”If he cared whether Amaru remained functional.”

”He cared whether Amaru remained alive,” Arion said. ”A dead prince could become a martyr. A mutilated one hidden abroad could not.”

Eryx’s expression went still.

”That was generally how Father thought.”

Dean shifted forward on the sofa. ”Then Amaru may have survived.”

”He may have,” Eryx agreed. ”Survival is not the same as being capable of ruling.”

”No,” Arion said. ”It is not.”

Eight years without proper treatment could have left Amaru physically weak, cognitively impaired by repeated hormonal crises, or so isolated that returning him directly to a succession conflict would be impossible. Even if his gland remained intact, imprisonment alone could have changed him beyond what Eryx remembered.

”We find him first,” Dean said. ”Then physicians assess his physical condition.”

”And we assess the rest,” Arion added. ”His judgment, stability, understanding of Draxil’s current situation, and whether he can still command without relying entirely on dominance.”

Eryx studied them through the screen. ”You make it sound like an examination.”

”It is,” Arion said. ”You are proposing that we place him against two active claimants and ask a divided kingdom to follow him. His survival is not enough.”

”And neither is what he used to be,” Dean said. ”We need to know who he is now.”

Eryx looked toward the garden beyond his windows.

”And if he is alive but cannot rule?”

”We protect him and arrange treatment,” Arion said. ”But we do not place him on the throne.”

There was nothing gentle in the answer, but there was no cruelty either.

Eryx nodded once.

”Then find him,” he said. ”After that, you can decide whether my brother is still useful to Draxil, or whether Draxil has already taken everything useful from him.”

The communication ended.

For several seconds, neither Dean nor Arion spoke.

The secure screen darkened, leaving only their reflections against the black glass. Outside the tall windows of Arion’s office, winter had settled over the capital beneath a pale sky, the palace grounds covered in a thin layer of snow.

After they found out that beasts could be controlled, they expected unusual movement, but there was none.

There had been no unusual migration, no concentrations near the borders, no infected animals moving against their established patterns. Nothing that could be called an immediate warning.

That absence had made the situation worse.

Every kingdom had kept its forces prepared in Roslew long past the usual season, unable to decide whether the danger had passed or was merely waiting.

Dean rose from the sofa and crossed to Arion, settling sideways into his lap as though the crown prince’s chair had been designed for both of them.

Arion placed one arm around his waist automatically.

”I will speak with Otto and begin planning Amaru’s assessment,” Arion said with a sigh.

”Will he agree to send dominant alphas searching for him when we have no idea when the beasts might attack?”

”No.”

Dean blinked at the immediate answer.

Arion adjusted him more securely against his chest. ”And I would not ask him to.”

”How do you plan to recover a possibly injured dominant alpha from a guarded island without sending other dominants?”

”We do not begin with recovery.”

Dean rested an arm across Arion’s shoulders. ”We find him first.”

”We narrow down the islands through records, shipping routes, and the physicians associated with Ashar’s clinics. That requires intelligence officers, not dominant alphas.”

”And when we locate him?”

”We confirm that he is alive and determine whether he is being guarded voluntarily, imprisoned under the island’s laws or held there through an agreement with Draxil.”

Dean frowned. ”Voluntarily?”

”Eight years is a long time. Amaru may have built a life there. He may not want to return merely because his father is dying and his brothers have ruined the kingdom.”

”He might not know he has the option.”

”Then someone speaks to him.”

”Us?”

”Yes.”