Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Amaru did not answer Nero immediately.

His gaze remained on the Saharian prince for several seconds before shifting toward Dean and Arion, as though the question had finally forced him to consider something more fundamental than what Claudia had done to him.

”Why did you save me?”

Nero leaned back.

Apparently his question could wait.

Dean had expected this eventually.

Perhaps not quite so early, but Amaru was coherent enough to understand that three foreign royals had not secretly entered a protected island residence, killed one guard, recruited the second, and removed a Draxilian prince from medical containment purely out of humanitarian enthusiasm.

”We needed to know if you were alive,” Dean said.

”That explains finding me. Not taking me to Saha.”

Dean glanced toward Arion.

Arion gave no indication that he intended to soften the answer.

Amaru had lost eight years to people deciding what he should know. Dean had no intention of beginning their relationship by doing the same thing.

”Claudia found a way to control the infected beasts in Alamina.”

Amaru’s expression sharpened immediately.

Whatever else he had forgotten, he knew what those beasts were.

”How?”

”We don’t know.”

Dean shifted slightly in his chair, turning enough that he could still watch both Amaru and the medical monitor beside him.

”That is why we need access to her palace in Draxil.”

Amaru’s brows drew together.

”Claudia’s Palace?”

”Yes.”

”My father still has it sealed?”

”Your country claims there is nothing there worth investigating.”

A tired disbelief crossed Amaru’s face.

”That sounds like my father.”

”It is no longer only your father,” Arion said. ”Your brothers have been equally cooperative.”

Amaru looked toward him.

Arion continued without elaborating on eight years of Draxilian politics.

”The infected beasts did not attack this year.”

That got a stronger reaction.

Amaru straightened despite the visible pull it put on muscles still recovering from prolonged suppression.

”They always attack.”

”Usually in August,” Dean said. ”This year they disappeared deeper into the territories instead.”

”Died?”

”No.”

Dean wished they had.

”They are alive. We found them with drones four days before reaching Veyra. Forty-three confirmed in one sector alone, more beyond the canopy.”

Amaru stared at him.

”They’re feeding at a fraction of normal levels. Lower heart rate, reduced body temperature, almost no movement. They barely react unless a drone gets too close.”

Nero’s fingers stopped moving against the arm of the sofa.

Amaru noticed the word before Dean said it.

”Dormant?”

”Yes.”

The room became quiet.

Amaru looked down at his hands.

Dean wondered whether he was remembering the glass chamber.

”We tested the obvious triggers,” Dean continued. ”Blood. Pheromonal profiles. Dominant samples. Biological links to people involved in the original attacks. Nothing woke them.”

”So you think Claudia put them into that state.”

”We know she found some method of influencing them. We don’t know whether the current dormancy is deliberate, a consequence of something she did earlier, or what happens when whatever was controlling them disappears.”

Amaru looked toward the windows.

”And you believe the answer is in the palace.”

”The answer is somewhere inside Claudia’s work,” Arion said. ”The palace is the location Draxil refuses to let us search.”

Amaru gave a quiet, humorless laugh.

”That still does not explain why I am here.”

Dean rested his forearms against his knees.

”There are two ways we get into that palace now.”

Amaru looked at him.

”The first is you.”

That earned him a long silence.

Dean continued before Amaru could misunderstand.

”Not because you are conveniently Draxilian. Your brother Eryx gave us your name months ago when we asked whether there was anyone besides the two current claimants who could actually take control of the country.”

Amaru’s expression changed at the mention of Eryx.

”Eryx is alive?”

”Yes.”

”Where?”

”Rohan.”

The tension in Amaru’s shoulders eased by a fraction.

”Married,” Nero added.

Amaru looked at him.

Nero smiled faintly. ”Very settled. Extremely uninterested in your throne.”

That produced the first genuinely amused reaction Dean had seen from Amaru.

”Some things apparently survived eight years unchanged.”

Dean stored the reaction away for later.

”Eryx does not trust either of your brothers to rule Draxil. He suggested you.”

”And you crossed borders looking for me because my younger brother recommended me?”

”That was the beginning.”

Arion took over.

”Since then, your country has moved closer to civil war. The military is divided. Ministries are split between competing claimants. Your father is dying, and neither side has shown any willingness to cooperate with the beast investigation.”

Amaru’s expression became increasingly grim.

”How close to civil war?”

”Close enough that some regions effectively answer to neither claimant,” Arion said.

Amaru closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again, exhaustion had returned around the edges despite the clarity of his gaze.

”My plan was somewhat more controlled.”

”Eight years ago,” Dean said.

Amaru looked at him.

Dean did not apologize.

”If you still want the throne, and if after you recover you are actually capable of taking it, Alamina will support a route that puts you back into Draxil.”

Amaru watched him carefully.

”And in return?”

”Access to Claudia’s Palace.”

”That is all?”

”For now.”

Amaru gave him a skeptical look.

Dean shrugged.

”We have infected beasts sleeping in our forests. I am not currently interested in collecting Draxilian provinces.”

Nero’s mouth twitched.

Arion remained serious.

”We are not asking you to decide today,” he said. ”You have been conscious for hours after losing eight years. You need medical recovery, current intelligence, and time to understand what happened in Draxil while you were gone.”

Amaru’s eyes narrowed slightly.

”But there are two options.”

Dean nodded

”What is the second?”

Nero looked interested in how Dean would phrase it.

Dean saw no reason to make it elegant.

”Dax invades.”

Amaru stared at him.

Nero leaned his head back against the sofa.

”My father.”

”I gathered.”

”He has become tired of Draxil.”

”That is a surprisingly poor reason to start a war.”

”It is not the only reason,” Arion said.

Dean explained before Amaru could assume Dax had simply woken up irritated.

”Saha has been discussing military entry for weeks. If you were dead, incapable of ruling or unwilling to return, Dax had already decided negotiations were over.”

Amaru slowly looked toward Nero.

Nero lifted one shoulder.

”I did not participate in that decision.”

”You are the crown prince.”

”Yes.”

”And your father plans to invade my country.”

”He plans to enter your country, secure the routes to the capital, take Claudia’s Palace, and leave the problem of ruling Draxil to someone else.”

Amaru stared at him.

Nero considered.

”He is very specific about not wanting Draxil.”

Amaru rubbed one hand over his face.

”So my options are to recover from eight years of forced pheromonal suppression, return to a country already dividing itself between my brothers, revive a political network I have not spoken to in almost a decade, take the throne, and give you access to Claudia’s research...”

”Yes.”

”...or Saha invades.”

”Yes.”

Amaru sighed.

A long, exhausted sound that seemed to contain the accumulated irritation of a man who had woken four days ago and already found the international situation unreasonable.

”I should have stayed conscious.”

Dean’s mouth twitched.

”It would have helped.”

Arion gave him a look.

Amaru actually smiled for a moment.

Then Nero leaned forward again.

”Now that we have established why we broke into your residence, I believe you owe me an answer.”

Amaru looked toward him. The faint amusement disappeared. Amaru considered how to explain it.

”It is difficult to describe because it does not actually alter time.”

Nero’s attention sharpened immediately.

”Perception?”

”Primarily.”

That caught Dean’s interest.

Amaru rested his head back against the chair.

”I can change the way another person experiences the passage of time. Not in the same way your guard alters distance or movement. Duncan makes the terrain lie to you.”

Nero smiled faintly at the description.

”Amaru continued. ”I make your mind fail to keep pace with what is happening.”

Dean understood first.

”Sluggish?”

”Yes.”

”How much?”

”That depends on the person, distance, and how much pheromonal output I use.”

Amaru lifted one hand.

”If I affect you lightly, you might feel as though you have gone too long without sleep. Your thoughts slow. You understand what is happening, but reacting to it takes effort.”

”And stronger?” Arion asked.

”Seconds begin feeling much longer than they are. Movement becomes difficult to organize because what you perceive and what your body is actually doing stop matching correctly. Speech becomes incoherent. Thought fragments.”

Dean stared at him.

”Almost dormant.”

Amaru’s hand lowered.

”Yes.”

The word settled differently now.

Nero’s expression had lost every trace of humor.

Amaru continued quietly.

”At the extreme end, a person can remain conscious and still become functionally useless. They see. They hear. They may even understand pieces of what is happening.”

His gaze moved between them.

”They simply cannot make themselves keep up with the world.”