Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

For the first time in what felt like months, Dean had his husband entirely to himself.

Nero had finally returned to Saha, taking Hale and the last of his unnecessary commentary with him. Hendrik had no urgent reports requiring Arion’s attention, Otto had apparently decided that his son deserved at least one evening without being summoned to the imperial palace, and Rina was occupied elsewhere.

Even Boreas had abandoned them in favor of sleeping near the secured garden, where Ducky and the other eleven dogs were being monitored by a medical team that had gradually accepted its new responsibility with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Dean considered the circumstances almost suspiciously perfect.

He had no intention of wasting them.

Their private bedroom was warm beneath the last light of the evening, the terrace doors open just enough to let a gentle breeze move the pale curtains. Dean had changed into loose cream trousers and a thin black shirt, which stretched comfortably over his growing stomach, while Arion sat against the upholstered headboard in dark lounge trousers and a charcoal shirt with the collar left open.

His husband looked relaxed.

That was going to change.

Dean climbed onto the bed carrying a tablet, two notebooks, and a pen.

Arion watched him arrange everything across the duvet.

”What are you doing?”

”Something important.”

”Should I be concerned?”

”Only if you intend to be difficult.”

Arion looked at the notebooks.

Then at Dean.

”You have a list.”

”I have several lists.”

”That is considerably worse.”

Dean settled beside him and opened the first notebook.

Their son moved beneath his shirt, apparently displeased with the position, so Dean adjusted a pillow behind his back before resting the tablet against his thighs.

”We need a name.”

Arion glanced toward his stomach.

”I thought we were waiting until you stopped rejecting everything.”

”I have refined the selection.”

”Last week you suggested naming the bear Boreas the Second.”

”That was a working title.”

”The bear remains unnamed.”

”Because you lack imagination.”

Arion reached for the notebook.

Dean slapped his hand away.

”We are starting with traditional names. Those are the least offensive options, so I expect you to behave.”

Arion leaned back against the pillows with the expression of a man accepting an unavoidable administrative obligation.

Dean cleared his throat.

”Alexander.”

Arion considered it.

”Good.”

Dean looked up.

”That was suspiciously easy.”

”It is a perfectly reasonable name.”

Dean wrote a small mark beside it.

”Theodore.”

”I like it.”

”Sebastian.”

Arion turned toward him.

”Your brother is named Sebastian.”

”Yes, and?”

”Dean.”

”He has an excellent name.”

”We are not naming our son after your brother.”

Dean looked offended.

”Why not?”

”Because Sebastian would never stop reminding me.”

Dean considered that.

Unfortunately, Arion was right.

He crossed it out.

”Gabriel?”

”Good name. Too common among our relatives.”

”Adrian?”

”Acceptable.”

Dean narrowed his eyes.

”You sound like you’re evaluating candidates for a military commission.”

”I am evaluating someone who will eventually be responsible for an empire.”

”He is currently responsible for kicking me in the ribs.”

”That is also an important qualification.”

Dean laughed and adjusted the tablet when their son moved again.

Arion’s hand settled against his stomach, thumb moving slowly over the fabric.

Dean allowed him a moment before continuing.

”Now, the more interesting ones.”

Arion’s expression changed.

”There is another category?”

”Names with a little more character. Historical names, names from old royal families, things that sound appropriate for someone who will inherit an unreasonable amount of money.”

”He will inherit a throne.”

”And an unreasonable amount of money.”

Dean turned the page.

”Maximilian.”

Arion considered it.

”Too long.”

”Cassian?”

”That is better.”

”Augustus?”

”My father would think we were making a statement.”

Dean smiled.

”We could be.”

”We are not.”

”Leopold?”

Arion stared at him.

Dean looked down.

Then slowly crossed it out.

”Alright, perhaps not.”

”Perhaps?”

”Don’t become arrogant. You still have to survive the rest of the list.”

Arion looked toward the ceiling.

Dean continued with evident enthusiasm.

”Octavian.”

”Possibly, but we don’t have other seven children to justify it.”

Dean ignored him. ”Evander.”

”Not bad.”

”Aurelius.”

Arion considered that longer.

Dean watched him.

”You like it.”

”I don’t dislike it.”

”That is practically an endorsement.”

Arion took the pen and marked the name himself.

Dean smiled with satisfaction before turning to the next page.

Then Arion saw the heading.

He slowly withdrew his hand.

”No.”

Dean looked up.

”I haven’t said anything.”

”You wrote unusual but beautiful.”

”Yes.”

”That is not reassuring.”

Dean straightened.

”Our son deserves something distinctive.”

”He is the son of a sigma crown prince and the heir to Alamina. I suspect he will manage to be distinctive without assistance.”

Dean ignored him.

”Zephyr.”

Arion stared.

”Absolutely not.”

”It means west wind.”

”I know what it means.”

”Then why are you making that face?”

”Because I refuse to name my son after a weather condition.”

Dean sighed and crossed it out.

”Orion?”

”No.”

”Why?”

”Because I can already hear Nero asking whether we intend to name the next child after another constellation.”

Dean paused.

Then laughed.

”That is a very valid concern.”

Arion looked pleased with himself.

Dean moved on.

”Atlas.”

”No.”

”Phoenix.”

”No.”

”Lucifer.”

Arion turned his entire body toward him.

Dean burst out laughing.

”I wanted to see your face.”

”You are enjoying this far too much.”

”Pregnancy has very few recreational benefits. Let me have this.”

Arion took the notebook from him.

Dean protested immediately, reaching across his husband’s lap before remembering that his stomach made the maneuver considerably less comfortable than it had been six months earlier.

Arion caught him around the waist and pulled him closer.

”You have already given one of our dogs a name that belongs to a rubber duck.”

”Ducky is an excellent name.”

”You also suggested naming a bear after our dog.”

”That bear has personality.”

”And now you want to name our son after a mythical bird.”

Dean grinned.

”When you arrange it like that, I sound creative.”

”You sound dangerous.”

Arion kissed his temple.

Dean leaned into him, still smiling, while his husband opened the notebook again and began reviewing the names without further commentary.

For several minutes, the only sounds in the bedroom came from the faint rustling of paper and the evening breeze moving through the curtains.

Arion eventually marked several names.

Alexander.

Cassian.

Evander.

Aurelius.

Dean watched him.

”You actually like those?”

”Yes.”

”Then we have four possibilities.”

”Five. I liked Theodore.”

Dean immediately added it.

Their son shifted again, making a small bump appear beneath the fabric of his shirt.

Arion rested his hand over it.

Dean looked down.

”Your father has terrible taste in unusual names.”

”He will thank me someday.”

Dean smiled and leaned against Arion’s shoulder.

For a while, they simply sat together, examining the short list and imagining which name might belong to the little boy who would arrive in a few months.

Dean liked Theodore.

Arion preferred Alexander.

Neither was entirely convinced.

That was alright.

They still had time.

Dean turned his head and looked at his husband.

”Your birthday is in two months.”

Arion glanced down.

”Yes.”

”You’ll be thirty-one.”

”Your ability to count remains impressive.”

Dean poked his ribs.

”I was going to ask what you want.”

Arion looked toward the notebook.

Then back at Dean.

”A normal name.”

Dean stared.

For several seconds, he genuinely had nothing to say.

Then he started laughing.

Arion closed the notebook and set it on the nightstand before pulling Dean more comfortably against him.

”I am serious.”

Dean laughed harder.

”You have everything in the world, and that is what you want for your birthday?”

”Yes.”

Dean rested his forehead against Arion’s chest, shoulders shaking.

”What if I get you something else?”

”I will appreciate it.”

”And the name?”

”I will continue hoping.”

Dean lifted his head, violet eyes bright with mischief.

”Alright. I’ll consider it.”

Arion narrowed his eyes.

Dean smiled sweetly.

Then he reached for the notebook.

”Now, about Bartholomew—”

”Dean.”

His laughter filled the bedroom.

Arion sighed, tightened his arm around his husband, and resigned himself to another evening of negotiations.

Their son kicked beneath his palm.

Apparently, even he had an opinion.