Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Dean looked at Rina for several seconds.

Then he asked, very seriously, ”Do you want to never step inside our palace again?”

Rina blinked.

Sylvia covered her mouth.

”I suggested a pet.”

”You suggested another pet in a household that currently contains Boreas, twelve medically monitored former beasts, and a husband who apparently acquires wildlife by accident.”

”I didn’t say it had to be large.”

”That somehow makes it worse.”

Rina started laughing.

Dean narrowed his eyes and pushed himself carefully out of the armchair.

Sitting had become deceptive during the last month. It felt wonderful until he attempted to stand and discovered that his hips had apparently fused into whatever position he had occupied for longer than twenty minutes.

He braced one hand against the chair arm and straightened slowly.

Sylvia immediately rose.

Dean pointed at her.

”Don’t.”

”I wasn’t doing anything.”

”You were preparing to help me.”

”I was preparing to move.”

”In my direction.”

Sylvia smiled and stepped back.

Dean adjusted the hem of his cream shirt over his stomach.

”I need to walk before my pelvis permanently becomes part of that chair.”

Rina rose as well.

”Where?”

”Anywhere that has air-conditioning.”

That eliminated most of the gardens.

By the time they returned to the imperial residence, the afternoon heat had settled heavily over Alamina, turning the courtyards bright beneath the August sun. Dean abandoned any thought of walking outside and led them instead through the shaded interior galleries connecting the family wing to the western residential palace.

The old stone floors remained pleasantly cool beneath his shoes, while tall arched windows allowed enough light into the corridors that most of the chandeliers remained dark.

Sylvia walked beside him in a soft blue summer dress, her dark hair pinned away from her neck against the heat. Rina had discarded the formal jacket she wore shopping and carried it folded over one arm, leaving only a sleeveless dark-green blouse and tailored trousers.

Dean was still thinking about Arion’s present.

A year away was impossible.

Another portrait was unnecessary.

A pet was grounds for disowning Rina.

A date would be perfect eventually, but Dean could barely make it through a formal dinner now without wanting to put his feet somewhere inappropriate.

He rested one hand beneath his stomach as they walked.

”Maybe something for after the baby comes.”

Sylvia looked toward him.

”The date?”

”Possibly. A weekend somewhere once I recover.”

Rina smiled.

”You could surprise him.”

”That would require convincing Arion to leave the baby with someone else.”

All three considered that.

Sylvia laughed first.

”That might be harder than finding the gift.”

”Exactly.”

Arion had already begun discussing nursery security as though their son were expected to emerge from Dean and immediately become the target of an international conspiracy.

Dean had ignored most of it.

Hendrik had not.

They turned into the quieter western gallery, where several doors stood open toward the private courtyard.

A familiar heavy set of paws sounded from the adjoining corridor.

Dean smiled before Boreas appeared.

The enormous dog crossed toward him immediately, dark tail moving behind him while Ducky trotted beside his front leg.

The little black dog had apparently attached himself permanently to Boreas.

Ducky’s completely black eyes still unsettled visitors who were unfamiliar with him, but his behavior had become so ridiculously gentle that most of the household had stopped noticing.

Dean crouching was no longer an option.

Instead, he scratched Boreas beneath the jaw when the dog approached.

”There you are.”

Boreas pressed against his thigh.

Ducky sat directly in front of Dean.

Rina looked down.

”He’s waiting.”

”For what?”

Ducky lifted one paw.

Dean laughed.

”No. That works on Boreas, not me.”

The paw lowered.

Then Ducky stood and stepped closer.

His nose moved toward Dean’s stomach.

Dean glanced down.

The dog had never shown particular interest in the pregnancy before. Boreas frequently sniffed Dean and had become absurdly protective, but Ducky generally treated the bump as another part of Dean that prevented him from fitting comfortably into certain chairs.

Today, the small dog pressed his nose gently against the fabric.

Dean smiled.

”Are you finally noticing him?”

Ducky sniffed again.

Then nudged Dean’s stomach.

Dean laughed and rubbed his head.

”Yes, there is someone in there. Please don’t teach him whatever you do with the paw.”

Sylvia smiled.

”He probably hears them.”

”God help me if his first friends are corrupted dogs.”

Rina leaned toward Ducky.

”I think it’s cute.”

”You suggested buying Arion another animal. Your judgment is compromised.”

Dean resumed walking.

Boreas followed.

Ducky did too.

They had barely reached the end of the gallery when pain shot straight through Dean’s pelvic floor.

He stopped.

It was sharp enough to steal half a breath before disappearing almost immediately.

Sylvia turned.

”What?”

Dean waved one hand.

”Nothing.”

Rina frowned.

”You stopped walking.”

”I am thirty-three weeks pregnant. My son occasionally attempts to escape through inappropriate directions.”

The sensation was unpleasant but familiar.

Lightning pain, pressure, and random stabbing sensations whenever the baby shifted low enough to irritate something sensitive.

Seven had warned him about it.

The obstetrician had warned him about it.

Dean had spent the previous three weeks discovering that pregnancy contained an alarming number of sensations physicians considered completely normal despite all evidence to the contrary.

He took another step.

Fine.

”See?”

Sylvia still watched him.

”I didn’t say anything.”

”You were thinking loudly.”

Dean continued down the corridor.

Boreas remained close enough that his shoulder occasionally brushed Dean’s leg.

Ducky had stopped wandering.

The little dog stayed immediately beside him now.

Dean noticed but dismissed it.

He had more important problems.

”Maybe I could give Arion something connected to the baby.”

Rina glanced toward his stomach.

”You already are.”

Dean looked at her.

”That sounded filthy.”

”I meant your son.”

Sylvia started laughing.

Rina’s expression became horrified.

”That is also what I meant.”

Dean laughed despite himself.

Then another pain struck.

This one was different.

Not the sudden needle-sharp sensation from before.

It began low in his back and tightened around his abdomen, firm enough that Dean instinctively caught the stone ledge beneath the nearest window.

His stomach hardened beneath his shirt.

He stopped breathing for a second.

Then it eased.

Slowly.

Dean stared ahead.

Braxton Hicks.

Probably.

He had been having them occasionally.

Nothing unusual.

Rina had stopped laughing.

”Dean?”

”I’m fine.”

Boreas made a low sound.

Dean looked down.

Both dogs were watching him.

Ducky stepped forward and nudged his stomach again.

Dean rubbed the little animal between the ears.

”Stop being dramatic.”

The words were meant for the dog.

Perhaps for himself too.

He straightened and resumed walking.

Ten steps.

Twelve.

Another tightening began before he reached the next archway.

Dean stopped again.

This one hurt.

His hand moved over his stomach while he waited for it to pass, suddenly conscious of the weight sitting much lower than it had that morning.

Their son shifted beneath his palm.

Dean swallowed.

Sylvia was beside him now without asking permission.

”Dean.”

”I know.”

Something warm touched the inside of his thigh.

Dean went completely still.

For one second, his brain offered every harmless explanation available.

Pregnancy. Pressure. Bladder. Sweat. Anything ordinary.

Then he looked down.

A small dark patch was spreading through the pale fabric of his trousers.

Ducky whined.

Dean stared at it.

The gift disappeared from his thoughts.

So did Arion’s gala.

So did the ridiculous discussion about pets, portraits, and vacations.

His hand tightened over the curve of his stomach.

This was not normal.