"You are my omega."
The words were not a threat, nor a command. They were a statement of fact, delivered with the same calm confidence he used when discussing borders, treaties, and troop movements.
Dean's breath hitched despite himself.
"That is not how this works," he said, even as his pulse jumped traitorously under Arion's thumb. "You don't just… declare people."
"I am not declaring," Arion replied. "I am acknowledging what already is."
Dean turned fully then, eyes bright with frustration and something far more dangerous. "I chose an engagement, not ownership."
Arion exhaled slowly, the sound controlled but edged, like patience stretched thin.
"You said yes to everything, Dean," he said, as if explaining a simple equation to someone who should already understand it. "The engagement is only the first step. But you said yes to the rest as well. To marriage. To mating." His gaze held Dean's, unblinking, certain. "To being mine."
The words were calm. The implication was not.
There was no threat in his tone, no raised voice, no visible force, just the unsettling confidence of a man who had never once considered the possibility of being refused. Not now. Not when it mattered. Not by the one person he had already placed at the center of his future.
Dean felt it then, a subtle shift in the air, something cold sliding beneath the warmth of attraction. Not fear, exactly, but awareness. The sense that Arion's idea of choice and his own were not entirely aligned.
Not even close.
Dean's jaw tightened.
The warmth that had been there a moment ago, the reluctant amusement, and the pull he hadn't wanted to acknowledge cooled. The only thing that remained was a feeling that screamed in Dean's mind to get away as fast as possible.
"Let go," he said, his voice flattened.
Arion's fingers were still around his wrist, not tightened, but the contact now felt different to Dean. It felt like a line being tested, a boundary he didn't want to let go of.
"Arion," Dean repeated, slower this time. "Let go of my hand."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then Arion released him.
The absence of pressure was immediate, the warmth of it dissipating into the air as if he'd never meant to hold on longer than necessary. As if he'd simply… allowed the moment to end.
Dean didn't look at him again.
He stepped away, the space between them widening with each quiet movement, and for the first time since the Crown Prince had appeared on that balcony, Dean did not hesitate. He did not argue. He did not soften his tone or search for understanding.
He just left. The retreat of someone who had felt the ground shift under his feet and decided to put distance between himself and whatever had caused it.
Arion remained where he was, still and composed, golden eyes following Dean's back until the doors closed behind him.
The morning air felt colder after that.
And for the first time since setting foot in Palatine, Arion realized something he had not anticipated.
Dean Fitzgeralt might belong to him.
But he would not come quietly.
'Perfect.' He thought while a wicked grin spread on his lips.
Arion straightened at last and turned from the balcony, already preparing to return to the diplomatic wing.
He did not make it three steps.
The air shifted with another dominant alpha, close, aware, and very much paying attention.
Arion stopped.
Sebastian stood at the far end of the gallery, black hair falling loose over the collar of his coat, green eyes fixed on him with the calm, measuring focus of someone who had been there the entire time and had chosen exactly when to be noticed.
They regarded each other in silence.
Two apex instincts brushing, testing, acknowledging.
Sebastian was tall, broad-shouldered, and built like someone who could hold a line and never break. At nearly six foot nine, he dominated most rooms without effort, a presence people felt before they consciously registered him.
Arion still looked down at him. Seven and a half feet of long-limbed, controlled, deadly grace.
Sebastian did not shift. He did not look away. Gold met green, unwavering.
The air between them tightened, heavy with unspoken understanding. Two dominant alphas, both dangerous, both fully aware of exactly what the other was.
"You shouldn't have said it like that," Sebastian said at last.
Arion's gaze narrowed. "Which part?"
"The part where you forgot he's my brother before he's your omega."
The words were mild. The meaning was not.
Arion did not bristle. He did not deny it. He simply inclined his head a fraction, a gesture that could have been respect or challenge.
"He chose," Arion replied. "I acknowledged the consequence."
Sebastian stepped closer. "He chose an alliance. Not possession. If you blur that line again, you won't be dealing with a diplomatic problem."
Arion studied him, golden eyes unreadable. "I'm curious how you would regard your omega when you find them. Don't be a hypocrite, Marquis of Fitzgeralt, you know very well what I'm thinking."
Sebastian's expression did not change, but something colder settled behind his eyes.
"I know exactly what you're thinking," he said quietly. "That doesn't make it acceptable. It makes it predictable."
Arion's lips curved in a terrifying smirk. "And yet you would think the same if the positions were reversed."
Sebastian did not deny it. He simply took another step forward, closing the distance enough that the air between them grew dense with restrained power.
"There's a difference," he said. "Between thinking it and saying it to someone who is young, cornered, and still learning where his boundaries are."
Arion met his gaze, unflinching. "He is not weak."
"I didn't say he was," Sebastian replied. "I said he is my brother."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The palace around them felt distant, irrelevant, as if the world had narrowed to the space between two dominant alphas measuring each other without posturing.
Arion inclined his head again, this time clearly in acknowledgment.
"I will not take from him what he has not chosen to give," Arion said. "But do not mistake restraint for doubt. He is already at the center of my future."
Sebastian's jaw tightened. "Then remember that he stands at the center of ours as well. And we do not yield what is ours without a fight."
Sebastian didn't step back, even when Arion closed the distance enough that his shadow fell fully over him, even when the warmth of his breath brushed close enough to be a warning rather than a threat.
"You don't get to fight what he already chose," Arion said quietly. He tilted his head, voice low, intimate in the way only predators allowed themselves to be. "And you should choose your battles wisely. I am not one you can take down easily."
For a heartbeat, the air between them felt like it might ignite.
Then Arion straightened, the moment snapping back into cold control, and turned away as if the tension had never existed at all.
He walked down the corridor without another word, long strides unhurried, utterly certain of his path.
Sebastian remained where he was, fists clenched at his sides, green eyes burning as he watched the Crown Prince disappear from view.
"Neither am I," he murmured into the empty space. "Idiot."