Dean decided that staying in the imperial palace was a mistake. Well, not really a mistake, but it was far too close to a certain arrogant alpha.
He had only moved into the palace because his fathers and Sebastian were there for the negotiations with Alamina, and the thought of rattling around alone in the capital mansion hadn't appealed to him at the time. Being surrounded by family had always felt better than being alone.
Now, however, that same proximity had become a liability.
The palace was too convenient. Too accessible. Too full of balconies and corridors where a crown prince with far too much confidence and far too sharp instincts could simply… appear.
The capital mansion, on the other hand, had walls, distance, and the comforting certainty that no one climbed its exterior for romantic or territorial reasons.
And, if Dean was being honest with himself, it came with an added benefit.
Putting physical space between himself and Arion would not go unnoticed.
Dominant alphas did not like being separated from what had caught their attention. They liked awareness control. The quiet reassurance of knowing exactly where the center of their focus was at all times.
So Dean informed everyone who mattered that he would be returning to the Fitzgeralt manor, packed with minimal fuss, and was in a car less than two hours after his encounter with the prince.
Of course, he did not extend the same courtesy to the Crown Prince of Alamina.
—
Sebastian, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do to pour salt into the wound.
He was a dominant alpha too. He understood instinct, possession, and the way Arion's attention had locked onto Dean and refused to let go. He understood why the Crown Prince was so certain, so territorial, and so convinced that what he had identified was already his.
Understanding it, however, did not mean accepting it.
Did Sebastian care about the prince's motives? Not in the slightest.
He cared about his family. About his brother. About the fact that Dean had been cornered emotionally before the ink on any contract had even dried. The feelings and instincts of a foreign heir meant very little compared to that.
So Sebastian did what he always did when someone crossed a line with one of his own.
He went to their fathers.
He told Lucas and Trevor exactly what had happened. How Arion had spoken. How he had assumed certainty where there should have been choice. Why Dean had come home instead of staying in the palace. And why letting that behavior pass without consequence would set a precedent none of them wanted.
They could not withdraw the engagement outright. Not without shattering alliances and turning negotiations into open conflict.
But they could reshape the terms formally and very politely.
Within the day, Palatine submitted a request to Alamina: a two-year period of long-distance engagement, justified by education, stability, and the need for Dean to complete his personal and political preparation without relocation. The wedding itself would be scheduled no earlier than his twenty-first birthday.
Perfectly reasonable.
Impeccably diplomatic.
And absolutely designed to drive a possessive, dominant alpha out of his damn mind.
—
The Fitzgeralt capital mansion was quiet in the way only old, well-guarded houses ever were. Layered with history, thick walls, and the comforting certainty that no one appeared on its balconies uninvited.
Dean had changed into something soft and familiar, feet tucked under him on one of the sofas in the sunroom, tablet balanced on his knees. The garden outside was in full bloom, late-morning light spilling across stone and glass, everything peaceful enough to almost make the last twenty-four hours feel unreal.
Almost.
The message from Lucas sat open on his screen.
Subject: Revised Engagement Framework – Alamina/Palatine
The phrasing was immaculate. Polite. Respectful. Legally flawless.
And sharp.
A two-year long-distance engagement. No relocation. No "proximity for bonding." No early ceremonial visits beyond strictly scheduled diplomatic appearances. Medical oversight to remain in Palatine. Education and political training to continue uninterrupted. The wedding was postponed until Dean's twenty-first birthday, with a review clause that required renewed, explicit consent from both parties before final ratification.
Lucas had wrapped it in concern for Dean's well-being, maturity, and autonomy so beautifully it could be framed.
But the subtext was merciless.
You do not get to claim what has not been given.
You do not get to rush what you tried to take for granted.
You will wait.
Dean stared at it, then let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
"He's going to lose his mind," he murmured.
Behind him, Windstone set a teacup on the low table and settled into the armchair with the ease of a man who had long since stopped pretending he was merely staff in this family. His grey brows lifted with quiet amusement.
"Your father's wording is… elegant," he observed. "Your brother's influence is less so. I recognize a strategic delay when I see one."
Dean glanced back at him. "You're enjoying this."
Windstone did not deny it. "Immensely."
He folded his hands over the head of his cane, posture relaxed, eyes bright with that familiar, dangerous warmth he reserved for moments when someone had crossed one of his children.
"A dominant alpha who forgets himself around a Fitzgeralt omega," he continued mildly, "requires correction. Preferably slow, controlled, and impossible to argue against in court."
Dean smiled despite himself. "Sebastian called it 'politely making him suffer.'"
"Your brother has a gift for understatement," Windstone said. "And for precision."
Dean looked back at the screen, rereading the final clause.
Two years. Distance. Waiting.
Control, taken away not with force, but with law.
For a possessive crown prince who had already decided the future was settled, it was a masterfully cruel lesson.
Dean exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just a little.
"He crossed a line," he said quietly.
Windstone's voice softened, the grandfather tone slipping fully into place. "And now he is learning that lines, once crossed, do not vanish. They become borders."