Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina-Chapter 133: Don’t Panic

Sylvia reached them with the careful pace of someone who understood that one wrong move in a room like this could become a headline.

Dean’s eyes met hers for a brief second, relief flickering through his usual sharp composure, and that alone was enough to make Sylvia square her shoulders.

She stopped at the edge of their small cluster and did the thing she had never once done in her life without choking on the concept.

She bowed.

Not low enough to be humiliating. Not shallow enough to be insulting. Just... correct.

Arion watched her with the calm, predatory patience of a man who had been bowed to since childhood and still liked it more when the bity ones did it out of pure peer pressure.

When Sylvia straightened, she expected dismissal.

Instead, Arion smirked in a way that was both charming and asking for a punch.

"Lady Sylvia," he said, voice smooth.

Sylvia kept her face neutral. She did not glare. She did not roll her eyes. She did not commit a felony.

It took strength.

Arion’s gaze swept her once, approving in a way that made Sylvia’s skin prickle.

Then he said, mildly, "When did you lose your bite?"

Sylvia blinked.

She looked at him as if he’d asked her when she’d decided to stop breathing.

"I didn’t," Sylvia said politely.

Arion’s eyes gleamed. "Interesting."

Sylvia held his gaze with the sweetest expression she could manage. "Today is special. Even I have a little sense."

Arion’s smirk deepened by a fraction, like he enjoyed that far more than he should.

It was offensive.

Sylvia, to keep herself from saying something that would end her palace career before it began, turned her attention slightly.

Dean was a few steps to the side, speaking with two women.

They were poised, perfectly dressed, and beautiful in a way that came with a security detail and upbringing. They didn’t need to look around the room to know who was watching them; the room arranged itself around their presence.

Sylvia’s gaze snagged on the pins at their collars and recognized the imperial seal of Alamina.

Sylvia’s stomach dipped.

Those were almost certainly Arion’s sisters.

Which meant Dean was currently being charming and composed while speaking with women who had likely been raised to smile politely and dissect people in their minds like it was a hobby.

Sylvia was about to step back, just to give Dean space, just to not become the obvious civilian friend clinging to him...

When her beta instincts, which had never once betrayed her, yelled for her to run away from whatever was approaching her.

Nero and Sebastian approached.

Sylvia knew them on principle. He had met Sebastian at the Fitzgeralt manor and then at the first gala in Palatine, but she always kept her distance from him, as she was Dean’s friend and wasn’t interested in using him for power. Much less to leave that impression on his family. And Nero... was Nero. Everyone knew him.

Nero looked like he belonged anywhere he decided to stand, tall enough to make the ceiling feel lower, with white-blonde hair neat and violet eyes bright with amused hunger for chaos.

Sebastian moved beside him with far less noise, a dominant alpha’s restraint wrapped tight around his body, gaze scanning Sylvia once and then shifting past her to Dean as if checking the situation.

Sylvia’s instincts screamed again: ’for the love of god, retreat!’

She took one small step back.

Nero mirrored her movement immediately, angling himself with casual ease so her retreat would require bumping into a passing duke’s wife. Sebastian stepped to the other side, closing the triangle.

Sylvia froze.

She lifted her chin, her voice perfectly calm. "Are you... surrounding me?"

Nero smiled brightly. "Yes."

Sebastian didn’t apologize. He only said, low, "It’s safer."

Sylvia blinked. "For whom?"

Nero’s smile didn’t fade. "For you."

Then, with irritating bluntness, "And for us."

Sylvia stared at him. "That is the least reassuring thing you could have said."

Nero’s eyes glittered. "I know."

Sebastian’s gaze stayed on Sylvia, more serious than Nero. "You’re a civilian in a room full of people who would use you to reach Dean."

Sylvia’s mouth tightened. "I can handle myself."

Nero tilted his head. "We know. That’s the problem."

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. "Excuse you."

Arion, who had been watching all of this with quiet amusement, finally spoke.

"You’re here because you’re his," Arion said, tone calm, as if he were stating a logistical fact. "Which means you’re under my protection."

Sylvia’s spine stiffened.

That sounded like a compliment and a threat at the same time, and Sylvia hated that it was working on her nervous system.

She opened her mouth to respond... And Arion, apparently deciding to make the evening more interesting, added casually,

"Also, Dean is in pre-heat."

It was said softly.

As if it were nothing.

As if Arion had just mentioned the weather.

Sylvia’s brain stalled.

Nero’s smile vanished.

Sebastian went instantly rigid.

For one full second, all three of them wore the same expression: pure, unfiltered panic.

Sylvia’s voice came out a little higher than intended. "He is what?"

Nero’s violet eyes snapped to Arion. "No."

Sebastian’s gaze darted toward Dean, toward Dean speaking calmly with Arion’s sisters, and his face shifted into protective alarm so fast Sylvia almost laughed.

Almost.

Arion’s eyes warmed with faint amusement, because, of course, he found this amusing. Arion was the type of man who enjoyed knowing information that made others uncomfortable.

"It’s managed," Arion added, perfectly calm. "Suppressed for the gala."

Nero exhaled slowly, like he was gathering patience the way other people gathered weapons.

"Arion," he said, his voice flat with dread, "you do not understand. We are not panicked for Dean’s safety."

Arion’s brows drew together. "Aren’t you dramatic? He’s just a little less filtered than usual."

Sebastian made a sound that was quiet, painful, deeply offended on Dean’s behalf, and completely honest. "He’s not less filtered. He has no filter."

Sylvia nodded once, hard, as if she were testifying in court. "None."

Arion’s gaze flicked between them, faint amusement still in his eyes, but the frown didn’t leave. "He’s fine."

Nero stared at him like Arion had just said the sky was green.

"Arion," Nero said, slower now, as if explaining basic physics to a man who was choosing ignorance, "Dean in heat is a public danger."

Arion’s mouth twitched. "He’s a diplomat."

"He’s a diplomat on a normal day," Sylvia corrected. "In heat, he’s a disaster on two legs."

Sebastian’s eyes stayed fixed on Dean across the room, on Dean smiling politely, hands folded, posture perfect, speaking with Arion’s sisters like he belonged there, while Sebastian looked like he was watching a live grenade trying to act charming.

"He doesn’t just lose his filter in words," Sebastian added quietly.

Arion’s gaze sharpened by a fraction. "Meaning."

Sebastian’s eyes didn’t leave Dean across the room. "Meaning he fights people."

Arion blinked once. "He what?"

Sylvia lifted her glass, took one sip for courage, and then said, with the calm of a woman confessing a crime, "He will literally throw hands."