Dean took a slow breath. "Lucas is a menace."

"He is a menace because you didn’t call him in almost a month?" Sebastian asked without opening his eyes. "Dean, he heard about the timeline from Minerva, and before you ask, yes, they talk."

Dean froze.

Arion’s expression shifted into the dangerous brightness of a man discovering a new alliance he approved of deeply.

Dean pointed at him at once. "No."

"I said nothing."

"You looked politically pleased."

"I am politically pleased."

Sebastian sank lower into the armchair, looking far too comfortable for someone delivering treason. "Lucas and Minerva apparently had meetings twice during the season."

Dean stared. "Twice?"

"Three times, if you count the call where Lucas added Ethan too, because they were in the same room." Sebastian opened one eye. "Congratulations. Two empresses and a grand duke are conspiring against you."

Dean went silent.

Arion looked delighted in the way only a man watching history become personally convenient could look delighted.

Dean turned slowly toward Sebastian. "You are the worst brother in human history."

"No," Sebastian said. "I would have been if I hadn’t told you anything and let you meet Lucas’s disappointment in his youngest son not calling at least once a week."

Dean recoiled slightly. "That was too specific."

"Lucas was specific."

"Lucas is always specific when he intends harm."

"Parental harm," Sebastian corrected. "Different category."

"It is worse."

Arion’s mouth curved. "You should call him."

Dean pointed at him. "You stay out of Palatine family judgment."

"I am marrying into it."

"Not yet."

"Autumn," Arion said softly.

Dean stared at him.

Boreas thumped his tail once, as if approving the legal direction of the conversation.

Dean looked down at the malamute. "You are not invited either."

Boreas huffed.

Sebastian closed his eyes again. "Lucas also said that if Dean can hold a pheromone wall against infected insects, he can hold a weekly family call."

Dean took one slow breath. "I am going to fake my death."

Arion looked at him fondly. "I would notice."

"Not if I do it professionally."

Sebastian murmured, "Lucas would still expect a call."

—

A few hours later, Dean had eaten, showered again for reasons that felt psychological rather than hygienic, and spent nearly twenty minutes mentally preparing himself for a family call.

This was ridiculous.

He had stood in front of infected breaches without flinching.

He had neutralized destabilized dominant alphas while covered in mud and beast blood.

He had watched Arion walk into combat like war personally offended him.

And yet somehow the prospect of Lucas answering a video call had him sitting unnaturally straight on the sofa like a cadet awaiting disciplinary review.

Arion, the traitor, was nearby pretending to read reports while very obviously listening.

Dean narrowed his eyes at him. "If you laugh, I will end our engagement retroactively."

Arion looked up calmly. "I support you emotionally."

"You support chaos recreationally."

"That too."

Boreas, sprawled across the carpet, lifted his head briefly before deciding this was not an emergency worth movement.

Dean inhaled once.

Then pressed call.

Lucas answered before the first ring fully went through.

Dean’s stomach dropped.

The screen lit up with Lucas sitting in what looked like a sunlit sitting room in Palatine, dressed elegantly and holding a cup of tea with the terrifying composure of a man who had absolutely been waiting for this moment.

"Oh," Lucas said sweetly. "He lives."

Dean closed his eyes.

Arion made a deeply suspicious choking sound from the other side of the room.

Dean pointed at him without looking. "One warning."

Lucas’s eyes sharpened immediately. "Arion is there?"

"Unfortunately."

"Good. Witnesses are important for accountability."

Dean sighed and leaned back against the sofa. "I fought infected beasts for this Empire."

"And yet the communication systems survived."

"That is cruel."

"That is accurate." Lucas took a delicate sip of tea. "Do you know I heard about your wedding timeline from Minerva?"

"Yes," Dean muttered darkly. "Apparently you’ve formed an alliance."

Lucas looked pleased. "She’s delightful."

"She is terrifying."

"She can be both."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "I was busy."

"You were alive."

The answer came gently.

That was worse.

Dean went quiet for a second.

On the screen, Lucas’s expression softened at the edges in that infuriating parental way that made Dean feel simultaneously comforted and emotionally blackmailed.

"You disappeared into a battlefield for almost a month," Lucas said more quietly. "Do you know what the reports looked like from outside command?"

Dean winced slightly.

"I sent official updates," Dean said weakly.

Lucas stared at him over the rim of his teacup.

Even Boreas looked judgmental.

Dean sighed. "Fine. In retrospect, perhaps the communication frequency could have been improved."

"Look at that," Lucas said softly. "Growth."

Arion failed to suppress a laugh this time.

Dean turned his head slowly. "You are in danger."

"I survived the season," Arion replied serenely. "I’m feeling optimistic."

Lucas’s eyes moved between them with increasing amusement.

"You look happy," he observed suddenly.

Dean sighed and wanted to remind Lucas that he had said that before, and, yes, he was.

But Lucas spoke before him.

"So you could have called."

Dean froze.

Arion made the mistake of looking impressed.

Dean pointed at him without taking his eyes off the screen. "Do not admire his technique."

"I admire clean execution," Arion said.

Lucas smiled. "Thank you, Arion."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to take control of this mess before Arion and Lucas built a functional alliance over his emotionally cornered body.

"I gave Arion and Minerva a general timeline," he said. "Autumn. Before going to fight. We didn’t set a date without you, and we didn’t forget to tell you. We just didn’t decide it yet. And I know there will be headaches about the political timing and impact."

Lucas watched him for a long moment.

The silence was worse than scolding.

Dean lowered his hand slowly. "What?"

Lucas took another sip of tea. "That was very reasonable."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You sound disappointed."

"I am. I prepared three different lectures, and now I have to reorganize."

Arion’s mouth twitched.

Dean pointed at him. "Do not laugh."

Lucas set his cup down. "Dean, I’m not upset that you didn’t have a fixed date. I’m upset that Minerva knew before I did."

Dean winced.

That was fair.

Annoyingly fair.

"I didn’t think of it like that," he admitted.

"No," Lucas said, not unkindly. "You thought of the war, the field, the season, the politics, Arion, and probably whether zombie flies could violate a pheromone wall."

"They could."

"I’m sure they were very rude." Lucas’s expression softened. "But you did not think that your father might want to hear from you before everyone else did."

Dean looked down at his hands.

Arion went very still beside him, present but wisely silent.

Dean exhaled. "I’m sorry."

Lucas’s face softened fully then. "Good."

"That is all?"

"For that part," Lucas smiled. "Now tell me what kind of autumn you meant."