Chapter 497: Concept

Arion’s phone began ringing twelve minutes after the aircraft cleared Alaminan airspace.

He had been expecting it much sooner.

The crown prince’s jet had leveled above the clouds, its dark interior quiet beneath the muted engine vibration while morning light spilled through the narrow windows in pale bands. Victor occupied one of the seats farther forward with two tablets open across the table, already reviewing Claudia-related medical records as though the flight were merely an inconvenient extension of his office.

Arion sat opposite the window with his field coat discarded beside him and the physical crown-prince seal secured in the inner pocket of his travel case.

His phone vibrated again.

Dean.

Arion looked at the name for perhaps two seconds before accepting the call.

"I’m going to kill you when you return."

There was no greeting.

Arion settled deeper into the leather seat.

"Good morning."

"Do not good-morning me."

Dean sounded furious. Not frightened. Arion preferred furious.

He could hear faint wind through the connection, which meant Dean was probably still on the western terrace where he had seen the aircraft leave.

"You saw the plane."

"What gave it away? The enormous crown-prince jet taking off from our military runway and heading directly east?"

"That would do it."

There was a dangerous pause.

Arion could almost picture Dean’s face flattening.

"You came into our residence," Dean said, each word becoming increasingly precise, "kissed me twice, took your seal, told me you would see me later, and walked out knowing you were leaving the country."

"Yes."

"You let me ask you to bring lunch."

"I remember."

"You said you would."

"I can bring lunch when I return."

Dean made a sound that suggested Arion’s survival upon landing back in Alamina was becoming less certain.

Victor glanced up briefly from his tablet.

Arion turned toward the window to hide the beginning of a smile.

"You are enjoying this."

"No."

"You are smiling."

"You cannot see me."

"I know your voice."

That was unfortunately true.

Arion watched the clouds move beneath the wing.

"Dean, you knew I wasn’t taking you into Claudia’s palace."

"No, I knew you didn’t want to take me. Those are different things."

"They are not."

"They are when I intended to win the argument."

Arion closed his eyes briefly.

"You are twenty-two weeks pregnant."

"I am aware. I was present for all twenty-two."

"You are carrying my son."

"Our son."

"Our son," Arion corrected without hesitation. "And I am currently flying toward a palace belonging to an organization that experimented with corrupted pheromones, copied abilities, maintained illegal medical facilities, manipulated Amaru for years, and very possibly triggered whatever is happening inside me."

Dean went quiet.

Arion continued, because this part was not something he intended to soften.

"I am not insane enough to take a pregnant omega into that."

There was another silence, longer this time, then Dean sighed.

"I understand the concept."

Arion opened his eyes.

That was unexpected.

He glanced at the phone as if Dean might somehow have been replaced during the call.

"You understand?"

"Yes."

Arion leaned back.

"That is remarkably mature."

"Do not sound so amazed."

"I am a little amazed."

"I understand the general concept that bringing a pregnant omega into a potentially contaminated research palace is a bad idea."

Arion felt an unreasonable amount of satisfaction.

"Good."

Dean continued.

"I did not say the concept applies to me."

Arion stared ahead.

Victor’s fingers stopped moving across his tablet.

Arion suspected he was listening now.

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

"Dean."

"I am not some random pregnant omega you picked up from the street."

"That is not how pregnancy works."

"You know exactly what I mean."

Arion rubbed two fingers across his forehead.

"I do, unfortunately."

"I have a neutralizing field."

"One meter."

"Still a neutralizing field."

"You are pregnant."

"You keep repeating that as if I might forget."

"Because apparently you keep forgetting the practical consequences."

"I have not forgotten anything. My stomach enters rooms before I do."

Arion’s mouth twitched.

Dean heard it.

"Stop smiling."

"I’m not."

"You are terrible at lying to me."

"That is becoming increasingly obvious."

The anger in Dean’s voice had not disappeared, but the sharpest edge had softened now that he was actually arguing rather than imagining whatever Arion might be doing beyond his reach.

Arion knew Dean well enough to recognize the difference.

"You never planned to let me come," Dean said.

"No."

"At any point?"

"No."

"You could have told me that."

"You would have spent the last month trying to change my mind."

"I might have succeeded."

"You would not."

Dean inhaled.

Arion waited.

"You realize this is why I’m angry."

"Yes."

"You decided for me and then avoided the argument."

Victor looked toward him again, this time with an expression that suggested Arion was doing a remarkable job of supplying evidence against himself.

Arion ignored him.

Dean continued more quietly.

"I would still have wanted to go."

"I know."

"I might still think I should have."

"I know that too."

Arion turned his face toward the window.

Far below, the cloud cover had broken enough to reveal strips of forest and distant mountains.

"But I would rather have you furious with me in Alamina than reasonable beside me in Claudia’s palace."

Dean was silent.

Arion could almost feel the moment the anger collided with the fact that he understood exactly why Arion had done it.

It did not win.

Dean remained Dean.

"You’re still cursed."

"That has already been suggested."

"I’m serious."

"I know."

"And when you come home, we are having this argument properly."

"I expected nothing less."

Another pause.

Then Dean asked, "How long until Draxil?"

"About two hours."

"Victor is with you?"

Arion glanced toward the physician.

"Yes."

"Hendrik?"

"Taking the ground team separately."

"And you have the seal?"

"Yes."

Dean exhaled slowly.

The questions were practical now.

Arion relaxed slightly.

"Call me before you enter the palace."

"I will."

"And after."

"If communications allow it."

"Arion."

"I’ll call as soon as I can."

That was enough to prevent the next argument from starting.

Dean’s voice softened by a fraction.

"Do not do anything stupid."

"I rarely do."

Victor looked up.

Arion stared at him.

Dean apparently heard the silence.

"Victor disagrees, doesn’t he?"

"He is being unprofessional."

"Good. At least someone there has sense."

Arion heard movement through the call, then Boreas making a heavy sound somewhere nearby.

Dean spoke again.

"And your son has been kicking since the plane left."

"He misses me."

"He is probably angry on principle."

"That would make him yours."

Dean made an offended noise.

Arion smiled openly this time.

"Come home safely."

The words were quieter than everything before them.

Arion’s expression changed.

"I will."

Dean ended the call.

Arion lowered the phone and looked out over the clouds.

Across from him, Victor returned to his tablet.

"You handled that badly."

Arion looked at him.

"I did not ask."

"No, but Dean is correct."

"That is enough from you."

Victor’s mouth almost moved.

Arion put the phone beside him and settled back into the seat as the aircraft continued east.

Dean understood the concept.

Apparently, that was the maximum concession Arion was getting.

He decided to take it.