Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

By the time the jet cleared Veyra’s airspace, Duncan had reconsidered his decision to swear loyalty to Nero at least six times.

Not because Nero had mistreated him.

That might have been simpler.

Instead, the Saharian crown prince had acquired him in the middle of a knife fight, accepted his allegiance with almost insulting ease, helped him into a helicopter, ordered his wounds treated, then boarded a private jet carrying an unconscious Draxilian prince as though this qualified as a relatively productive morning.

Duncan was beginning to suspect his understanding of royal households had been unnecessarily conventional.

He sat in one of the wide leather seats opposite Amaru’s medical stretcher, his injured arm secured across his chest and his ribs tightly wrapped beneath a fresh black shirt someone from Nero’s aircraft staff had produced without asking questions. The pain medication had taken the sharpest edge off without making him useless, although breathing deeply remained an activity he had temporarily abandoned.

Amaru lay beneath a light thermal blanket beside the windows.

The portable monitors showed the same gradual improvement they had recorded since leaving the residence. His heart rate had climbed into a healthier range, his breathing was deeper, and twice during the flight his fingers had moved against the blanket.

He still had not opened his eyes.

Duncan watched him mostly because it gave him something to do.

For years, his responsibility had been to make certain nobody reached Prince Amaru.

Now he was sitting beside the man while helping the people who had removed him.

Loyalty, apparently, could become complicated remarkably quickly.

At the front of the cabin, the cockpit door remained open. Hale had taken the copilot-side jump seat, not because the aircraft required assistance but because it gave him access to communications, flight information, and the crew without leaving Amaru unattended for long.

Nero occupied the seat nearest the stretcher.

His damaged coat had disappeared. He wore black trousers and a fitted black shirt now, one sleeve pushed slightly above the wrist while he scrolled through the medical summary transmitted from Seven. His long white hair had been untied after takeoff and fell over his right shoulder, gleaming pale against the dark leather.

He looked entirely too composed for a man who had stabbed Duncan through the shoulder less than two hours earlier.

Duncan finally asked, "Does every trip with you end like this?"

Nero looked up.

"No."

That was reassuring for approximately half a second.

"Sometimes it is worse."

Duncan decided silence was preferable.

Nero returned to the report.

Seven had already sent preliminary instructions for the flight. Do not wake Amaru deliberately. Do not administer additional pheromonal suppressants. Monitor temperature and neurological response. Saha’s medical team was preparing a secured suite that could isolate his pheromonal output if he woke up unstable.

Simple enough.

The politics surrounding the patient were less simple.

Nero looked at Amaru for another moment, then reached for his secure phone and called Dax.

Duncan recognized the name on the screen before the connection opened.

DAX.

He shifted carefully in his seat. This should be interesting.

Dax answered from behind a broad desk, one hand resting over an open document. Dark carved wood, pale stone, and restrained gold behind him made the room unmistakably Saharian even to Duncan, who had never been inside the royal residence.

Dax looked at Nero, then past him at the cabin.

"Father—" Nero started with the sweet tone of a child wanting something.

Dax sighed. "I know about Amaru. Your orders are cleared to the medical team."

Nero paused.

That had removed most of the useful part of the conversation before Nero could even begin it.

"You could at least pretend I am bringing you new information."

"You are flying toward Saha with an unconscious Draxilian prince on a medical stretcher. Your security request reached the palace before your aircraft left Veyra."

Nero glanced toward Hale, who was still in the cockpit and therefore conveniently unavailable to take responsibility.

"Efficient people are becoming a burden."

Dax’s gaze flicked once toward Amaru. "Is he stable?"

"For now. Seven is handling the medical side."

"Then let Seven handle it."

Nero narrowed his eyes slightly. "That is all?"

"You decided to bring him to Saha. I respect the decision. The medical team will take him when you land, and security has already been arranged." Dax turned one page of the document beneath his hand. "What you do with him after he wakes is your problem unless it becomes mine."

That was, in Nero’s opinion, an unnecessarily efficient refusal to become involved.

"You were planning to invade Draxil."

"I still am if necessary."

"And Amaru might make that unnecessary."

"Then I hope he wakes up useful."

Nero waited.

Dax did not add anything.

"You are remarkably uninvested in the prince currently being transported into your country."

"He is unconscious, medically supervised, and not trying to overthrow me. At present, I have more irritating problems."

Nero became suspicious. "What problems?"

Dax looked directly at him.

Nero understood a fraction too late.

"No."

"You left the meeting."

From the cockpit, Hale became very still.

Nero sat straighter. "I left for a legitimate operation."

"You left a meeting Chris put on your schedule after three hours of trying to escape it."

"I did not try to escape for three hours. I endured heroically for three hours, and then Arion provided me with a genuine emergency."

Dax’s mouth moved faintly.

Duncan, watching from across the cabin, realized with some surprise that the king was enjoying himself.

Dax’s attention moved briefly across the cabin and stopped on Duncan.

"Who is that?"

Nero glanced over. "Duncan."

Duncan had already begun to dislike the particular satisfaction Nero took in saying his name.

"Your Majesty."

"He was one of Amaru’s guards," Nero said. "Dominant alpha. Perception ability. He was working for Claudia."

Dax’s gaze rested on Duncan for perhaps a second.

"And now?"

"He works for me."

"Fine."

Duncan blinked.

That was it.

No demand for an explanation. No visible concern that Nero had apparently acquired a Claudia-employed dominant alpha somewhere between breakfast and departure. Dax simply returned his attention to his son as though Nero collecting dangerous people in the middle of covert operations was an administrative detail.

Nero looked faintly disappointed.

"You are not going to ask how that happened?"

"Would the answer change the fact that he is sitting on your aircraft?"

"No."

"Then deal with him."

Duncan stared at the monitor again.

Perhaps his new employment was less unusual in Saha than he had assumed.

Nero glanced down at his phone, then back at Dax with renewed calculation.

"How are you, Father?"

Dax’s expression changed immediately.

"What do you want?"