Dean, meanwhile, was losing his mind.
Every day someone briefed him, argued on his behalf or someone from Alamina managed to make the idea of living there sound… less terrifying and more like a strategic opportunity.
Dean had installed himself on the opposite balcony, far enough that the wind carried every trace of his scent away from the courtyard below. The garden was in full bloom, roses and ivy spilling over the stone railings, their perfume thick enough to mask even the faintest omega signature. From this height, partially hidden by the curve of a pillar and the drifting autumn air, he was certain no dominant alpha could possibly pick him out.
He was using strategy, the same kind Trevor used before marrying Lucas, whenever nobles cornered him with marriage proposals, where he'd retreat, analyze, then counter with a ten-page argument on the virtues of remaining single.
Dean was simply gathering data.
