Chapter 14: Opportunity

Chapter 14: Chapter 14: Opportunity

Nero watched Sebastian disappear down the hallway far faster than anyone in his condition had any right to move.

He hated Sebastian’s pride.

He hated the way the man could stand there coughing blood, barely holding berserk behind his teeth, and still somehow find enough strength to tell Nero to go fuck himself before walking away as though he had won something.

More than that, Nero hated the persistent impression that Sebastian still saw pieces of the eighteen-year-old who had once cornered him in an Alaminian corridor after being rejected.

Sebastian believed that Nero was dangerous mostly because he had not yet learned restraint. But he had no idea how much restraint Nero possessed now.

That was becoming increasingly unfortunate for him.

A low chuckle left Nero as he pushed one hand through his long hair, dragging the white-blond strands away from his face.

"How long are you planning to hide like a rat?"

His purple eyes shifted toward the shadowed end of the gallery Sebastian had just crossed.

Silence.

Nero smiled.

"Your breathing is terrible."

A figure moved reluctantly behind one of the carved stone columns.

"Your H-Highness..."

The man stepped into view.

Mid-thirties, perhaps. He wore a black evening suit several grades too cheap for the guest list, an accreditation badge clipped beneath the lapel where he had apparently hoped nobody would notice it, and a camera held far too tightly against his chest.

Nero tilted his head back and studied the decorative plasterwork along the ceiling.

"I could kill you."

The words came pleasantly.

The man began shaking.

Nero lowered his gaze again.

The stranger opened his mouth.

"Oh, shush. I’m not pest control tonight."

Nero let the thinnest thread of unscented pheromones escape, and the paparazzo’s jaw locked instantly.

His back struck the column behind him, fingers tightening helplessly around the camera while his body recognized something his mind had no context to understand.

Nero approached at an unhurried pace.

"You were photographing a private corridor during a royal wedding."

The man tried to answer.

Nothing came out.

"Which is already rude." Nero stopped in front of him. "But what interests me considerably more is why you were standing outside that bathroom."

He held out one hand.

The man stared at it.

Nero smiled.

"Camera."

The equipment was surrendered immediately.

"See? We’re learning."

Nero withdrew the pressure enough for the man to breathe normally and turned away, examining the camera as he walked beneath one of the wall lamps.

Professional equipment. Excellent lens. Enough storage to prove the man had been wandering where he should not for quite some time.

Nero opened the gallery.

Zion. Diana. Guests arriving.

Several poor photographs of members of the Sahan delegation.

Then Sebastian.

Nero stopped.

The first image showed Sebastian entering the eastern corridor alone.

His formal black clothes remained immaculate from a distance, but the camera had caught something most guests would never have noticed: one hand pressed briefly against his ribs, his face turned away from the ballroom lights.

The next showed Nero following several minutes later.

Another caught the bathroom door partly open.

Nero’s thumb moved once.

Then stopped completely.

"Oh."

The photograph had been taken through the narrow opening before Nero closed the door.

Sebastian stood at the sink, turned partly toward him.

Nero was several feet away.

The angle erased almost all of that distance.

Through the lens, Nero appeared directly behind Sebastian, pale hair falling over one shoulder while Sebastian looked at him through the mirror. The cold light caught the blood at Sebastian’s mouth, but not enough to make the image grotesque. It looked intimate instead.

Nero’s posture suggested he had followed Sebastian somewhere hidden because Sebastian was unwell.

Sebastian’s expression, furious in reality, became entirely different when frozen from that angle. He looked strained beyond life and vulnerable to the man behind him.

Nero grinned.

The paparazzo made a faint sound behind him.

Nero looked over his shoulder.

"What publication?"

The man swallowed.

"I-I freelance."

"Of course you do."

"I sell to several outlets."

"Better."

Nero returned to the photograph. There was another.

Sebastian had turned around now, and they were facing each other.

Nero remembered the exact moment.

Sebastian accusing him of interfering. Blood still staining his mouth.

Nero refusing to move closer despite every instinct telling him to.

The camera transformed restraint into tension.

Sebastian looked as though he had walked directly into Nero’s space.

Nero looked as though he was waiting for him.

It was almost offensively romantic.

"Your talent appears to be entirely accidental," Nero murmured.

The man said nothing.

Nero enlarged the image while his thoughts rearranged themselves quickly.

A simple affair rumor would be useless.

Sebastian would deny it.

Palatine would issue a statement.

The families would laugh privately, and within forty-eight hours the story would become another wedding scandal replaced by something newer.

No.

The picture needed context.

Medical context. Public sympathy. A reason Sebastian’s refusal would look noble instead of decisive.

Nero’s grin widened.

Sebastian Vale Fitzgeralt, dominant alpha, dangerously close to pheromonal collapse.

Nero Altera, enigma, uniquely capable of stabilizing him.

Sebastian asking for help privately while refusing a bond because he would not allow his condition to damage Nero’s future, reputation, or succession.

A tragic little romance.

Very respectable. Completely false in all the most useful places. And best of all, believable.

Nero glanced toward the corridor Sebastian had disappeared down.

The public already adored them both.

Sebastian was one of Palatine’s most recognizable noble heirs, decorated, reliable, and infuriatingly good with civilians. Nero’s own popularity made the rest almost effortless.

People would not see coercion but sacrifice.

Sebastian protecting Nero.

Nero refusing to abandon Sebastian.

Then physicians would be interviewed.

Politicians would ask whether allowing a dominant alpha to approach berserk when a compatible stabilizing enigma stood within reach constituted negligence.

Palatine would face pressure.

Saha would face pressure.

Their families would face considerably worse.

Eventually someone with authority would decide Sebastian’s pride was no longer sufficient reason to keep them apart.

Nero could work with that but not tonight.

If the picture was released too soon, and the wedding swallowed the story.

If it was released while Sebastian was visibly unstable, he might retreat entirely.

Releasing it after the medical situation became impossible to hide, however, the photograph would look like evidence of an imminent danger.

Sebastian might be willing to die out of pride, but his family won’t let him.

Nero turned toward the paparazzo.

"What is your name?"

"Calder Venn."

"Calder."

Nero handed the camera back.

The man stared at him in confusion.

"You’re giving it back?"

"Yes."

Nero stepped closer and adjusted the man’s lapel with two fingers, straightening the crooked accreditation badge.

Calder looked as though he would have preferred the threat of murder.

"You are going to keep those photographs."

His face changed.

"But you are not going to publish them."

"Your Highness, I—"

"Not yet."

Nero smiled.

Understanding began to replace fear.

"When?" Calder asked cautiously.

Nero glanced once toward the distant reception halls.

Music still drifted through the palace. Zion’s wedding remained the story tonight. Sebastian’s collapse would become one later.

Nero slipped one hand into his coat pocket.

"When I tell you."

"And the article?"

"I’ll give you the story."

Calder swallowed.

"What story?"

Nero’s smile softened.

"The tragic kind."

He started walking back toward the reception.

Behind him, Calder remained frozen beside the column.

Nero stopped after several steps and looked back.

"One more thing."

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"If you publish a single photograph before I give you permission, my Chief of Security will find you before your editor finishes the headline."

Calder went pale.

Nero smiled brightly.

"Enjoy the wedding."