Chapter 57: Amendment

Chapter 57: Chapter 57: Amendment

Nero did not sleep.

That was not particularly unusual.

Dominant alphas required less sleep than most secondary genders, sigmas needed even less, and enigmas existed somewhere beyond both categories in ways physicians continued trying to quantify whenever Nero was careless enough to give them data. He could function perfectly well after several short nights, and a single sleepless one barely qualified as an inconvenience.

Especially when he had spent it in an emotional state somewhere beyond happiness.

Sebastian wanted him.

Every time Nero remembered the words, warmth moved through his chest with enough force to make concentration briefly inconvenient.

He had replayed the conversation an embarrassing number of times already: Sebastian standing in his bedroom in that deep green shirt, dark hair still damp, irritation giving way to something softer when Nero laughed, then the impossible moment when Sebastian admitted he wanted to see Nero smile.

Nero had been happy before.

He understood happiness.

This was probably what religious fanatics meant when they described heaven and became intolerable about it.

Sebastian had eventually returned to the medical suite, although not before Nero attempted one final negotiation regarding the collar.

"If I am surrendering every visible jewel, I require artistic freedom somewhere."

Sebastian had stared at him.

"No."

"Silk."

"No."

"Leather."

"Maybe."

"Velvet."

"Nero."

"Textured woven—"

Sebastian had released a long breath that appeared to contain the last of his patience, turned around, and walked toward the door.

Nero had followed him halfway into the corridor, dark robe still hanging open over his chest.

"I am interpreting that as freedom of material."

Sebastian had raised one hand without looking back.

Nero had decided not to investigate whether the gesture meant goodbye or promised violence.

Now pale morning light stretched through the tall windows of Nero’s private office, silvering the rain still caught against the glass.

Nero sat behind the broad walnut desk dressed in a black shirt and charcoal trousers, his long white-blond hair loose down his back because calling someone to arrange it had ranked considerably below rewriting an engagement agreement at four in the morning.

Three tablets rested before him.

The first displayed Sebastian’s overnight medical report.

Stable readings.

Continuous sleep.

No bleeding.

Pain response lower than the previous evening.

Nero had checked it six times.

The second contained royal correspondence he had answered sometime before dawn because apparently Saha had continued functioning despite the most important event in Nero’s personal history occurring only hours earlier.

The third held the engagement agreement.

Technically, Nero had spent most of the night revising it.

Practically, he had changed one section.

The collar clause.

Everything else survived intact.

Sebastian had already fought him over the agreement once, line by line, with the exhausted hostility normally reserved for annexation treaties. Residency requirements remained. The medical provisions had been adjusted enough to stop Sebastian threatening to burn the document. Security clauses remained almost untouched because Nero refused to pretend Sebastian’s safety was negotiable.

The exclusivity clauses had produced impressive profanity.

Those stayed too.

Nero considered them elegant.

He rested his chin against one hand and reread the revised collar provision.

The previous wording required the fiancé of the Sahan crown prince to wear a recognized royal collar during formal appearances, diplomatic functions, public engagements, and private events where partners appeared officially.

Nero had considered that accommodating.

Sebastian had apparently considered it tyranny decorated with jewelry.

The new wording was far more civilized.

Any collar worn by Sebastian Fitzgeralt in association with the engagement shall be accepted voluntarily, selected jointly by both parties, and shall not constitute authorization for marking, bonding, or any permanent secondary-gender claim.

Nero’s mouth tightened.

His instincts despised that sentence.

He left it.

The next portion was easier.

The design shall reflect Fitzgeralt rather than Sahan ceremonial tradition, using deep green as the principal color with restrained silver elements, no visible royal crest, no external inscription, and no gemstones unless Sebastian Fitzgeralt later approves their inclusion.

Nero had added later himself.

Optimism was important.

The final line had taken nearly forty minutes.

The interior may contain a discreet private inscription mutually agreed upon by both parties.

Their initials.

That alone nearly justified the indignity of removing the gemstones.

Frequency had required more creativity.

Sebastian had refused mandatory use.

Nero could accept reality when necessary.

He simply preferred shaping it first.

The revised agreement now allowed Sebastian complete control over private use, while public wear would apply only when they intentionally presented themselves as a couple rather than appearing together due to family, diplomatic, or political obligation.

Reasonable.

Elegant.

Broad enough that Nero suspected half the royal calendar could eventually become couple appearances with sufficient interpretation.

He had wisely omitted that thought from the legal language.

Nero leaned back, the leather chair shifting beneath him.

The mark remained forbidden until Sebastian asked.

Something primitive inside him pushed immediately against the restriction.

Nero ignored it.

A collar could be removed.

A mark could not.

Sebastian’s body was already restructuring under Nero’s influence, receptors shifting toward a siren-type dominant omega, and forcing permanence onto him now would—

Nero’s fingers stopped above the screen.

He disliked how easily the word forcing had appeared.

Because he could.

That had always been the dangerous part.

Nero could take almost everything if he stopped caring whether Sebastian chose him afterward.

His instincts knew it.

His intellect knew it.

But Sebastian had walked into Nero’s room willingly.

That changed the calculation.

Choice had become intoxicating.

Nero was still staring at the agreement when his personal communication line flashed.

He considered ignoring it.

Then saw the caller.

Dax.

Nero accepted.

His father appeared seated somewhere in the private breakfast room at the palace, blond hair tied back loosely, dark shirt open at the collar while morning light cut across the table behind him.

"You look terrible," Dax said.

"I look radiant."

"You look like you have not slept."

"That too."

Dax lifted his coffee.

"What happened?"

Nero smiled.

Dax lowered the cup slowly.

"That expression is concerning."

"Sebastian chose me."

Dax became still.

Nero enjoyed the silence.

"Willingly?" Dax asked at last.

Mock offense arrived immediately.

"Why does everyone phrase it like that?"

"Because I raised you."

"That should make you more supportive."

"It makes me informed."

Nero leaned back farther.

"He came to my room. He told me he wanted me. Voluntarily, without pressure, medical leverage, political leverage, threats, manipulation, or any other accusation you are preparing."

Dax stared at him another second.

Then his face changed.

The sharp humor softened into something unmistakably warm.

"Well."

Nero’s smile faded slightly at the edges.

Dax rarely sounded openly sentimental with him anymore.

"I’m happy for you."

Nero looked away for half a second.

"That sounds suspiciously sincere."

"It is."

"Are you ill?"

"Do not ruin this."

Nero laughed quietly.

Dax shook his head, smiling now.

"Maybe Lucas can finally stop looking at me like I personally engineered every bad decision you made regarding his son."

"That seems optimistic."

"Let me have it."

"Lucas will probably increase surveillance."

"Probably."

Dax took another drink.

"But if Sebastian actually chose you, then perhaps Lucas can accept that his son is safe rather than being held hostage by a lunatic."

Nero frowned.

"That description is unnecessarily dramatic."

"Which part?"

"Lunatic."

Dax’s expression remained bland.

Nero decided not to pursue it.

"He is safe," Nero said instead.

The humor disappeared from his voice.

Dax noticed.

"I know."

The certainty in the answer settled something small inside Nero.

They ended the call a few minutes later.

The office became quiet again.

Nero looked toward the locked tablet resting beneath a folder at the far edge of his desk.

Sebastian had chosen him.

That should have been enough.

It was enough for now.

But once Sebastian was medically cleared and they returned to Altera, Nero would visit the seer.

Not because he doubted Sebastian, but because he did not trust the future.

He needed to know which paths ended with Sebastian alive, which ones ended with them together, and which ones tried to take him away.

Nero turned back to the engagement agreement.

One problem at a time.

He edited the final line again, replaced one word, then stared at it critically.

Sebastian would accept this version.

Probably after arguing.

Nero smiled.

That was acceptable too.