Chapter 6: Time

Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Time

Nero had been in Palatine for less than three hours and had already moved half the furniture in his assigned office.

The royal palace had prepared an entire eastern suite for the Saharian delegation, complete with adjoining rooms for his security staff, a private dining room, and an office overlooking the inner gardens. Palatine favored pale stone, dark blue upholstery, and restrained gold, beautiful enough in the formal rooms but entirely too formal for Nero’s taste.

He had turned the desk toward the windows.

That was sufficient improvement.

Late afternoon light spread across the papers arranged before him, catching against the silver embroidery running along the cuffs of his black shirt. Nero had abandoned his jacket somewhere in the bedroom and tied the upper half of his long white-blond hair away from his face, leaving the rest loose down his back.

He was reading a Saharian infrastructure proposal when Hale entered without knocking.

Nero signed the last page before looking up.

"Tell me Zion’s security chief has stopped attempting to assign guards to me."

"He has."

"Did you explain why?"

"I told him His Highness considers palace escorts an impediment rather than protection."

Nero smiled faintly. "Diplomatic."

"I left out the part where you said you would lose them deliberately."

Nero hummed.

Hale crossed the office and placed a black folder beside Nero’s tablet.

Unlike most of the wedding guests already filling Palatine’s royal residence, Hale had made no concession to celebration. He wore a dark Saharian security uniform, collar closed, insignia minimal, his expression carrying the permanent patience of a man professionally responsible for Nero Ezekiel Altera.

"The external perimeter is confirmed," Hale said. "Palatine has control inside the main palace grounds. Our team retains direct security over your suite, aircraft, and vehicles. King Dax’s detail arrives tomorrow morning."

"Christopher?"

"With His Majesty."

Nero smiled and opened the folder.

The first pages contained exactly what Hale had promised: routes, access points, personnel rotations, and contingency procedures for the wedding. Nero read quickly, occasionally marking something with one finger before continuing.

Everything was equally boring until he reached the last page.

Nero stopped.

A photograph occupied the upper corner.

He knew the man.

Royal physician.

Not one Nero particularly liked, though that category included most physicians after they had spent his childhood attempting to collect enough blood to explain what he was.

Nero looked at Hale.

"This isn’t wedding security."

"No."

"What did he do?"

"He contacted two journalists and an intermediary connected to an international media group."

Nero’s attention returned to the document.

There were transaction records beneath the photograph. Messages. Partial transcripts.

The requested price was insultingly low.

"For what?"

Hale remained standing across from the desk.

"Your classification."

Nero’s finger stopped against the paper.

For several seconds the room was quiet except for the faint noise of activity in the courtyard below.

Then Nero leaned back.

"My classification?"

"Yes."

The public knew Nero was a dominant alpha.

A particularly powerful one, certainly. There had never been a plausible way to hide that much. His pheromonal profile, his physical development, and enough public incidents throughout his youth had ensured nobody believed him ordinary.

But dominant alpha was still a classification people understood.

Enigma was something else.

There had not been a confirmed one in generations.

The last officially registered enigma had been Asir Altera, Nero’s great-great-grandfather, and even most of what remained about him existed in restricted royal medical archives or historical records buried beneath layers of Saharian state secrecy.

Nero had inherited more than the classification.

Unfortunately for everyone else.

"How much does he know?" Nero asked.

"Enough. He accessed your childhood genetic files before the restriction was upgraded. He has copies of two early pheromonal analyses and one report explicitly identifying enigma markers."

"Awkward."

Hale’s expression remained flat.

"He intends to sell them."

"So you said."

"We intercepted the first transfer before the documents reached the journalist. The physician does not know."

Nero looked down at the photograph again.

The man was in his late fifties, respectable, well-paid, and apparently stupid enough to attempt selling one of the Saharian royal family’s most carefully protected secrets.

"How disappointing."

"He can be contained tonight."

Nero lifted his eyes.

Hale did not embellish.

"He is currently at his residence. No family present. We can make the death appear natural, or he can disappear before the media realizes there was a source."

Nero’s mouth curved.

"Execution?"

"Yes."

"You’ve become very efficient."

"You pay me to be."

Nero clicked his tongue with theatrical disappointment. "And here I thought you did it because like me."

Hale waited for his decision, ignoring the usual dramatics.

Nero turned another page.

There were messages discussing confirmation, publication timing, and the value of proving that the Saharian Crown Prince was not merely an unusually powerful dominant alpha.

One journalist had already prepared questions regarding what an enigma could actually do.

That made Nero laugh.

Hale watched him carefully.

"Your Highness?"

Nero laughed again, quieter this time, and set the report on the desk.

For years, an extraordinary amount of effort had gone into keeping this exact information contained.

Dax had ordered records sealed.

Christopher had ensured medical access was restricted.

Saharian intelligence monitored leaks.

Nero himself had tolerated the secrecy mostly because revealing it had offered him nothing worth the inconvenience.

Until now.

He looked through the windows toward the palace beyond the gardens.

Sebastian was somewhere inside it.

Nero knew that much.

He had known Sebastian arrived days earlier.

He also knew which suite Sebastian occupied, which military meetings had been moved around the wedding schedule, what time he had eaten breakfast that morning, and that he had somehow managed to avoid Nero since the Saharian aircraft landed.

That last part was beginning to become amusing.

Seven years.

Nero had been patient for seven fucking years.

By his standards, that qualified him for sainthood.

"Do nothing," Nero said.

Hale did not immediately respond.

Nero looked back at him.

"That was not the instruction I expected."

"I know."

"If the physician completes the sale, we cannot guarantee containment."

"I don’t want containment."

Hale’s expression shifted by a fraction.

Nero smiled.

"Let him sell it."

"Your Highness."

"All of it."

"The classification alone will become international news."

"Yes."

"Your father may have an opinion."

"My father has opinions about everything."

"The palace will be forced to confirm or deny."

"Confirm."

Hale stared at him now.

Nero rested one elbow on the arm of his chair.

For the first time since Hale entered, the security report no longer held any of his attention.

"Are you certain?"

"Completely."

"Why now?"

Nero’s smile slowly widened.

Because Sebastian had spent years behaving as though Nero’s interest were something temporary. And Nero ran out of patience.

He picked up the infrastructure proposal again.

"It’s time."

Hale remained silent for another second before taking back the folder.

Nero lowered his eyes to the document, already finished with the matter.

At the door, Hale paused.

"You understand this will reach Marquis Fitzgeralt as well."

That finally drew Nero’s full smile.

"Oh, I’m counting on it."

Hale left.

The door closed quietly behind him.

Nero signed the next page.

He had waited for Sebastian long enough.

Seven years, in fact.

Ever since the first time Nero had looked him directly in the eyes and told him exactly what he wanted.