Chapter 90: Selective

Chapter 90: Chapter 90: Selective

Nero had, naturally, prepared everything.

Sebastian discovered that approximately fifteen minutes after they left the coastal overlook, when the armored car deposited them at the edge of a small seaside town several kilometers from Villa Petrana and Nero informed Hale that they would continue on foot.

Sebastian looked through the open door at the narrow street descending toward the harbor.

White stone buildings crowded both sides of it, their upper balconies shaded by striped awnings and overflowing planters, while late-spring sunlight caught on pale walls still damp from the rain earlier that morning. Small cafés had pushed tables onto the pavement, shops stood open beneath painted signs, and farther downhill the sea appeared between rooftops in bright flashes of blue.

It looked pleasantly ordinary.

The security presence was considerably less so.

Sebastian stepped onto the pavement and glanced toward the man stationed beside a flower shop, then toward another apparently fascinated by a display of ceramics across the street.

"Nero."

The prince emerged behind him, wearing dark trousers and a lightweight charcoal jacket over a black shirt that had been left casually open at the throat. His white-blond hair was tied low enough that the wind still caught the longer strands around his face.

"Yes, my moon?"

"How many people did you put here?"

Nero glanced along the street as though seeing it for the first time.

"People live in towns, Sebastian."

"Hale is pretending to examine postcards."

Several meters away, Hale turned one over with remarkable dedication.

Nero’s mouth curved.

"He enjoys tourism."

"He has lived in Saha for fifty-seven years."

"He may have missed this street."

Sebastian stared at him.

Nero offered his hand.

"Walk with me."

"You arranged the entire route."

"I planned a pleasant afternoon."

"You had security occupy the town."

"Occupy is an unnecessarily hostile term."

Sebastian took his hand anyway.

The street became busier as they approached the harbor, though no one seemed particularly interested in the royal couple beyond the occasional second glance. Nero had dressed without insignia or ceremonial colors, and Sebastian suspected whatever arrangements he had made included preventing photographers from turning their first outing into an event.

For once, he appreciated the control.

Six months inside Villa Petrana had made ordinary movement unexpectedly satisfying.

They stopped at a bakery because Sebastian slowed near the window, though Nero refused to let him buy anything when they were apparently eating within the hour, then wandered past a small bookshop and an outdoor market where crates of citrus and early strawberries filled the air with something bright and sweet beneath the salt coming from the harbor.

Nero remained close without hovering, obviously.

His hand stayed around Sebastian’s whenever the pavement narrowed, and the familiar trace of smoke and burning wood followed them so naturally that Sebastian hardly noticed it anymore.

He noticed Nero instead.

People moved around them in overlapping streams as lunch approached, locals carrying bags, couples stopping near storefronts, and children running toward the waterfront while their parents called after them.

Sebastian had just turned toward Nero to ask about a stone building across the square when someone came quickly around the corner.

A woman nearly ran into them.

Her shoulder struck Sebastian’s arm hard enough to make him take half a step sideways before Nero’s hand immediately caught his waist.

"Oh, God, I’m sorry."

The woman barely stopped.

She appeared somewhere in her twenties, dressed in a pale coat over work clothes, her hair twisted hurriedly at the back of her head while one hand clutched a bag against her chest.

"I wasn’t looking."

"It’s fine," Sebastian said.

She gave him an apologetic smile and continued almost immediately, moving quickly toward one of the side streets.

Nero watched her leave.

Sebastian felt the arm around his waist tighten.

"No."

Nero looked at him.

"I haven’t said anything."

"You are glaring at the back of her head."

"She ran into you."

"She barely bumped me."

"You nearly stumbled."

"I moved one foot."

Nero’s eyes remained on the street where the woman had disappeared.

Sebastian touched his wrist.

"Stop. She was in a hurry, apologized, and left. Nothing happened."

Nero finally looked down at him.

"She was an omega."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

"Entering heat."

That made him pause.

He glanced toward the empty street again.

"How early?"

"Very."

Sebastian thought back over the encounter.

The woman had been flushed, perhaps, but she had also been hurrying through a warm afternoon. There had been nothing else Sebastian could identify.

No scent.

No instinctive reaction.

Nothing.

"I didn’t feel it."

Nero’s irritation disappeared so quickly that Sebastian almost laughed.

"You didn’t?"

"No."

The prince’s expression became suspiciously pleased.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes.

"Do not look like that."

"Like what?"

"Smug."

"I’m not smug."

"You look delighted that another omega could practically collide with me while approaching heat, and I noticed nothing."

Nero’s smile was becoming impossible to hide.

"That would be an objectively pleasing discovery."

"For you."

"Especially for me."

Sebastian shook his head and resumed walking.

Nero followed immediately, his hand finding Sebastian’s again before they had crossed half the square.

The restaurant turned out to occupy a terrace above the harbor, sheltered beneath cream canvas awnings with an uninterrupted view of the water. Sebastian understood exactly how thoroughly Nero had prepared when the host greeted them without surprise, led them past the main dining room, and opened a discreet side terrace containing only one table.

Sebastian stopped.

"Naturally."

Nero pulled out his chair.

"You dislike crowds while eating."

"I dislike being watched."

"Exactly."

Sebastian sat.

Nero’s expression suggested he had learned nothing from the ceremonial hall discussion.

Lunch appeared with suspicious efficiency.

Fresh bread still warm enough to release steam when Sebastian tore it open, grilled vegetables, seafood for Nero, chicken and lemon potatoes for Sebastian, followed by fruit and a light pastry Nero claimed he had not personally selected despite knowing perfectly well Sebastian would eat it.

Sebastian let him lie.

For a while, they talked about nothing important.

The harbor.

Nero’s upcoming birthday.

Whether Sebastian would be permitted farther from the villa by then.

The terrible documentary Nero continued to insist had permanently altered his relationship with municipal drainage.

Eventually, Sebastian’s thoughts returned to the woman.

He rested his forearm against the table.

"So I really should have noticed her?"

Nero looked up from his glass.

"If your transition were complete, probably."

"But I felt nothing."

"No."

"I can feel you."

The satisfaction returned immediately.

Sebastian sighed.

"Try to behave like a scientist for ten seconds."

"I am appreciating the data."

"You are appreciating yourself."

"Also scientifically valid."

Sebastian ignored him.

"My receptors respond to your pheromones almost immediately now, even when you barely release anything."

Nero nodded.

"That has been consistent for months."

"But other pheromones still register as essentially nothing."

"For now."

Sebastian considered that while turning his water glass slowly between his fingers.

The transition had changed countless things inside his body, yet his pheromonal world remained strangely narrow.

Most people might as well have been scentless.

Nero was the exception.

Always Nero.

Sebastian looked across the table at him.

Something occurred to him.

He frowned slightly.

"Nero."

"Yes?"

"You haven’t had your rut."

The prince became very still.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair.

"Why?"