Chapter 595: Not so fragile

The announcement went public three days earlier than Dean wanted.

Not because anything had gone wrong.

Because somebody in the extended imperial household had apparently decided that subtle changes in Dean’s schedule, several medical appointments, and Arion becoming attached to his side were enough information to start speculating, and the communications office preferred confirming a wanted pregnancy over allowing the press to invent complications.

The problem was timing.

When Dean had been pregnant with Theo, the announcement came much later, after enough of the pregnancy had passed that people had at least seen him functioning normally.

This time, the public learned almost immediately.

And apparently everyone remembered one thing.

Dean Fitzgeralt had once spent a pregnancy under extensive medical supervision.

From there, collective stupidity did the rest.

By the end of the week, articles were discussing his "delicate condition."

By the next morning, one commentator described him as "physically vulnerable during pregnancy."

Dean read that sentence twice.

Then handed the tablet to Arion.

"I want names."

Arion, sitting beside him at breakfast in a cream shirt and brown trousers, read the paragraph and placed the tablet face down.

"No."

"They called me vulnerable."

"I can read."

"I trained with Sebastian."

"I know."

"I broke Zion’s nose when I was seventeen."

"I remember hearing about it."

"I hit Nero until we were nearly twenty."

Arion looked at him.

"Nero allowed approximately three people on the continent to hit him without retaliation."

"That does not make my point weaker."

Theo continued eating cereal at the other end of the table, apparently accustomed to discussions about historic violence over breakfast.

Arion reached for Dean’s tea.

"You are going to the Civil Welfare Foundation event in two hours."

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"I am aware."

"So perhaps do not demonstrate your physical condition on a journalist."

"No promises."

Arion kissed his temple before leaving for his own meeting.

Unfortunately, the universe heard Dean.

The event was held in one of Roslew’s restored municipal halls, a broad pale-stone building overlooking the river, its central atrium converted into an exhibition space for several youth welfare programs Dean would soon oversee formally once Minerva completed the transition of her consort duties.

Dean wore a fitted dove-grey suit with a pale violet shirt beneath it, nothing particularly ceremonial, though the security detail around him made anonymity impossible.

He felt fine when he arrived.

Fine through the first presentation, while speaking with three program directors and a group of university volunteers, and while answering questions about funding.

The nausea hit halfway across the atrium without a warning.

One moment Dean was listening to a foundation administrator explain an expansion proposal.

The next, his stomach rolled so violently that his entire body reacted before his mind did.

He stopped.

His hand went briefly to the edge of a nearby display table.

Hunter noticed immediately.

"Dean?"

Dean lifted one finger.

"Give me a second."

That was all it took.

Several cameras turned.

Dean breathed slowly through his nose and stared at the polished stone floor until the wave passed.

He had experienced morning sickness with Theo.

He knew what this was, and as annoying as the timing could be, it was not fatal or critical.

The administrator beside him looked concerned but had the good sense not to touch him.

One of the attending noble representatives did not.

The alpha was perhaps in his early thirties, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark formal suit, and apparently possessed by the sudden conviction that pregnancy had erased Dean’s ability to stand.

He stepped forward quickly.

"Your Highness, let me—"

Dean saw the hand reaching for his waist.

His body reacted before diplomacy had time to arrive.

He pivoted.

The punch landed cleanly against the alpha’s jaw.

The man’s head snapped sideways.

His legs folded beneath him and he hit the floor in less than two seconds.

Silence swallowed the atrium.

Dean remained standing exactly where he was, one hand still resting lightly against the display table.

The nausea had passed.

Hunter stared at the unconscious alpha.

One of the security officers turned his head away with suspicious speed.

Dean looked down.

"Well."

Nobody moved.

The alpha’s aide crouched beside him and checked his pulse.

"He’s breathing."

"I assumed so."

Hunter rubbed a hand across his mouth.

Dean glanced toward him.

"If you laugh, I will dispatch you in the forest for infection management."

Hunter looked toward the cameras.

That reminded Dean where he was. He slowly turned.

At least six members of the press had captured everything.

Wonderful.

The foundation administrator beside him had gone pale.

Dean straightened his jacket.

"I’m fine."

That sentence somehow made the situation worse.

A reporter called from behind the security boundary.

"Your Highness, was that a defensive reaction?"

Dean looked at the unconscious man again.

"He reached for me without permission."

Another voice followed.

"Are you feeling unwell because of the pregnancy?"

Dean inhaled.

This was exactly how stupidity multiplied.

"I had a brief episode of nausea."

He gestured toward the man on the floor.

"My arms remain functional."

Someone laughed.

Dean continued before the room dissolved.

"Pregnancy has not made me fragile. It has made me pregnant. Those are different conditions."

That earned several more laughs, including one from Hunter that he disguised badly as a cough.

Dean stepped away from the table.

The alpha on the floor began stirring, which Dean considered fortunate.

Dean had no desire to explain an unconscious diplomatic guest to Arion.

His phone vibrated inside his jacket. He already knew who it was.

Arion.

Dean checked the message.

What happened?

Of course someone had told him already.

Dean typed back while walking toward the next presentation.

Nausea. Someone grabbed at me. I corrected him.

He had barely sent the message when Hunter’s attention shifted sharply toward the main entrance.

Dean stopped.

The atmosphere changed before he even saw why.

Vetiver entered the atrium first.

Dense enough to move through the room like pressure, carrying the darker metallic edge that appeared whenever Arion’s control became particularly deliberate.

Dean closed his eyes.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Arion crossed the entrance beneath a line of suddenly very attentive security officers.

He must have left whatever meeting he had been attending immediately. His warm-brown formal coat remained unbuttoned over the cream shirt Dean had seen at breakfast, and someone had clearly attempted to give him gloves because one was still crushed in his left hand while the other had disappeared entirely.

Gold eyes moved once across Dean from head to toe, checking.

Only after confirming all of that did Arion look toward the recovering alpha.

The man had made it upright with help from his aide.

Arion’s expression changed.

"Who the fuck touched my mate?"

The entire atrium froze again.

Dean rubbed his forehead.

"And my consort," Arion added, advancing another step. "While he was surrounded by his own security."

The alpha visibly reconsidered being conscious.

Dean caught Arion by the forearm before the situation developed into something considerably more difficult for communications to explain.

"I already punched him."

Arion looked down at Dean.

"I noticed."

"He learned."

Arion’s gaze returned to the man’s rapidly swelling jaw.

"I’m not convinced."

Dean tightened his fingers around his sleeve.

"Arion."

That finally brought the gold eyes back to him.

Dean could see the anger beneath the stillness now, not fear that Dean had been unable to protect himself, but pure offense that somebody had decided pregnancy entitled them to put hands on him without permission.

Dean’s mouth twitched.

"You came all the way here to defend someone who knocked him unconscious before Hunter could move."

Arion lowered his voice.

"I came because someone touched my pregnant mate without permission."

Dean glanced at the cameras.

Every single one remained pointed at them.

"Wonderful. That will make excellent headlines."

Arion looked toward the press.

His expression suggested the headlines were the least of his concerns.

Dean caught his chin and turned his face back before he could address the room.

"No."

Arion exhaled slowly.

Dean smiled.

"Come with me. You can hover while I finish the event."

Arion’s hand settled immediately at Dean’s lower back.

Dean looked at it.

Arion raised an eyebrow.

"This is authorized."

Dean laughed.