Chapter 596: Terrible Timing

Within the next week, Dean discovered that this child had apparently inherited one unfortunate trait from Theodore.

The ability to make pregnancy deeply inconvenient.

The nausea stopped being occasional.

It became creative.

Coffee was impossible before ten in the morning, despite Dean having once considered it a basic human requirement. Eggs were worse. Toast was acceptable unless somebody added butter, at which point his stomach reacted as though he had been personally poisoned.

One afternoon, he opened the refrigerator, smelled cold chicken from the night before, and closed the door so quickly that Ducky jumped.

The worst offender was Minerva’s favorite winter tea.

Dean had drunk it for years.

Now the scent of citrus peel and cloves made him leave rooms.

Seven listened to the list during a routine appointment with the calm expression of a physician who had apparently heard worse.

"Any vomiting?"

"Twice."

"Keeping food down?"

"Most of it."

"Weight?"

"Stable."

Seven continued entering notes.

Dean sat on the edge of the examination bed in loose cream trousers and a soft violet sweater, one hand resting over the faint curve that existed mostly because he knew where to look.

Arion occupied the chair beside him.

Close beside him.

His forearm rested along Dean’s thigh while Seven worked, a position that would have irritated Dean if the constant vetiver around him were not currently one of the few smells his body had decided to tolerate.

Dean glanced toward him.

"At least I’m not nauseous because of you."

Arion looked at him.

Seven stopped typing.

Dean continued.

"That would have been extremely inconvenient."

Arion’s expression remained flat.

"Thank you."

"I mean it. Imagine trying to conceive another child while your smell makes me vomit."

Seven slowly returned his attention to the tablet.

"I am going to pretend this is clinically useful information."

"It is clinically useful."

"It could have been phrased differently."

Dean smiled.

His filter had not fully recovered.

That was becoming obvious to everyone.

The combination of early pregnancy hormones and exhaustion had apparently restored the same unfortunate honesty he had experienced while carrying Theo.

Dean thought things.

Dean said them.

The distance between those events had become dangerously short.

It became particularly obvious when Otto and Minerva invited Dean and Arion to a private planning lunch three weeks before Dean’s birthday.

The meeting took place in the main palace, in a smaller dining room overlooking the inner winter garden. Bare branches pressed against tall glass panels beyond the terrace while pale afternoon light reflected over the long wooden table.

Theo had been deposited with Rina for two hours.

That should have been Dean’s first warning.

Minerva arrived carrying three folders.

Otto carried none.

That was the second.

Dean sat opposite them, pulled his chair closer to Arion because the smell of Otto’s roasted meat was already testing his patience, and looked at the folders.

"What are you planning?"

Minerva opened the first one.

"Your birthday."

Dean leaned back.

"No."

Otto smiled.

"You don’t know what we planned yet."

"I know you."

That was sufficient evidence.

His birthday had become politically irritating ever since the public decided Dean was fragile during pregnancy the first time, and the communications office had somehow turned each subsequent appearance into a chance to reassure people that he remained alive.

This year, he had requested only a normal dinner, cake, family, and a donation that would help others.

Minerva slid one document across the table.

Dean did not touch it.

Arion did.

His eyes moved down the page.

Then stopped.

Dean noticed immediately.

"What?"

Arion looked toward Otto.

Otto’s expression became almost suspiciously neutral.

Dean reached over, took the document from his husband, and read the first paragraph.

He stared at the words for a moment before looking at Minerva.

"You want to announce the retirement at my birthday."

Minerva folded her hands neatly.

"The timing makes sense."

Dean stared at her.

Otto leaned back in his chair.

"The entire immediate family will already be present. Senior representatives will be invited because of your transition into the imperial consort’s duties, and the press will expect a formal appearance."

Dean looked down at the document again and slowly lowered the paper.

"So my birthday gift is a constitutional crisis."

Arion covered his mouth.

Otto looked offended.

"It is not a crisis."

"It is an abdication announcement."

"A retirement announcement."

"You are the emperor. Those are functionally related."

Minerva’s mouth twitched.

Dean looked at her.

"And you’re encouraging him."

"I am retiring too."

"You have been trying to hand me your entire office for two months. I noticed."

Minerva laughed.

Dean reached for his water because the roast smelled worse every minute.

Arion quietly moved the serving platter farther down the table.

Dean gave him an appreciative glance.

Otto noticed.

"You’re feeling sick again?"

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Do not start."

"I asked one question."

"And your face asked six more."

Otto wisely leaned back.

Dean drank.

Minerva opened the second folder.

"We are not turning the birthday into an accession ceremony. The announcement would come near the end, after the family portion and before the formal reception closes."

Dean stared at her.

"There is a formal reception?"

Minerva paused.

Dean’s eyes narrowed.

Arion looked toward the window.

"Arion."

He did not look back.

"You knew?"

"I saw the preliminary schedule yesterday."

"And you chose to live until today without telling me."

"I was waiting for them to explain it."

"That is cowardice disguised as diplomacy."

Otto laughed.

Dean pointed toward him.

"You are the reason this is happening."

"I thought you would prefer one public event instead of two."

Dean stopped.

That was annoyingly reasonable.

He hated when Otto did that.

Minerva apparently saw the exact moment his resistance weakened.

"We announce the transition. Your birthday remains your birthday. Arion and Otto handle most political questions. You attend the dinner, smile for photographs, and leave whenever the pregnancy becomes tiring."

Dean’s expression hardened.

"There."

Minerva blinked.

"There what?"

"That last part."

Arion’s hand settled gently against Dean’s knee.

Dean ignored it.

"I am pregnant, not dying. If I leave, it will be because I am bored, nauseous, tired, or because somebody serves cloves. Not because everyone has collectively decided I need to be carried into a medically approved blanket nest."

Otto’s lips pressed together.

Dean saw it.

"Laugh, and I will make your retirement immediate."

Otto looked down at his glass.

Arion’s shoulders moved beside him.

Dean turned.

"You too?"

"I am supporting you."

"With visible shaking."

Minerva lowered her eyes to the folders until everyone recovered.

Dean sighed and rubbed one hand over his face.

The truth was that the timing made sense.

His birthday would already bring family, senior court officials, cameras, and the exact people who needed to hear Otto’s decision directly rather than through carefully staged leaks.

It also meant only one major press event.

Dean hated that this was efficient.

"What happens after?"

Otto answered more seriously.

"The public transition begins. Gradual transfer continues until the formal accession next year, assuming nothing forces us to change the schedule."

Dean glanced toward Arion.

His husband had become quiet.

The announcement would make everything real in a way private paperwork had not.

Dean rested his hand over Arion’s on his knee.

"Fine."

Minerva smiled.

Dean immediately added, "But if anyone calls the announcement my birthday surprise, I am leaving."

Otto laughed.

"And no giant portrait of me looking pregnant and delicate."

Minerva’s expression became far too innocent.

Dean pointed at her.

"You already commissioned something."

"Not delicate."

"Oh, gods."

His stomach rolled suddenly.

Dean stopped speaking.

Arion noticed instantly and moved closer, one hand at Dean’s back while the other pulled the water nearer.

Dean breathed slowly until the nausea passed.

Nobody commented.

He leaned into Arion for several seconds, breathing vetiver instead of roasted meat, and decided that at least his body had chosen one scent correctly.

When he straightened, Otto was carefully moving the offending platter farther away.

Dean looked at him.

"Thank you."

Otto smiled.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Do not interpret that as fragility."

"I value retirement too much to risk it."