Lucas was not in a good mood this morning. There were five days left until the engagement, and Sirius and Caelan had just dropped a new clause into the contract like a hot potato… meaning Lucas now had to be the one to inform Dean.
The Emperor and the former Emperor had a strange definition of 'safety,' and an even stranger sense of what needed to be disclosed to Lucas and Trevor versus what could be quietly handled behind their backs. Who was Lucas kidding? They didn't want another hitch in the alliance with Alamina. They wanted the road smooth, even if that meant tossing inconvenient details at him at the last possible moment and letting him absorb the impact.
Would the clause be a problem? Not really. It was sensible. Normal… almost.
Dean would wear a collar until he was ready to mate - until he was ready to be intimate with Arion.
Decent, if one conveniently forgot that Lucas hated collars with a passion.
And of course everyone had decided Lucas should be the one to deliver the news.
Truly. A miracle day.
He didn't even get the satisfaction of being dramatic about it.
The case arrived in a plain box that looked insultingly ordinary for what it contained. Lucas stared at it for a full second, as if the cardboard might spontaneously combust out of shame.
It didn't. Palatine never gave you that kind of relief.
He opened it anyway.
Inside was a proper presentation case was dark velvet, polished hinges, the object that existed to remind you that ceremony was just control with nicer packaging. Lucas lifted the lid.
Two collars rested inside like answers to questions no one had asked him.
One was… merciful. A slim, casual piece meant to pass as jewelry if you squinted hard enough and didn't think about what it symbolized, it was black, discreet, with a restrained sparkle at the edges. Palatine's version of kindness: 'Here. This one won't ruin your day in public.'
The second one was not mercy.
The second one was ceremonial. Wide. Latticed with metal and stones that caught the light like a threat. It looked like it had been designed for a throne room, not a living throat. It belonged to the category of objects that could silence a room without anyone saying a word.
Lucas's mouth went flat.
Of course.
Of course they didn't just write a clause. They sent artifacts.
He stared at the ceremonial one for another beat, then exhaled through his nose and reached for his phone. If he was going to suffer, he was at least going to suffer with answers.
Sirius picked up quickly. Of course he did. Emperors loved efficiency when it was delivered by someone else.
"Lucas," Sirius said, voice calm. "I assume you received it."
"I did," Lucas replied, staring at the open case like it was a personal insult. "I have a question."
Sirius sighed faintly. "Go on."
"Did Dax design these?" Lucas asked, flat and deadly, because if there was one man on the planet with a history of designing outrageously expensive collars as a hobby and calling it romance, it was King Dax.
There was a pause on the line.
Then Sirius said, very evenly, "No."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Sirius said, and Lucas could hear the edge of amusement he didn't deserve. "Dax is many things. This is not his style."
Lucas stared at the ceremonial collar again. "Then whose brilliant idea was it."
Another pause. This one longer.
Sirius's voice shifted slightly, as if he'd decided honesty was easier than letting Lucas spiral. "The ceremonial collar is an heirloom."
Lucas's skin prickled. "Don't say that like it's meant to help."
"It's historical," Sirius corrected.
"That never helps," Lucas muttered.
Sirius continued anyway. "It was Yerofey's."
Lucas went still.
The name landed with weight, old and sharp. Yerofey. Their grand—grandfather. A former emperor everyone pretended was a footnote until it became inconvenient, a dominant omega in a dynasty that had spent generations rewriting its own myths into something more palatable.
Lucas looked down at the collar again, and suddenly it didn't look merely expensive.
It looked like the past reaching forward to touch Dean's throat through metal and tradition.
"That," Lucas said slowly, "does not make it better."
Sirius didn't argue. "I know."
Lucas's jaw tightened. "So you thought the appropriate way to tell me about a clause was to send me Yerofey's collar and let me discover it by opening a box."
Sirius's sigh was the sigh of a man who had made a decision and accepted the consequences. "It's ceremonial. Palatine expects ceremonial."
Lucas's voice went colder. "Palatine expects obedience."
"Palatine expects symbolism," Sirius corrected, and the difference was mostly academic.
Lucas stared at the case. One collar that could pass as 'fashion' if you lied to yourself. One collar that could start wars in the wrong room. And somewhere in the middle of it, Dean still trying to be a person in a world that kept turning him into a statement.
"And Caelan agreed," Lucas said.
Sirius didn't answer immediately, which was an answer by itself.
"Of course he did," Lucas murmured. "Because gods forbid we make anything simple."
Sirius's tone softened. "Lucas, it's meant to be protection."
Lucas laughed once, humorless. "A collar is not protection."
"It is," Sirius said, firmer now, "if the alternative is Palatine assuming Dean is already claimed in a way he is not ready for. This buys time for when he is ready."
Lucas's fingers curled at his side. He understood the logic. That was the tragedy. He understood it perfectly, and still hated it.
"Fine," Lucas said finally, voice tight. "So the ceremonial one is Yerofey's. The casual one is mercy. And I'm supposed to present this to Dean like it's a gift."
Sirius paused. "You're supposed to present it to Dean like it's information. He'll decide."
Lucas's mouth twitched, sharp. "You know… I have another question. Does Ethan knows about this?"