Dean made it exactly as far as the corridor before realizing two things.
First, walking was still a hostile political act against his lower back.
Second, Arion had not followed him, which meant the man had either developed a rare burst of self-restraint or was confident enough in the damage already done to let Dean walk into his parents' line of sight alone.
Frankly, both possibilities were threatening.
He moved at a dignified pace that would, to any outside observer, suggest calm control and princely composure. Unfortunately, the outside observers in question were his parents, and neither Trevor nor Lucas had ever been particularly vulnerable to performance when it came to him.
The suite prepared for the Palatine delegation was at the end of the private wing, all quiet luxury and overdesigned discretion, the sort of space that had been built by men who believed diplomacy should come with imported marble and expensive silence. Dean stepped inside without knocking.
