Dean did not like waiting.
He especially did not like waiting while Arion was somewhere else, committing legally sanctioned terror in a secure wing of the palace while Dean sat in a private receiving lounge with his father, his aunt, a glass of wine he was not drinking, and a dog who had appointed himself emotional infrastructure.
Boreas had not moved from Dean's legs.
That was probably for the best. If the dog moved, Dean might also move, and if Dean moved, there was a non-zero chance he would end up in a corridor making someone from House Vale regret developing speech.
Lucas knew that.
Mia knew that.
Dean hated that both of them knew that.
He stared at the closed door through which Arion had left and tried very hard not to imagine the shape of Andrea Vale's face when Arion entered the room.
He failed.
Then he tried very hard not to enjoy the image.
He also failed.
Mia watched him over the rim of her wine glass. "You are making the face."
