By morning, Dean had not become calmer.
Arion found him in the private sitting room at eight-thirty, walking back and forth in front of the long glass wall with a tablet in one hand, a stylus in the other, and the expression of a man who had spent the night arguing with his own restraint and losing by inches.
Roslew, Alamina's capital city, glittered beneath the clear morning light. Wedding banners already hung from the main avenues below, white and gold catching the sun between lines of traffic, security vehicles, and drones moving discreetly above the ceremonial route.
Dean did not look at any of it.
He paced.
Turned.
Paced again.
Arion stopped in the doorway with two coffees in hand and watched him for three full passes.
Then he said, "You are going to wear a path into the floor."
Dean pointed the stylus at him without stopping. "Good. Your family can classify it as my first contribution to imperial renovation."
Arion handed him one of the coffees as he passed.
