On the morning of the wedding, Dean discovered that silence could be louder than panic.
The preparation suite in the Crown Prince's residence should have been chaos. There were too many people, too many garment bags, too many tablets glowing with updates from security, ceremony staff, media coordination, palace protocol, foreign delegation management, and someone from the floral team who had apparently decided the west arch was "breathing wrong."
No one screamed.
That was how Dean knew everyone was stressed.
Mia sat on the edge of a cream velvet sofa, hands folded neatly in her lap, looking radiant and perfectly composed in a pale formal dress that made her look like she had been born to attend royal weddings and not like she had nearly resigned from her unofficial duty.
Lucas stood near the windows, reading through the final procession update on a tablet with a face so calm Dean immediately classified it as dangerous.
Serathine had arrived at last.
