Arion had faced rebellions, assassination attempts, diplomatic collapses, military briefings delivered over active casualty reports, his mother's silence, his father's disappointment, his siblings, Andrea Vale's poison, and Dean's temper before breakfast.
Waiting outside Dean's preparation suite was worse.
Objectively, it should not have been.
The corridor was secure. The ceremony schedule was still intact. The procession team had confirmed the main hall was ready. Hunter Stewart had checked in twice through the internal channel with the clipped, professional calm of a newly appointed chief of guards who understood that his first official wedding assignment involved protecting a consort with the survival instinct of a lit match near silk.
Everything was under control.
Arion still wanted to open the door.
He did not.
That, he decided, was proof of exceptional character.
Or restraint.
Possibly both.
