One and a half years later, time had done what time always did when no one was watching closely enough.
It had made impossible things routine.
Dean had settled into his role as Crown Prince Consort of Alamina with the same dangerous elegance with which he had once handled university disputes, family negotiations, and Arion's terrifying courtship. The difference was that now there were more seals, more ministries, more people waiting outside his office with folders, and significantly fewer chances to pretend he was not important.
He had acquired a secretary.
Then another.
Then, after the third diplomatic reception nearly ended with Dean personally correcting a minister's schedule in red ink, Arion quietly approved a full team.
Dean had called that excessive.
