Nero arrived in Roslew with pent-up rage from the last two diplomatic missions, both of which had involved people being stupid, childish, and old enough that ignorance could no longer be blamed on youth.
The private Sahan aircraft had barely opened before the wind on the tarmac caught his pale hair and the loose edge of his coat. Behind him, Hale descended with the exhausted pride of a man who had prevented at least three international incidents by expression alone.
Arion waited beside the armored car, dark coat shifting in the wind, golden eyes amused in the exact way Nero found offensive.
"You look very friendly today," Arion said.
Nero stepped onto Alaminian concrete. "I am a delight."
"You look like you want to remove someone's diplomatic immunity with your teeth."
"Only because using my hands would be considered impolite."
Hale muttered, "Progress."
Nero ignored him and walked toward the car. "Where is Dean?"
"At the Crown Prince palace."
"Good. We are going there."
