They were gone long enough that Alamina felt different when they returned.
The imperial residence still rose above the capital in pale stone and dark glass, winter gardens stretching between the older wings while the mountains beyond the city remained covered in snow. Guards changed shifts at the same gates. Staff crossed the corridors carrying documents, flowers, laundry, and all the other ordinary things required to keep an imperial household functioning.
Nobody was waiting with an emergency.
Dean decided he appreciated Alamina considerably more when it was boring.
Their luggage had barely reached the private suite before he abandoned it.
Arion stood near the windows, removing the watch he had worn through the flight while his tablet continued downloading several days of reports from the offices they had left behind.
Dean looked at the tablet.
Then at Arion.
"No."
Arion glanced toward him.
"No?"
"You are not opening that."
"I wasn't."
"You were thinking about it."
