"You know… this could look good on you," Dean said with a mischievous smile.
Arion looked at the object in his hand.
Then at Dean.
Then back at the object.
It was a pair of bright yellow socks covered in tiny black ducks wearing crowns.
"No."
Dean's smile widened.
"Yes."
Arion had kept his promise.
That morning, after breakfast and exactly one unavoidable security briefing, he had handed his tablet to Hunter, changed out of anything remotely imperial, and taken Dean into the city for the date he had demanded.
What Arion had not anticipated was that Dean's definition of shopping involved a completely ordinary department store inside one of Alamina's busiest commercial centers.
Not the private galleries used by the royal household.
Not one of the luxury streets where an appointment meant the building mysteriously emptied fifteen minutes before their arrival.
