Sylvia went still like a predator pretending it was prey.
Dean, because he was apparently making poor life choices on purpose now, didn't move at all. He simply let his eyes lift, calm, resigned, and inconveniently entertained.
Arion of Alamina stepped out first.
The Crown Prince looked like someone who had never been allowed the luxury of appearing anything but composed, the type of man trained from childhood to make a room adjust around him without raising his voice. His coat sat perfectly on his shoulders, the cut sharp enough to feel like an accusation. His guards moved behind him with the precision of people who didn't breathe unless it served a purpose.
And his attention, immediately, snapped to Dean.
Not scanning. Not assessing the corridor. Dean.
It was almost rude how obvious it was. As if the entire palace, the guards, the marble, and the recently concluded meeting did not exist with equal priority.
Dean felt it like a pressure change.
He hated that his stomach tightened. He hated that it didn't feel like fear.
Arion's eyes held him for a beat, and something in his expression shifted, so small a stranger would miss it, but Dean wasn't a stranger anymore. A faint ease at the corners. A satisfaction that had nothing to do with diplomacy.
'Great. He really is pleased,' Dean thought, resignedly.
Sylvia took half a step forward.
It wasn't aggressive. It wasn't even rude. It was simply… committed.
Dean pressed his lips together so hard he almost hurt himself. He could feel laughter building in his chest like a bad idea. He had been warning Sylvia for days. He had been preparing himself for exactly this. Now that it was happening, the absurdity of it hit him all at once, and he had to focus on breathing like a normal person.
Arion finally let his gaze shift, barely, to the person next to Dean.
He didn't see Sylvia the way he saw Dean. Not at first. She registered as "someone Dean brought," which in Arion's world translated into: not a threat unless proven, not important unless Dean indicates otherwise.
He inclined his head, polite in the way kings were polite when they had nothing to prove.
"Lord Fitzgeralt," Arion said, voice calm, controlled, and entirely too steady for a man who was clearly delighted to see him. "I didn't expect you here."
Dean lifted a brow. "You didn't expect me in my uncle's palace."
Arion's mouth twitched with the ghost of amusement. "I didn't expect you outside the schedule."
Dean's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you keep me on a schedule now?"
Arion's gaze stayed on him. "I keep track of what matters."
Dean's throat tightened with something unhelpful and annoyingly warm, and he hated himself for it. He opened his mouth to reply—
Sylvia cut in.
"Hello," Sylvia said brightly.
Arion's gaze flicked to her again, and this time there was more attention. Still formal. Still controlled. But now he was actually looking.
"Good afternoon," Arion replied smoothly. "I'm afraid I don't believe we've been introduced."
Sylvia smiled.
Sylvia smiled like a woman about to open a file labeled 'Your Life Choices' and read it aloud.
Dean's shoulders shook once. He turned it into a cough.
Arion's eyes shifted briefly back to Dean, as if checking whether this was allowed.
Dean, because he had apparently given up on dignity as a long-term goal, tilted his head slightly in what could only be interpreted as, 'Go on. This is happening.'
Arion's expression changed in reluctant amusement.
It was so unexpected Dean almost choked for real this time, because Arion looked like the type of man whose humor had been beaten out of him by etiquette and military doctrine.
Apparently not.
"Please," Arion said, tone still courteous, but with a faint edge of interest now. "Introduce me."
Dean gestured lazily toward Sylvia. "This is Sylvia."
Sylvia's smile widened. "Sylvia."
Arion waited.
Sylvia waited right back.
Dean could feel the guards behind Arion go slightly more alert, not because Sylvia was dangerous in any conventional way, but because she was unpredictable, and unpredictability in Palatine was treated like a contagious illness.
Arion's brows lifted a fraction. "And?"
Sylvia blinked. "And what?"
Arion's gaze remained steady. "Your family name."
Sylvia's expression turned innocent in a way that should have been illegal. "Oh. I don't think you need it."
Dean's bite of laughter hit his ribs. He swallowed it down so hard it turned into pain.
Arion's mouth twitched again.
"You don't think I need it," Arion repeated calmly.
Sylvia nodded. "No. Because I'm not the one using people's full names as threats."
The corridor went so quiet Dean could hear the palace's collective soul leave its body.
One of Arion's guards looked like he'd forgotten how to blink.
Dean turned his face away very slightly. If he looked at Arion directly, he was going to laugh in front of everyone, and then Lucas would hear about it, and it would become a family story forever.
Arion, however, didn't react the way anyone expected.
He didn't stiffen. He didn't flare. He didn't go cold.
He looked… even more entertained.
His gaze stayed on Sylvia, and something like appreciation flickered in his eyes, quick as a blade flash.
"That's quite an accusation," Arion said mildly.
Sylvia's smile didn't falter. "Is it wrong?"
Arion paused for exactly one beat, long enough to make it a choice.
Then he said, with calm honesty that was almost insulting in its ease, "No."
Dean's shoulders shook again. He bit the inside of his cheek.
Sylvia's eyes widened as if she hadn't expected him to admit it so cleanly. "Oh. So you're just… casually terrible."
Arion's amusement deepened. "I'm efficient."
Sylvia made a small sound of disgust. "That's worse."
Dean couldn't help it. A laugh escaped him - short, abrupt, and completely undignified.
Arion's gaze snapped back to Dean immediately, the amusement in his eyes turning warmer and more intense, like it belonged there.
"You find this funny," Arion observed.
Dean cleared his throat, trying to recover. "I find her funny."
Sylvia, offended, put a hand to her chest. "Dean, I'm fighting for your safety."
Dean looked at Arion with the resigned expression of a man watching his own life become a spectacle. "This is my best friend."
Arion's gaze returned to Sylvia, and the courtesy settled back into place like a well-worn coat, except now it was layered over something lighter.
"A pleasure," Arion said.
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "Liar."
Arion's brow lifted. "Pardon?"
Sylvia leaned forward slightly, still smiling, still feral. "You're not pleased to meet me. You're pleased to meet him. And you barely noticed I exist."
Dean's laugh threatened again.
Arion's eyes flicked to Dean, possessive, and then back to Sylvia. He didn't deny it. He didn't even pretend.
"You're correct," Arion said smoothly. "But I am now noticing you."
Sylvia's smile turned sharp. "Good. Then we can begin."
Arion's head tilted a fraction. "Begin what?"
Sylvia lifted her phone slightly, like she'd brought evidence to court. "My evaluation."
Dean coughed again, this time to cover the sound that was dangerously close to a wheeze.
Arion looked between the two of them, then, unexpectedly, his mouth curved into a real smile.
His guards looked alarmed, like they'd just witnessed a rare wildlife event.
Dean froze for half a second, because the sight was so wrong on Arion's face it almost felt like a trap.