Dean woke up with the kind of dread usually reserved for exams and public humiliation.
He lay motionless for a moment, staring at the ceiling and listening to distant footsteps, a soft closing door somewhere down the corridor, and the low murmur of employees beginning the day. The light beyond the curtains was already bright, winter sun caught on glass.
And then his brain, traitor that it was, supplied the reminder:
Engagement gala.
With the entire country eager to watch Arion announce something Dean had technically agreed to while emotionally compromised by a dominant alpha with golden eyes and a scar on his cheek.
Dean exhaled slowly and rolled out of bed like a man going to war.
Arion wasn't in the bedroom.
Which was both a relief and an insult.
