Nero looked at her for a moment, as if her offer had arrived from very far away through several layers of royal restraint and bad instincts.
Then he said, "I'm down."
Sylvia blinked. "That easy?"
His violet eyes shifted briefly toward the corridor behind her, toward the wing where Dean had disappeared with Arion, and something in his expression hardened before smoothing back into civility.
"I need air," he said. "And distance."
That, more than the answer itself, made her understand.
Not the details. Sylvia was not stupid enough to go digging through royal feelings with her bare hands. But she understood enough. Someone had gotten under Nero's skin, and whatever had happened in that ballroom had left him too wound up to stay there without doing something regrettable.
She lifted a finger. "Fine. But I'm serious about the wings and fries."
Nero's mouth moved, almost a smile. "That's acceptable."
"And you're paying."
"I don't care."
Of course he didn't.
