Dean looked at him.
Then he looked at him harder, because Arion had just said something so possessive and so confident that objecting to it with the proper force required at least a full second of recalibration.
"It already was," Dean repeated.
"Yes."
Dean's eyes narrowed. "That is exactly the sort of sentence that makes me understand why entire parliaments want constitutional restraints on people like you."
Arion did not seem especially moved by the criticism. His hand remained at the side of Dean's neck, warm against the pearls, thumb resting just below the hidden mark, like the sentence had not been outrageous at all, merely factual.
Dean hated facts when Arion had them.
Mostly.
The suite had gone quiet around them. Late light stretched long across the floor. The city beyond the windows had softened into evening glass and a pale winter sky.
