The honeymoon ended because the capital apparently had no respect for healing, marriage, or Dean's pelvis.
Dean had several opinions about that.
He expressed none of them to the flight crew, because they looked carefully neutral when he and Arion boarded the private jet, and Dean had no desire to discover how much of Ylico's villa staff had communicated with palace security. Judging by the way one of the guards looked at the floor with the concentration of a man counting individual fibers in the carpet, Dean suspected the answer was enough.
The jet lifted from Ylico beneath a sky so bright it felt insulting.
Dean sat beside the window in one of Arion's oversized sweaters, a soft cream thing that had absolutely not been packed in his luggage and therefore had been stolen with legal confidence. The collar at his throat was the travel one, apparently, which was a phrase Arion had said that morning with a straight face and which Dean had still not forgiven.
