Sylvia's eyes gleamed. "Tell him," she ordered Arion, like Arion was her employee and not a Crown Prince who could have entire cities moved out of spite.
Arion's mouth twitched, faintly amused by the audacity. He didn't bristle. He didn't flare. He simply looked at Dean, then back at Sylvia, as if deciding whether to indulge this performance.
Then he did.
"The best part," Arion said evenly, "is access."
Dean frowned. "Access to what?"
Sylvia leaned forward, delighted, and pitched her voice into the most unbearable imitation of court politeness Dean had ever heard. "Yes, Your Highness," she purred, "access to what?"
Dean's shoulders shook. "Stop."
Sylvia didn't even glance at him. "No. I'm learning diplomacy. It's horrible. I'm thriving."
Arion's eyes flicked to Dean's barely-contained smile, and something warm and possessive lit under his calm.
"To the palace," Arion answered, as if Sylvia hadn't just committed a crime against etiquette in front of him. "The Alaminian imperial palace."
Dean blinked. "She can… visit."
"Yes," Arion said.
Sylvia's eyes widened. "Any time?"
Arion's gaze held steady. "Any time you want."
Dean stared. "That's insane."
Sylvia, of course, immediately escalated. "Do I get to show up unannounced."
Dean made a strangled sound. "Sylvia…"
Arion's mouth twitched again. "Yes."
Sylvia slapped a hand to her chest, shocked. "Oh my god. I'm going to be unbearable."
Dean groaned. "You already are."
Sylvia leaned forward again, merciless. "Clarify. Unannounced means I can walk in whenever I want, yes?"
Arion's expression stayed smooth. "It means you don't need petitions, approvals, or a sponsor."
Sylvia nodded rapidly. "Beautiful. Stunning. Life-changing."
Arion's eyes warmed at Dean's indignation like it was charming rather than alarming. "There is one condition," he added.
Sylvia froze mid-triumph. Dean tensed.
Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "There it is."
Arion didn't look at Sylvia when he said it. He looked at Dean. "Only if Dean wants you there."
The room quieted.
Sylvia blinked once, then slowly sat back, her feral delight softening into something rare and almost respectful. "Oh."
Dean's throat tightened. "Arion…"
Arion's gaze stayed on him. "You decide what touches your life in Alamina."
Sylvia cleared her throat like she needed to cover the moment before it became emotional. "Great. Perfect. I love autonomy."
Dean shot her a look. "You're avoiding feelings."
Sylvia hissed, "Don't expose me."
Arion's mouth twitched. "So. Access," he repeated, now back to Sylvia, "when Dean permits it. And if Dean wishes, he may also hire you under his own authority."
Sylvia's eyes went bright again immediately. "He can hire me?"
Dean blinked. "I can hire you?"
Arion nodded once. "Yes."
Sylvia leaned forward, clasping her hands together like a delighted villain. "Dean Fitzgeralt, you can literally employ your best friend as a controlled menace in a foreign court."
Dean stared at her. "That's not a job title."
Sylvia grinned. "It should be."
—
They had to leave shortly after that disastrous meeting. Arion was expected in a formal session with Sirius, and Palatine didn't like being kept waiting, even by visiting Crown Princes.
Sylvia vanished first, announcing she needed a bathroom with the level of urgency that suggested she either had to pee or commit a small crime. Dean stayed behind.
The door clicked shut. The sitting room fell quieter, the air less chaotic without Sylvia's presence pressing against it.
Dean looked at Arion for a moment, then said softly, "You didn't have to do that."
Arion's gaze rested on him, steady. "Yes, I did."
Dean frowned. "Why?"
"Because she makes you smile," Arion answered without hesitation, as if it were the most practical reason in the world. He paused, eyes dropping briefly to Dean's face, to the corners of his mouth as if he was memorizing them. "And because you will need someone you know by your side."
Dean opened his mouth, but Arion continued, voice calm and strangely careful.
"Alamina won't be against you," Arion said. "It will be… the opposite. But that doesn't mean you won't feel alone. You're leaving your home. Your routines. Your people." His gaze lifted again, direct and unflinching. "You deserve one person who grew up with you. Someone you don't have to translate yourself for."
Dean stared at him, and the tension in his shoulders eased almost visibly. His purple eyes caught the light, bright with something dangerously close to relief.
"Thank you," Dean said, then hesitated. "But…"
Arion's brow lifted - dark, scarred, and faintly amused. "But?"
Dean's voice went drier. "You still didn't apologize to her. You didn't say the words."
Arion was silent for a beat. Then his mouth curved in a smile that promised he had heard Dean perfectly and would do what he wanted with that information.
Before Dean could press further, the door opened again.
Zyon stepped in, pale with professional dread, as if he'd been sent to retrieve a prince from a room full of hazards. He glanced once at Dean, then back to Arion.
"Your Highness," Zyon said carefully, "His Majesty is waiting."
Arion rose with that effortless control that made it look like the furniture had been the inconvenience, not his height. He leaned down slightly, just enough that his voice belonged only to Dean.
"I'll handle Sylvia," he murmured. "In my way."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Arion—"
Arion's smile deepened by a fraction, and then he straightened, already turning toward the door.
"Dean," he said, smooth and composed again, "don't look so worried. I'm very good at difficult conversations."
Zyon's expression suggested he did not share that confidence.
And then Arion was gone, leaving Dean alone in the sitting room with the lingering scent of lemonade, chaos, and the uncomfortable realization that the Crown Prince of Alamina had just promised to apologize… like it was a strategic operation.
"I'm screwed."