"Yes," Arion said.
There was not even the courtesy of denial.
Dean, already rearranging his expression into the cool disdain appropriate for a censored citizen, stopped for one offended beat and stared up at him. "You admit that with alarming ease."
Arion's hand remained at the back of his neck, broad and warm and entirely too poised for a man who had just interrupted an important and necessary speech with his mouth. "You were saying something stupid."
Dean drew in a breath. "That is not how free expression works."
"It is here."
"That," Dean informed him, "is monarchy talking."
Arion's gaze did not shift. "Yes."
Dean's outrage sharpened into something almost pure. "God. Incredible. No shame. No pretense. No attempt at democratic theater."
"No."
Dean stared.
