Dean and Arion had changed into simpler clothes once the official photographs and the worst of the formal greetings were done.
Dean wore a three-piece black suit now - clean, sharp, comfortably familiar. He'd removed the gemstone from his collar and left only the gold mesh against his throat. It felt lighter without losing meaning, like he'd taken the ceremonial edge off the day without surrendering the boundary.
Arion stood beside him, coat draped over one arm, posture perfect.
And still he looked like a man ready to bolt straight through the nearest exit the moment no one was watching.
When the last cluster of well-wishers finally drifted away and the air around them cleared, Dean leaned in slightly, voice dry.
"No more patience?" he asked.
Arion kept his face calm, but his golden eyes were at the end of their leash. "Do you have any left?" he replied. "I've been asked if I bred you properly three times already."
Dean blinked once.
