Three years changed the palace more than Dean expected.
Not structurally.
The Crown Prince's residence still had the same wide corridors, the same terrace overlooking the western gardens, and the same infuriating tendency to become too quiet whenever Theodore disappeared somewhere he was not supposed to be.
The difference was that Theo could now explain exactly where he had been.
Usually at length.
"I was not hiding," he announced from the carpet in front of the fireplace, where he sat surrounded by wooden animals, two toy vehicles, and Ducky, who had become considerably greyer around the muzzle without developing any greater respect for household rules. "I was looking."
Dean lowered the book in his hands.
"Inside your father's wardrobe."
"Yes."
"For what?"
Theo considered this carefully.
"My black dragon."
"You do not own a black dragon."
Theo hummed.
Arion, stretched across the other end of the sofa with one ankle resting over his knee, covered his mouth.
