They heard Amaru and Nero before they reached the western reception hall.
Dean slowed halfway down the broad staircase and glanced toward Arion.
"That sounds peaceful."
Arion listened for another few seconds.
"No."
Amelie sighed beside them.
From somewhere beyond the next archway, Amaru's voice carried clearly through the corridor.
"You cannot simply declare ownership over another country's pastry chef."
"I did not declare ownership," Nero replied. "I offered him employment."
"In my kitchen."
"That was where I found him."
Dean stopped on the final step.
Amelie closed her eyes.
Arion's mouth twitched.
"You left them alone for twenty minutes."
"I left Amaru with two adults and a four-year-old."
"That was optimistic."
They continued toward the reception hall as Amaru answered with increasing offense.
"You offered him three times his salary while eating the pastry he made for my coronation."
"Four times."
"That does not improve it."
