Dean had attended enough royal weddings to know the ceremony was rarely the exhausting part.
The ceremony had rules.
Stand here. Walk there. Applaud when appropriate. Avoid stepping on anything expensive.
The reception was where civilization began to collapse.
By the time Dean and Arion entered the enormous glass-roofed hall adjoining the palace gardens, three foreign delegations, two elderly relatives, a military representative from Palatine, and a photographer determined to document every possible angle of Sebastian's robe before he escaped it had already intercepted Sebastian and Nero.
Dean accepted a glass of sparkling water from a passing tray and watched his brother endure another photograph.
Sebastian's smile was impeccable.
His left eyebrow was not.
Dean took a drink.
Arion followed his gaze.
"He's irritated."
"Deeply."
