Dean looked at his lovely husband over the breakfast table as if Arion had gone insane in the last five minutes.
He placed his fork down with great care before speaking, because stabbing the roasted tomato on his plate with unnecessary violence would have been immature.
Probably.
"You are saying," Dean said slowly, "that we, as in me and you, have to meet with the head of the temples?"
Arion raised his scarred brow, amused. "Yes."
"Like religious temples?"
"Yes."
"With priests?"
"Presumably."
"With robes?"
"Most likely."
"With blessings?"
"Almost certainly."
Dean stared at him.
Arion's mouth twitched.
Dean leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and said with great sincerity, "I would rather eat rocks."
Arion did laugh then.
