Dean had never been more grateful for his February birthday.
At the time, his request had seemed almost embarrassingly modest.
He had wanted breakfast with Arion, several uninterrupted hours with Theodore, dinner somewhere private, and enough silence that nobody required him to dress formally.
The palace communications team had handled the public portion by releasing a photograph of the three of them in the Crown Prince's residence. Dean had been sitting against Arion on one of the window seats with Theodore asleep across both their laps, dressed in a soft sweater instead of ceremonial clothing, while the accompanying statement politely explained that the crown consort was continuing to recover after a demanding year and would celebrate privately with his family.
Dean had approved the wording without thinking much about it.
That had been a mistake.
