A few days later, Dean learned that being the mate of a crown prince did not, in fact, improve the emotional effect of certain messages.
It only gave them better stationery.
He was halfway through reading the curriculum for university, in one of the quieter libraries of the palace - halfway, meaning he had read twelve pages of dense policy commentary, insulted three footnotes internally, and decided that one particular dead advisor should be banned from commas on moral grounds - when one of the palace assistants approached with the careful posture of someone entering dangerous territory on official business.
"My lord," the assistant said, "His Highness asked if you could come to his office."
Dean looked up slowly.
The assistant, to his credit, did not flinch.
Dean locked his tablet and set it on the table. "Did he really ask if I could, or did he just send you to bring me there?"
The assistant hesitated.
That was answer enough.
Dean leaned back in his chair. "Interesting."
