Sebastian arrived a few minutes after seven and knew, from the way the corridor had been emptied, that someone had made the mistake of trying to make this look casual.
That was always the first sign of disaster.
He gave his coat to one of the attendants, adjusted one cuff, and knocked on the door even though he knew Arion could feel him through the building.
The door opened before the second knock.
Arion stood there without uniform, crown pin, or guards.
Sebastian's opinion of the evening worsened.
"Marquis," Arion said.
"Your Highness," Sebastian replied, because if they were going to begin with politeness, he could at least make it expensive.
Then his gaze moved past Arion.
Dean stood near the private dining table, one hand curled around the back of a chair and the other touching the collar at his throat. He looked like someone had put a blade in his hands and asked him to pretend it was cutlery.
Sebastian stepped inside.
Three places had been set. No documents.
