Chapter 57: Chapter 57: Quiet

The private plane had its own version of silence.

Not the absence of sound – the engines still hummed, the air still moved through vents, the cabin still made those soft, expensive noises that meant everything was engineered to feel smooth. It was a curated silence. A controlled quiet, thick enough that Dean could hear his own thoughts again.

He didn’t know if he liked that yet.

Their private area was separated from the rest of the plane by a door. A small sitting space with muted lights, a low table, a couch that looked too clean to be used, and a bedroom beyond it that Dean refused to think about too long because his brain would immediately start spiraling into consequences.

Dean sat with one leg crossed over the other, jacket off, collar reduced to gold mesh against his throat. The gems were tucked away somewhere safe. He could finally breathe without feeling like the air belonged to an audience.

Arion was nearby, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled, looking like he’d been born in uniforms and only tolerated civilian clothing because society required it. He was nursing a glass of something strong.

Dean watched him for a moment, then asked the question that had been gnawing at him since they’d boarded.

“Why is Sylvia in the other part of the plane?”

Arion’s gaze didn’t leave Dean. “Because she is loud.”

Dean blinked. “That’s it?”

Arion’s mouth twitched slightly, the ghost of amusement. “It’s enough.”

Dean stared at him, then scoffed. “She’s my best friend.”

“I’m aware,” Arion said evenly.

Dean’s brows lifted. “Are you jealous?”

Arion didn’t even pretend to be offended. He simply leaned back a fraction, calm as a man who didn’t feel the need to justify his instincts.

“I got engaged to you,” Arion said. “Not Sylvia.”

Dean’s mouth parted, then closed again. He tried to look unimpressed. It came out as a faint smile he couldn’t stop.

“That,” Dean said slowly, “is… irrational.”

Arion didn’t blink. “It might be to you.”

He set his glass down with controlled care, like he didn’t want the movement to look like irritation even if it was.

“I,” Arion continued, calm and unapologetic, “want time with my fiancé.”

Dean’s brows lifted slightly.

Arion held his gaze. “You’ve had someone glued to your side for days. Sylvia. Your family. Staff. Palatine. Everyone pulling at you as if you were public property.”

Dean’s throat tightened. He didn’t argue, because it was true.

“And Sylvia,” Arion added, tone steady, “is not royal. If she is in this private section with us while the staff are kept elsewhere, people will talk.” His mouth twisted faintly with distaste. “They always do.”

Dean frowned. “It’s a plane.”

“It’s Palatine and Alamina,” Arion corrected, and his voice made it sound like a diagnosis.

Dean huffed a soft laugh, then sobered. “So this is about avoiding rumors.”

“It’s about avoiding stupid rumors,” Arion said. “And about not giving anyone an excuse to make you the subject of another conversation.”

He paused, then added, quieter, “Not even Zyon is here.”

Dean blinked at that. “You sent Zyon away too?”

Arion’s gaze stayed on Dean. “Yes.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. “You really are…”

“Territorial,” Arion finished smoothly, without saying the word, letting it live in the space between them. “Practical,” he added a beat later, as if offering Dean something he could accept without blushing.

Dean looked away, annoyed that he liked the practicality.

Arion’s tone softened just slightly. “She’s being treated well. She has her own cabin. She can have whatever she wants – food, drinks, entertainment, space to be loud. She is safe.”

Dean’s shoulders eased a fraction. “She’s going to be offended.”

Arion’s eyes warmed faintly. “Good.”

Dean stared at him. “Good?”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “If she’s offended, she’ll complain to you. If she complains to you, you’ll laugh.”

Dean’s face heated. “That’s not—”

Arion’s gaze stayed steady, and the calm in it felt like a hand at Dean’s back. “It is.”

Dean sighed, defeated. “She’ll like being called jester.” He set his coffee down and looked at Arion. “So. What do you want to know?”

Arion’s brow lifted slightly. “Know?”

Dean gestured vaguely between them, sarcasm covering nerves. “About me. About what I’m like when I’m not being watched. About what you’re supposed to do with a fiancé who keeps biting people verbally.”

“We are not at an interview, Dean,” Arion said, voice even. “We’re both tired after everything that happened. This is the moment to rest.”

Dean stared at him for a beat, suspicious of anything that sounded like kindness without strings.

“We only have one bedroom,” Dean accused.

Arion didn’t blink. “We have two.”

Dean’s brows rose. “We have two?”

“You just didn’t look,” Arion said mildly.

Dean stared at him for a beat, then let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “I… You’re oddly patient for someone who practically vibrated through the engagement.”

Arion’s gaze stayed on him, golden and steady. “I was impatient with Palatine. Not with you.”

Dean blinked, caught off guard by how cleanly that landed.

Arion continued, voice low, controlled. “I wanted you out of their reach. Out of their mouths. Out of their hands.” A pause. “Now you’re here.”

Dean’s throat tightened. “So you’re… calmer.”

Arion’s mouth twitched. “No. I’m satisfied.”

Dean’s ears warmed. He covered it by lifting his coffee again, then realizing it was empty, then setting it down like the cup had offended him.

“You’re acting like you’re doing this out of generosity,” Dean muttered. “Like you’re not a territorial disaster.”

Arion’s eyes warmed faintly, unapologetic. “I am.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. “At least you admit it.” He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “So tell me, Your Highness – what do you like to do aside from terrifying everyone and warmongering?”

Arion stared at him for a beat, as if the question itself had offended his worldview.

Then his mouth twitched, slow. “You think I like warmongering.”

Dean lifted a brow. “You wear a uniform like it’s a personality trait.”

“It’s a duty,” Arion corrected, voice calm. “And you should be careful. You’re insulting my entire childhood.”

Dean snorted. “Was your childhood just… drills and scowling?”

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