Serathine set her teacup down with the silent grace of a woman settling in to enjoy premium entertainnt.
Cressida didn’t bother to hide her amusent anymore; her smile was positively luminous.
Killian blinked once, the slow, unhurried blink of a man confirming oxygen still existed.
"No," he said, his tone as dry as desert stone, "your romantic history is well-docunted."
Chris’s hands flew into his hair.
"I—WHAT—why is my romantic history docunted?"
Cressida gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm that contained absolutely no sympathy.
"Because you were being considered for political elevation even before you set foot in Saha."
Serathine added, "We simply needed to ensure you were not secretly married. Or bonded. Or claid."
Chris stared at them, incredulous.
"I wasn’t. Dax knew that. I am the only dominant oga in three kingdoms who hasn’t been bonded or married off like cattle. What did everyone think he was going to do when he found ? Give a guest badge and a complintary tote bag?!"
Cressida’s lips parted in delight.
Serathine inhaled sharply, the sound of a duchess fighting off unholy laughter.
Chris stood up halfway out of his chair, gesturing wildly.
"He sniffed out! You understand that, right? I was HIDING. I was taking suppressants that could kill a horse. I worked as a waiter at a high-ranking wedding full of alphas and ogas. I had anonymity. And that man just..." he snapped his fingers. "LOCKED ON like a shark scenting blood in the water!"
Killian: "Yes. That aligns with oga recognition behavior in..."
Chris pointed sharply. "Killian, I beg you... if you cite one more ethnographic study, I will eat this table."
Cressida’s laugh slipped out, light and delighted.
Serathine pressed a hand to her chest, amber eyes shining.
Chris barreled forward, unstoppable now:
"And then—AND THEN—what did the entire royal court THINK he was doing with when he brought back here? Diplomatic cultural exchange?"
He stared at them.
The room did not blink.
"HE PUT A BONDING COLLAR ON MY NECK," Chris continued, voice rising to the pitch of soone actively having a revelation he should have had months ago. "A CUSTOM-CARVED, HAND-FORGED, PLATINUM-CLASP COLLAR. WITH HIS CREST ENGRAVED ON THE CLASP. What. did you think. that was. for?! Aesthetic?!"
Serathine, voice trembling with the effort not to scream laughing:
"Well, wear it very confidently..."
"BECAUSE I DIDN’T THINK HALF THE KINGDOM WOULD BE MAKING POETRY ABOUT IT!" Chris shouted.
Killian cleared his throat gently.
Which, in Killian-language, ant prepare yourselves; emotional whiplash incoming.
"To clarify," he said, completely calm, "no one believed His Majesty acquired you as a display piece. The collar made that quite clear."
Chris blinked, more calm but sensing sothing was wrong about Killian’s words. "So what did they think?"
Cressida folded her hands with the elegance of a woman about to deliver spiritual injury.
"That he was courting you aggressively."
Serathine added, soothingly, as though she were offering emotional comfort instead of gasoline,
"And successfully."
Chris lowered himself back into his chair like a collapsing holy relic.
"I hate it here," he declared to the ceiling.
Cressida humd. "You say that, but you continue to live here, dine here, sleep in the king’s private wing, and wear his scent like perfu."
"That..." Chris pointed at her, because pointing was the only weapon he had left, "is not perfu. That is failure. Failure of self-preservation."
Serathine nodded sympathetically. "Love does tend to eat survival instincts for breakfast."
Chris threw his hands up. "I didn’t fall in love; I was... classified! Targeted! Strategically acquired!"
Killian, deadpan:
"Yes. Correct."
Chris faltered. "I... wait. No. Don’t say it like that."
Killian continued, perfectly composed:
"From the mont His Majesty encountered you, the likelihood of your eventual bonding exceeded ninety-six percent. The remainder was contingent upon your emotional developnt and your ability to process..."
"STOP," Chris begged. "Stop turning my relationship into a probability distribution. I cannot emotionally handle being graphed."
Cressida was openly laughing now, bright and elegant and deeply unhelpful.
Serathine wiped a tear.
"Oh, this is better than last season’s parliantary scandal."
Chris pressed both palms to his face and spoke through his fingers, muffled and tragic:
"Are you going to help get the damn consort robes or should I change my mind?"
Serathine composed herself, though her eyes were still glittering with mischief.
"Of course. But secrecy will be critical. If Dax learns before the gala, the effect will be lost."
Cressida nodded, her strategist brain already firing behind the smile.
"We will have to schedule fittings under alternate appointnts. Redirect palace staff. Clear corridors and call in personal favors."
Chris stared.
"At this point, I think I’m just accidentally starting a coup."
Serathine exhaled in satisfaction.
"No, dear, a romantic ambush. Far more effective and less bloody."
Chris blinked.
"...Those are different things?"
"Outco is similar," Cressida said, cheerful. "Morale is just higher."
Killian stepped forward, posture straight, voice crisp, but clearly amused.
"I will personally oversee the schedule alterations, atelier confidentiality, security routing, and transportation. No one will know."
Chris looked up, startled.
"You’ll... keep it secret?"
Killian inclined his head.
"This is a matter of sentint. Sentint is not to be interfered with."
Serathine smiled. Cressida softened.
’There. That was why I trust these terrifying people.’ Chris thought with exasperation and amusent.
Killian continued, tone shifting back to its usual weight:
"However... His Majesty has requested your presence."
Chris’s heart stopped. ’Fuck! I’m not ready yet!’
"He... no... does he know about?!"
"No."
Chris slumped in relief. ’Thanks gods.’
"He is in the West Terrace office," Killian continued. "He simply wishes to see you."
Serathine rested her chin on her hand.
"Oh, how romantic."
Cressida’s grin spread slow and sharp.
"And how unfortunate for you, given your current emotional state."
Chris stood, straightened his shirt, and ran a hand through his hair.
Pure panic in elegant packaging.
He said, with determination and complete delusion:
"I’m going to act normal."
Serathine kindly took upon herself to remind the oga of the reality. "You are not."
Cressida’s usual strict aura was out the window with Chris’s sense of self-preservation. "But we look forward to the attempt."
Killian opened the door.
Chris walked toward it like a man approaching either a love confession or a controlled explosion. ’Both.’ He thought grimly.
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