Rowan appeared at Chris’s side with impeccable timing, his presence cutting through the mont like a clean line through fog.
"Your Highness," he said evenly, inclining his head just enough to be respectful without inviting interruption. "Apologies. You’re expected in the administrative wing. The eting has been moved forward."
Adelaide’s smile tightened. "Already? We were just..."
"Yes," Rowan agreed calmly, not looking at her. "Which makes the timing unfortunate."
He turned slightly, enough that his body now oriented Chris away from her and toward the path.
Chris nodded once, reflexively, because his mind was still catching up to what had just detonated behind his eyes.
"Of course," he said, hearing his own voice from a distance. "Duty first."
Adelaide hesitated, then dipped her head, gracious to the point of theater. "Another ti, then. We’ll talk soon."
Chris did not promise anything. He let Rowan guide him away, footsteps falling into place without conscious direction.
The gardens blurred.
Leaves. Stone. Voices folding back into aningless sound.
’God damn it, why now? The Maleks really have the worst timing.’ Chris thought while following Rowan without really seeing where he was going or feeling the other guards closing in now that a Malek was stupid enough to reach him.
His parents had known. Had known exactly what the Maleks did. Had known what Chris would beco. And they had built a wall around him before he ever realized he needed one.
The gardens blurred as they passed back into controlled corridors with stone replacing greenery, the air cooling, sharpening into the clean stillness of administration.
Rowan spoke again. "Are you unwell, Your Highness?"
Chris realized his breathing was shallow. He forced a slow inhale.
"No," he said. "Just... thinking."
Rowan accepted that with the face of a man that would definitely report everything to Dax later.
The administrative wing swallowed sound.
Stone corridors replaced the gardens’ openness, the air cooler and regulated, carrying ink and polished tal instead of flowers. Chris barely registered the transition. He followed Rowan on muscle mory alone, shoes striking in a rhythm that felt too loud in his head.
Dax was already there.
He stood near the junction outside the council offices, coat open with the careless poise of a man who had been working since dawn. He looked up as Chris approached and imdiately raised a brow.
"You walked," Dax said.
It was not a question.
His gaze flicked once, efficient, catching the faint sheen of sweat at Chris’s hairline and the way his mate’s posture was just a fraction too tight. "From the gardens," he added mildly. "Across the palace."
Chris did not answer.
That, more than anything, was wrong.
Dax’s attention shifted at once. His eyes moved past Chris to Rowan, the warmth draining from them with alarming speed. The look he gave his guard was calm, controlled, and carried a very specific promise of violence if no explanation followed.
Rowan did not test it.
"Encounter in the public gardens," he reported evenly. "House Malek. Adelaide Malek initiated contact. I intervened as soon as clearance allowed and redirected His Highness here."
Dax’s jaw set, imperceptible to anyone else, but Chris recognized the signs now: the stillness, the way his shoulders locked into readiness.
"How long," Dax asked, voice level, "was he alone?"
"Less than a minute," Rowan replied. "Enough to speak. Not enough to escalate."
Dax exhaled once through his nose. His hand ca up, resting briefly at the small of Chris’s back, warm and possessive.
Chris still hadn’t spoken, he was still trying to rember if there were other signs that his secondary gender was obvious, but he knew for sure that Andrew didn’t know, so probably his parents never told anyone.
’Was it really a simple accident?’ Chris wondered, ignoring the real world.
Dax leaned in slightly, just enough that his voice dropped below the corridor’s reach. "Chris."
Chris blinked, the sound snapping him back into himself. He looked up, forcing his expression into sothing functional.
"I’m fine," he said. It was not a lie. It was simply incomplete.
Dax studied him for a long second, then nodded. "We’ll talk," he said quietly.
He straightened and turned his attention back to Rowan. "eting?"
"Moved forward by twenty minutes," Rowan confird. "All principals present."
"Good," Dax said. His thumb pressed once, reassuringly, against Chris’s spine. "You’re staying with ."
Chris nodded, automatically this ti.
—
The eting ended the way most of them did with papers gathered, voices smoothed, decisions postponed just long enough to be irritating. Chris rembered answering when spoken to. He did not rember most of what was said.
By the ti they returned to the private wing, the tension had settled into his muscles like grit.
"Shower," Dax had said, quiet but firm, steering him toward the adjoining chambers. Not a suggestion.
Hot water helped. Steam blurred the edges of his thoughts, loosened the tight coil in his chest. Chris stood longer than necessary, forehead pressed briefly to the cool stone, breathing until his pulse slowed into sothing manageable. By the ti he turned the water off, he felt human again. Mostly.
He stepped out, towel wrapped low around his hips, hair still dripping.
He made it exactly three steps before a seven-foot-three alpha collided with him.
Chris let out a startled sound that was halfway between a laugh and a gasp as Dax’s arms closed around him, powerful and sudden, lifting him just enough that his feet barely brushed the floor.
"Dax!" Chris started.
Dax ignored the protest entirely and buried his face against Chris’s neck, inhaling slowly, deeply, like he was verifying sothing vital was still intact. The hold was tight but careful, all strength restrained to exactly where it wouldn’t hurt.
"This," Dax said into his skin, voice roughened, "is what happens when you disappear into your own head after a Malek looks at you."
"I didn’t disappear," Chris muttered, though he lted anyway, hands sliding up to brace against Dax’s chest. "I was... thinking."
Dax huffed. "That’s worse."
He didn’t loosen his grip.
Chris relaxed fully then, the last of the eting’s residue draining out of him as warmth and familiar weight replaced it. His cheek pressed against Dax’s collarbone, damp hair soaking into dark fabric without apology.
"I walked across the palace," Chris said quietly, after a mont.
"I know," Dax replied. "Rowan told . In detail."
As if summoned by the ntion, Rowan appeared in the doorway with impeccable timing, his presence cutting through the mont like a clean line through fog. His gaze flicked once over the scene with the towel, bare feet, and Dax still holding Chris off the ground, then politely fixed itself sowhere above shoulder height.
"Your Majesty," he said evenly. "Apologies. I’ll return later."
"No," Dax said, still not letting go. "Report."
Rowan inclined his head. "House Malek has requested a formal audience. I declined on procedural grounds and advised a cooling period. They were... displeased."
"Good," Dax said.
Rowan’s eyes shifted briefly to Chris. "His Highness is scheduled for a dical check tomorrow morning. Routine."
Chris groaned softly. "You absolutely told Nadia."
"I absolutely told Nadia and she also wanted to see you for after-heat care." Rowan confird.
Dax finally set Chris down, though his hands stayed firm at his waist, thumbs anchoring him in place. He looked down, expression intent but no longer sharp.
"You’re not alone," he said. "Not now. Not ever."
Chris looked up at him, sothing tight and unreadable easing in his chest. "I know," he said, honestly.
Rowan waited precisely two seconds, then added, "I will also be outside. In case anyone else develops unfortunate timing."
"Inform Killian that we would have dinner in the sitting room; soone has to talk." Dax said.
Rowan inclined his head once. "Understood, Your Majesty."
He withdrew, the door closing with a soft, final click that sealed the world down to two people and a great deal of unfinished thought.
Reviews
All reviews (0)