Caught by the Mad Alpha King Chapter 327: How far?

Chris was in an absurdly soft bathrobe that swallowed him whole and slled faintly of bergamot and spice, favored by Dax because it made the suite feel like theirs rather than borrowed territory. His hair was still damp, curls clinging to his temples, and he was leaning against the arm of a chair with the casual sprawl of soone who knew an entire security detail stood between him and the rest of the city.

Rowan stood a few steps away, arms crossed, watching him with open, poorly concealed amusent.

A year ago, the consort had been polite. Reserved. Carefully asured in every word and movent, as if afraid to take up too much space beside a king.

Now he was lounging in a bathrobe, sending unhinged ssages over a secure channel while organized cri was being dismantled in real ti.

Rowan cleared his throat. "You know," he said mildly, "if soone had told a year ago that you’d be using that encrypted military line to tornt His Majesty while wrapped in hotel linen, I would have assud they were unwell."

Chris didn’t even look at him. "Shut up."

Rowan’s mouth twitched. "With respect, no."

Chris finally glanced over, eyes bright with mischief. "You’re enjoying this far too much."

"I’m enjoying your character developnt," Rowan corrected. "It’s been... dramatic."

Chris huffed and shifted, his robe falling a little looser around his shoulders. "I have always had character. I just used to waste it on etiquette lessons with Cressida."

There was a brief pause, then he tilted his head, considering sothing.

"Rowan."

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Hypothetical question."

Rowan braced himself. "I already regret this."

"Is there," Chris asked calmly, "a catalogue? For... adult goods. That the palace uses."

Silence.

Then Rowan blinked. Once. Twice.

"...There is," he admitted.

Chris’s brows lifted with interest, and a wide grin illuminated his face. "Of course there is."

"Procurent, dical wing, stress managent, diplomatic gifts - don’t ask," Rowan said dryly. "Why?"

Chris’s grin widened alarmingly. "Because I am bored, my husband is being terrifying several kiloters away, and I am exploring productive ways to pass the ti."

Rowan stared at him for a long second, then let out a resigned breath. "I miss the polite, reserved version of you."

Chris smiled sweetly. "He married a king. This is the upgraded edition."

Rowan stared at him for a heartbeat longer, then sighed in the way of a man who had long since accepted that his life involved enabling chaos at the highest level of state security.

"Stay here," he said, already turning toward the adjoining office. "And don’t touch anything classified while I’m gone."

Chris lifted a hand in a lazy salute. "I make no promises."

Rowan returned a minute later with a thin, matte-black tablet, its surface marked only with a discreet silver seal. He handed it over with the air of soone passing a loaded weapon.

"Palace procurent. Restricted access. Filtered by category," he said. "And before you ask, yes, there is a section you will find... educational."

Chris accepted it with reverence entirely out of proportion to the object. "You are a national treasure, Rowan."

"I am regretting every career choice that led here."

Chris’s eyes were already skimming the screen. His brows lifted. Then his smile turned slow and dangerous.

"Oh, this is a catalogue catalogue," he murmured. "They have covers. Branding. Aesthetic choices."

Rowan leaned back against the wall, arms crossing again, watching with thinly veiled amusent. "Please rember that everything in that system is logged."

Chris tilted the tablet so the cover filled the screen: minimalist, elegant, and discreetly suggestive without being explicit. He raised his own device, snapped a photo of it, and then, with deliberate mischief, opened the secure channel.

The ssage went out accompanied by the image.

Chris: ’Since you’re busy being terrifying, I thought I’d do so... research. Tell , Your Majesty, do you have a preference for suppliers?’

He sent it, then leaned back into the chair, bathrobe pooling around him, curls still damp, eyes bright with the wicked satisfaction of a man who knew exactly what kind of distraction he was providing.

Rowan closed his eyes. "A year ago, you would have blushed at the word ’catalogue’ in this context."

"A year ago," Chris replied pleasantly, "I had just been kidnapped by a king and was coming off ten years of suppressants. This," he gestured at himself in the oversized bathrobe and the tablet balanced on his knee, "is the unfiltered version. I’ve always been like this. I just used to be... chemically polite."

He scrolled, brows lifting in open amusent as the first pages passed. The corners of his mouth curved, slow and wicked, a smile that made it very clear he was enjoying himself far too much.

"And don’t tell you’re so delicate, virtuous little thing who’s never opened this section," he added, glancing up. "You don’t survive royal security without curiosity."

Rowan sighed, but the sound was more resigned than scandalized and undeniably amused. "I do."

Chris’s eyes lit up. "See? Kindred spirits."

He tilted the tablet slightly, considering another page, then humd in satisfaction. "Good. Then you won’t judge for... research."

—

The image ca through while Dax was still on the docks, the operation shifting from arrest to consolidation, Verdan’s people being moved to secure transport, evidence catalogued, and the periter tightening like a net drawn closed.

His comm vibrated once.

Then again. He glanced down. A picture.

The cover of a sleek, discreet catalogue, all minimalist lines and subtle implication, the kind of thing that pretended to be tasteful while promising absolutely none of that in practice.

For a second, he simply stared.

Then the accompanying ssage loaded.

Chris: ’Since you’re busy being terrifying, I thought I’d do so... research. Tell , Your Majesty, do you have a preference for suppliers?’

The corner of Dax’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous.

Around him, the docks slled of salt, oil, and cold water. n moved in disciplined patterns, voices low, the machinery of power grinding forward exactly as he had intended. Belvare was beginning to understand what it ant to be under royal attention.

And in the middle of it, his consort was in a bathrobe, flipping through an adult catalogue and deliberately sending him photographic evidence.

Dax let out a low sound that was sowhere between a laugh and a growl.

"You are impossible," he murmured, more fond than the words suggested.

He typed back with one hand, eyes still tracking the movent of his security teams.

Dax: ’Page 34, section 3, item number: 34456’

—

The ssage hung on Chris’s screen for a full second before his brain caught up.

He blinked.

Then he laughed. A full, delighted sound that made Rowan glance over with wary interest.

"Oh," Chris breathed, eyes lighting up as he leaned forward, fingers already moving to cross-reference the code. "Oh, you do have a preference."

Rowan arched a brow. "I’m almost afraid to ask."

"You should be," Chris said cheerfully, scrolling. "Because this is either going to confirm that my husband is far more prepared than he lets on, or that palace procurent has been enabling him for years."

The item loaded. Discreet description. Impeccable branding. The language promised luxury, control, and far too much confidence for an object that claid to be rely "ribbed for your pleasure."

Chris’s grin turned incandescent.

He lifted his own device again and snapped a second picture, this ti of the product page itself, the elegant lines, and the carefully vague promises.

Then he sent it.

Chris: ’You didn’t even hesitate. I see. So this is what "royal taste" looks like.’

A beat.

Chris: ’Noted, Your Majesty. Very... noted.’

Rowan watched him, arms crossed, amusent deepening. "You’re enjoying this."

"Imnsely," Chris replied, settling back into the chair, bathrobe pooling around him, curls still damp, eyes bright with wicked satisfaction. "He thinks he’s testing how far I’ll go."

He glanced at the screen again, at the quiet confidence of Dax’s reply, at the way his husband had stepped into the ga without missing a beat.

"He’s about to learn," Chris added softly, "that I don’t back down first."

He ordered it.