Chris started to understand that Dax had left him in Saha not only because it was safer but also because the nace had calmly dropped his entire schedule onto Chris’s very pretty shoulders and walked out of the country with the relaxed confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
"I should kill him," Chris muttered, flipping through the stack of folders like they were personally offensive.
Nero was on the rug near the couch with a selection of soft toys that had clearly been chosen by soone who believed in ’developnt.’ Nero believed in chaos. He grabbed one plush animal, shoved half of it into his mouth, and then stared at Chris as if daring him to comnt.
Chris didn’t.
He was currently fighting for his life against the calendar.
It was a nightmare.
A brutal, neat, beautifully formatted nightmare that looked like it had been prepared by an army and approved by God. Every day was split into blocks. Every block had sub-blocks. Every sub-block had notes, security requirents, dress codes, and a list of people Chris would have to be polite to.
Dax hadn’t just left Chris with responsibilities.
He’d left him a weaponized structure.
He basically threw everything at Chris because he trusted him, considered him capable, and, apparently, could not resist the opportunity to turn competence into a love language and suffering into a hobby.
Chris should have known that his husband’s and mate’s praise was a trap.
He shuffled papers, jaw tight, eyes scanning.
Budget eting. Reconstruction committee. Trade delegation briefing. Royal charity appearance. Security review. Military supply audit.
Chris paused.
He stared at that line a second longer.
Then he said, very softly, "Oh, absolutely not."
Nero made a pleased gurgle, as if he supported rebellion.
Chris leaned back in the chair and dragged a hand down his face.
Dax wasn’t here to intercept the complaints. Dax wasn’t here to take the brunt of the tedium. Dax wasn’t even here to hover like a tall, possessive shadow and make it everyone else’s problem that Chris existed.
Which ant Chris had to be the shadow now.
He hated being the shadow.
He liked being the knife.
He tapped the edge of a folder against the desk, his expression turning flat and dangerous in the quiet way it always did when he was deciding what could be endured and what would be punished later.
From the door, a knock sounded.
"Enter," Chris called without looking up.
Pri Minister Sahir stepped in with the sa composed dignity he always carried, mantle immaculate, posture straight, expression calm in the way older n got when they’d already lived through enough chaos to stop being impressed by it.
He held a slim folder in one hand.
Chris imdiately disliked the folder on principle.
Sahir’s gaze flicked once toward Nero on the rug. His eyes softened the smallest fraction, the kind of softness that never made it to his voice.
"Your Majesty," Sahir greeted.
Chris lifted his head. "Pri Minister."
Sahir stepped closer, and because he was Sahir, he didn’t preface it with a warning. He simply delivered the problem like an offering.
"In two days," Sahir said, "you will need to conduct the parliant session."
Chris didn’t blink.
He didn’t move.
He simply stared, as if staring could cause reality to reconsider.
Then he lowered his gaze slowly to the schedule in front of him, flipped a page, and flipped another, like the answer might be hidden under the paper.
When it wasn’t, he looked back at Sahir.
"In two days," Chris repeated, voice careful. "Parliant."
"Yes."
Chris’s smile appeared.
It was the bright, polite smile of a person who had decided violence was the only remaining form of honesty.
Sahir watched him with the calm patience of a man observing a storm form over the sea.
Chris leaned back in his chair with exaggerated grace. "Why?"
Sahir didn’t flinch. "Because the session cannot be postponed. Because the opposition has been circling it for a week. Because the king is out of the country, and if we allow parliant to sll a gap in the crown, they will attempt to widen it."
Chris stared.
Then he exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound that was half laugh and half threat.
"So," Chris said, "Dax left his schedule, his duties, his paperwork, and his parliant."
Sahir’s expression remained composed. "Yes."
Chris’s eyes narrowed. "Did you know?"
Sahir paused just long enough to be honest without being cruel.
"The King ntioned," Sahir said, "that you would be unhappy."
Chris nodded slowly, as if filing that away under ’reasons to bite my mate when he returns.’
Nero, sensing the tone shift, pulled the plush animal out of his mouth and stared in their direction like he was monitoring the conversation.
Chris glanced at him, then back at Sahir.
"How bad is it?" Chris asked.
Sahir’s mouth twitched faintly. "It is parliant."
Chris sighed. "That bad."
Sahir opened the slim folder and slid it onto the desk like he was placing down a weapon.
Chris didn’t touch it yet. He just looked at it, eyes narrowed, as if it might explode.
"What are they trying this ti?" Chris asked, mild and deadly.
Sahir’s voice remained even. "They are framing it as a ’stability session.’ They will praise the king’s response to the pheromone beasts and then pivot into questions about resource allocation. They will attempt to create the impression that the crown is overextending itself in foreign aid while neglecting dostic needs."
Chris’s eyes cooled. "While I am literally doing dostic needs?"
"Yes."
Chris’s smile appeared bright, polite, and the kind that made sensible people start looking for exits.
"Sahir, my dear," Chris said, "prepare the fire. I’m in a mood now."
Sahir didn’t blink, but the corner of his mouth twitched faintly, as if he’d heard this exact tone before and had already written three contingency plans for it.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," he replied smoothly. "Though I should remind you, before you set parliant on fire, that you have been sitting through these sessions with the king for five years."
Chris stared at him. "That was not participation. That was supervised endurance."
Sahir’s eyes held a quiet, amused patience. "It was participation. You learned their rhythms. You watched who speaks first, who speaks loudest, who hides behind procedure, and who panics when challenged."
Chris scoffed softly. "I watched because it was annoying."
"Yes," Sahir agreed, entirely unbothered. "And because you are perceptive."
Nero, on the rug, slapped a plush toy against the floor like he approved of the plan to commit political violence.
Chris glanced at him. "No violence in parliant, Nero."
Nero blinked at him with solemn innocence, then patted the rug again like that wasn’t a promise.
Sahir’s gaze flicked to the baby and softened.
"There will be no violence," Sahir said.
Chris’s brows lifted. "That’s a promise?"
Sahir’s faint amusent deepened. "That is an expectation based on your talent for delivering threats in complete sentences."
Reviews
All reviews (0)