Killian walked through Alamina’s palace like it had been built with his approval, his pace unhurried and his posture immaculate, accompanied by Hale and two of Otto’s guards who had long since realized that ’escort’ was a polite word for ’try to keep up.’
The palace was legendary for its grandeur, with arched ceilings carved like waves, corridors paved in pale stone that held the day’s light like a mory, and windows tall enough to make even a king appear mortal beneath them.
Killian didn’t look up.
He looked forward.
Because awe was for tourists, and he had a schedule.
His phone vibrated. Not a ring; Killian had standards, even for other people’s chaos.
He pulled it from his pocket with practiced smoothness, and the steel in his gaze softened the mont he saw the caller.
Christopher.
He answered before the second vibration finished.
"My queen," Killian said, voice calm, as if he weren’t currently standing in a palace on another continent while the air outside tried to turn n into monsters. "To what do I owe this pleasure? And please don’t tell parliant caught fire. I’m still trying to be proud of you responsibly."
Chris’s voice ca through the line, bright and sharp and clearly awake at a rude hour in Saha. "It hasn’t caught fire yet. That’s scheduled for later."
Killian’s mouth twitched. "Excellent. I appreciate punctuality."
Hale made a quiet sound beside him that might have been laughter if he’d been a braver man.
Killian continued walking, one gloved hand flicking in a subtle gesture that sent the guards forward and the curious staff backward. They moved like a small, polite storm.
"Before you ask," Killian said, "yes. I survived the event."
Chris paused. "What event?"
Killian’s eyes slid to the side as if the palace walls might be listening. "The one I organized before I left Saha. The one you attended and pretended you weren’t enjoying."
Chris made a slow, suspicious sound. "Killian."
"It was not my fault you looked dostic," Killian replied serenely. "You stood beside His Majesty with Nero in your arms for exactly seven minutes while the press caras were aligned for ’candid’ coverage."
Chris’s silence was loud.
Killian added, almost gently, "I had to redirect two photographers and a minister’s wife who attempted to angle herself into the fra like she was adopting your child by proximity."
Chris exhaled. "You’re telling you arranged the ’first family’ photo."
"I arranged the conditions for an inevitable photograph," Killian corrected. "You’re welco."
Hale watched Killian like he was witnessing a court magician.
Chris’s voice went sharper. "You made my country fall in love with as a weapon."
Killian didn’t deny it. "Yes."
"And you did it right before you left."
"Also yes," Killian said. "Because you were going to be alone in that palace without His Majesty breathing down everyone’s neck. Public affection is insurance. It makes people protective. It makes them watch for threats. It makes them angry on your behalf. It makes them feel like you’re theirs."
Chris’s voice went quiet for a beat. "That’s manipulative."
Killian’s tone remained calm. "That’s governance."
Chris sighed dramatically. "I hate it when you’re right."
Killian’s gaze flicked toward a side corridor where an Alamina official was trying to decide whether to approach him. One look from Killian made the man rember an urgent appointnt elsewhere.
"I’ll accept your hatred as gratitude," Killian said. "Now. What do you actually need, Christopher?"
Chris’s voice changed, remaining controlled and sharp, but the edge shifted from annoyance to sothing more direct.
"How is he?"
Killian slowed his steps by a fraction. Hale and the guards adjusted with him, a silent formation that understood the difference between ’phone banter’ and ’this matters.’
Killian didn’t pretend he hadn’t expected this question. He’d been counting the days of no contact too, in his own way. You didn’t serve a king like Dax without learning how to asure danger in silence.
"He’s still in the field," Killian said. "With Otto."
Chris didn’t speak.
Killian went on, his tone carefully balanced between honest and steady. "Comms are restricted, but he’s alive."
Chris let out a controlled breath. "How do you know?"
Killian’s mouth twitched, faintly amused, because Chris always demanded precision like it was a right.
"Because Otto is not the kind of man who would allow him to die without making it everyone’s problem," Killian said. "And because I have eyes where I need them."
Hale looked at the floor like he’d decided not to hear that last part.
Chris’s voice tightened slightly. "What’s the progress?"
Killian’s gaze slid toward the tall windows at the end of the corridor. Daylight poured through, bright and indifferent. Sowhere beyond that glass, there was a contained area and a line of n holding it.
"Staggering," Killian said. "Better than projected. They’ve cut down multiple surge pockets. They’ve pushed the periter back. Otto’s council is already revising their models because His Majesty refuses to behave within expected limits."
Chris made a sound that was very close to pride. "Of course he does."
Killian allowed himself a softer tone. "He’s doing what he said he would."
Chris went quiet again, but only briefly.
Then, sharper, because Chris never stayed soft too long: "And when he cos back?"
Killian smiled faintly, eyes brightening with the kind of humor that could still carry a warning.
"When His Majesty returns to Saha," Killian said, "he will be exhausted. He will be hungry. He will be irritated at having been away from you."
Chris huffed. "Normal."
Killian continued anyway, because he enjoyed being right and Chris enjoyed pretending he didn’t need the information.
"And," Killian added, half serious, half like he was enjoying this too much, "it is extrely likely he will co ho in rut."
Chris paused.
Then laughed - softly, delighted, and absolutely unbothered. "Killian."
"It’s biology," Killian replied calmly. "Days of sustained dominance output, combat stress, pheromone saturation in the air, and separation from his mate. If His Majesty cos ho in a rut, it will not be a surprise."
Chris’s laugh deepened, wicked with amusent. "That sounds like a problem."
Killian’s voice stayed smooth. "It sounds like a you problem."
Chris inhaled, still smiling. "Fine. I’ll prepare for it."
Killian raised his brows, even though Chris couldn’t see him. "Should I warn the palace staff to evacuate your wing?"
Chris’s voice turned bright and shaless. "Yes."
Hale coughed like he’d choked on air.
Killian didn’t even glance at him. "Noted."
Chris added, lightly, "Tell Dax I’ll bite him for leaving with parliant."
Killian’s amusent sharpened. "He’ll accept that as foreplay."
Chris made another laugh that was pure nace. "That’s given."
Killian’s steps resud, steady again. He turned a corner into a quieter hallway lined with guards and locked doors - war rooms, briefing rooms, and places where decisions were made and people pretended not to be afraid.
"Christopher," Killian said, and his tone shifted, just a degree more serious under the humor, because he wasn’t a man who offered comfort, but he did offer truth. "If there’s no contact, it ans they’re moving. It ans they’re not stopped. And Otto wouldn’t permit silence if sothing had gone wrong."
Chris’s voice softened for half a heartbeat. "I know."
Killian let that sit. Then, because he was Killian, he closed the mont with a blade wrapped in silk.
"Now," he said, "go back to ruling. Keep eating. Keep sleeping when you can. And try not to actually burn parliant."
Chris sighed. "No promises."
Killian’s smile returned. "That’s my Queen."
They hung up a mont later.
Killian slid the phone back into his pocket and kept walking toward the briefing wing, the palace around him still beautiful, still foreign, still irrelevant compared to the only facts that mattered:
Dax was still in the field.
Otto was still holding the line.
And sowhere in Saha, Chris was already smiling like a man preparing for both war and a rutting king returning ho.
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