Caught by the Mad Alpha King Chapter 445: Dax’s call

Chris had expected parliant to be worse.

Not blood-on-marble worse, Saha saved that kind of drama for funerals and coups, but the familiar kind: nobles circling the throne like they owned it, slling Dax’s absence and deciding it was their civic duty to test how much of the crown Chris could hold alone.

They tried.

Of course they tried.

They praised the king’s response in Alamina with suspicious enthusiasm before pivoting exactly where Sahir had warned them to - resource allocation, dostic strain, and ’accountability,’ all disguised as concern. They tried to make it sound as if helping Alamina ant abandoning Saha. They tried to make it sound as if ’stability’ was sothing the crown owed them personally.

Chris let them talk.

He let them get comfortable inside their own speeches.

And then he gutted the argunt with math.

Saha’s assistance was not charitable; it was a containnt strategy. It was cheaper to fight an infection at distance than to wait until it reached their cities and started tearing through living bodies. He cited spending. He cited project milestones. He cited exactly how many reconstruction crews were deployed and when the next tranche of funding would be released.

And when one particularly determined lord tried to invoke ’traditional values’ as a reason to slow dical funding, Chris tilted his head and asked, pleasantly, whether traditional values could also treat a bite and stop an outbreak.

The chamber had gone quiet in the way it only went quiet when soone realized the Queen was not decorative.

It ended as most sessions do: with the nobles looking uneasy, as if they had arrived expecting a vulnerable consort and instead found a ruler with sharp teeth and a ledger.

Chris stood, nodded, and left without giving them the dignity of watching him react.

The doors closed behind him.

The corridor outside was colder.

He exhaled slowly.

Sahir fell into step beside him, cane tapping softly against the polished floor. The old man’s expression stayed controlled, but pride radiated off him anyway.

"You were—" Sahir began.

Chris cut him off instantly. "Do not complint ."

Sahir’s mouth twitched faintly. "You were efficient."

Chris rolled his eyes. "That’s still a complint."

"It’s a report," Sahir corrected.

They turned into the private corridor leading back toward the royal wing, guards stepping aside, staff lowering their eyes, the palace breathing its careful rhythm around them.

Chris was halfway to stating that he deserved a dal for not setting parliant on fire when his phone vibrated.

The screen lit in his hand.

CALLING: DAX.

For a heartbeat, everything narrowed.

Sahir saw the na and stepped back without being told, disappearing into polite distance like he’d never existed.

Chris answered.

He brought the phone to his ear, his voice dry and controlled, because if he allowed the relief to show, it would beco sothing else.

"Oh, look who found out that I passed my parliant session. Alone," Chris said, voice light and pleased with itself, because sarcasm was safer than whatever else was sitting under his ribs.

There was a pause on the line.

Not the warm, amused pause Dax usually gave him. Not the one that ant ’I’m smiling and you know it.’

Chris’s smile faded without permission.

"Dax," he said, the playfulness bleeding out of his tone like soone had opened a vein. "Talk."

Dax’s voice ca across as low and steady, but it was too flat and careful, as if he was clenching his teeth with each syllable.

"My moon."

Chris’s fingers tightened around the phone. "Where are you?"

"On an aircraft," Dax said.

Chris blinked once. "What?"

"We’re coming back," Dax replied.

Chris’ posture remained perfectly still as the corridor beca overwhelming with each sense of Chris being attacked. He checked the bond in hopes he would feel sothing, but Dax was keeping him away with his own pheromones sweeping through the phone.

"Why?" Chris asked, and his voice was already cold.

A pause.

"There was an incident," Dax said.

Chris’s mouth went dry. "Who?"

Dax’s tone changed. The warmth didn’t leave completely, but command slid over it like armor; the voice that made rooms obey him even through a phone line ca through the speaker.

"Chris. I need the urgent board of physicians waiting at the tarmac."

Chris stopped walking.

The corridor appeared to tighten around him - the lights were too white, the floor was too polished, and the guards were too still.

"What the fuck, Dax?" Chris said, low and furious. "What happened to you?"

Sahir’s brows drew together at the language, worry cutting through his usual composure, but Chris didn’t look at him. He couldn’t afford the distraction of manners.

"I’m fine, my moon," Dax said quickly, like he’d anticipated the flare and wanted to neutralize it. "Listen to . Arion was wounded by an infected soldier."

Chris’s heartbeat skipped.

"Infected," he repeated, and now his voice had gone very calm.

"Yes." Dax’s voice stayed steady. "She hadn’t fully transford - she wasn’t a beast yet - but she was corrupted. Killian spotted it first."

Chris’s hand tightened on the phone until his knuckles ached. "Wounded how?"

"A scratch across the cheek." Dax’s words were precise, clipped, and chosen carefully. "Superficial. But we’re not gambling with that."

Chris shut his eyes for half a heartbeat, a hard blink like he could wipe away the image he was already building.

"And you’re coming back," Chris said.

"We’re coming back," Dax confird. "We’re on an aircraft now. Otto is with Arion. Rowan is with us."

Chris opened his eyes and looked straight ahead, trying to keep his calm and be relieved that Dax was fine.

"Okay," Chris said, voice flat. "Okay. Tarmac. Urgent board. Isolation bay. Full screening. I want the negative-pressure cabin prepped and sealed."

Sahir stepped closer, already moving, already shifting into crisis mode without being asked. "Your Majesty, I’ll alert the dical director and—"

"Do it," Chris cut in, still into the phone. "Dax, talk to . Is Arion conscious?"

"Sedated," Dax answered. "Light. He was distressed. It keeps him calm and reduces stress-triggered pheromone fluctuation."

Chris swallowed. "Good."

There was a faint sound on Dax’s end - movent, muffled voices, and the chanical hum of an aircraft cabin.

Chris’s voice sharpened again. "And you. Are you bleeding?"

A pause, too small.

Chris’s eyes narrowed.

"Dax."

"I’m fine," Dax repeated, but this ti it sounded like he ant ’I’m operational,’ not ’I’m untouched.’

Chris’s jaw set. "That was not the question."

Dax exhaled slowly. "Not from the incident."

Chris’s throat tightened. "From what, then?"

Another pause.

Chris didn’t let it stretch.

"Tell ," he said softly, and the softness was more dangerous than shouting. "Now."

Dax’s voice dropped lower. "Killian is dead."