Caught by the Mad Alpha King Chapter 476: Lower odds

"Congratulations."

Chris stared at him from the table like a man considering whether murder remained legal under summit ergency protocol.

Dax did not move.

That was worse.

Chris turned his head.

His husband looked as though the world had stopped and restarted around a single fact. Hit full force by sothing so enormous it had stripped every other thought out of him for a second.

Chris, anwhile, was still pinned beneath his own disbelief.

"No," he said.

Travis did not flinch. "Yes."

"No," Chris repeated, more sharply this ti, sitting up on his elbows. "Explain the impossible part."

There was a brief silence.

Travis, to his credit, answered like a physician and not a man who had just been asked to explain elentary royal reproductive chanics.

"The direct insemination His Majesty can perform," he said carefully, "is the most efficient thod. It places sperm exactly where it needs to be and significantly increases the chances of conception."

Chris folded one arm over his middle and looked at him with exhausted fury. "I know what it does. I am asking why I’m pregnant when that did not happen."

Dax’s gaze snapped to Travis fully now.

The physician remained infuriatingly calm. "Because it is the most effective thod," he said, "not the only one."

Chris went very still.

’No.’

Travis continued, professional to the point of insult. "His Majesty’s sperm can still impregnate you through ordinary intercourse, the sa way a standard alpha can impregnate an oga."

Chris stared at him.

Dax finally spoke, his voice low. "That chance is low."

"Yes," Travis said. "Lower. Not absent."

Chris closed his eyes for one long second, then opened them again with the look of a man betrayed by biology personally. "How low."

Travis checked the tablet, though he clearly did not need to. "Under forty-five percent per fertile cycle, broadly speaking, depending on timing and individual hormonal factors."

"For the love of—" Chris started.

"If you don’t want it—" Dax began at the exact sa ti, only to be cut off imdiately.

"I want it," Chris said sharply. "I’m not prepared emotionally."

The room went still.

Travis, to his credit, did not react beyond a single professional blink.

Dax, unfortunately, looked like soone had reached into his ribcage and gripped his heart with a bare hand.

Chris saw it happen in real ti and resented himself for the honesty anyway.

Because that was the problem with Dax. He had never once in his life deserved gentleness in the abstract, but with Chris and the children, he could still pull it out of the air like a miracle and make Chris feel like the crueler man for forgetting he was capable of it.

Dax stepped closer to the table. "Chris."

Chris pressed a hand to his forehead. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Look like that."

Dax’s voice dropped lower. "You said you want it."

"Yes," Chris snapped, then exhaled and tried again with less violence. "Yes. I want it. That is not the issue."

Travis took one wise step back toward the counter.

Chris noticed and almost admired the instinct.

"The issue," Chris said, "is that I was not expecting to be told I’m pregnant in the middle of an international summit while trying not to let your diplomatic hobby turn into homicide."

Dax’s mouth twitched once despite himself.

Chris pointed at him. "Do not look amused."

"I’m not amused."

"You almost were."

"I’m overwheld."

"That is much worse."

Dax reached for him anyway, one broad hand settling carefully against Chris’s thigh, the other coming to rest at his waist like he needed proof that Chris was still there and not so hallucination constructed by scent and hope.

"I’m sorry," Dax said quietly.

Chris blinked at him. "For what?"

"For assuming the wrong part mattered first."

That took so of the sharpness out of him.

Only so.

Chris looked down at his own hands for a mont, then at the white sterile floor, then finally back up at Travis, who stood there with the calm patience of a man who had apparently decided this was a normal workplace interaction.

"I am happy," Chris said, the words coming slower now, more carefully arranged. "I would just like everyone in this room to appreciate that I had not budgeted for this psychologically."

"That’s understandable," Travis said.

Chris narrowed his eyes. "You are taking this too well."

"I’m an obstetrician."

"That remains unconvincing."

Travis, unbothered, set the tablet down on the tray beside him. "Unexpected but wanted pregnancies are still unexpected. Those are not contradictory conditions."

Chris stared at him.

Then, grudgingly, "I dislike how reasonable that sounds."

Dax’s thumb moved once against his waist, a tiny stroke, barely there.

Chris turned his head to look at him and found the sa expression still waiting.

"You," Chris said, "need to calm down."

"I am calm."

Travis made a quiet sound that might have been a cough.

Chris pointed at the doctor without looking away from his husband. "Even he knows that’s false."

Dax ignored both of them and kissed Chris’s temple. "You can calm later when I’m sure that you are safe."

That, unfortunately, took so of the force out of Chris’s irritation.

He turned his head enough to look at Dax properly and found exactly what he had expected to find: that terrifying, unwavering certainty that always erged when Dax decided sothing belonged under his protection.

In this case, apparently, Chris and the very new child he had not known existed an hour ago.

Chris exhaled through his nose. "That is manipulative."

"Yes," Dax said without sha.

"It’s worse when you admit it."

"I know."

Travis, perhaps deciding the marriage was now temporarily stable enough to permit dicine, glanced down at the tablet again. "As I was saying, the result is clear. I’ll want a full scan tomorrow morning, but nothing about the numbers right now suggests imdiate concern."

Chris latched onto that at once. "Good. Excellent. You hear that?" he said to Dax. "No imdiate concern. You can stop acting like I’m one wrong breath away from collapse."

Dax’s hand remained steady at his waist. "No."

Chris looked offended on principle. "You are exhausting."

"That has never been new."

"No, but I resent it fresh every ti."

That finally pulled the smallest curve from Dax’s mouth.

Travis, immune by profession, continued in the sa even tone. "For tonight, keep food simple. Hydrate. Limit ti on your feet where possible. If you feel dizzy, nauseous, overheated, or unusually tired, you leave imdiately."

Chris grinned for the first ti. "Finally, an excuse to leave when Dax starts targeting Caelan."

Dax looked at him with grave offense. "Starts."

"Yes," Chris said. "As though you haven’t spent the entire day laying psychological landmines in a tailored suit."

"That’s unfair."

"It’s precise."

Travis, who had the good sense not to engage with royal marital truth when it presented itself so openly, rely tapped sothing into the tablet and said, "Then I suggest you use the excuse early and with confidence."

Chris’s smile got bigger. "Doctor, I could kiss you."

"No," Dax said at once.

Chris turned his head slowly. "That was a joke."

Dax ignored that and looked back at Travis. "He leaves before dessert."

Chris stared. "Excuse ?"

"You heard the doctor."

"I heard a recomndation."

"You heard a strategy."

"That is not dicine."

"It is when you’re carrying my child."

Chris opened his mouth, then paused, visibly caught between offense and the very inconvenient reality that the phrase had landed sowhere soft.

He recovered quickly. "You are becoming unbearable at speed."

"I’ve had practice."

Travis, still writing, said, "I’d also recomnd sitting through as much of dinner as possible rather than standing through receptions afterward."

Chris pointed at him. "See? This is why I tolerate your profession in small doses. Occasionally you produce art."

"That is not what dicine is," Travis said.

"It is tonight."