Caught by the Mad Alpha King Chapter 52: Dreamland (2)

Chris paused mid-sip, eyes narrowing over the rim of the cup. My heart. Little moon. All morning, even last night, he’d been using those words. Not just once, but over and over. Not teasing nicknas nor random sahan phrases, but the kind of words that ant sothing when said in sahan.

He lowered the cup slowly. "You keep calling that," he said. "Heart. Moon. All those things. Do you talk to everyone like that?"

Dax’s tablet slid down onto his knee. He didn’t look away from Chris, but his posture stayed relaxed, one ankle resting on the opposite knee as though they were still in the villa instead of on a jet hurdling toward a capital about to catch fire. "Do you think I waste sahan words like that on everyone?" he asked mildly.

Chris shifted in the seat. "Well, I wouldn’t know."

"No," Dax said, tone even. "I don’t. They’re only for you."

Chris blinked at him, thrown; he didn’t like how his chest tightened at those words. "You don’t give the aura of a man who’s never had anyone until now," he said, side-eyeing Dax.

The alpha laughed, the warm sound filling the cabin. "No, I’m not. I have seven failed engagents."

Chris’s brows arched. "Seven engagents?" he echoed, leaning forward over his latte. "You’re telling all that sahan poetry and you’ve been through seven of them? Please, go on."

Dax’s violet eyes flicked up, glinting like a man about to tell war stories. "You really want the list?"

Chris smiled faintly. "I’m trapped in your flying palace with a burnt coffee taste in my mouth and a five-hour flight. Entertain ."

Dax set the tablet down and steepled his fingers. "Fine. But rember, these were not lovers. They were ogas grood for politics. The first was a rchant prince’s daughter from the East Coast. She lasted three months before her family tried to slip clauses into the contract that would have gutted Saha’s oil rights. We annulled it the morning after."

Chris tilted his head. "That’s one."

"The second," Dax continued, "a son of a northern duke. Brilliant negotiator, dominant oga on paper. Turned out the papers were forged. He’d been chemically enhanced to pass the tests and collapsed during a council session. His own family left him behind when I voided the treaty."

Chris winced. "Two."

"The third... a poet from the southern delta. Pretty words, hidden knives. Tried to have served a corsage laced with slow-acting poison at the Spring Banquet." Dax’s mouth curved. "I crushed the flowers in my bare hand and had the florist deported before dawn. Her family dissolved the arrangent by lunchti."

Chris gave a small, incredulous laugh. "Three."

"The fourth was an industrial heiress. She injected herself with hormones to mimic a heat strong enough to trigger a bond and nearly broke her own back. She needed spinal realignnt. The Council blad for ’failing’ to mark her when the bond didn’t form."

Chris raised a brow. "Four. I’m sensing a the."

Dax’s eyes glinted. "The fifth was a cousin of a High Council mber. She was honest at least. Wanted to marry to protect her siblings. But her family used her as a bargaining chip. When she found out, she vanished on her own wedding day. I let her go. They said I’d driven her off."

Chris blinked. "Five."

"The sixth," Dax said, "a mountain envoy’s daughter. Her elders offered her to as a gesture of loyalty. She told privately she’d rather die than live at court. So I paid her dowry back in full and put her on a plane out before they could punish her for ’failing’ ."

Chris’s lips twitched. "Six."

"And the seventh," Dax finished, "a princess from a neighboring kingdom. She lasted the longest. Smart, perfectly briefed, perfect pedigree. But she thought she could chain with a fabricated pregnancy. Her own father told the truth before the wedding. I walked out. Truth be told, I knew; I was just curious how far they would go with it."

Chris stared at him, latte forgotten, a mixture of disbelief and reluctant amusent creeping across his face. "You sound like you’re reciting battle reports."

"They were battles," Dax said, tone still even. "Fought in parlors and banquet halls instead of on fields. Everyone lost sothing. Mostly . A reputation for being unmarkable, unbondable, and dangerous to touch."

Chris tilted his head. "And you don’t care?"

Violet eyes flicked up, glinting. "I care enough not to lie about it. That’s why I don’t waste sahan words on people I’m only ant to sign papers with." He leaned forward a fraction, the dark-spiced scent of him sliding across the narrow space. "You’re the first one to hear all of this from ."

Chris huffed out a laugh, half-startled, half-disard. "I thought you were trying to swoon with coffee and endearnts."

"I am," Dax said shalessly, leaning back again. "But I also like my conquests to know exactly what they’re walking into."

Chris shook his head, still smiling despite himself. "Sure, Your Majesty, no pressure."

"None at all," Dax replied, violet eyes glinting over the top of the tablet. "I’ve only dragged you out of bed at dawn, put you on a jet and fed you bad coffee. That’s practically subtle by my standards."

Chris gave a small snort. "If this is subtle, I don’t want to see obvious."

"You’ll see it soon enough," Dax said mildly.

Their exchange was cut off by the soft click of heels on the carpet. An attendant appeared with a polished cart, the sll of fresh bread and butter rolling through the cabin. She set down a silver tray laden with pastries, glazed buns, fruit tarts, and golden crescents flecked with tiny black seeds, alongside bowls of berries and steaming mugs.

"Breakfast, Your Majesty," she said quietly.

Chris reached for the nearest roll without looking, still grinning. "At least the catering matches the décor," he muttered, tearing off a piece.

Dax didn’t look up from his tablet. "Eat slowly," he said, voice mild but distracted. "The flight’s long."

Chris popped the bite into his mouth, still smiling, about to lob another quip, then froze.

His throat tightened, sharp and rciless. A burning itch blood at the back of his mouth, swelling fast, stealing air before his brain caught up. His fingers twitched, the pastry falling back to the plate as his chest locked tight.

’No. No, not here, not now...’

Chris coughed hard, then harder, panic spiking white-hot through him. His breath wheezed, ragged and useless. He shoved back from the seat, one hand clawing at his throat. His black eyes went wide and blurred, with spots breaking across his vision.

The cabin seed to contract. Dax’s head snapped up, violet eyes locking on him. The tablet hit the table with a crack. "Epi," he ordered and the attendants moved at once, sweeping the tray away as another darted for the ergency kit.

Chris’s vision swam. He felt his pulse spike, his airway tightening, and the latte cup slipping from his fingers. Then strong hands were on him, lifting him against a chest that slled of dark spice and rum.

"Breathe," Dax ordered quietly, almost too calmly, his arm a steel band around Chris’s back as the injector snapped open in the attendant’s hand.

The world tilted, edges going grey. He heard Dax’s voice again, closer to his ear now, lower, fierce: "Stay with , little moon. Stay..."

Everything went black.