Caught by the Mad Alpha King Chapter 60: Promise

Sunlight crept through the heavy curtains in slow, gold bars, warm enough to catch on the carved edges of the ceiling and the deep blue rugs. For a blissful heartbeat, Chris thought he was alone. The mattress under him was vast, the sheets soft and cool; he’d gone to sleep last night convinced he’d claid one whole side for himself.

Then he shifted and sothing shifted with him.

A solid arm tightened across his waist, pulling him back into heat. A thigh was already hooked behind his knees, locking him in place. Chris blinked, disoriented, before the scent hit him, dark spice and rum, low in his lungs.

’No.’

He wriggled experintally, trying to slide forward out of the grip. The arm didn’t even twitch. It was like pressing against a column of stone.

’C’mooon, mooove.’ Chris prayed silently.

"Stop," Dax murmured, voice rough with sleep but absolutely awake. The low sound vibrated against the back of Chris’s neck. "If you keep moving like that..." a breath against his ear, "...be sure you’re ready for what you’ll get."

Chris froze, heart hamring. Only then did he register exactly how close they were, how little space there was between his hips and the hard line of Dax’s bulge pressed against him. Heat flooded his face.

"You’re..." his voice ca out hoarse, "you’re awake?"

A low chuckle, still that velvet-and-steel tone. "Very." His thumb stroked once over Chris’s hip, a lazy warning. "Lie still, little moon. Or decide you want sothing else."

"I thought I was going to sleep alone," Chris said, perfectly still. The warmth of the king’s body at his back, the weight of his arm over his waist, and the quiet scent of dark spice in the sheets all drove ho, far more sharply than the words had last night, that he wasn’t simply a guest in Dax’s wing.

’Oh no, no, no. This man is huge. I’m not going to entertain the idea of sleeping with him.’

"Why would I let my oga sleep alone in my bed, hmm?" Dax’s voice was a rumble at his ear, still soft but implacable. "Do you think I carried you across half a continent to leave you cold?"

’Fuck. He wants more than this... Of course he wants to!’

Chris’s breath caught. For a second he thought about wriggling again, about trying to pry himself loose, but the steel under the king’s easy tone kept him frozen. His pulse beat fast in his throat; he hated how aware he was of every inch of contact.

"I’m not used to... this," he muttered at last, eyes on the far wall.

"I know," Dax said, the thumb at his hip drawing a slow, grounding circle rather than pressing. "You’ll learn what you want, and I’ll learn what you’ll allow. For now..." another breath at his neck, "...just stop fighting ghosts. You’re safe."

’Safe, my ass. I’m in danger with you glued to my back!’

—

By the ti the palace clocks chid the next hour, Dax was already in the middle of being transford back into the king. Black Sahan attire wrapped him like liquid shadow, the long coat falling cleanly to mid-thigh; gold embroidery traced its cuffs and collar in patterns of sun and falcon. A shawl of heavier gold thread was draped over one shoulder and clasped at his chest. Two rings slid onto his fingers, each seal a different weight of power. He stood easily under the attendants’ hands, violet eyes hooded, allowing them to fasten clasps and smooth fabric as though nothing inside him was still replaying the feel of an oga pressed against him at dawn.

Across the room Chris sat on the sofa, robe belted tight, one bare foot tapping against the carpet. Killian stood a step behind him like a pillar in black, the purple shawl marking his rank. The butler’s storm-grey eyes flicked once between king and oga, reading the currents without comnt.

Chris dragged a hand over his face. Half an hour he’d been pinned against that chest after waking; every attempt to wriggle free t with a quiet, unshakable hold and that lazy thumb at his hip. Half an hour of feeling the unyielding hardness of the alpha against him and knowing he hadn’t been able to do a thing about it. The mory still crawled under his skin, making him flush despite himself. Hurt pride, he told himself, not embarrassnt.

Killian’s dry voice cut softly into the silence. "You look like a man planning a duel."

Chris’s mouth twisted. "Feels like I already lost one."

One of the attendants bent to adjust Dax’s cuff. The king’s gaze slid briefly across the room, catching Chris’s, the corner of his mouth curving in that small, dangerous flicker that was not quite a smile. He said nothing, but the glance alone was enough to remind Chris exactly who had held him in place that morning and how easily he could do it again.

Killian, ever the neutral shadow, inclined his head minutely. "You’ll get used to the king’s habits," he murmured, storm-grey eyes glinting just enough to suggest he found the whole situation faintly entertaining. "Most people don’t survive long enough to complain about them."

Chris huffed out a breath, glaring at his own knees. "Comforting."

From across the room Dax’s voice ca, low and even. "I told you last night, little moon: stop fighting ghosts. Eat and rest first. You’ll need both when you start fighting ."

Chris’s cheeks heated, but he didn’t look up. "You have no sha."

He said it in Sahan, the vowels clipped and unmistakable.

The effect was imdiate. The room stilled as if soone had cut the air. Attendants froze mid-movent, eyes dropping. Even Killian turned his head toward Chris, storm-grey eyes sharp with the sa disbelief that flickered across every face. No one spoke to the King of Saha that way, not in Sahan, not in his own wing and lived.

Dax only smiled.

He turned slightly, the gold-threaded shawl shifting over his shoulder, violet eyes glinting like a predator amused with a bold rabbit. "And what," he said in the sa language, velvet-soft, "are you going to do about it, little moon?"

A ripple went through the room at his tone. The attendants bent lower over their work, suddenly very intent on smoothing fabric. Killian’s brows rose a fraction, watching Chris like a man watching a tightrope walker step out over a canyon.

"You promised to let run once." Chris said, raising one of his fingers, while he was still cradling a cup of coffee in his hands.