Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 103: Gods help him.

The door opened.

And there, once again, stood Killian.

Perfect posture, perfect calm, perfect timing, like the universe had placed him on a personal mission to interrupt them at the most humiliating moments possible.

He stopped dead in the doorway. His silver gaze moved once from Dax’s arm, still very much around Chris’s waist, to the towel barely hanging on to its job, to the pair of half-closed lips and flushed faces and then up, toward the ceiling, like a man trying to see God.

For a full second, no one breathed.

Killian exhaled very quietly. "Your Majesty," he said finally, voice cool as glass. "Mr. Malek."

Chris’s brain went blank. "Killian."

"You’re greeting His Majesty, I see." Killian continued smoothly, as though they were discussing travel logistics instead of this.

Dax didn’t move. Of course he didn’t. His hand was still resting low on Chris’s back, fingers splayed in a way that made denial physically impossible.

Chris, on the other hand, felt his soul trying to vacate the premises. "That’s... one way to describe it," he managed, voice cracking like a bad radio signal.

Killian’s expression didn’t shift, but the silence stretched long enough to become its own form of judgment. "I’ll make a note to have the reception protocol revised," he said at last, his tone smooth, diplomatic, and merciless while readjusting his purple shawl with too much care.

Dax’s lips curved faintly, his purple eyes shining with delight. "Do that."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Killian inclined his head with impeccable composure, though Chris could swear there was a flicker, just a flicker, of exhausted resignation in the man’s silver eyes. "Shall I... come back later?"

"That would be wise," Dax said, calm as ever.

Killian nodded once, a soldier accepting an inevitable defeat. "Very well. I’ll inform the staff that His Majesty has... reacclimated."

Chris made a strangled sound that might have been an attempt at words or possibly a small, localized stroke. "He hasn’t reacclimated...!" 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

But Killian was already turning, closing the door with the quiet elegance of a man who would immediately bleach his memory.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Chris exhaled, dragging a hand over his face. "That’s twice. Twice, Dax. He’s going to start carrying a bell."

Dax’s shoulders shook once, quietly; he was barely containing his amusement. "He’s efficient."

"He’s a witness," Chris snapped. "We’re going to end up in a royal memoir titled The Idiot and the Towel."

Dax finally laughed, low and rough, leaning forward until his breath brushed Chris’s temple. "He won’t speak of it." There was no need for Chris to know that Killian entered over Dax in a situation far more embarrassing than simple kisses.

"Oh, I bet he’ll pray about it," Chris muttered. "Right after drowning himself in disinfectant."

Dax hummed, amused. "Would you prefer I lock the door next time?"

"Next time?" Chris’s voice went high, incredulous. "You think there’s going to be a next time after that?"

Dax’s hand slid from his back, fingers grazing the hem of his shirt. "There’s always a next time."

Chris stared at him, torn between slapping him and, well... exactly what got them into this situation in the first place. "You’re unbelievable."

"True," Dax said softly, leaning in again, his smile wicked and entirely unrepentant. "And you still haven’t moved."

Chris realized, belatedly, that he hadn’t. Not an inch.

"God," he muttered, stepping back quickly and tugging his shirt into place. "If Killian walks in again, I’m throwing myself off the balcony."

Dax tilted his head, still smiling. "I’ll have guards stationed below."

"Great," Chris said flatly, "you can explain to them why the royal consort tried to escape via gravity."

"Because," Dax murmured, unbothered, "he couldn’t decide if he wanted to run... or stay."

Chris froze at that, just long enough for Dax to see it.

And then, like the civilized adult he was absolutely pretending to be, he spun toward the door. "I’m going to find Rowan," he said stiffly. "And a lock."

Behind him, Dax’s quiet laughter followed like warm smoke, smug and patient, echoing off the marble.

—

Dax stood there for a while after the door closed behind Chris, the sound of his laughter still hanging faintly in the air. He hadn’t meant to laugh, but he was exhausted, bone-deep, blood-heavy tired, the kind that settled into his spine after days of travel, politics, and restraint. But the sight of Christopher Malek flushed, indignant, and storming off had done something strange to that exhaustion. It had... lifted it.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his still-damp hair. The faint smell of soap and spice lingered on his skin, mingling with the sharper trace of omega scent in the air, Chris’s. It clung faintly to his towel, his fingertips, and his pulse. Subtle, but there.

And it steadied him more than anything until now. The irritation that had burned through him earlier, somewhere over the northern border of Rohan, had faded.

He remembered the exact moment it began, when Killian had handed him the sealed report mid-flight, his expression unreadable.

"Your Majesty, we traced every record of Mr. Malek’s medical file as ordered. The suppressants were unregistered, with no label and nothing that would point a specific clinic out."

That had set his jaw tight.

He’d spent the rest of the flight in silence, flipping through the brief. Chris had hidden himself well; if not for Trevor’s wedding and their fated meeting, he would have never found him.

Dax had been ready to tear the Palatine apart to find the source. But now... standing here, with Chris’s scent still lingering and his laughter still echoing faintly down the hall, that anger softened.

’No.’ He wouldn’t ruin the fragile peace between them; there were other ways of doing it.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, the towel shifting slightly against his hips, and reached for the phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, white against the dim marble light. For a long moment, he just stared at it, at the faint reflection of his face on the glass, the dark circles under his eyes, and the calm that didn’t quite reach his chest.

Then he opened his messages.

Scrolled past rows of ministers, generals, and foreign dignitaries until he found one name he hadn’t used since the day Chris had been brought to Saha.

Mia Malek.

Dax Altera:

Mia,

I’m told the suppressant issue is still unresolved. Your brother won’t talk about it, and you know how stubborn he can be.

Could you find out where he got them? Quietly. — Dax