Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 128: It’s over now.

Adrien’s chair creaked as he stood, his hand reaching for Angus’s shoulder. The younger boy blinked in confusion, whispering something, but Adrien didn’t answer. He just pulled him closer, steady and silent.

Cornelia’s voice filled the pause like perfume: cloying, calculated, and designed to mask the stench of fear.

"You’re angry, and you should be," she said smoothly. "Your servants failed you. But, Your Majesty..." her tone softened into something that almost sounded maternal, "you left your omega alone in that palace. What did you expect to happen? People lose direction without command."

Her words floated easily across the table, rehearsed, calculated to sound like reason. The sentence was meant to sound harmless until one heard what it implied.

Dax’s head tilted slightly, just enough for the lamplight to catch the gold thread at his collar. His expression didn’t change, but the stillness in the room did, like the air itself had decided to hold its breath.

Adrien’s fingers tightened on his brother’s shoulder. He knew that stillness. They both did.

Cornelia kept talking, mistaking the quiet for hesitation. "You can’t blame those who tried to preserve order in your absence. The bond between you and your consort... it unsettles people. It makes them fearful. Hanna acted on that fear, as any loyal subject would. She thought she was protecting you."

Dax’s gaze lowered to the knife beside his plate. He turned it once, slow and deliberate, until the blade caught a glint of light. Then he looked back at her.

"I see," he said softly.

Cornelia exhaled, mistaking the words for concession. "I’ve always been loyal to the throne, Dax. You know that. Even now, I’m only trying to protect what’s yours."

Dax leaned back, one hand resting lightly on the table. His voice came quiet, almost courteous. "And who protects what’s mine from you?"

Cornelia blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

He smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. Only the calm that made every heartbeat in the room sound too loud.

Adrien’s hand moved from his brother’s shoulders to his eyes; their mother was too busy trying to justify something that even a child knew was her fault.

He never understood her, putting everything in danger just for a crown; he didn’t even want to be king. He never did, but Cornelia was rarely concerned about her children’s opinions.

"Do you know what the difference is between fear and obedience, Cornelia?" Dax asked. "Fear remembers."

Adrien’s hand tightened over Angus’s eyes as Dax’s massive frame remained motionless, his violet eyes locked onto Cornelia. The room was so still that the ticking of a distant clock seemed to echo like a countdown.

Cornelia, still trying to weave her web of deceit, continued, "Your Majesty, I only want what’s best for you and the kingdom. Hanna was misguided, but her actions were born out of loyalty. She saw a threat and acted to eliminate it."

Dax’s hand, resting lightly on the table, began to move. It was in slow motion, almost hypnotic in its elegance. His fingers curled around the handle of the knife beside his plate, and with a fluidity that belied his size, he lifted it.

The blade glinted in the lamplight, a promise of violence that hung in the air like a physical presence. Cornelia’s eyes widened slightly, but she pressed on, her voice a desperate attempt at reason. "You can trust me, Dax. I’ve always been loyal. I’m just trying to help you see the truth."

Dax’s gaze never left hers as he stood, his chair scraping softly against the marble floor. He was a towering figure, his black attire and gold filigree making him seem almost otherworldly. The knife in his hand was an extension of his arm, a natural part of his being.

Adrien’s grip on Angus tightened as he sensed the impending violence. The younger boy’s confusion turned to fear, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Adrien whispered something inaudible, a promise or a plea, but his eyes remained fixed on Dax.

Cornelia’s words faltered as she finally realized the danger she was in. "Dax, please..."

In a single, fluid motion, Dax lunged forward, the knife arcing through the air. The blade sank into the space between Cornelia’s collarbone and neck, a precise and deadly strike. Blood bloomed across her omega robes, a stark contrast to the delicate fabric.

Cornelia’s eyes widened in shock and pain, but no sound escaped her lips. She staggered back, her hands reaching for the knife, but Dax held it firm, his grip unyielding.

The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the soft, wet sounds of Cornelia’s struggling breaths. Dax held her gaze, his violet eyes unblinking, until her struggles ceased and her body went limp.

He withdrew the knife with a slow, deliberate draw, the blade glistening with blood. Cornelia collapsed to the floor, her life fading in a pool of crimson.

Dax turned to Adrien and Angus, his expression unreadable. "Remember this, gentlemen. Treason has a price and it is always paid in blood."

Adrien slowly lowered his hand from Angus’s eyes, his face pale but composed. The younger boy’s breathing came in shallow bursts, his fingers clutching at his brother’s sleeve as if the contact alone could keep the world steady. The faint clatter of cutlery settling on porcelain echoed like the last breath of a room that had forgotten how to live.

Dax paused at the threshold, his silhouette framed by the soft amber light spilling in from the corridor. He didn’t look back, but when he spoke, his voice was measured, almost quiet enough to be mistaken for mercy.

"Stay in the estate," he said softly. "Killian will see to the arrangements."

And then he was gone, with a whisper of fabric and the sound of a door closing without hesitation.

The silence that followed hollowed out the sound. The chandeliers above flickered faintly, their light catching on the gold filigree of the tableware, on the half-poured wine, and on the seat still pulled slightly back from the table.

Angus pressed his face into Adrien’s shoulder, the quiet shudder of a boy trying to make sense of something far beyond his years. Adrien didn’t move to comfort him, not yet. His own hands were trembling too, though his expression had already hardened into something dangerously calm.

He stared at the empty doorway for a long time before speaking, his voice low and strained.

"I told her," he said. "He warned her once. He told her what would happen if she ever touched what was his."

Angus made a small sound, not quite a sob, but more of a broken breath. Adrien pulled him closer at last, forcing his tone to stay steady.

"It’s over," he murmured. "Do you understand? It’s over now."