Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 146: Breakfast With the Matriarchs (2)
Serathine’s amber eyes glinted with quiet amusement. "You two... sound like a married couple already," she said with a sigh. "Who would believe that you were fighting just days ago?"
Cressida’s gaze sharpened, though her smile didn’t fade. "They weren’t fighting, Duchess. They were recalibrating. It’s what powerful pairs do before presenting themselves to the world."
Dax gave a soft, lazy laugh. "You make it sound far more civilized than it was."
Chris turned toward him, unimpressed. "You’re not helping."
"I’m not trying to," Dax murmured, utterly unapologetic.
Serathine’s tone smoothed back into business. "Regardless of the method, the result is what matters. Now, Christopher... your formal instruction begins tomorrow."
Chris blinked. "Formal instruction?"
"Yes," Cressida said, as if he’d just asked if water was wet. "Etiquette, comportment, political protocol, public speaking, posture, everything a royal consort is expected to master before being unleashed on a televised event."
Chris groaned. "You make it sound like I’m about to be house-trained."
Serathine’s lips curved. "In a way, yes. But gracefully."
"Perfect," Chris muttered.
Dax, ever unbothered, stirred his coffee. "You’ll be glad to know I’ve already arranged professors for the remaining topics."
Chris’s eyes snapped to him. "What topics?"
"Foreign relations, state diplomacy, economics, art history, social etiquette, and dance," Dax said casually, ticking them off like grocery items. "And rhetoric. The Palace Academy staff has already agreed to a private schedule."
Chris stared at him, deadpan. "You mean you’ve assembled a small army to lecture me."
"Professionals," Dax corrected smoothly. "You’ll appreciate their expertise."
Cressida looked almost approving. "At least one of you takes this seriously."
"I take it seriously," Chris said, crossing his arms. "I just don’t think surviving twelve professors in one month should count as personal growth."
Serathine laughed softly. "You’ll adapt, dear. It is the crown’s version of higher education, with less freedom and more power."
Chris groaned under his breath, and Dax, the absolute traitor, smiled over the rim of his cup. "You’ll manage, little moon."
"Don’t ’little moon’ me," Chris shot back quietly, though the heat under his tone betrayed the comfort it still brought. "You’re the one who started this educational crusade."
"Because I know what you’re capable of," Dax said, voice lower now, but edged with pride. "You’ll do better than they expect."
Serathine’s gaze softened at that, though her words remained composed. "It’s good he believes in you," she said. "Belief from a king has built nations."
Chris sighed, resigned. "Or buried them."
Cressida stood, adjusting her sleeve with delicate movements. "Then let’s hope yours chooses the first outcome." She glanced at Dax. "Nine o’clock tomorrow. We’ll begin with etiquette and court presence. Your professors can follow afterward."
Dax inclined his head. "They’re already scheduled."
"Of course they are," Chris muttered. "He probably scheduled my funeral, too."
"Not yet," Dax said mildly. "Let’s see how the dancing lessons go first."
Serathine’s laugh was warm and entirely at his expense. "You’ll be fine, Christopher. If you can handle King Dax, the rest of the world should be easy."
"’Should be’ isn’t comforting," Chris said, standing.
"Then take this as comfort," Dax murmured, leaning close enough that only he could hear him. "None of them know what they’re really in for."
Chris arched an eyebrow. "And what’s that supposed to mean?"
Dax’s smile turned faintly dangerous. "You, little moon."
Serathine caught the glance they shared but said nothing, merely hiding a small, knowing smile behind her teacup.
Cressida, gathering her notes, murmured to her in passing, "We’ll need more than two weeks."
Serathine chuckled softly. "Yes. But he’ll learn."
Behind them, Chris muttered as he followed Dax out of the room, "I should’ve stayed in bed."
Dax didn’t miss a beat. "And deprive me of this entertainment? Never."
—
The next morning began far too early for someone who had spent half the night trying to convince himself that formal training was not, in fact, a form of psychological warfare.
By eight thirty, Chris had dressed in dark slacks, a fitted white shirt, and the faint shimmer of the silver collar against his throat, and made his way to one of the palace’s smaller meeting halls. Dax had called it "a comfortable, informal introduction."
Which, of course, was a lie.
There were nine people waiting inside.
All of them looked terrifyingly competent.
Cressida and Serathine were already seated at the head of the long glass table, flanked by a half-circle of professionals who represented the full academic, diplomatic, and cultural might of the palace academy. The room smelled faintly of citrus polish and fresh paper, which Chris had always associated with serious business meetings.
He recognized the type immediately. Polished experts, used to being respected, used to getting results. People he knew how to deal with.
’Alright, Malek,’ he told himself, drawing in a quiet breath. ’Freelancer mode. Meetings and manners. You’ve done this before, just not while wearing a royal collar worth over 20 million.’ 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮
Dax stood by the window, arms crossed, looking far too relaxed for someone who had orchestrated this ambush. He gave Chris a small, encouraging nod, more amused than reassuring.
Serathine gestured toward the group with a practiced smile. "Christopher, may I introduce your instructors for the month?"
Chris inclined his head politely. "It’s a pleasure," he said, tone smooth and measured, professional warmth without subservience.
The introductions began.
"Professor Elane Harcourt, foreign relations."
A tall woman with steel-gray hair and eyes that could have cut through marble inclined her head. "Your academic record precedes you, Your Grace," she said. "It’s refreshing to work with someone who actually reads reports."
"Only when threatened," Chris replied dryly, earning the faintest twitch of a smile from her.
"Ambassador Rhys Corvin, state diplomacy."
The man’s handshake was firm, his tone warm. "King Dax tells me you have a sharp mind and a sharper tongue."
"Don’t believe everything he says," Chris replied easily. "Half the time he’s trying to provoke me."
"That’s true," Dax murmured from the back, entirely unashamed.
Serathine’s look silenced him. Almost.
"Dr. Viann Kruger, economics and public policy."
A younger woman, glasses perched perfectly on her nose, smiled faintly. "We’ll be discussing financial transparency and international trade treaties."
"Excellent," Chris said smoothly. "Numbers don’t argue back."
She arched a brow. "You’d be surprised."
The procession continued: an art historian from the Royal Museum, a rhetoric lecturer with the posture of a general, a dance instructor who looked like he’d escaped from a fashion magazine, and a poised etiquette specialist who radiated the calm menace of a thousand formal dinners.
Each introduction met with Chris’s quiet professionalism. He greeted each with the same respect he used in boardrooms and project sites: a handshake, eye contact, and a concise comment to acknowledge expertise. His tone carried the balance of courtesy and confidence that had kept clients funding his freelance work for years.
Cressida, who had expected more resistance, studied him with mild approval. "You’ve handled introductions well," she said once the last professor had taken a seat. "That will be useful when the cameras are on you."
Chris exhaled quietly. "I’ve met investors who bit harder than this."
Dax chuckled, settling into the chair beside him. "He’s telling the truth. One of them once called him a stubborn miracle."
"That was because I fixed their project on a two-day deadline," Chris muttered. "Not because I was charming. Also stop being a stalker."
