Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 176: He knew (Win-Win)

Chris should have worn the other shirt.

The one with the higher collar, the less tailored waist, and the less everything. The one Serathine called "safe" and Cressida called "cowardly" six days ago.

He did not wear that one.

Instead, he wore the one he designed for Dax.

The robe was light as breath, a trick of structure and tension. The embroidery climbed his sleeves like vines spun from bronze fire, trailing off just above the knee to reveal tailored black pants that did all kinds of visual damage. The undershirt... well. That wasn’t a shirt so much as a war crime in silk.

And the collar... the collar was still locked.

Jeweled platinum, impossibly snug, layered with rows of embedded diamonds that caught the light when he so much as breathed wrong. And Chris had breathed wrong. Many times. Especially when Dax refused to sit down after the first toast and instead settled beside him like a shadow that radiated every shade of possession short of public mating.

’He has his hand on my back.’

’He hasn’t taken it off.’

’He is going to kill me. Slowly. With patience.’

"Smile," Dax said under his breath, sounding too pleased with himself. "You’re the crown’s gift tonight."

Somewhere in the last hour Dax’s mood shifted from tension and restraint to calm amusement and Chris knew... he fucked up.

"I’m the bait in a royal trap," Chris hissed through his teeth, adjusting the angle of his shoulders like it would change the fact that Dax’s thumb had just grazed the top of his waistband again. "You’ve been touching me for an hour."

"I’ve been restraining myself for an hour," Dax corrected, voice all satin and sin. "There’s a difference."

Chris considered bolting.

He wouldn’t get far.

Rowan was lurking nearby, one hand already on his comm and the other twitching like he was one breath away from tackling Chris out of perceived security risk. Killian looked like he’d swallowed an entire protocol manual and was reciting it backwards through sheer force of will. And Sahir... Sahir was watching from the next platform, expression so carefully neutral that Chris knew he was absolutely enjoying this.

"Two more hours," Killian murmured as he passed them, not even pretending to hide his smirk. "Try not to start a diplomatic incident."

Chris did not dignify Killian with a response.

Mostly because he was too busy trying not to combust on a marble dais under the scrutiny of half the continent.

Dax’s fingers hadn’t moved in eight minutes. He was shameless and stayed within the bounds of etiquette and fully outside the bounds of mercy.

Resting at the small of Chris’s back, deceptively polite. But every so often, during applause, during a toast, or during that especially long and self-important speech from the Prime Minister of Halrev, his thumb would slide. A single inch. Nothing more.

But Chris felt it.

Every. Single. Time.

It was driving him insane. He shouldn’t say anything; he himself planned the downfall of a king and now expected no reaction?

’Right, because Dax is known for his mercy... I might as well enjoy it too.’ Chris thought with a dangerous amusement.

"You’re enjoying this," Chris murmured, lips barely moving.

Dax didn’t even pretend to deny it.

"I am," he said simply. "You look like you were designed to ruin kings."

"Mhm... I was. I really tried my best."

Dax made a low sound in his throat that passed for amusement in royal company. It might’ve been a laugh, but it felt more like a promise.

Chris kept his eyes on the crowd. He couldn’t look at Dax and survive it; the last weeks were a nightmare fight between him and his body that wanted the king.

The low hum of cameras blended with the string quartet like an accidental soundtrack. Dozens of phones weren’t technically allowed in the main ballroom, but half the guests were nobles, and the other half were diplomats, rules only applied when convenient.

Dax’s hand hadn’t moved.

It was still on Chris’s lower back, burning through the silk lining like a signed confession. His thumb now sat just under the hem of the robe, not pressing, not tugging, just there, waiting.

Chris hadn’t made a sound in six minutes.

He couldn’t. If he did, someone would notice, and if someone noticed, someone would post, and if someone posted, Killian would riot.

And Rowan? Rowan had already entered "unamused bodyguard mode," which meant he was leaning against a marble column and scanning the room like he was selecting someone to eliminate for sport. His finger kept tapping his comms like a loaded threat.

Chris wasn’t sure if Rowan wanted to protect him from Dax or vice versa.

At this point, he didn’t want to know.

"Ambassador Jules is speaking," Dax said, lips curved as if he were discussing the weather. "He just made a joke about port logistics."

Chris kept his mouth shut.

"And now he’s looking at your chest."

Chris inhaled.

Regretted it.

The silk shifted again, tightening in all the wrong places, revealing just how thin the fabric was and how intentional the cut had been. The embroidery over his ribs drew attention like a map leading to crimes against etiquette.

"Is he," Chris said, through clenched teeth, "still looking?"

Dax’s smile was a goddamn felony. "No. Now his wife is." His tone dropped an octave. "Should I kill them both?"

Chris didn’t answer right away.

Mostly because he was trying to remember how to breathe. And secondarily because Killian was now actively watching them from the edge of the platform with the unmistakable expression of a man mentally preparing for twelve different legal contingencies.

"No," Chris finally said. "You can’t kill an ambassador and his wife. Not yet."

Dax made a soft noise that was definitely not agreement.

Chris swore under his breath.

"Behave."

"I am," Dax murmured, turning his head just enough that his words ghosted across Chris’s skin. "You have no idea what I’d do to you if I wasn’t."

Chris’s hand twitched at his side. Not to grab Dax’s. To stab him with a dessert fork.

But unfortunately, the only weapon within reach was the look he gave Dax, sharp, dry, and laced with just enough challenge to be dangerous. Which Dax, of course, devoured like it was an appetizer.

"I could still bolt," Chris muttered.

"You could try."

"I thought this was the gift you wanted from me." Chris said while reaching for his glass of wine.

Dax’s voice was low, velvet-wrapped, and smug enough to cause international unrest.

"Yes," he said, eyes pinned shamelessly on Chris. "And you overdelivered."

Chris didn’t respond right away. He took a sip of wine instead, partly to avoid answering and partly because he needed something cold to balance out the heat crawling up the back of his neck. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

He really should have worn the other shirt.

"I wasn’t trying to seduce a diplomatic summit," he said finally, setting the glass down with precision. "That was not the plan."

Dax made a soft sound in his throat. It could have been amusement. It could have been hunger.

"You think I care about their summit?" Dax asked, so quietly it didn’t travel past the arc of their little stage. "You showed up like that and expected me to act reasonable?"

"I expected you to pretend to act reasonable."

"You’re lucky I’m not pretending to bite."

Chris shot him a sharp look.

Dax smiled, slow and terrible. "Yet."

Across the room, Sahir exchanged a long, resigned glance with Killian, who was definitely reviewing the palace’s soundproofing renovations in real time.

"Clock’s ticking," Rowan’s voice said quietly over comms.

Sahir didn’t bother replying. He just sipped his drink, eyes narrowed toward the dais.

He didn’t know if Dax would survive the night.

He didn’t know if Chris would let him.

But he did know one thing:

The gala was already over.

It just hadn’t been formally declared yet.