Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 240: Medicated dinner

"Dax?" Chris asked, his voice a little tighter this time, while the stage below them dissolved into what looked like a man arguing aggressively with a spotlight.

"Mhm?"

"What you said earlier," Chris continued. "About inseminating. Because..." He hesitated, then rushed the words out, clearly unsettled. "I’m fairly sure my body would like to file a formal complaint, and I know you finished inside. Repeatedly."

"I did," Dax said calmly.

"But you told Sahir that you didn’t," Chris pressed, making a vague, panicked gesture between them. "That."

Dax glanced at him and immediately caught the edge of real anxiety beneath the humor. His posture softened, voice lowering. "I may need to add biology lessons to your schedule," he said dryly. Then he paused, expression shifting into that possessiveness that promised blood. "No. That wouldn’t be right. I’ll explain."

Chris nodded far too quickly. "Please. Because I am seconds away from spiraling."

"You could be pregnant from the heat and rut alone," Dax said evenly. "But the probability is low. This was your first complete heat cycle. Your body is still adjusting."

"That’s not comforting," Chris muttered.

"I know," Dax said. "If I wanted to ensure a pregnancy and lacked both restraint and conscience, then insemination would be the method."

Chris grimaced. "That sounds... aggressive."

"It can be," Dax agreed. "Which is why consent matters. Insemination is intentional; it does not happen accidentally. But the point is I will reach deeper inside."

"So what does it actually..." Chris stopped himself, then frowned at where Dax could go even deeper in his body. "No. I don’t want details. Just... how?"

Dax huffed a quiet laugh. "Not to your heart, if that’s what you’re imagining."

"I was," Chris snapped. "Where the fuck was I supposed to picture you going?"

"Language, my moon," Dax said mildly. "It involves deeper delivery into the womb. That increases viability significantly." He reached for his own water glass and took a measured sip, eyes flicking back to the unhinged fever dream unfolding onstage.

Chris stared at him for a beat, then frowned. "...So you’re saying you’d be... more precise."

Dax paused.

Chris’s eyes widened as the implication landed. "Oh."

Dax lowered the glass slowly. "Yes."

"Oh no," Chris whispered, while thoughts of his cervix being... penetrated by the weapon Dax had in his pants.

Dax snorted before he could stop himself, then coughed, regaining composure. "That reaction is appropriate."

"That is deeply unsettling information," Chris said, rubbing his face. "Why does biology hate me personally?"

"It doesn’t," Dax replied. "It merely expects cooperation."

"I refuse," Chris said flatly.

Dax’s lips twitched. "Duly noted."

Chris leaned back in his seat, staring at the stage where someone was now dramatically rolling across the floor under strobe lights. "I am never having another educational conversation during an opera again."

"Next time, I’ll schedule it with diagrams," Dax said.

Chris turned slowly. "...Don’t you dare."

Dax smiled into his water glass.

—

The opera ended with thunderous applause that felt wildly disproportionate to what Chris had just endured. He clapped because everyone else did, careful not to move more than necessary, and waited for the lights to come up like a prisoner counting down a sentence.

Standing was... an experience. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

He managed it with dignity, which in this case meant slow, controlled movements and a face carefully arranged into something serene and unbothered. Dax stayed close without touching, close enough that Chris could anchor himself if he needed to. He did not need to. He would rather expire.

They were ushered from the hall into the adjoining dining salon, a long space dressed in warm light, polished stone, and tables arranged for a formal seated dinner. Crystal, linen, quiet music. Civilized. Mercifully horizontal chairs.

The medication took effect quietly, without drama. Chris noticed it not because the pain vanished, but because it loosened its grip enough for him to breathe without negotiating every movement. His spine still ached, and his hips still complained, but the sharp edge dulled into something manageable. Something he could work around.

Dinner helped. Or rather, sitting helped. And the absence of screaming neon.

As the first course was cleared, the room settled into the low hum of polite conversation, and Chris found himself drawn into the Sahan circle orbiting Dax. Ministers, senior aides, and long-standing allies. People who spoke directly and listened without circling like predators.

He ignored the Maleks. He simply did not look their way.

It was remarkable how quickly they lost interest when deprived of attention. Or they were simply waiting for Chris to be alone before striking.

Chris turned to the man seated across from him, a senior infrastructure advisor with calm eyes and an unforced smile.

"I understand you worked on bridges and dams," the man said. "Structural and hydraulic systems, yes?"

Chris blinked, then nodded. "Primarily. Load-bearing bridges, spillway design, long-term stress analysis. I’ve also worked on flood control projects."

"In Saha," the advisor added.

"Yes," Chris confirmed. "Several contracts. Mostly feasibility studies and reinforcement planning for older crossings. Your river systems are... ambitious."

That earned a quiet, approving laugh.

Another official leaned in. "You were the one who flagged the eastern dam’s stress margins five years ago."

Chris paused, surprised. "I was. The projections weren’t alarming yet, but the trend line was wrong."

"They reinforced it early," the man said. "Saved a fortune and possibly a province."

Chris’s ears warmed slightly. "I’m glad someone listened."

The questions that followed weren’t tests, but natural conversations. About sediment buildup, seismic allowances, and balancing infrastructure growth with preservation. One woman asked about adaptive spillway gates in changing climate patterns, and Chris found himself answering without hesitation, hands moving slightly as he explained.

He realized, halfway through a sentence, that he was comfortable.

He glanced sideways and caught Dax watching him, quietly pleased. As if seeing Chris here, speaking about something solid and real, confirmed exactly why he trusted him with more than a title.

At one point, Chris noticed he was gesturing with his fork and stopped himself, embarrassed.

"Don’t," the advisor said mildly. "It’s refreshing to hear someone talk about function instead of spectacle."

Chris smiled, something in his chest easing.

He looked once, briefly, toward the edge of the room. The Maleks were still present, immaculate and observant, but distant now, excluded by their lost relevance.

Good.

Chris turned back to the table, to people who cared less about how he bowed and more about what he built. For the first time that evening, the pain faded into the background.

He wasn’t being assessed. He was being respected.

And that, more than the medication, made him feel like himself again.