Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 244: Ties to his parents

A few days passed with the grinding, methodical persistence of power doing what power always did when left unattended: stalling, posturing, and pretending motion equaled progress.

Chris shadowed Dax through all of it.

He sat in briefings that lasted twice as long as necessary. He watched committees reinvent the same objection with new vocabulary. He listened to men with impressive titles argue as if conceding an inch would collapse their identity entirely.

By the third day, he wasn’t sure if he was missing something fundamental or if everyone else was deliberately wasting oxygen.

He tested the theory carefully.

Sometimes he asked questions. Direct, clean questions that should have shortened discussions. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

They didn’t.

Sometimes he stayed silent, observed the flow of conversation, and tracked where arguments stalled and why. Ego, almost always. Leverage, frequently. Fear of being seen as the first to bend, constantly.

Once, late in the afternoon, he leaned toward Dax and murmured, "Is this a performance art movement I didn’t get the memo for?"

Dax didn’t even look at him. "Welcome to governance."

By the fourth day, Chris was deeply, profoundly tired of the friction. Of watching people choose inefficiency because it preserved pride. Of watching solutions hover in reach while everyone pretended they couldn’t see them.

That was how he ended up in the gardens with Rowan.

The morning was warm for October, sunlight filtering through gold-limned leaves, the paths wide and immaculate in that way only royal grounds ever managed. Rowan walked at his side, unhurried, hands clasped behind his back, gaze already oriented toward their destination.

"The administrative wing is on the eastern perimeter," Rowan said calmly. "We should take the car."

Chris glanced at the path ahead. "It’s a palace. How far can it be?"

Rowan gave him a look but wisely said nothing.

Chris waved a hand. "I need the walk."

Rowan inclined his head. "As you wish."

Ten minutes later, Chris stopped believing palaces were buildings.

They were cities.

They passed reflecting pools, quiet pavilions, and staff-only corridors disguised as hedges. The paths forked and curved, architectural intention layered over defensive design, beauty masking scale.

Chris exhaled. "This is excessive."

Rowan replied serenely, "We are approximately one-third of the way."

Chris stared at him. "You lied to me."

"I warned you," Rowan corrected.

They continued.

Chris was halfway through wondering whether he should start carrying rations when he was brutally reminded that forgetting about the Maleks was never a permanent state.

The gardens opened into a broader public section with wide paths, white stone benches, and sculptures positioned so that everyone could see them. There were people everywhere, far more than the space actually needed, clustered in loose, artificial patterns that made no sense unless one understood the purpose.

Waiting.

Most of them were nobles. Chris learned that very quickly. Not by dress alone, but by posture, by the way they occupied space as if it were provisional, borrowed only until something better came along. They were waiting for an opportunity, a lapse in routine, a brief encounter with the King that would prove useful later.

Fortunately, mercifully, most of them did not recognize him.

His face was everywhere in official channels, but always perfected with makeup and ceremony. Robes that announced status before the man inside them ever had to speak. Here, in a dark suit and a collar, that become so popular that there were already dupes everywhere that read expensive but not theatrical, he looked... ordinary enough to be overlooked. With the collar shining in the light, it could be considered kitsch and overreaching.

Almost.

"Your Grace."

The voice was too sweet. Over-polished, it slid into his awareness before he could stop it.

Chris made the mistake of turning.

The woman smiled brightly, eyes sharp with recognition. He didn’t know her name, but he’d seen her before. Last week, at the opera, she was orbiting Andrew with the patience of someone waiting for an opening only to be turned back to her place.

Malek, then. Or close enough to count.

He inclined his head, neutral. "Good afternoon."

Her smile widened, triumphant in a way she probably thought was subtle. "I hoped it was you. We weren’t sure without the ceremonial dress."

We, Chris noted. Never I.

"I’m flattered," he said mildly. "But I’m on my way to a meeting."

"Oh, of course," she said quickly, stepping just close enough to test the line. "We wouldn’t dream of keeping you. It’s just that, after the opera, everyone’s been talking. You’ve made quite an impression."

Chris felt Rowan shift at his side, imperceptible but present.

"That tends to happen when one attends public events," Chris replied.

Her laugh chimed, practiced. "You’re modest. People are saying you’re... formidable."

’Interesting choice of word.’

Chris held her gaze, his expression polite and deliberately empty. "People say many things."

She leaned in, clearly mistaking neutrality for encouragement. "I believe we met when you were ten. Unfortunately, your parents never reached out to us after they learned about our dear Elara... Andrew didn’t even contact us when they passed. He cited something in Claude and Mary’s will, apparently it stipulated that the main family was not to be informed of their deaths if it occurred before you turned twenty."

Chris’s thoughts stalled, hard and sudden. Claude and Mary were his parents. Andrew had never mentioned a will. Then again, Chris had never asked. He’d been seventeen when they died in that car accident, old enough to grieve, young enough not to question the paperwork.

Adelaide took his silence as permission to continue. "I’m Adelaide Malek," she said, with a small, proprietary smile. "Your father’s sister. Your aunt."

The name landed like a delayed impact.

Elara Malek. The last dominant omega of the Malek family. Sold before the ink on her secondary gender certificate had even dried. The cautionary tale that made Chris hide what he was for almost ten years... until he was found by Dax.

And combined with his parents’ will, the implication crystallized with brutal clarity.

They had known.

Claude and Mary had known what he was long before Chris did.