Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 257: Home

They returned from the gala without incident.

That, in itself, was almost suspicious.

Chris had noticed Adelaide, of course, noticed the way she positioned herself too carefully and the way her attention drifted where it had no reason to linger. He had also seen the man beside her, older, composed, and unmistakably Malek in the way power sat on his shoulders like only a man that inherited it could. Adonis Malek, Viscount of Clearstone.

Chris had catalogued it, filed it away, and then, deliberately, let it go.

Nothing had happened. No approach, no misstep, no line crossed that could be answered without escalation. Whatever the Maleks were planning, they had not begun it there, and Chris refused to grant them importance they had not yet earned.

His mind, instead, stayed on something far more uncomfortable.

The staff.

He did not say anything about it. He had no doubt that Dax, Killian, and Rowan would have acted immediately the moment Chris opened his mouth.

That was precisely the problem.

Chris did not to confirm that people peered into his private life and knew when he and Dax... did the deed and how.

He did not want to hear, out loud, that someone knew exactly when it happened. That someone had catalogued moments that, to him, felt fiercely private despite the palace walls and the weight of titles. He did not want to confront the idea that something tender had been reduced to commentary and gossip.

So he said nothing. And yet, he noticed everything.

The change was subtle but he observed it the moment they returned. Staff no longer lingered when he passed. Conversations stopped. Doors were opened, tasks completed, instructions carried out, and then people left. No glances held a fraction too long. No unnecessary presence filled the air after their purpose was served.

Efficiency replaced curiosity.

It was, in its own way, louder than any confession.

Chris walked the corridors with an ease he had not realized he’d been missing until it returned, and with each quiet interaction, the truth settled more firmly in his chest. He was not imagining it.

He was not stupid.

Either Dax had spoken or Killian had. Possibly both.

The thought brought a complicated warmth with it. He didn’t want punishment dealt in his name, but someone had noticed the line he had not wanted to articulate and had moved it back into place without asking him to bleed for it.

That night, as he stood by the window in their private wing, the palace lit softly below them, Chris let himself breathe a little easier.

"Rowan?"

"Yes, Your Grace?" Rowan asked while sitting in the chair in front of Chris.

"Did Killian talk with the staff?"

"I thought you wouldn’t want to know, but yes," Rowan said calmly, meeting Chris’s gaze without hesitation. "He gathered them. All of them."

Chris let out a slow breath, more through his nose than his mouth, and turned back toward the window. The city below was quiet in the way capitals only ever pretended to be, lights steady, distant movement reduced to something abstract and manageable.

"How bad?" Chris asked after a moment.

Rowan shifted slightly in the chair, the faint creak of leather the only sound in the room. "Enough," he said. "Very... final."

Chris closed his eyes briefly.

He had not wanted details. Still didn’t. But knowing that it had been handled settled something tight behind his ribs.

"Someone crossed a line," Rowan continued, not volunteering more than necessary. "Killian made an example of it. After that, the rest understood."

"Well, that would permit Dax to be more of a menace than he already is." Chris huffed, amused.

"You like it." Rowan said with a wide smile and caught the pillow Chris threw at him.

He laughed quietly, tucking the pillow against his side like a trophy before leaning back into the chair.

"I am right," he said easily. "And so is Killian."

Chris rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat in it. "You’re all incorrigible."

"Yes," Rowan agreed. Then his expression changed, not to seriousness, but to something more stable. "That aside."

Chris stilled, sensing the change.

"You’ve done well," Rowan said. "Better than anyone expected. Better than you probably think."

Chris blinked and turned from the window. "Rowan..."

"I’ve guarded Dax for years," Rowan continued, unbothered by the interruption. "I’ve seen him angry. Focused. Ruthless. I’ve seen him bored out of his skull and burning the world down for something to do." A pause. "I have never seen him this... settled."

Chris frowned slightly. "Settled doesn’t sound like Dax."

"No," Rowan agreed. "Happy does."

The word landed harder than any warning.

"That," Rowan said calmly, "is because of you."

Chris looked away, throat tight in a way he hadn’t been prepared for. "That’s not..."

"It is," Rowan cut in gently. "You didn’t change or tame him. You didn’t soften him." A faint smile curved his mouth. "You gave him something he actually wants to protect instead of rule."

Silence stretched, heavier now, but not uncomfortable.

"So," Rowan added, lighter again but with an unmistakable edge beneath it, "if at any point you decide to do something reckless, self-sacrificing, or heroically stupid..."

Chris snorted. "That sounds like a threat."

"It’s advice, because I know you," Rowan corrected. "Just let me and Dax know first."

Chris arched a brow. "So you can stop me?"

"So we can plan around it," Rowan said cheerfully. "Stopping you is rarely an option."

That earned him a quiet laugh, surprised and genuine.

"I’m serious," Rowan added, voice steady again. "You matter to him. Which means you matter to us."

Chris looked back at the city lights, then nodded once. "Fair enough."

Rowan rose from his chair, stretching. "Good. Then my work here is done."

As he moved toward the door, Chris spoke again, softer this time. "Rowan?"

Rowan paused, glancing back.

"...Thank you."

Rowan’s smile was smaller now, but no less sincere. "Anytime, Your Grace."

The door closed behind him.

Left alone again, Chris leaned his forehead briefly against the cool glass, breathing in the quiet, a slow smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

He was home. Dax was his home.