Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 318: Duty

Morning light filtered through the curtains in pale stripes, cutting across the quiet chaos of the suite. The city was already awake beyond the glass, traffic humming, helicopters in the distance, and the low, constant pulse of a capital that never really slept, not even for a royal wedding.

Chris woke first.

For a few seconds, he lay still, suspended between yesterday and now. Between cameras and vows and the way the world had watched him walk down an aisle like it belonged to him. Between the man he had been and the one he had very deliberately become.

Dax was asleep beside him, one arm heavy around his waist, protective even in rest. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the faint line between his brows that never fully smoothed, even in sleep, became a part of his morning.

Chris studied him, torn between two impulses.

The first was familiar, almost nostalgic: ’I should get up. I should put myself back together. I should be the composed, untouchable version of me again.’

The second was far more dangerous.

’I could climb on top of him and forget the world exists for another hour... or three.’

He was still weighing the consequences when the universe, in the shape of Killian, intervened.

A polite knock.

"Your Majesties," Killian’s voice came through the door, flawless as ever. "Good morning. I regret to inform you that despite yesterday’s events, the government, the press, and three international delegations have not agreed to pause reality."

Chris let out a soft, defeated laugh.

Dax opened his eyes immediately, alert and focused, the switch from private to king almost seamless. "Of course they haven’t."

"The media is already speculating about honeymoon locations and joint appearances, and the Prime Minister’s office would like confirmation that today’s briefing will proceed as scheduled," Killian continued. "Additionally, your security detail has opinions about breakfast logistics."

Chris groaned and rolled onto his back. "I literally got married yesterday."

"Yes, Your Royal Consort. Which is precisely why they are being... enthusiastic."

Dax’s arm tightened briefly around Chris, a silent, possessive acknowledgment. "They can wait."

"They are," Killian replied calmly. "Loudly. With cameras."

Chris turned his head, meeting Dax’s eyes. There was warmth there, and humor, and the shared understanding that whatever the world demanded, it now had to deal with them as a unit.

"So," Chris murmured, "regret my former, quieter life... or climb back on top of you and make them wait longer?"

Dax’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous, even half-awake. "You are asking a question you already know my answer to."

The knock came again, more pointed this time.

"Five minutes, Your Majesties," Killian added. "Before the schedule stops being polite."

—

They did not open the door.

Killian waited.

Counted.

Waited some more.

He sent a discreet message to the schedule coordinator. Then to security. Then, with the faint air of a man bracing for impact, to Sahir.

Inside the suite, time did what it always did when Dax and Chris decided the world could wait, it stretched, unbothered by calendars or ministers or the fact that half the capital was holding its breath for the first official appearance of a newly married royal couple.

When they finally emerged, it was nearly two hours later.

Chris looked infuriatingly relaxed, hair slightly damp, dressed in soft, elegant layers more for his own comfort than for the meetings waiting for them. Dax was at his side, equally unhurried, with the kind of calm that came from a man who knew exactly how much power he held and saw no reason to rush for anyone who did not command it.

Killian met them in the antechamber like a man who had just survived a siege.

Sahir was on his comm, voice sharp and relentless in his ear, demanding timelines, explanations, and whether Saha had collectively lost its mind.

Killian ended the call with a tight, professional smile and turned to them.

"Your Majesties," he said carefully, "His Excellency the Prime Minister is... eager. So is the press. So is the foreign delegation. And..." a pause, weighted, "Emperor Caelan of Palatine has been waiting in the receiving lounge."

Chris blinked once. Then raised a brow.

"Oh," he said mildly. "That is not on my schedule. I kept it empty for today and tomorrow on purpose." He had the audacity to smile.

Dax’s mouth curved faintly at that, one that never meant humor and always meant challenge.

"You cleared your calendar," he said calmly. "Impressive foresight."

"I am newly married," Chris replied with perfect innocence. "I intend to abuse that status thoroughly."

Killian closed his eyes for half a second, the way a man did when he was picturing the Prime Minister’s expression in vivid, soul-scarring detail. "His Excellency Caelan has been... patient."

"Of course he has," Dax said. "He is an Emperor. Waiting is a skill."

"And a test," Chris added lightly. "One we did not agree to take today."

Killian inhaled, steadying himself. "Nevertheless, he is here. In person. With a full security detail and a diplomatic briefing team. And a schedule with the king of Saha."

Chris’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened, bright, and unapologetic.

"A schedule with the King of Saha," he repeated. "Not with me."

Dax’s gaze slid to him, warm and dark with approval. "And my schedule," he added calmly, "is currently aligned with my husband’s."

Killian closed his eyes for the briefest moment, as if offering a silent prayer to whatever patron saint oversaw impossible logistics. "Your Majesties... Prime Minister Sahir is already fielding questions. The press is circling. And Emperor Caelan is not a man accustomed to being kept in a waiting room."

Chris tilted his head, thoughtful. "I met him yesterday. At the wedding. We exchanged looks. I smiled."

Dax stopped walking.

Slowly, he turned toward him. "Smiling," he said evenly, "does not count as a diplomatic audience."

"It was a very polite smile," Chris tried. "Regal. Internationally appropriate."

Dax’s brow lifted a fraction. "You smiled at half the world yesterday. You married me in front of them. That does not mean you have received the Emperor of Palatine."

Chris opened his mouth to argue and then caught the look in Dax’s eyes.

A promise. Dark, patient, and unmistakably personal.

"...You’re going to make me go, aren’t you?" Chris said softly.

Dax’s hand settled at the small of his back, firm, possessive, and already guiding him. "Yes."

Killian exhaled in relief, so quietly it was almost a prayer.

"For politics," Chris added.

"For respect," Dax corrected. "And because he will see you at my side."

Chris sighed, long-suffering and entirely aware he was losing this battle. "You know, you could have just asked nicely."

Dax leaned in just enough for only him to hear. "I am being nice. The alternative would involve consequences you would enjoy far too much to pretend you object."

Chris closed his eyes for a second, then resigned himself with theatrical dignity. "Fine. I’ll go meet your Emperor."

Dax’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous. "Good. We will discuss your resistance later."

The glint in his eyes promised retribution.

The kind Chris would have to deal with personally.