Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 320: White Noise

The door closed behind them with a soft, decisive click.

The corridor, the guards, the weight of diplomacy, and carefully measured words - all of it was cut off in an instant.

Chris exhaled sharply. Then the restraint he had worn so perfectly in front of Caelan finally cracked.

"The audacity of him," he said, pacing once before turning back toward Dax. "As if Ethan is a strategic asset to be scheduled. As if surviving that lab automatically enrolls him into some heroic narrative he never asked for."

Dax watched him in silence, letting it come. He had learned, long ago, that Chris needed space to speak when anger was the honest kind.

"He talks about choice," Chris went on, voice tight. "But men like him always assume the right choice will be made. The useful one. The one that serves justice, or optics, or history. Ethan doesn’t owe any of that to anyone."

He dropped onto the sofa with a frustrated huff. "He owes himself peace. That’s it."

A massive presence shifted at the edge of the room.

Tania, the white tiger, because Heather had named her that once and the name had stuck with alarming permanence, rose from her place near the window and padded over, silent despite her size. She pressed her enormous head into Chris’s lap with a deep, rumbling purr, the sound vibrating through bone and fabric alike.

Chris froze for half a second, then let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hands came up automatically, fingers sinking into thick, impossibly soft fur.

"Thank you," he murmured, resting his forehead briefly against the great curve of her skull. "At least you don’t expect anyone to testify for the good of the realm."

Tania responded by purring louder and nudging him again, insistent and possessive in her own uncomplicated way.

Dax moved closer, resting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. "You were right to draw the line," he said quietly. "So was he, in his own way. But he understands power. He will always test it."

Chris looked up, irritation still sharp but tucked somewhere down. "And I understand people. Ethan is not a symbol. He’s not a case file. He’s not a banner for reform."

Dax’s hand tightened, reassuring. "He is under our protection. Unless he wants to be the hero, there is no need for him to be any more than he is."

Chris sighed. "I have the feeling that Caelan would use everything to make sure that his narrative would be real."

Dax huffed and sat beside Chris, playing with one of the tiger’s ears. "He will, but Ethan is a smart man."

"Well, this is a way to ruin our wedding morning."

Dax’s mouth curved faintly, not in humor, but in that quiet acknowledgment that meant yes, and it will be handled.

"It won’t ruin it," he said calmly. "It will only remind us why lines need to be drawn."

Tania shifted her weight, settling more firmly against Chris’s legs, a massive, warm presence anchoring him in place. Her tail flicked once, lazily, before curling around the side of the couch like a living wall of white fur.

Chris leaned back, one hand still buried in her ruff. "I don’t like being treated like leverage," he admitted. "And I don’t like seeing Ethan lined up as a narrative tool. He’s not a Chapter in someone else’s redemption arc."

Dax’s gaze softened. "Caelan knows that. He just also knows the cost of letting stories go untold. That doesn’t mean he gets to decide whose life becomes one."

Chris let out a slow breath. "Good. Because if he tried to corner Ethan into a ’greater good’ speech, I would have caused a diplomatic incident before lunch."

A low, approving sound rumbled in Dax’s chest. "I would have backed you."

Tania purred again, louder, as if seconding the sentiment.

Chris finally smiled, a little crooked. "Well. At least someone in this room understands priorities."

Dax leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to his temple. "We all do. Even Caelan. He just forgets sometimes that power isn’t the same as permission."

The room fell quiet again, filled only with the deep, steady sound of a tiger’s purr and the distant hum of a city that had no idea how close it had come to witnessing a royal tantrum on the morning after a wedding.

—

"Why are you here?" Ethan eyed Chris with open suspicion. "Shouldn’t you be in bed, unable to walk after the wedding night?"

"God damn it, Ethan."

"What? I watched the live broadcasts, the replays, and about three unhinged gossip compilations. I know how Dax looks at you. There is no universe in which he lets you out of bed today. So," he narrowed his eyes, "why are you here?"

Chris stared at him for a second, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"First of all, rude. Second of all, deeply invasive. Third: do you have any idea how many people would pay obscene amounts of money to be able to say that to my face and live?"

Ethan crossed his arms, unimpressed. "You married a king. Your personal boundaries became public property the moment the rings went on. That’s on you."

"I did not consent to being a trending topic with annotations," Chris shot back. "And for the record, I am perfectly capable of walking."

"Suspicious," Ethan muttered. "The internet promised you’d be horizontal for at least forty-eight hours."

Chris dropped into the chair opposite him anyway, exhaling. "I’m here because you went quiet. And because powerful men are already lining you up in their heads for what you might represent."

Ethan’s humor dimmed, just a notch. "Already?"

"Yes," Chris said softly. "Which is why I came myself. Before anyone starts pretending your life is a court document instead of... your life."

Ethan studied him, then gave a crooked smile. "So you escaped the honeymoon to babysit a potential witness."

"I escaped the honeymoon," Chris corrected, "to remind a friend that he doesn’t owe the world a performance."

Ethan let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a release. "Good. Because I don’t plan to give them one. The moment the headlines catch a whiff of my...," he gestured vaguely at himself, "current situation, they’ll build theories, scandals, conspiracies, probably a limited series and three terrible documentaries."

His mouth tilted wryly. "I refuse to become a case study or a cautionary tale with a tragic soundtrack."

He lifted a brow. "If it comes to that, I will absolutely cling to my very rich and very powerful friend and let him scare people away. I will be the world’s most high-maintenance emotional support problem."

Chris snorted. "That is, for once, an entirely appropriate survival strategy."

"I’m serious," Ethan added. "I’ve had enough of institutions deciding what my story is supposed to mean. Also, I look terrible in dramatic reenactments."

Chris leaned forward slightly. "Then don’t let them. You get to decide when you speak, if you speak, and to whom. Everyone else can wait. Even emperors."

Ethan studied him, then nodded once. "Good. Because if an emperor tries to schedule my trauma, I’m billing your household for therapy and snacks."

Chris only laughed, he would totally pass the bill to Dax just for fun.