Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 332: Tactical support

Belvare had promised intrigue. Hidden alleys, old money, dangerous glamour. Chris had arrived fully prepared to be impressed.

Instead, he kept accidentally walking into crime.

The first time, it had been a "heritage wine cellar tour" tucked under a beautifully restored waterfront building, complete with soft lighting, classical music, and a guide who spoke a little too smoothly about "private investors." Ten minutes in, Chris had noticed the mismatched invoices, the security doors that didn’t belong in a historical monument, and the way the "tasting room" cameras were angled to watch the staff, not the guests. He had smiled politely, finished his glass, and walked out straight into Dax’s security detail, who had already been pinged by the king’s amused voice in their earpieces.

The second time, it was a luxury spa advertising "ancient mineral therapies." The back offices, however, were moving cash in neat, silent stacks, and the "wellness director" had the posture of a former enforcer and the eyes of someone who expected violence, not aromatherapy.

By the third time - a rooftop art gallery that doubled as a front for funneling money through shell foundations and fake charity auctions - Dax had lost it entirely and laughed like a madman over the secure line, delighted and deeply entertained by his consort’s uncanny ability to trip over criminal infrastructure simply by trying to be a tourist.

Chris had not shared the amusement.

He had, very pointedly, stopped going out.

Now he was stretched on the enormous sectional in their suite, wrapped in soft blankets, with a bowl of fruit on the table and a wall-sized screen playing a highly dramatic crime series. Rowan sat at the far end, posture relaxed for once, one leg crossed over the other, a tablet in hand.

"That’s wrong," Rowan said calmly as a character on-screen hacked into a system in under thirty seconds. "No backup server, no physical key, and no latency. Completely unrealistic."

Chris squinted. "You’re ruining it."

"I am improving it," Rowan replied. "If they did it properly, it would take three episodes, and everyone would be asleep because of the specific terms."

Chris huffed but didn’t change the channel. He had learned that watching with Rowan meant constant commentary but also oddly comforting accuracy. It felt... normal.

Dax, meanwhile, was still in meetings. Strategic ones, from the look of the updates. Long ones. The kind that involved maps, timelines, and people who did not get to go home afterward. Belvare was being dismantled layer by layer, and the king was very much in his element.

Chris, however, was officially "on honeymoon."

He had declared it with absolute seriousness and refused to touch any formal work. No briefings, no reports, no advisory councils. He had tried to help on the first day and had been promptly derailed by Dax’s singular focus on ensuring that "marital priorities" were thoroughly and exhaustively addressed.

The result of Dax discovering Chris had experience in handling adult toys: several nights of intense attention, very little sleep, and a level of physical tenderness that made sitting still for too long an exercise in strategic planning.

So now he was sore, wrapped in blankets, mildly grumpy, and profoundly bored.

Belvare, it turned out, was far less exciting when you weren’t allowed to personally dismantle its underworld and your attempts at sightseeing kept uncovering financial crimes.

Chris sighed and sank deeper into the cushions. "I expected intrigue. I got shell companies and tax evasion."

Rowan, without looking up, replied, "Most empires fall to paperwork, not guns."

"That’s deeply disappointing."

"And accurate."

On screen, a detective delivered a dramatic monologue about loyalty and betrayal.

Rowan paused the episode. "Also, that speech would never be given in an unsecured room."

Chris groaned. "You are impossible."

Rowan’s mouth twitched. "You married a king. You should be used to that by now."

Chris was about to retort when his phone lit up in his hand.

A personal call. He blinked, surprised, then glanced at the screen.

Lucas.

"Oh," he murmured. "That’s... unexpected." Lucas rarely called after giving birth to his son, and Chris understood that there were some other stressful elements in their life, from Dax, so he never pressed for details.

Rowan lifted his eyes. "Friend?"

"Family," Chris replied. "In the ’several empires and too many titles’ sense."

Rowan sighed, knowing that it must be a Fitzgeralt.

He answered.

"Lucas?"

The image that appeared was exactly what Chris had expected and still wasn’t prepared for: Lucas looked tired in the quiet, bone-deep way of someone who hadn’t slept properly in weeks, but there was a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there before. His posture was careful and protective, with one arm curved just slightly inward, as if he were holding something just out of frame.

"Chris," Lucas said. His voice was calm, resigned in that familiar, long-suffering way. "You and Dax are coming to my birthday."

Chris blinked. "Hello to you too."

"This is not a request," Lucas continued, deadpan. "This is information."

Rowan’s mouth twitched.

Chris leaned back into the cushions. "You sound like you’ve been spending too much time around emperors."

"Yes, I have more than I want to admit." A soft pause as Lucas shifted the baby in his arms. "So... my birthday is in three days."

Chris blinked. "Three days? You’re twenty-one already?"

"Unfortunately, yes. And apparently that makes it a ’symbolic milestone’ according to my grandmother and my adoptive mother, who have decided it requires an event."

Chris’s expression shifted into immediate sympathy. "Oh no. Serathine and Cressida together?"

Lucas winced. "They’re calling it a ’harmonized effort.’ I call it a logistical battlefield. But I’m only required to attend and not grimace."

Rowan, listening with half an ear, made a soft, deeply understanding sound.

Lucas continued. "I really would prefer not to attend anything at all, but being the spouse of a Grand Duke with more titles than common sense apparently comes with expectations. I... avoided them while I was pregnant. Now I can’t."

Chris softened. He knew that pressure too well.

"So you’re being dragged into a celebration you didn’t ask for, organized by terrifying women who love you but also enjoy public spectacle."

"Yes," Lucas said faintly. "Exactly that."

"And you’re calling because...?"

Lucas hesitated for half a second, then shifted the angle of the camera.

The movement was careful and instinctively protective, and when the frame settled, there was a small figure in his arms, a baby a few months old now, wrapped in soft fabric, dark lashes resting against chubby cheeks, one hand fisted in the front of Lucas’s shirt as if declaring ownership.

Sebastian.

Chris’s breath caught anyway.

"Oh," he whispered, the sound warm and reverent. "Look at him..." 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Lucas’s mouth curved, tired and proud, in that quiet, unshowy way of someone who hadn’t slept properly in weeks but wouldn’t trade a single moment of it. "He’s decided that this is the only acceptable place to nap," he said, adjusting his hold with practiced ease. "Any attempt to put him down is met with... protest."

Rowan, who had absolutely not been trying to listen, froze at the sight of the baby and then very deliberately pretended to be deeply interested in the paused crime scene on the screen.

Chris swallowed. "He’s grown so much. I can’t believe I haven’t met him in person yet."

"That’s partly why I’m calling," Lucas said quietly. Then, with his usual bluntness, "I want tactical support."

Chris let out a soft laugh. "Of course you do. You’re facing Serathine and Cressida in the same room. That’s not a family gathering; that’s a coordinated assault."

"Exactly."

"We’re in Belvare," Chris went on, glancing toward the window as if he could already see the city conspiring to delay them. "It would take at least a day just to extract my husband from dismantling the local underworld and point him in the direction of a birthday cake."

Lucas’s expression didn’t change. He simply waited.

Chris sighed, resigned and fond all at once. "I can’t promise we’ll arrive that very day... but I can promise the next one. No later. You’ll have us. Both of us."

Lucas’s shoulders eased a fraction, relief barely visible but there. "Good. Then I’ll schedule my emotional collapse accordingly."

Chris smiled. "You’ll do great. And I’m holding you to letting me steal Sebastian for at least ten minutes."

Lucas’s lips curved. "He has opinions about being passed around. Loud ones."

"I’ve faced kings in bad moods," Chris said solemnly. "I can handle a baby."

Rowan, who had been pretending not to listen, murmured, "Famous last words."

Chris shot him a look. "You are not helping."