Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 338: Another

"And you," Chris said, gesturing vaguely, "are from Draxil."

"I am Prince Eryx of Draxil," the boy announced, clearly delighted to be saying it in a room where it mattered. "Third in line, but the most charming."

One of his guards looked like he wanted to faint in apology.

Chris’s brain dredged up the relevant file without his permission: Draxil, distant and sharp-edged, a court that collected rare things the way other kingdoms collected allies. The same people who had sent them Tania, the tiger, as a "gift," which had been Draxil’s idea of friendly diplomacy and Saha’s idea of why are you like this.

Eryx’s gaze dipped briefly to Chris’s collar, fascination flashing across his face. "That’s the private one, right?"

Chris narrowed his eyes slightly. "How do you know that?"

Eryx shrugged. "Everyone knows. You’re famous."

Chris stared at Dax, a silent accusation.

Dax sat down at the small table by the window, opened a folder, and began reading as if he hadn’t just dropped a child into Chris’s lap and walked away from the consequences.

"You," Chris said to Dax, "are a giant that can absolutely be bothered."

Dax didn’t look up. "You will be fine."

"That’s what people say right before things get worse."

Eryx watched them with delighted interest, like this was a theater he’d paid for. "He doesn’t like talking," Eryx said helpfully, nodding at Dax.

Chris fixed him with a look. "No, he likes talking. He just uses it as a weapon and saves it for moments he can enjoy."

Eryx’s smile widened, utterly pleased. "I like you."

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. The train hummed beneath them, steady and smooth, as if it too wanted to pretend this was a normal trip.

"Why do you want attention from me," Chris asked, because it was better to learn now than later, "and not from the king you are currently sharing a carriage with?"

Eryx glanced at Dax, then back at Chris. "Because he’s scary."

Chris let out a short laugh that contained no joy. "Yes."

"And," Eryx continued, lowering his voice as if they were sharing a secret, "he looks like he would throw me out the window if I asked him a question."

Chris’s eyes flicked to Dax’s broad shoulders, to the stillness that could become violence in a heartbeat, to the way he looked carved rather than born.

"...He wouldn’t throw you out," Chris said, because some diplomatic instinct in him refused to let a child be genuinely afraid in his presence.

Eryx tilted his head. "Wouldn’t he?"

Chris sighed, slow and controlled. "He would delegate the throwing to Rowan. But only if you deserved it."

Rowan, passing by the open door at that exact moment, glanced in with the serene gaze of a man who had in fact thrown people and would again.

Eryx’s face lit up. "Rowan! Are you the one who—"

Rowan kept walking.

Eryx watched him go with tragic awe. "Everyone ignores me except you."

Chris stared at him. "That is not true. Your guards are right there."

Eryx glanced at them as if he’d forgotten they were human beings. "They don’t count. They’re furniture."

One guard’s eyelid twitched.

Chris took a deep breath, then smiled the way he smiled at hostile diplomats: sweet, controlled, and faintly murderous.

"Alright, Prince Eryx," he said. "Here’s how this is going to work. You can have attention. You can ask questions. You can even be charming. But you are going to do it quietly, because my patience is currently held together by a thread and spite."

Eryx’s eyes widened, impressed. "That’s amazing."

Chris blinked. "That’s not supposed to be amazing."

"It is," Eryx insisted. "My tutors never let me have spite."

"That sounds like a skill issue," Chris muttered.

Dax turned a page in his folder.

Chris leaned back in his seat, letting the train’s rhythm settle into his bones, trying to persuade his nervous system that they were no longer in a hall full of blood and screaming.

Eryx scooted closer like a determined parasite with royal status.

"So," he whispered, like they were conspirators, "is it true that you received the tiger?"

Chris closed his eyes again.

"Tania," he said flatly.

Eryx gasped in delight. "You named her?"

"Princess Heather of Rohan chose her name." Chris paused, the sentence finishing itself and then turning around to bite him. He blinked once, slowly, like maybe if he blinked hard enough the universe would stop handing him minors to babysit. "Why do royal children like me?"

Eryx’s smile widened with the unearned confidence of someone who had never been told "no" by anything more frightening than a tutor. "Because you’re fun."

"I am tired," Chris corrected.

"That’s part of it," Eryx said, as if this was obvious. "Tired people tell the truth."

Chris stared at him for a beat too long. A twelve-year-old had just diagnosed him with a level of honesty he had not consented to.

Dax turned another page in his folder. The paper made a soft, insulting sound.

Chris looked at him. "Is this... an international strategy? Is everyone sending me their children to see if I break?"

Dax didn’t look up. "If you break, they learn something."

Chris inhaled very slowly. "That is a horrifying sentence."

"It is accurate," Dax replied, still reading.

Eryx leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing state secrets. "Also, you have a tiger."

Chris’s eyes narrowed. "You keep saying that like it’s a normal sentence."

"It is in Draxil," Eryx said brightly. "We have exotic animals in the palace gardens."

"Those are zoo exhibits," Chris said. "That doesn’t count."

Eryx’s expression grew earnest. "Tania counts. She’s famous too."

Chris let his head tip back against the seat. The train hummed beneath him, smooth and relentless, wheels eating distance while his life remained committed to chaos on principle.

"Listen," Chris said, opening his eyes again. "Tania is not a toy. Tania is not a conversation piece. Tania is a tiger who has been trained to tolerate human stupidity, but she still has standards."

Eryx looked delighted. "So she’s like you."

Chris pointed at him without thinking. "You."

Eryx beamed, as if being threatened was a compliment.

One of Eryx’s guards cleared his throat softly, a sound that carried the weight of a man praying for his paycheck to include hazard pay.

Chris glanced at the guard. "You can speak. I promise I won’t report you for having a personality."

The guard’s mouth tightened into something like pain. "Thank you, Consort. His Highness... tends to attach himself."

Eryx scoffed. "I do not attach. I investigate."

Chris nodded. "You investigate like a barnacle."

Eryx’s eyes shone. "Barnacles are persistent."

"Yes," Chris said. "They are. And they are extremely hard to remove without damaging the surface."

Eryx looked entirely pleased with this information.

Dax finally shifted his gaze up, just briefly, purple eyes landing on Eryx with the flat weight of sovereignty. "Do not climb him."

Eryx straightened instantly, obedient in a way that proved Chris’s earlier theory: Dax didn’t need to be bothered; he just needed to exist.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Eryx said politely.

Then, without missing a beat, he turned back to Chris with renewed devotion.

Chris exhaled through his nose and tried to recalibrate his soul.

"You said Princess Heather of Rohan named her," Eryx said, voice eager again. "Is she your friend?"

Chris’s lips twitched. "Heather is... a force of nature."

"That sounds like a yes," Eryx pressed.

"That sounds like you’re fishing for gossip," Chris replied.

Eryx’s grin grew wicked. "Yes."

Chris sat up a fraction, interested despite himself. "Oh. You’re not just annoying. You’re politically annoying."

Eryx preened. "Thank you."

"That wasn’t praise."

"It was accurate," Eryx said, copying Dax’s cadence with such confidence that Chris almost choked.

Dax’s eyes flicked up again, this time a fraction sharper. Eryx immediately added, "Respectfully."

Chris put a hand over his mouth, more to hide the smile than anything else. It was either laugh or start a war with a twelve-year-old, and he was trying to reduce international incidents, not multiply them.

"Alright," Chris said at last, voice calmer. "You want attention? Earn it."