Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 339: Transit Lessons

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

Eryx’s entire body went still in a way that suggested he’d been trained to sit through court lectures, but his eyes lit with the same hungry brightness anyway. "How."

Chris looked at him for a long moment, then leaned back, letting the vibration of the train soothe the leftover adrenaline in his bones. Outside the tinted window, Belvare’s outskirts blurred into spring countryside and guarded checkpoints, a world that looked peaceful only because it wasn’t brave enough to move too loudly.

"You’re twelve," Chris said. "So I’m going to do this in a way your tutors will hate and your security detail will survive."

Eryx nodded solemnly, as if being hated by tutors was a badge.

Chris lifted a finger. "Lesson one: you ask one question at a time."

Eryx opened his mouth.

Chris lifted a second finger. "And you wait for the answer."

Eryx shut his mouth again, eyes sparkling with obedience so enthusiastic it felt suspicious.

Chris glanced at Dax. "Do you see this?"

Dax didn’t look up from his folder. "He is learning."

"He’s weaponizing learning," Chris muttered.

Eryx cleared his throat with ceremonial importance. "Question one."

Chris made a go-on gesture with the same restrained patience he used on diplomats who thought they were clever.

Eryx leaned forward, whispering like they were plotting a coup. "Why do you wear that collar if it annoys you?"

Chris’s eyes narrowed at the question, not because it was rude, but because it was accurate in the way children were accurate when they didn’t understand the rules of lying yet. He wasn’t annoyed by the collar. He was dramatic about it, yes, because drama was how he stayed sane in a life where people tried to kill his husband at summits and sent him apex predators as "gifts." But the collar itself? The collar was... personal.

Each one was a gift from Dax. Obscenely expensive, of course, because Dax was incapable of doing anything halfway, but it wasn’t the price that made Chris swallow when he saw a new box appear on the nightstand. It was the attention to detail that bordered on obsession, the weight balanced so it rested perfectly against his throat, the clasp engineered so only Dax’s hands could undo it quickly, the inner lining softened so it never rubbed raw even after long days, and the tiny Sahan filigree worked into the metal like a signature only someone who knew Dax would recognize. Collars designed by a king who didn’t speak much but who carved affection into objects the way other men wrote poetry.

People around them assumed it was symbolism. Politics. Tradition.

They didn’t know it was also Dax’s private language. A way of saying, ’I see you. I considered you. I made this for you. I am thinking of your skin even when you are not in my arms.’

Chris stared at Eryx for half a beat, feeling the familiar instinct to deflect with sarcasm rise in his throat like a shield, and then, for once, he didn’t use it.

"I don’t wear it because it annoys me," he said, voice quieter. "I complain because it gives me the illusion of power."

Eryx blinked. "You don’t have power?"

Chris let out a soft, humorless laugh. "I have plenty. I just like pretending I’m being oppressed by jewelry. It’s one of my hobbies."

Eryx’s eyes slid to the collar again, fascination sharp. "So it’s... important."

Chris’s fingers lifted without thinking, brushing the edge of the metal once, a small grounding touch. "It’s a gift," he corrected gently, because words mattered and because he refused to let a child walk away thinking it was only a leash. "And Dax makes gifts like he makes policy. With terrifying focus."

Behind them, Dax turned a page in his folder. The sound was quiet, but Chris still felt the faint shift in the air and the subtle territorial hum that always followed when someone spoke about what was his in the wrong tone.

Eryx noticed too. His eyes widened slightly. "He heard."

Chris’s mouth curved. "He always hears."

Eryx leaned closer, reverent now. "Did he really design them himself?"

Chris glanced at Dax, then back at Eryx, and smiled with a kind of tired fondness he didn’t usually offer strangers. "Yes. Which is why you are not touching it."

Eryx sat back instantly, hands lifting as if surrendering. "I wasn’t going to."

Chris arched a brow. "You were thinking about it."

Eryx’s grin returned, shameless. "Yes."

Chris sighed, but the irritation had softened at the edges. Some things were easier to tolerate when they reminded you that you were still alive, still human, still capable of being warmed by something as simple as a gift made with obsessive care.

He tilted his head, studying the boy with the wary affection of someone who had survived too many courtrooms to trust innocence completely. "If you want to earn attention," Chris said, "ask better questions."

Eryx’s eyes lit up again. "Okay. New question."

Chris held up a finger. "One at a time."

Eryx nodded solemnly, like he was agreeing to an ancient oath. "Why does he give you collars?"

Chris exhaled slowly, like he was deciding to be civilized on purpose. He angled his head just enough to look at the boy properly.

"You would know the answers to these questions," Chris said, "if you knew anything about Sahan traditions."

Eryx’s mouth twitched. "I know things."

"You know gossip," Chris corrected, tapping the collar once. "In Saha, a collar isn’t decoration. It’s a shield for the mark at my nape, so I don’t have every bored alpha in the room thinking he can test his luck."

Eryx blinked, then leaned closer, eyes widening. "So it’s like a sign."

"It’s a warning," Chris said sweetly. "A very expensive, very polite warning."

Eryx’s gaze flicked to Dax.

Dax didn’t look up, but the air still felt like it had teeth.

Eryx sat back, satisfied. Then he frowned. "But you still complain."

"Because I’m dramatic," Chris said flatly.

Eryx considered that, then nodded like it was a respectable lifestyle choice.

Chris leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "Now. You should be more interesting than that."

Eryx stiffened like he’d been personally challenged. "I am interesting."

"You are loud," Chris said. "There’s a difference."

Eryx’s eyes narrowed. "Fine. I’ll ask a better one."

Chris lifted his finger again. "One at a time."

Eryx inhaled dramatically. "Do you have... like... a whole collection?"

Chris stared. "A collection of what?"

"Collars," Eryx said, as if Chris was the slow one. "Do you keep them in boxes? Are they in a drawer? Does the king have a special closet? Do you..." he leaned in, voice dropping into delighted scandal, "try them on and pick one like jewelry?"

Chris’s mouth went still.

That was absolutely a child’s idea of "interesting": materialistic, nosy, and weirdly fascinated by the idea of someone having more luxury than him.

"I do not," Chris said carefully, "stand in front of a mirror and play ’which collar matches my mood.’"

Eryx’s face fell. "That’s boring."

Chris’s smile turned thin. "It’s also a lie. I absolutely do that."

Eryx brightened immediately. "I knew it."

Chris sighed. "Yes. I have more than one. No, you can’t see them. No, you can’t touch them. And if you ask Dax about ’special closets,’ he will stare at you until your soul leaves your body."

Eryx looked thrilled by the idea. "He does that?"

Chris’s eyes flicked toward Dax. "Constantly."

Eryx leaned forward again, unbothered by rules, greedily curious. "Okay, okay - then which one is the most expensive?"

Chris stared.

"That’s your improved question."

Eryx shrugged. "It’s important."

"It is not important," Chris said.

"It is to me," Eryx said, offended. "Draxil likes expensive things."

"Yes, I’ve noticed," Chris muttered. "You people sent us a tiger."

Eryx perked up. "You still have her?"

Chris’s eyelid twitched. "Yes, I just told you."

"Does she sleep in your room?" Eryx asked immediately.

"No."

"Can she bite people?" Eryx pressed.

"Yes."

Eryx’s eyes shone. "Can she bite people you don’t like?"

Chris paused. That one was... genuinely tempting.

Chris looked at him for a beat, then said, very calmly, "You are twelve."

Eryx lifted his chin. "That doesn’t mean I’m wrong."

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose again. "This is why everyone thinks royal children are feral."