Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 369: Moved.

A few days later, after Ethan moved into the home of a Crown Prince and learned three separate ways of getting lost in it, the disaster came.

And by disaster he meant Caelan.

The boss nutcase.

The palace had tried to make Ethan comfortable. That was the problem. Comfort in a place like this came in the form of invisible people anticipating your needs, doors opening before you reached them, and hallways that all looked identical unless you had been born with a map in your head.

Ethan had been given a room that was bigger than his entire apartment. A wardrobe that looked like it could store a small family. A ’private sitting area’ that felt like a joke someone rich told themselves so they didn’t have to admit they were lonely.

He’d also been given rules, even when no one called them rules.

Never walk alone at night. Don’t take food from strangers. If you feel dizzy, you sit. If you feel nauseous, you call. If anyone asks you about ’the heir,’ you direct them to Sirius’s office and watch them reconsider their life choices.

Sirius’s people had learned Ethan’s habits fast. They stopped offering him tea like he was fragile and started leaving water and crackers in places he’d stubbornly pretend he wasn’t visiting too often. Someone, probably Sirius, had ensured that no one treated him like a trophy. No bowed heads. No ’Your Grace.’ Just ’Sir’or ’Ethan,’ said carefully, like the name itself was being protected.

Ethan could handle all of that.

What he couldn’t handle was the fact that the palace kept swallowing him.

Twice he ended up in a library wing he hadn’t meant to enter. Once he walked through a door labeled ’West Passage’ and came out somewhere that was definitely not west. He’d asked a guard for directions and the guard had looked at him with the dead-eyed sympathy of a man who had watched a thousand people get lost and never laughed because he enjoyed remaining alive.

By day four, Ethan had started leaving himself ’construction site’ notes.

TURN LEFT AT THE STATUE THAT LOOKS LIKE IT JUDGES YOU.

IF YOU SEE THE BLUE TAPESTRY AGAIN, YOU’VE LOOPED.

DO NOT TRUST DOORS WITH GOLD HANDLES.

He’d been in the middle of writing another one when the entire residence shifted.

Not loudly. Palaces didn’t do loud unless they were burning.

It was subtler than that. Staff moving faster. Guards repositioning in the hall.

Ethan felt it before anyone told him what it was, because anxiety had made him very good at reading rooms.

Then the head steward appeared at the threshold of the sitting room, face composed, eyes too careful.

"His Imperial Majesty has arrived," the steward said.

Ethan stared. "No."

Behind him, Sirius’s voice came from the doorway, already dressed, already finished becoming Crown Prince again.

"Yes."

Ethan turned slowly. "Tell me this is a joke."

"It isn’t," Sirius replied.

"God damn it."

—

They were led into a formal office that smelled like polished wood and entitlement, most likely Sirius’s office, the place Ethan had learned to avoid on instinct from the second day in this palace.

Caelan was there, already composed, already wearing the kind of expression that belonged on a portrait. He looked up as they entered, smile smooth and ready.

"Sirius," he said warmly, like fatherhood was a costume he put on for meetings. His gaze flicked to Ethan. "And Ethan. How delightful."

Ethan bit back a comment so sharp it would’ve cut stone. His stomach was already doing gymnastics. He did not need to add a diplomatic incident.

So he smiled.

It was the polite smile he used on difficult clients, the kind that promised professionalism while quietly fantasizing about walking away.

"Your Majesty," Ethan said evenly, and hated the title on his tongue.

Caelan’s eyes flicked over him - posture, color in his face, the faint strain at the edge of his mouth. The way you looked at a headline before you decided how to print it.

"How are you feeling?" Caelan asked, still warm.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. He felt Sirius shift beside him - barely, but enough to remind Ethan: don’t give him anything he can use.

"Fine," Ethan said.

Caelan’s smile deepened as if ’fine’ was a confession. "Wonderful. I’m glad you accepted the Empire’s help in the end." He paused for dramatic effect. "Too bad it was only the moment you got pregnant with Sirius’s child."

Ethan’s stomach clenched - part nausea, part rage - and then the air changed.

Sirius’s pheromones rose like a pressure, making the room feel smaller, heavier, like the palace itself had leaned in to listen.

Ethan didn’t need to look at Sirius to know his mate was furious. He could feel it in the way his skin went tight, in the way his body reacted to the alpha’s restraint like it recognized danger and chose to stand anyway.

Caelan didn’t flinch. He’d lived around dominance long enough to treat it like weather.

Sirius spoke with the calm of a man choosing every word so it could be used as a knife later.

"Watch your phrasing."

Caelan’s brows lifted, mildly amused. "I’m stating facts."

"You’re implying motives," Sirius corrected. "And you’re framing Ethan like an opportunist."

Caelan’s smile widened a fraction. "Is that not what happened? He refused our physicians. He refused our protection. He ran straight to Saha. And now..." his gaze slid to Ethan, lingering with deliberate insult, "now that there’s an heir involved, he’s suddenly cooperative."

Ethan felt Sirius’s hand land lightly at his back. A silent instruction: ’don’t move, don’t give him what he wants.’

Ethan hated how much he wanted to move anyway.

Sirius’s pheromones ticked higher. The advisors behind Caelan shifted their weight. One of them looked, for a split second, like he was calculating how fast he could get out of the room if things went wrong.

Caelan noticed, and smiled like he enjoyed being the man who stood in front of storms.

"You’re emotional," Caelan said to Sirius, tone still smooth. "This is not a personal matter."

"It became personal the moment you used Ethan’s body as a sentence," Sirius replied.

Caelan’s eyes sharpened. "Careful."

Sirius didn’t blink. "No."

That was the real relationship between them, a battle of control and will. An emperor who believed he owned outcomes, and a son who had been shaped into a weapon and fighted against it’s creator.

Caelan let the silence stretch, then sighed as if Sirius were a difficult child who’d embarrassed him in public.

"You can keep this... situation under secrecy," Caelan said, and the pause before the word was its own insult. He seemed to swallow the next phrasing only because even he understood there were limits when witnesses were present. "God knows what would come from a man who was chemically altered into an omega. You need legitimate heirs, not... experiments."

The room went cold.