Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 396: Tears

One month later the procedure was perfectly coordinated, and the first son of the royal couple came into the world with lungs strong enough to take Chris’s hearing away.

Chris had been awake for it, like he’d demanded, numb from the chest down, draped and monitored and surrounded by people who moved with the competence of a team that had rehearsed this moment until, for them, it was only duty.

It still felt like a miracle for Chris and Dax.

The surgical lights were too bright, the air too cold, and someone had kept trying to soothe him with a tone that sounded suspiciously like they were speaking to a skittish animal. Chris had remained calm in the face of chaos because that is what he does.

But there was a difference between calm and untouched.

There was a moment, right before they began, when Nadia leaned close enough that Chris could hear her without effort.

"Breathe," she said, simple and firm.

Chris’s eyes flicked toward her. "I am breathing."

"I know," Nadia replied. "Do it on purpose."

Chris obeyed, because he trusted her and because he had learned that competence was not an insult.

Dax stood at his head.

That had been non-negotiable. The entire medical wing could have caught fire, and Dax still would have been there, gloved and masked, forced into stillness by the simple truth that this was one battle he couldn’t win with violence.

He looked wrong in a sterile room, like a king who had wandered into a temple and dared it to judge him. His purple eyes were the only part of him fully visible above the mask, and they never left Chris’s face.

Chris, who had faced courts and councils like it was weather, found himself unsettled by that unwavering attention.

"Are you okay?" Dax murmured, voice low, as if loudness might fracture something.

Chris huffed a breath that might have been a laugh if his throat hadn’t been tight. "You’re asking me while I’m on a table."

Dax’s gaze sharpened, then softened again. "Yes."

Chris swallowed. "I’m... fine."

Nadia, on his other side, made a sound that was purely judgment. Chris ignored it with elegance.

Time moved strangely after that.

The voices were calm, clipped, and professional. There was pressure Chris could feel but not feel, a strange tugging in his body that made his brain protest even when his nerves didn’t. He tried to focus on Dax’s hand where it held his, fingers firm around Chris’s.

Chris had always thought Dax’s hands were built for weapons.

Watching them hold him in this manner felt like witnessing a different type of power.

Then someone said, "Almost there."

And Chris’s entire body went alert, as if instinct had woken up in the middle of anesthesia just to stare.

A sound tore through the room.

Raw. Furious. Absolutely offended to be alive in a world that had the audacity to be cold and bright and full of strangers.

Chris’s brain short-circuited. For half a second he forgot where he was, forgot that this had been planned, and forgot that he’d been the reasonable one.

He panicked.

"What?!" Chris rasped, eyes wide. "Is he... is that?"

"He’s perfect," Nadia snapped instantly, as if she’d been waiting for Chris to unravel so she could slap him back into place with words. "That’s a strong baby. Congratulations."

Chris blinked, stunned, and the sound struck him again: a louder scream, lungs like a declaration.

Someone lifted a small, slick, red-faced creature above the drape for one brief moment.

A tiny fist. A scrunched face. Mouth wide open like he had a list of complaints and intended to deliver all of them.

And, god help him, white-blonde hair, already visible in damp little strands, like Dax’s genetics had arrived on a horse and planted a flag.

Chris stared.

It didn’t feel real.

It felt like someone had reached into his chest and pulled out a future.

Dax made a sound beside him that was too quiet to be a sob and too fractured to be breathing.

Chris’s eyes snapped up.

Dax was still.

Still upright, still controlled, still the King of Saha, but his gaze had broken.

A tear slid down his cheek, slow and unguarded, disappearing into the edge of his mask.

Chris froze like he’d been shot.

"Oh my god," Chris whispered, horrified. "Dax."

Dax didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His hand tightened around Chris’s, the only proof he was still holding on to his body.

Chris stared at him, suddenly terrified for an entirely different reason.

"Are you... are you okay?" Chris demanded, voice cracking with panic. "Dax... why are you crying? Is something wrong?!"

Nadia leaned in on the other side, voice sharp as a scalpel. "Chris. Stop. He’s crying because he’s happy. Don’t make this about a medical emergency."

Chris blinked rapidly. "Happy people don’t..."

"They do," Nadia cut in. "Especially when they’ve spent months pretending they aren’t terrified."

Chris swallowed hard, still staring at Dax, caught between disbelief and something that felt dangerously close to tenderness.

Dax finally looked at him again, his purple eyes wet, bright, and completely unmasked in a way that would have terrified the entire court if they had seen them.

"You’re alive," Dax whispered, his voice breaking around the words like they were too big for his throat. "He’s alive. You..."

Chris’s eyes stung, and he hated it, because he hated crying in rooms full of witnesses and fluorescent lights and history.

"You’re going to ruin my reputation," Chris muttered hoarsely, because sarcasm was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Dax’s eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, revealing an almost-smile marred by emotion.

"I don’t care about your reputation," Dax murmured. "I care about you."

Chris opened his mouth, then closed it again, because there was nothing clever enough to answer that.

They brought the baby closer, wrapped now, a small bundle of warmth and outrage. His face was still red, still scrunched, with eyes squeezed shut like he was personally insulted that anyone expected him to adapt.

When the baby blinked, his eyes were unmistakably purple.

Chris stared, helplessly horrified and delighted at once.

"Oh," he whispered. "Of course."

Nadia’s tone was dry as desert sand. "What?"

Chris didn’t look away from the baby. "My genes didn’t even fight for this child."

Dax made a broken sound that might have been laughter if it hadn’t been tangled in tears.

The bundle was pressed briefly against Chris’s cheek. The baby’s skin was hot and damp and unbelievably alive.

Chris’s throat tightened so sharply he almost choked.

"Hello," he whispered, like the word might scare the baby into vanishing.

The baby responded by screaming again, less at Chris and more at the injustice of existence.

Chris flinched, then laughed, wet and breathless.

"He’s loud," Chris croaked.

"He’s healthy," Nadia said, and for once her voice softened with real warmth.

Dax leaned closer, eyes fixed on the child like he’d been waiting his entire life to be allowed to look.

"He looks like you," Chris said, automatic, because his brain needed something normal to grab onto.

Dax’s voice came out rough. "He looks like us."

Chris huffed. "He looks like you. He has your hair, your eyes... he’s basically your personal propaganda."

Dax’s thumb brushed Chris’s shoulder. "And he has your mouth."

Chris paused, then glanced down at the tiny, furious little face.

"...That’s unfortunate for the kingdom," Chris muttered.

Nadia made a sound that was absolutely laughter now. "It’s going to be a long eighteen years."

Dax bowed his head, pressing his forehead briefly to Chris’s, careful of masks and sterile boundaries.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Chris breathed out, shaky and real. "Forwhat?""

"For staying," Dax said. "For trusting them. For trusting me. For giving Saha its future."

Chris blinked hard.

"Don’t," he whispered, voice rough. "You’re going to make me cry."

Dax’s hand tightened around his. "Good."

Chris glared weakly. "I hate you."

"No," Dax murmured, and there was a smile in it now, small and broken. "You don’t."

The baby chose that moment to scream again, as if he’d been waiting for a pause to reclaim the room.

Chris flinched, then laughed.

"Alright," Chris said, voice shaking. "He’s definitely yours."

Dax’s eyes crinkled again, another tear escaping, and this time Chris didn’t panic.

This time he just held Dax’s hand and let the sound of their son fill the room like a promise.