Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 403: Over the River

"You know, this is a lot tamer than I expected from you," Chris said while looking at the fireworks blooming over the city of Altera.

Nero was sleeping in Dax’s arms, while Chris could enjoy his hot chocolate in peace, even if it was spring already.

Dax didn’t look away from the window. The light from the bursts washed over the sharp planes of his face - gold, then violet, then a brief, violent white that turned him into a cutout of a king in a storybook.

"Tamer," Dax repeated, voice mild, like the word was an unfamiliar spice. "My moon, I had to compromise."

Chris hummed, unimpressed. "You had to... restrain yourself?"

"I had to be merciful," Dax corrected, the corner of his mouth lifting. "To the infrastructure."

Chris snorted softly and took another sip. The hot chocolate was too sweet, which meant Nadia had made it, which meant it had probably been fortified with something medically responsible and morally insulting. It warmed his throat anyway, and he wasn’t above surrendering to small comforts when his body still felt like it had been stitched together by spite and medicine.

Outside, the sky kept blooming.

The fireworks weren’t close enough to rattle the glass, but they were close enough to paint the river in trembling color, the water catching every burst like it couldn’t decide whether to reflect or worship. Altera sprawled beyond it, roofs and towers outlined against the night, the city looking peaceful in the way it only did when it didn’t know it was being watched by royalty.

Dax shifted Nero carefully, adjusting the baby’s position with slow reverence, like every breath mattered.

Chris watched him for a moment longer than he meant to.

This sight, this reality, continues to strike him at times. Dax, King of Saha, the man who could make ministers shake with a glance, holding a six-week-old infant with the gentleness of a man handling something holy and newly made.

Nero’s hair was a pale, impossible white-blonde even in the dim light. It caught the glow from the window like it was made for it. His face was relaxed, mouth slightly open, and lashes light. One tiny fist was pressed against Dax’s chest like a seal.

Chris’s gaze flicked up to Dax’s expression.

"You’re hovering," Chris murmured.

Dax didn’t deny it. "I am fathering."

"That’s not a verb."

"It is now."

Chris’s mouth twitched despite himself. "You’ve turned into one of those men who would get offended if someone called him ’sir’ instead of ’dad.’"

Dax’s eyes flicked to him with immediate offense, then warmed, because Chris was smiling. "No one will call me ’sir’ in my own palace."

Chris leaned back into the armchair by the window, legs tucked under him, blanket still draped over his lap because he refused to admit he was cold. "You’re not in your palace. You’re in my fortress."

Dax’s brows rose. "Your fortress?"

Chris gestured lazily with his mug. "This wing. My recovery suite. The tiger. The nurses. Rowan’s constant paranoia. Your security moving like they’re guarding a nuclear reactor."

Dax’s gaze slid briefly to the door, where Rowan stood with the resigned posture of a man who had accepted that this was his life now. Rowan didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed in the way that suggested he’d heard every word and was taking personal notes for later blackmail.

Dax looked back at Chris, amused. "You’re proud."

Chris’s eyes narrowed, sharp by habit. "I’m not proud. I’m... territorial."

Dax’s smile turned slow and pleased, like someone had just offered him a gift. "My moon."

Chris glared at him.

Dax continued, unbothered. "It suits you."

Chris took a long sip and stared at the fireworks like they were a distraction and not a cover for the fact his throat had tightened.

Outside, another burst bloomed - blue and gold, then red, then a cascade of white sparks that fell like glittering ash, the city beneath it unaware that it was being celebrated from behind reinforced glass.

Chris exhaled. "So. What did you actually do?"

Dax’s brows lifted. "I am watching fireworks with my mate and son. That is what I am doing."

"No," Chris said, patient in the way he was only patient when he was about to be cruel. "What did you do in the kingdom?"

Dax had the gall to look innocent.

"Drop the act, love. I know you," Chris said.

For a heartbeat, Dax didn’t move. He let the silence stretch long enough for another firework to bloom outside - gold and violet spilling over the river like the sky was wasting jewels - long enough for Chris to feel the familiar warning in his own chest: Dax never looked that innocent unless he’d already moved the pieces.

Then Dax’s mouth twitched and then bloomed into a smile.

"My moon," he said softly, eyes still on the city, "you say that like it’s a threat."

"It is a threat," Chris replied without blinking. "Answer."

Dax adjusted Nero with a careful, automatic motion, his arms shifting so the baby’s head was better supported against his chest. Nero didn’t wake. He just breathed, cheek pressed into Dax’s dark shirt like he’d decided the King of Saha was, in fact, a mattress built specifically for him.

Chris watched the movement, the gentleness, and the way Dax’s fingers hovered and never squeezed too hard.

Then he reminded himself that gentleness did not mean harmless.

"Fine," Dax said, like he was indulging Chris. "I did something small."

Chris’s eyes narrowed. "Dax."

Dax sighed. "Something symbolic."

Chris didn’t say anything, but narrowed his eyes fourther.

Dax finally turned his head a fraction, meeting Chris’s stare. His eyes glinted with that familiar combination of sincerity and mischief, like he could be tender and ruthless in the same breath and didn’t see the contradiction.

"I issued a decree," Dax admitted.

Chris blinked once. "Of course you did."

"It’s reasonable," Dax said, offended on principle. "It is literally designed to reduce suffering."

Chris lifted his mug, took a slow sip, and waited for the inevitable part where "reduce suffering" translated into "reshape the country in my image."

Dax continued, because he took Chris’s silence as permission to talk himself into sainthood.

"Effective immediately," Dax said, voice warm, "all public medical wards in Altera will receive additional funding."

Chris’s brows rose involuntarily.

Dax lifted a shoulder, casual. "The neonatal units first."

Chris’s throat tightened in a way he didn’t appreciate. He smoothed it over with suspicion. "That’s... almost nice."

Dax’s gaze softened, but his mouth curved like a man who enjoyed being underestimated. "It is nice."

Chris stared. "Where’s the dagger?"