Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 410: Names That Bite

"Please," Chris said, and he tried to sound positive, like optimism could be weaponized into reality. "For the love of every damn god in Sahan’s pantheon, I hope you said my name and not Nero’s."

Dax’s gaze snapped to him so fast it almost felt protective on instinct, because hearing Nero’s name in this context was the kind of thing that made Dax’s patience turn into a blade.

Sahir didn’t flinch.

Of course he didn’t.

"It’s a Sahan tradition for their first heir," Sahir said calmly, as if the word ’tradition’ should make the room gentler. "The country speaks the child’s name. It binds continuity. It makes it familiar. It makes it unquestioned."

Rowan’s eyes narrowed in the background, already running through the consequences like a threat model with manners. Anna went still, papers suspended mid-air, like she’d just realized a single syllable could become a headline.

Chris stared at Sahir for a beat.

"And you’re telling me this," Chris said softly, "because you already—"

"Yes," Sahir said, without a drop of shame.

Dax’s jaw flexed once. The gold mantle over his shoulder shifted slightly, and the movement looked like a warning.

"Tell him," Dax said, voice low, "exactly what you said."

Sahir held his gaze.

Then, with the composed precision of a man who had written laws that outlived wars, he delivered it like a clause.

"I proposed that the Western Maritime Corridor be renamed," Sahir said. "The King’s Corridor - Nero Passage."

For a second the office didn’t breathe.

Chris’s expression went blank.

Anna’s fingers tightened around a folder like she needed something physical to anchor herself. Rowan’s posture tightened by a fraction, ready to place himself as a shield for Chris.

Dax didn’t move at all.

He simply looked at Sahir like he was seeing him through a new lens.

"You used his name," Dax said quietly.

Sahir lifted his chin. "Yes."

"And you didn’t think," Dax continued, and the calm in his voice was the dangerous kind, "to wait until he could say it."

Sahir’s eyes flickered, a fraction too bright. "He doesn’t need to say it."

Chris inhaled slowly.

Then he leaned forward, palms resting lightly on the desk, collar catching the light with every small shift, diamonds and amethysts gleaming like Dax had bought him a warning in gemstones.

"Sahir," Chris said, voice level, "you don’t get to put my baby’s name on stone because you want the world to stop speculating."

Sahir’s gaze held. "It’s not ’because I want.’ It’s because I have watched what speculation does."

Dax’s eyes sharpened. "Don’t."

Sahir ignored him with the serene stubbornness of an omega who had outlived kings.

"I watched your brothers," Sahir said calmly. "I watched what happened when your father refused to choose an heir because he wanted to appear fair. I watched the country fracture under polite smiles and private knives. I watched stability become something people gambled with."

Rowan’s gaze flicked to Dax, then away again, as if memory was something you didn’t stare at directly.

Anna’s expression tightened, careful and quiet. She’d been young then. She still remembered enough to hate the smell of uncertainty.

Dax’s jaw clenched. "That’s not Nero’s burden."

"No," Sahir agreed, and his voice softened by a fraction. "It’s yours. But the country doesn’t know how to separate a king from a line. They will see a baby, and they will see the future. They will speculate anyway. Better we control the narrative than let enemies write it."

Chris’s eyes narrowed slightly. "And you thought the best way to control it was to make my son a landmark."

Sahir’s mouth tightened. "I thought the best way was to make him familiar." He inhaled and continued, and for the first time since he’d entered the room, his tone lost some of its polished bite. "Nero is a prince and a dominant alpha, and that was announced publicly. The fact that he is actually an enigma won’t stay hidden forever."

Rowan’s gaze sharpened like a lock clicking into place.

Anna’s hand froze over the paperwork again, because the word "enigma" didn’t belong in casual conversation. It belonged in reports, in security briefings, and in the kind of private rooms where people didn’t even write the word down unless they had clearance.

Dax went still in a way that made the gold on his shoulder look heavier.

Chris didn’t flinch, but the air around him shifted.

Sahir’s stance softened, palms open in the small, careful way of a man trying to make two possessive men understand he wasn’t their enemy. "I understand both of you; I have my own children. But Dax naming something after your child doesn’t mean he has to be active as a symbol. He can be raised in peace and quiet until he is ready, but his road has to be paved."

Chris stared at him for a long second.

Then he spoke, voice quiet enough that everyone had to lean into it.

"You don’t pave roads," Chris said, "by painting targets on babies."

Sahir’s jaw tightened. "It’s not a target if it’s normalized. He is the only heir of the new royal house; he is a target either way."

"Let me process this," Chris said. "You are trying to shield Nero in your twisted way; don’t comment," he said when he saw Sahir open his mouth, "and get mad when Dax pointed out that the way is dusty and old? The man that buys me new collars with the value of a small nation’s GDP?"

Anna made a sound that might have been a cough if it hadn’t clearly been laughter strangled into a professional shape.

Rowan’s mouth twitched, then he schooled it back into neutrality, because yes - Chris was right, and also yes - Chris was about to turn this into a scalpel.

Dax’s gaze flicked to Chris, and the edge softened for half a breath, like he couldn’t decide whether to be offended or entertained when Chris used his indulgence as evidence in a political debate.

"I buy you collars," Dax said, voice low, "because you like them."

Chris didn’t even look away from Sahir. "And I do."

Sahir’s lips pressed together, visibly refusing to be distracted by marital intimacy and luxury economics.

"My point," Sahir said, controlled, "is not that His Majesty is incapable of theater. My point is that this particular theater has a function."

Dax’s mouth curved. He leaned in closer to Chris’s chair, not because he needed to dominate the room, but because he wanted Sahir to feel exactly how little patience he had left.

"Sahir," Dax said, voice mercilessly calm, "Nero is a month old. My mate barely got back to his usual life this morning, and you pout because I tell you your way is dusty, old, and unnecessary." His eyes narrowed. "At least wait for Nero’s birthday to have an excuse."

For a beat, the room held its breath.

Anna’s pen hovered over a line like it had forgotten its purpose.

Rowan’s posture didn’t move, but his gaze sharpened, because Dax had just said ’birthday,’ and that was the first time the idea of waiting had been spoken like it was allowed.

Sahir stared at Dax.

Then, slowly, very slowly, his frosted eyes narrowed.

"You think," Sahir said, tone dangerously calm, "that I am pouting."

Dax didn’t blink. "You are."

"I am attempting," Sahir corrected, "to keep this kingdom from ever returning to what it was when you were still cleaning your brothers’ ash out of the walls."

"Still pouting," Dax pressed. "I’m not my father, and Nero would be named Crown Prince after he learns that toes exist." He straightened. "Now, either you adapt or come up with a real plan for retirement and no access to the royal house like the other nobles."

Sahir narrowed his eyes, then exhaled. "You are right. I’ve overstepped..." He tried to force the words out. "I’m sorry."