Chapter 157: Chapter 157: More family to know

The next two days passed in a steady rhythm of obligations Dax was required to attend. Briefings, signatures, and a short negotiation over fishing rights with the coastal governors that nearly turned into a shouting match until Dax glanced up and the room remembered its spine.

By the time sunlight slanted through the eastern windows of Parliament, the palace walls felt far away. He exhaled while exiting the room with Tyler, his secretary, and Andrew, his chief of security, in tow. Dax had exchanged his usual attire and lighter gold mantle for the traditional uniform of the King of Saha: black, fitted, and embroidered with gold thread in patterns older than most of the empire’s ministries. Over it, he wore the formal mantle reserved for parliamentary sessions, which was heavier and denser in weave, reminding everyone in the chamber that power does not begin here.

It entered the room wearing its own history.

Tyler kept pace beside him, tablet in hand. “You have ten minutes before the Prime Minister finishes with the environmental committee. He requested a private exchange.”

“Of course he did,” Dax replied, not slowing.

Andrew spoke then, low enough not to echo off the marble. “We’ve cleared a conference room. Discreet entrance through the west corridor.”

Dax nodded once. The staff nearby stepped aside naturally, adjusting their course to allow him passage without interruption.

The building was a mix of sharp contemporary lines and older stonework preserved for heritage value. Glass corridors opened into wide atriums, the ceilings high enough to make voices sound smaller than they intended to be.

Sahir Admane was waiting in one of these open spaces, speaking with two younger ministers who were either overly eager or overly nervous. Probably both. He dismissed them gently when he saw Dax approach.

“Your Majesty,” Sahir greeted. The tone balanced familiarity and protocol he knew by heart.

The man was in his sixties, with white hair and icy blue eyes that could easily cut through any enemy.

“Sahir.” Dax tilted his head in respect for the man’s position, but not so low as to undermine his authority as king.

Sahir fell into step beside him as they moved toward the west corridor. Andrew and Tyler trailed several paces back, far enough to give privacy, close enough to intervene.

“Have you eaten?” Sahir asked in the same tone he used to inquire about national security.

“Yes,” Dax answered.

Sahir made a noncommittal sound that suggested he doubted it but would revisit the matter later. “Your afternoon is full,” he continued. “Foreign Affairs at three. Trade Office review at four-thirty. The fisheries contract needs final sign-off tonight or the coastal governors will attempt to renegotiate.”

“They won’t,” Dax said confidently.

Sahir allowed that with a small nod. “You’re also expected to open the education summit this evening, though I suspect they’ll be more interested in photographing your mantle than listening to policy notes.”

Dax glanced at him. “Then I will stand for the photographs and shorten the speech to three sentences.”

Sahir huffed, which was his version of a laugh. “Yes, that would be merciful.”

They walked a few more steps in silence, the kind that existed only between people who had occupied the same storms.

Dax opened the conference room door himself.

Andrew and Tyler remained outside without needing instruction.

Sahir entered after him.

The door closed with the soft finality of a conversation not intended for public ears.

Dax leaned back lightly against the conference table, arms crossed over his large chest and raised an eyebrow, waiting for the older man to talk.

Sahir remained standing as well. “We need to talk about your consort.”

“I figured.” Dax replied, his purple eyes glinting with faint amusement. He was wondering how long it would take the old man to say what he truly wanted.

Sahir’s gaze did not waver. “The dinner is in six days. The palace is already preparing the seating protocol. The court will read everything they see.”

“They always do,” Dax replied evenly, barely stopping himself from smiling.

“Then the introduction must be precise.” Sahir folded his hands behind his back, a habit he had while thinking. “If he is to stand beside you, he must be seen as beside you. Not someone lesser than you. Even when you are the king.”

“That is already the intention,” Dax said, his mouth twitching.

Sahir nodded, but his movement was controlled, almost too controlled. There was something under the surface, something personal he wasn’t yet saying.

Dax studied him for a moment longer before speaking again.

“That isn’t what this meeting is about.”

Sahir didn’t deny it. His jaw shifted just slightly, the closest he ever came to discomfort.

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

The silence stretched, but Dax had no intention of helping the man asking what he had on his mind.

Sahir drew a breath.

“You allowed Cressida to meet him before I did.”

“Ah, so this is what it’s about.”

Sahir’s lips pressed into a thin line in dissatisfaction. “Yes,” he said. “That is what this is about.”

For the first time since entering the room, Dax’s expression shifted into something openly recognizable: quiet humor, threaded with fondness. “You’re still at war with her.”

Sahir did not dignify that with a denial. His silence was the admission.

“She has never once known her place,” Sahir finally said.

“She doesn’t have one,” Dax replied. “She creates them.”

Sahir exhaled through his nose. “Exactly my problem.”

There was something almost boyish in the way Dax’s eyebrow lifted. “You two have been fighting over influence longer than I’ve been alive.”

“That is historically incorrect,” Sahir said, though the concession in his tone gave him away. “But yes.”

Dax let the amusement settle into his voice. “She met Christopher through Mia Malek, his sister, and Lucas Fitzgeralt. You were in Naryem until last week. Timing chose itself.”

Sahir’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes did, sharpening briefly. “Timing can be managed,” he said. “Introductions of this significance should not depend on convenience.”

“She didn’t go to him as a representative of the court,” Dax replied. “She went as herself.”

“That is worse,” Sahir said, not harshly, but with the bluntness of someone who had seen entire political landscapes turn because of the wrong first impression. “Cressida sees through people. Then she sorts them.”

Dax’s amusement didn’t fade. “She didn’t sort him. He didn’t allow her to.”

Sahir blinked at that. Once. Slowly.

“Oh,” he said, and there was something almost resigned in the sound. “So she likes him.”

“Yes.”

Sahir rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, as though this development was somehow more inconvenient than the collapse of a trade alliance.

Dax sighed. “Fine. You can meet him tomorrow at lunch. If he wants it.”

Sahir didn’t look triumphant. He didn’t soften dramatically. He simply accepted it, the way men who have navigated power too long learn to accept the wins that matter and leave the rest untouched.

“That’s fair,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “I would prefer it that way. I want to meet him as himself, not as your consort.”

Dax’s mouth twitched. “You’ll like him.”

“I expect I will,” he said. “You would not choose someone small.”

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