Chapter 222: Chapter 222: Rowan

Chris froze so hard he felt his soul try to exit his body.

Dax’s timing was supernatural. Or cursed. Or both.

The king stopped in front of him, still in full uniform, still radiating that quiet, lethal authority that made generals shut up, and looked directly at Chris with that low, steady rumble of attention that always made Chris forget what thinking was.

Rowan, traitor that he was, took one discreet step back and composed his face into perfect guard neutrality. Which was impressive, considering he was vibrating with the need to smirk.

Chris swallowed. “I… have nothing to say.”

Dax tilted his head slightly, purple eyes narrowing the way they did when he smelled guilt, chaos, or Chris doing something stupid. “Rowan looks like he swallowed a secret.”

Rowan immediately straightened, expression flat. “Your Majesty, I would never…”

“Rowan,” Dax said, without looking at him.

Rowan shut up.

Dax’s gaze returned to Chris. “Christopher?”

Chris felt himself start to sweat, but there was no point in delaying it any longer; Dax would only consider it sport to find out what he wanted. “Only if you promise to finish the dinner normally.”

Dax’s brows drew together, just slightly. “Why would I not finish the dinner normally?”

Rowan choked on air. Hale looked away. Two of the hidden guards pretended to become wall décor.

Chris gave them all a murderous look before refocusing on the king. “Because you tend to… react.”

Dax stared at him. “React to what?”

Chris rubbed his forehead. “To anything involving me.”

Dax didn’t deny it. Not even a flimsy attempt.

Instead, he simply folded his hands behind his back in that deceptively calm stance that meant he was one inch away from throwing a minister out a window. “I promise,” he said, voice smooth and dangerous, “that I will finish the dinner in a way the diplomats will describe as ’normal.’”

Rowan winced. “Your Majesty, that is not…”

“Rowan.”

Dax didn’t raise his voice, but all the guards tensed instantly.

Rowan shut up again, suffering loudly in silence.

Chris sighed with the force of a man praying to any god available to give his husband some restraint. “Fine. But you can’t make a scene.”

Dax didn’t answer that part. Which was deeply troubling.

Chris squared his shoulders. “My receptors are working again. I’m starting to feel pheromones. Other people’s pheromones, not just yours.”

Dax blinked once, twice, then inhaled slowly and deeply.

“Whose,” he said, his voice velvety and warm, but it did not mask the danger beneath it.

Chris immediately held up his hands. “Not like that. Not ’whose’ with your murder tone…”

Rowan jumped in with the desperation of a man saving his own life. “It was me first, Your Majesty. And Hale, at low pulse, was specifically requested by me.”

Dax turned his head just enough to level a look at Rowan. “You ordered my consort to stand in the path of an alpha pulse?”

Rowan, who had faced assassins, war fronts, and paperwork, looked like he considered sprinting away. “We wanted to confirm that the consort had indeed sensed pheromones.”

Chris groaned. “Dax, I barely felt anything…”

Dax snapped his attention back to him so fast Chris swore he heard the air shift.

“Barely is enough,” the king said, voice low and threaded with something hot and territorial. “Why did you not tell me the moment it happened?”

Chris dragged a hand down his face. “Because we were literally walking to a diplomatic dinner, it happened three minutes ago. I wanted to tell you after dinner.”

Dax stared at him like that was the worst possible answer.

“Three minutes ago,” he repeated, voice deceptively calm.

Chris winced.

Rowan mouthed you’re dead behind Dax’s shoulder.

Dax stepped close enough that Chris felt the temperature shift. “Christopher. You can smell other alphas, and your plan was to wait until after a state dinner to tell me?”

Chris threw his hands up. “Yes! Because you’re dramatic and I didn’t want you to…”

“React,” Dax finished for him, expression unimpressed.

Chris nodded vigorously, strands of hair gently falling around his temples. “…Exactly.”

Dax exhaled in a slow, controlled way that made Hale and two other guards subtly brace, like they were ready to intervene if the king decided to take someone apart piece by piece.

“Christopher,” he said, softer but not calmer, “this is important. To you, your health, and our bond. And you thought I would prefer ignorance?”

Chris flinched a little. “Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds bad…”

“It is bad,” Dax said, stepping even closer, his golden mantle falling heavily on his right arm.

Chris stepped back. “Dax, please. Not the territorial meltdown before dinner. I’m already nervous.”

Dax froze in a way that came from care for Chris and his comfort.

“You’re nervous?” Dax asked quietly. “Because of this?”

Chris crossed his arms, embarrassed. “Yes. I’m still new at this. And if you freak out, everyone in that dining hall will feel it.”

Dax blinked, the tension shifting instantly. His shoulders loosened, his stance softened, and his voice lowered by half.

“Christopher,” he said, gentler now, “I’m not angry at you.”

“You look angry.”

“I’m angry at Rowan.”

Rowan: “Your Majesty…”

Dax didn’t move an inch but the danger was radiating from him like heat. “Rowan.”

Rowan stepped back. “…Understood.”

Dax returned his focus to Chris, the intensity in his eyes turning into something warm. “You told me now. That matters.”

Chris deflated a little, relief curling into something warmer.

“And,” Dax continued, voice softening further, “I am glad your senses are returning. Truly.”

Chris stared at him, throat tight. “Really?”

“Yes.” Dax reached up, brushing a thumb along Chris’s jaw in a gesture far too intimate for the setting. “Because it means you are healing. And because now you’ll feel me when I enter a room.”

Chris glared at him. “Don’t make it weird.”

Dax didn’t even pretend innocence. “It is not weird to want my mate to sense me.”

Rowan muttered, “Every alpha in this wing disagrees.”

Dax ignored him.

Chris sighed. “Let’s just go to dinner before you start declaring things.”

“I declare nothing,” Dax said smoothly. “Not until after dinner.”

Rowan whispered to Hale, “So he is going to declare things.”

Chris grabbed Dax’s arm before the king could overhear anything else. “Come on. Normal dinner. Normal behavior. Please.”

Dax allowed himself to be led, smiling with that quiet, dangerous warmth that meant normal was already impossible.

But he nodded anyway.

“For you,” he said. “Normal.”

Chris squeezed his arm, resigned to whatever “normal” meant by Dax’s standards.

Then the king bent slightly, close enough that only the omega heard, “And afterward, you tell me exactly what you sensed.”

Chris choked.

Dinner was going to be a nightmare.

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