Chapter 243: Chapter 243: Ornamental on bad days

The room went silent.

Not the polite lull of people waiting to be acknowledged, but the hard, collective stop of momentum slamming into an unexpected wall.

Chris didn’t raise his voice or move in his seat. He didn’t even look angry. He sat there with his hands folded over the tablet, posture impeccable, tone level enough that it took a second for the words to register as what they were.

Several delegates stared at him as if he’d spoken in another language.

One of them laughed reflexively, then faltered when no one joined in.

Dax did not move.

That, Chris realized dimly, was worse.

The King’s stillness sharpened. His gaze slid to the man who had been speaking, still mid-breath, mouth open, face flushed from the pleasure of his own argument.

“I beg your pardon?” the man said, finally.

Chris inclined his head a fraction. “Allow me to rephrase. You’ve been presented with the same data three times. You’ve dismissed it twice, then recycled it as your own point once. You are not negotiating. You are stalling.”

A murmur rippled around the table.

Chris continued, voice calm, almost conversational. “If the goal is to delay resolution until the costs escalate enough to justify emergency measures, then say that openly.”

The man tried to speak again.

Chris didn’t look at him.

“You are negotiating a project that, even under the most optimistic timeline, would not begin before January,” he went on, fingers resting lightly on the tablet. “Today is October thirteenth. This is a road and bridge renovation. No serious construction will begin before February. Temperature thresholds alone make that non-negotiable.”

He finally lifted his gaze, eyes steady, not hostile, which somehow made it worse.

“So what, exactly, are you stalling for?”

Silence pressed in around the table.

Chris tapped the screen once, pulling up a simple timeline and rotating it so everyone could see. “You are not delaying work. You are delaying responsibility. Either because you want revised funding allocations after winter projections come in, or because you are waiting for political cover from a crisis that hasn’t happened yet.”

A few people shifted uncomfortably.

“If it’s the first,” Chris said, “say so, and we’ll adjust the framework now. If it’s the second, then you are gambling with infrastructure integrity for leverage, and that is not negotiation. That is negligence.”

The man finally found his voice, tight and defensive. “You are making assumptions.”

Chris didn’t raise his voice.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said evenly. “But what you’re calling assumptions are dates taken directly from your own Gantt chart. The one attached to the proposal. Signed by your chief engineer.”

A few heads turned. Someone very consciously stopped typing.

“So either I’m correct,” Chris continued, still calm, still measured, “or you submitted incomplete projections. Possibly even misleading ones.”

The man stiffened. “That’s an accusation.”

“No,” Chris replied. “It’s a fork in the road.”

He tapped the tablet once, bringing the document back up. “Option one: you acknowledge the timeline mismatch, we amend the framework now, and everyone walks out of this room with their credibility intact.”

A pause.

“Option two,” Chris said, finally looking directly at him, “is that this becomes a compliance issue. At which point the discussion stops being political and starts being forensic.”

The silence that followed was so strong that Chris could feel it pressuring his ears.

Dax folded his hands on the table. He did not intervene; at first he wanted to reschedule the meeting, as the parties were in complete chaos, but this was interesting. The room had already recalibrated around Chris like a compass snapping north.

The man swallowed. “We… may need to revise the winter assumptions.”

Chris nodded once. “Excellent. Then we’re negotiating in good faith after all.”

Someone on the opposite side cleared their throat. “If revisions are submitted by the end of the week, can we still meet the January administrative window?”

“Yes,” Chris said immediately. “If procurement and permitting stop pretending February doesn’t exist.”

A few quiet, reluctant chuckles followed.

Dax finally spoke. “Then that’s settled.”

Chairs shifted. Tablets were closed. Decisions, real ones, settled into place.

As the room began to empty, Chris leaned back slightly, the tension draining just enough for him to feel it in his shoulders.

So this was power, refusing to let nonsense masquerade as complexity.

Dax rose beside him. “You dismantled that without raising your pulse.”

Chris exhaled. “I grew up arguing with engineers who thought gravity was optional.”

Dax’s mouth curved. “You’re going to be dangerous.”

Chris hummed for a moment as they crossed the outer hall, the sound thoughtful rather than amused. Sunlight spilled through the tall glass panels, warming the stone beneath their feet. Outside, the palace gardens were already tipping into gold, autumn asserting itself politely, without asking permission.

“You started with that meeting intentionally,” Chris said at last. “You wanted to see if I’d talk.”

Dax smiled, the kind that unsettled aides and confused the staff who bowed as they passed. “Maybe.”

Chris shot him a look. “You set me in a room full of stubborn men and bad projections and waited.”

“I didn’t wait,” Dax corrected. “I watched.”

“And here I was,” Chris said dryly, “considering being ornamental. Smile, nod, and let you terrify them.”

Dax stopped near the open archway, turning just enough to face him. “You wouldn’t last a week.”

Chris snorted. “I lasted thirty minutes.”

“Exactly,” Dax said. “You don’t tolerate inefficiency. Or dishonesty. Or people wasting time because they’re afraid to concede.”

Chris folded his arms, gaze drifting toward the gardens. “I understand you better now.”

That caught Dax’s attention. “How so?”

“That kind of meeting,” Chris said slowly, “would make me want to flip a table. Repeated exposure would make me… creative.” He glanced back. “I’m guessing that’s where your reputation comes from.”

Dax’s expression sobered, but there was no denial in it. “Violence is what people remember. They forget how many chances came before it.”

Chris nodded once. “I don’t think I want to be decorative anymore.”

Dax’s hand brushed his wrist, brief and grounding. “Good. I didn’t choose you to be quiet.”

Chris arched a brow. “You chose me because I was the only dominant omega available.”

Dax stopped walking. People several steps behind them slowed without quite knowing why.

“That,” Dax said calmly, “is not true.”

Chris glanced at him, searching his face for humor and finding none.

“You were available,” Dax continued, “yes. You were also inconvenient, argumentative, insufficiently impressed by power, and deeply unwilling to be shaped.” His gaze held Chris’s. “Those are not qualities one selects out of desperation.”

Chris let out a quiet breath. “You’re saying I was a bad choice.”

“I am saying that even if there were other options, I would still want only you.”

They resumed walking, slower now, the gardens opening fully to their right. Leaves brushed the stone paths, gold and rust and green all at once, as if the season itself couldn’t decide what to keep.

“I’ve had people orbit me my entire life,” Dax said. “They adjust themselves. They soften edges. They anticipate what they think I want and offer it before I ask.” His mouth curved faintly. “You didn’t do that. You asked me why I was wasting time.”

Chris grimaced. “In my defense, you were.”

“Yes,” Dax agreed. “And you didn’t care that I was a king.”

“That’s because I was busy trying not to die,” Chris muttered.

Dax’s hand brushed his again. “You argued substance when everyone else argued position and you confirmed it again today.”

Chris considered that in silence as they reached the edge of the colonnade. Beyond it, the gardens widened, public paths branching off into quieter, controlled chaos. Somewhere out there, Maleks lingered. Somewhere else, parliament recalibrated.

“So,” Chris said finally, “what happens now?”

Dax glanced at him sidelong. “Now people realize you are not an accessory. They will test you harder.”

Chris sighed. “Of course they will.”

“And,” Dax added, “they will try to provoke me through you.”

“That’s unfortunate for them,” Chris replied flatly.

Dax smiled, sharp and approving. “You see?”

Chris rolled his shoulders, feeling the echo of the meeting settle into something steadier. “I still reserve the right to be ornamental on bad days.”

“Granted,” Dax said.

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