Chapter 266: Chapter 266: Past mistakes.

“Wait until you see the wardrobe.”

Mia scoffed. “I have seen wardrobes.”

Chris didn’t answer. He just pushed the doors open.

The sound Mia made was not articulate.

It was somewhere between a gasp, a laugh, and a noise usually reserved for people discovering treasure rooms or illicit secrets.

“Oh no,” she said, stepping inside. “No, this is illegal. This is… Chris, this is a hallway.”

It was.

Long rows of clothing stretched ahead of them, arranged with severe accuracy. Formal wear on one side, ceremonial garments on the other, and everyday pieces tucked neatly between. Fabrics shifted subtly under the lighting: ivory, obsidian, deep emerald, wine-dark blues, and gold-threaded blacks. Jewelry lay displayed behind glass panels, each piece catalogued, secured, and unmistakably important.

Mia walked forward slowly, reverently, like she was entering a cathedral.

“These,” she said, touching nothing but vibrating with intent, “are not clothes.”

“They are,” Chris replied mildly, already resigned. He knew what a sight like that would do to someone like him and Mia. The entire scale of it was overwhelming… like everything about Dax.

She turned on him with wide, wicked eyes. “Oh, you are trying these on.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I just need to change out of soup. There is no need for a fashion runway.”

“There is every need for a fashion runway,” Mia said. “You just survived a diplomatic attempt at humiliation. We are answering with silk.”

He gave her a flat look.

She ignored it.

Mia moved deeper into the wardrobe, scanning the racks with a focus that would have made military logisticians proud. Her gaze snagged toward the far end, where the fabrics changed again, becoming heavier and richer, the embroidery denser, and the cuts unmistakably Sahan.

She stopped and turned slowly to Chris.

“Chris,” she said, voice gone almost reverent, “you did not tell me you had the consort robes in here.”

He winced. “Because then you would do exactly this.”

She was already reaching for one: ivory with gold embroidery blooming along the sleeves and hem, the inner layer a deeper cream, the neckline cut in a way that was both modest and decidedly not. The collar was designed for jewelry; the whole thing was designed for him.

“These are the ones that only the King’s consort can wear, right?” Mia asked, even though she clearly already knew the answer. “Like the one you wore for Dax’s birthday? The one you designed with the others and not your sister?”

Chris raised a brow at the jab and shrugged. “You were in Palatine with your new friend and I was trying to keep it a secret from Dax.”

“Fair, but now… you can try them on for me.”

Mia’s smile sharpened into something predatory.

“Just one,” Chris said, already backing away. “One, and then I change into something that does not require an entire council meeting to justify.”

“Adorable,” Mia replied, and promptly ignored him.

She pushed an ivory robe into his arms and pointed toward the dressing alcove with the authority of someone who had already decided the outcome. Chris disappeared behind the screen with a sigh that carried the quiet resignation of a man who knew resistance was pointless.

When he stepped out again, the room changed.

The robe sat perfectly on him, draping, the gold embroidery catching the light at his wrists and shoulders. The diamond collar rested at his throat like Chris was born with it, cool and unyielding against skin bared just enough to make the effect deliberate. The neckline framed it, designed around that exact piece of jewelry.

Mia stared. Then she fumbled for her phone.

Chris noticed the stare. He did not notice that Mia opened her camera and was taking pictures like a madwoman.

“You’re not allowed to take pictures,” he said, already moving to adjust the sleeves.

“I’m not,” Mia agreed cheerfully, snapping another one. “I’m committing a public service.”

She waved him away before he could protest and marched back into the wardrobe, rifling with purpose. Fabric whispered. Hangers shifted. And then she froze.

“Oh,” she said softly.

Chris, suspicious, followed her gaze.

“No.” He said when Mia’s eyes fell on the first iteration of the robe Chris wore as a gift for Dax’s birthday. Serathine and Sahir went all out with a leg slit and a very low cut in this version.

“No. Not that one,” he said, too quickly, already stepping between her and the hanger. “That was a draft.”

Mia’s eyes lit up with the kind of joy usually reserved for finding leverage. “You say that like it’s a deterrent.”

“That one was rejected,” Chris added, firmer. “Politely. Repeatedly. By me.”

She slid past him anyway, fingers already on the fabric. The robe came free with a soft whisper, ivory silk heavy in her hands, the embroidery elaborate to the point of audacity. Gold threaded along the sleeves and waist, then daringly did not continue where it should have. The leg slit climbed high. The neckline plunged low enough to make even intent negotiators lose the thread.

Mia inhaled slowly.

“Oh,” she said, reverent all over again. Then, inevitably, delighted. “Oh, this is the one.”

Chris rubbed his face. “Serathine called it ’expressive.’ Sahir called it ’strategically catastrophic.’”

“And you,” Mia asked sweetly, “called it…?”

“A mistake,” he replied. “One I refused to make in public.”

She held it up against him, tilting her head, already assessing. “You look offended by your own taste.”

“I am offended by theirs,” he corrected. “They forgot that I have to exist in these clothes.”

Mia ignored him, as was tradition. “Change.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

She raised one brow. “Chris. You wore the other black robe. The severe one. This is merely… its evil twin.”

“That is exactly the problem. The one I wore in the end was burned to ashes by Dax. I don’t want to think about what he would do to this.” Chris said intently, omitting the fact that it was also the night he and Dax became mates, and that he was sore from sex for days afterwards.

Mia’s grin went feral.

“Ah,” she said softly. “So it’s that robe.”

Chris closed his eyes. “I am begging you to put it back.”

She didn’t. She never listened when danger pricked her spine.

Instead, she lifted the hanger free with exaggerated care, as if handling a holy relic, and stepped back to take it in properly. “So let me understand this,” she said, thoughtful. “You designed a robe so dangerous the King personally reduced the final version to ash. And your response was to keep the unreleased prototype.”

“I kept it,” Chris said flatly, “because I am allowed to regret my own bad ideas in private.”

Mia laughed, delighted. “You keep your mistakes better catalogued than most people keep successes.”

She turned the robe slightly so the light caught the embroidery again. The slit was unapologetic. The neckline worse. It was designed for exposure, balanced just enough by structure and authority to remain technically ceremonial.

“This isn’t a mistake,” Mia decided. “This is a threat.”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not changing into it.”

“Of course you are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely…”

She shoved the robe into his arms.

“Five minutes,” she said brightly. “And I’m not going to ask anything else. Pleeeasee.”

He stared at the fabric like it might bite him. Then, with the air of a man making peace with his fate, he turned and vanished behind the screen.

Mia waited.

She did not wait patiently, she was almost ready to tear the screen just to see it.

When Chris stepped back out, she froze.

The robe fit him perfectly. Ivory silk clung and fell with calculated intent, the leg slit revealing too much with every shift of his stance, the neckline framing skin and collarbone and the diamond collar like a challenge carved in stone. The contrast between the restraint of the collar and the audacity of the cut was… obscene in its elegance.

Chris crossed his arms immediately. “Do not say anything.”

Mia said nothing.

She lifted her phone with the widest grin Chris had ever seen on her. “Mia.”

“Hold still,” she whispered, already taking pictures. “I need proof this existed.”

“I am not!”

Click.

Somewhere on the other side of the palace, Dax’s phone vibrated.

Mia sent three more before Chris managed to step closer.

“Delete them,” he demanded.

She looked up at him, eyes shining. “No.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

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