Chapter 302: Chapter 302: Guilt

Chris closed the phone and let it fall on the coffee table near him. His latte was cold by now, skin temperature at best, but he lifted it anyway and sipped. It didn’t help. He set it back down beside the phone.

His thoughts felt like they were moving too fast and too far in every direction. Less than a year ago, his world had been difficult but predictable. Now it was sharp edges, political detonations, chemical experiments, attempted kidnappings, Ethan possibly becoming an omega, and a nation’s fury balanced entirely on the mood of his husband. He knew with absolute clarity that none of this happened because of him. He also knew that logic had very little influence over the treacherous part of the human brain that specialized in guilt.

He should have been worrying about wedding decorations. Or public announcements. Or which tiara he was going to pretend he didn’t know that Dax was commissioning. He should have been avoiding the looming royal ceremony that was going to be absurd even by Saha’s standards. But instead his chest ached for Ethan, and his mind kept replaying the soft, tired humor in his friend’s voice.

A knock broke the spiral.

“Enter,” Chris called softly.

The door opened, and Killian stepped inside.

He had the calm dignity of a man whose entire life revolved around managing panic while pretending panic did not exist. But there was something else beneath the polished control today. A subtle tension around his eyes. Shoulders held just a fraction tighter than usual.

He bowed briefly out of habit, then looked at Chris properly.

“Your Highness,” he said gently. “You haven’t moved in an hour.”

Chris blinked. “…I’ve been drinking.”

Killian looked at the abandoned latte.

“Yes,” he said dryly. “Fierce indulgence.”

Chris huffed something that might have counted as a laugh on a generous day.

Killian walked further in, hands folded neatly behind his back, voice lowering into something more private. “You are thinking too much. And doing nothing about any of it. Which, if I may say, is a deeply inconvenient combination.”

“I’m allowed to worry,” Chris murmured.

“Yes,” Killian agreed. “You are not allowed to wilt.”

Chris arched a brow. “I’m not wilting.”

Killian stared at him.

Christopher stared back.

A beat passed.

“…Fine,” Chris sighed. “Maybe a little.”

“More than a little,” Killian corrected softly. “You won’t help Ethan by freezing yourself here. And you won’t stop His Majesty from annihilating half the region by sitting quietly and waiting for news you cannot control.”

Chris looked away toward the window. The city glowed beyond, the sun already climbing higher.

“What do you suggest then?” he asked.

Killian did not hesitate. “Movement.”

Chris blinked. “Movement.”

“Yes,” Killian nodded. “Something that is neither brooding nor drinking lukewarm milk. You should walk. Breathe. Be seen. Remind Saha’s palace that you are not prey and not porcelain. And,” he added mildly, “if you happen to cross paths with His Majesty, you may… strategically reduce casualties.”

That pulled a small, reluctant smile from Chris. “So this is for public relations and marital stability.”

“This is for my blood pressure,” Killian replied calmly.

Chris sighed once more, then pushed himself up from the couch. “Fine. I’ll walk.”

“I’ll tell Rowan to accompany you,” Killian said immediately.

“I figured,” Chris murmured, already moving toward the door.

—

Rowan was waiting by the time Chris stepped into the corridor, expression composed but eyes sharp. He inclined his head, then fell into step a respectful distance behind, silent but reassuringly solid in that way Rowan always was.

The palace corridors opened into vast galleries, polished floors gleaming beneath tall windows. Sunlight slipped in, warm enough to chase off the memory of last night’s cold. Guards bowed. Staff paused. Some whispered. Chris ignored most of it, focusing on breathing, on walking, on simply existing without drowning in thought.

He took the longer path deliberately, the route he would normally drive past. The one he never bothered to walk because life rarely allowed the time.

He stepped outside into one of the great courtyard promenades.

And stopped.

There were clusters of omegas everywhere.

Graceful, expensively dressed, beautifully groomed omegas draped along benches, strolling in small curated groups, laughing softly, pretending to admire gardens while their gazes constantly flickered toward the palace paths with barely contained anticipation.

Waiting.

Waiting for Dax.

Waiting like this was a royal resort and not the lair of a very territorial apex predator who had only barely refrained from declaring war the night before.

Chris stared for a second longer than was polite.

“…Are they serious?” he asked finally, disbelief soft and almost affectionate in the way one might regard a litter of kittens wandering toward a lion enclosure. “Truly? This is the plan? Wait prettily and hope the king of Saha becomes romantically stupid?”

Rowan did not sigh, but the air around him carried the exact energy of someone who desperately wanted to.

“They are,” he confirmed, voice dry. “Some believe opportunity appears if one stands in proximity to power long enough. Others believe His Majesty must inevitably tire of devotion and stability.”

“That’s a bold gamble,” Chris murmured. “On a man who looks at seduction attempts like they’re construction hazards.”

“One would think,” Rowan agreed mildly.

One of the omegas noticed them then.

Then another.

Then the entire formation adjusted.

Heads lifted with elegant synchronicity. Postures straightened. Smiles bloomed, soft and calculated. Perfumes drifted like weaponized air currents. A few actually fluttered eyelashes.

Chris just blinked at them.

“They do know he’s married,” he said eventually.

“Yes,” Rowan replied.

“To me.”

“Yes.”

“And still.” Chris gestured vaguely at the display of ambition in designer shoes.

“Yes,” Rowan repeated in the exhausted tone of a man who had lived this cycle enough times to accept the laws of nature, if not respect them.

Chris studied the hopeful faces a moment longer, then exhaled slowly, somewhere between tired amusement and a threat of laughter.

“Well,” he said softly. “This should be interesting.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep