Chapter 307: Chapter 307: Beasts in the palace

Beside him sat a creature that should not exist outside royal crests and nightmares.

A snow-white tiger with purple eyes.

It blinked at him.

Christopher blinked back.

There was a quiet, exquisitely uncomfortable pause in which both of them processed each other’s existence.

“Dax,” Christopher said softly, his tone far too calm to be safe, “why is there an apex predator in my living space?”

Dax didn’t even attempt to look apologetic. That should have alarmed him more than the tiger.

“It’s a gift,” Dax replied, as though he had been given a tasteful plant or a commemorative mug. “From Draxil. A symbol of protection, blessing… strength.”

Christopher absorbed that.

Silence expanded.

The tiger leaned forward slightly and purred.

Of course it purred.

Christopher took a slow breath and carefully closed his eyes for two seconds, like a man silently bargaining with whatever cosmic force had clearly developed a sense of humor at his expense. When he opened them again, the tiger was still there.

Still large, white, and radiating affection that felt deeply illegal for something with that many teeth.

“At what point,” he asked patiently, “did Draxil look at our life-our schedule, our security situation, our ongoing international complications-and think, ’Yes. You know what they need? A carnivore the size of a sofa.’

”

Dax didn’t even flinch. He actually looked… pleased.

“He said,” Dax replied calmly, “that symbols should look like the king who carries them. That loyalty should have a mirror. That when people see strength, they should recognize whose strength it belongs to.”

Christopher blinked. Slowly. He was doing that a lot lately and every time was because of his mate and husband.

Then turned, very deliberately, to look at Dax, with white-blonde hair, impossible height, and those impossible violet eyes.

Then he turned back to the massive white, purple-eyed tiger.

“Oh my God,” Christopher whispered. “He color-coded you.”

The tiger purred. Loudly. Proudly.

Dax had the audacity to look smug about it.

“He thinks it suits me,” Dax added, as if that clarified anything at all. “He said creatures like this are born rarely, and when they are, they belong to rulers who were never meant to blend in.”

Christopher stared at him, outwardly composed, inwardly screaming.

“Wonderful,” he muttered. “We now own a living, breathing royal metaphor.”

The tiger shifted slightly closer and rested its enormous head near Christopher’s knee, incredibly gentle for something that could remove said knee in one bite. It blinked up at him with those soft purple eyes that should have belonged to fairy tales, not reality.

“Dax,” he tried again, carefully choosing sanity, “this is a wild animal.”

“Technically,” Dax said, already bracing to defend his point, “no.”

Christopher stared at him.

Dax gestured gently toward the creature. “He isn’t just any tiger. He’s albino. If we release him into the wild, he will die. He’d be hunted, rejected, or starve. He doesn’t camouflage. He cannot survive alone.” His voice softened in a way that made it very difficult to be annoyed at him. “He’s… a royal tiger. Domestic in his own way. Raised to bond, not to roam forests that will kill him.”

Christopher blinked slowly.

This was ridiculous. This was deeply irresponsible. This was… heartbreakingly unfair. Chris wanted to kill anyone that played with such a cruel intention, but he did get Dax’s point. There were very few that could take care of it without using it for attraction and financial gain.

He looked at the tiger again.

It watched him with the same patient focus Dax wore whenever Christopher had said something dangerous in a meeting and everyone else hadn’t realized it yet. Calm. Attentive. Absolutely choosing him.

The rumble in its chest deepened, warm and content, like it had decided this was now its home, and that was the only logical conclusion any thinking creature could reach.

Christopher closed his eyes for a moment.

“Unacceptable,” he told himself.

His hand moved anyway, resting carefully against impossibly soft white fur.

The tiger leaned into it immediately, eyes half-closing in bliss.

’Of course the beast likes me. Of course.’

“Chris,” Dax murmured, and when Christopher looked up, there was that warmth again. That soft pride that somehow always disarmed him before he realized it was happening. “You are good at this.”

Christopher narrowed his eyes very slightly. “At… what? Adopting carnivores?”

Dax shook his head slowly. “At keeping beasts in check.”

“That’s insulting,” Christopher replied automatically.

Dax’s mouth curved.

“Is it?”

Christopher blinked slowly again. Once. Twice.

Then he processed what that meant.

“Dax,” he said flatly, “am I being compared to your tiger?”

“No,” Dax answered gently. “He is being compared to me.”

Christopher’s brain walked into a wall and stayed there.

The tiger purred louder.

Dax continued calmly, like he was simply explaining the weather. “You keep me in check. You calm me when I stop being… reasonable. You stop me when I forget to feel. You stand in front of me when I want to burn everything and remind me that the world is still something I want to keep.”

He glanced down at the tiger, fondness unmistakable.

“He’s dangerous. He’s meant to be. But he listens. He bonds. He follows the hand that isn’t afraid of him. He chose you. I did too.”

Christopher stared at him.

Absolutely betrayed by biology, affection, and logic alike.

“That is extremely unfair,” he whispered.

Dax leaned in slightly, softer now. “And accurate?”

Christopher did not dignify that with a response.

The tiger nudged his hand again, as if casting another enthusiastic vote for emotional manipulation.

Christopher sighed, because he didn’t know what other response he could have.

He ran his fingers through white fur, slow and resigned.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I will keep both of you alive, emotionally stable, properly socialized, and safe from bad decisions. Apparently that’s my job now.”

Dax’s smile turned warm and devastatingly sincere.

“You already do.”

Christopher refused to acknowledge how much that sentence affected him.

He cleared his throat instead.

“Right,” he said briskly. “Then someone tell security we now have an apex metaphor residing in the palace. And absolutely no one,” he added sharply, pointing a threatening finger toward the nearest door where Rowan was absolutely eavesdropping, “is allowed to name it anything dramatic.”

The tiger purred.

Dax looked smug.

Christopher accepted his fate.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep