Chapter 322: Chapter 322: Still in control

The royal jet had been grounded for exactly seven minutes when the problem surfaced.

It began with a suggestion from a senior security officer – imported, newly assigned, and evidently convinced his training manual outweighed common sense – had cleared his throat and said, with the careful tone of a man who believed procedure would shield him from consequence, that standard protocol advised the royal couple should not travel on the same aircraft.

“In the event of an attack,” he’d begun, “continuity of-”

Dax’s pheromones unfurled before his voice did, their pressure so strong that the air itself decided it would rather belong to him than to physics.

The officer’s pulse had spiked so violently the med scanner picked it up. Two of the security detail shifted instinctively, hands half-raising, then freezing as they realized exactly how bad an idea that would be.

“You will not,” Dax said quietly, “finish that sentence.”

The implication was clear: ’because if you do, I will decide what remains of you after.’

The protocol shattered on the floor of the cabin.

Chris felt it before he saw it, the way Dax’s control drew in on itself. He reached out, hand closing around Dax’s wrist, before he would kill the man that had the guts to suggest to a dominant alpha that his omega wasn’t safe with him.

Dax did not pull away.

For a heartbeat, everything in the cabin stood on the edge of instinct and violence, the way storms balanced before deciding where to break. His purple eyes were fixed on the officer now, bright and cold, the color deepening as the pressure of his presence coiled tighter.

The man tried to breathe. It came out shallow.

“Continuity of leadership…” he attempted again, because training insisted on completion, on finishing the line, and on procedure over survival.

Dax’s eyes narrowed.

“You are speaking as if I am a title that can be preserved by division,” he said, voice low enough to rattle the glasses near them. “As if my consort is a risk factor instead of the center of my territory.”

Chris felt the word ’territory’ resonate through Dax’s pulse under his fingers, that possessive conviction that did not negotiate with logic, only with reality. He tightened his grip just enough to be felt.

“You’re not losing him to a flowchart,” Chris said quietly. “And you’re not killing him to make the point, either.”

A fraction of a second passed. Then another.

Dax inhaled slowly, the way one did when choosing control instead of destruction. The pressure in the cabin eased, but traces of the pheromones still clinging to everything around them.

The officer stood very still, as if movement might remind the king that he was there.

“The royal couple will travel together,” Dax said, his voice easing just a fraction. “Any protocol that assumes otherwise is obsolete. Rewrite it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the man answered immediately, voice tight.

Dax’s attention shifted back to Chris, the storm in him bending around the anchor of that hand on his wrist.

“They are not separating us,” he said, not as a promise, but as a fact.

Chris met his eyes. “I know. I just prefer our security briefings without casualties.”

For a moment, the edge of Dax’s mouth curved, his eyes falling to that lazy predator he was.

The tension in the cabin ebbed by degrees, like pressure bleeding out of a sealed room. The officer retreated with the smoothness of someone who had learned a lesson and had no desire to be taught another. Security shifted back into formation. Systems hummed. A muted announcement confirmed clearance.

The jet began to move.

First the low vibration through the floor, then the steady build of thrust, the sense of mass surrendering to motion. Outside, the lights of the runway slid past, blurred, then fell away as the aircraft lifted, clean and smooth, the ground dropping from them.

Only when the seatbelt signs dimmed and the altitude stabilized did Dax finally relax.

Not the public version of relaxation, but something far more dangerous: the private, shameless ease of a dominant alpha who had just been restrained, had chosen control, and now intended to be rewarded for it.

He leaned back in his seat, long legs stretching out, one arm draped casually over the backrest, eyes returning to Chris. The storm was gone. In its place was heat, possession, and a grin that promised trouble.

“Everyone out,” Dax said mildly, flicking two fingers toward the door to the adjoining compartment.

The staff did not hesitate. They vanished with professional speed and impressive discretion, the partition sliding closed behind them and sealing the space into quiet.

Dax’s gaze never left Chris.

“I was very merciful,” he observed. “Exceptionally so, considering provocation.”

Chris huffed softly. “You didn’t vaporize anyone on a diplomatic aircraft. The world thanks you.”

“I refrained from it,” Dax corrected. “For you.”

That purple gaze darkened, predatory in a way that had nothing to do with politics. “I believe that merits compensation.”

Chris lifted a brow. “You’re billing me for basic emotional regulation now?”

Dax’s mouth curved. “For choosing restraint over bloodshed.” He patted his thigh, unashamed, territorial, and completely sure of being obeyed. “Come here.”

The order was lazy. The intent was not.

“You want payment in the form of… furniture use,” Chris said dryly.

“I want my consort where he belongs,” Dax replied, voice low, warm, and clearly pleased with himself. “On my lap. Where I can verify, personally, that he is safe, whole, and very aware of how close I came to rearranging the security hierarchy for him.”

Chris stared at him for a second, then sighed in defeat; that was far too fond to be real resistance. He crossed the distance between them and let himself drop onto his mate’s lap.

Dax’s hold was immediate, one arm firm around Chris’s back, the other settling at his waist, drawing him in until the line of his body fit flush against his own. The warmth of him made the world narrow down to breath, heartbeat, and scent.

“There,” Dax murmured, voice low against his ear. “Exactly where you should be.”

Chris let out a small, resigned breath, the tension from minutes earlier finally bleeding out of him. “You realize,” he said, “that from an outside perspective, this looks less like ’royal composure after a security incident’ and more like ’alpha demanding cuddles as hazard pay.’”

Dax’s chest moved with a soft, amused sound. “I prefer the term ’reassurance protocol.’”

“Of course you do.”

Dax shifted just enough to make Chris more comfortable, one hand splaying warm between his shoulder blades. The lethal edge from before was gone entirely, replaced by that quiet, dangerous tenderness that only showed itself in private.

“You pulled me back,” Dax said, softer. “When instinct wanted blood.”

Chris tilted his head slightly, resting it against Dax’s shoulder. “That’s what mates are for. To keep each other from causing international incidents before the jet took off.”

Dax’s arm tightened a fraction, protective, possessive, and unapologetic. “And you succeeded. So yes, this is payment. And gratitude. And proof that I am still very much in control.”

Chris closed his eyes for a moment, letting the steady rhythm of Dax’s heart do its work. “You’re impossible,” he huffed.

Dax smiled into his hair. “But I am yours.”

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