Chapter 383: Chapter 383: Diplomatic (3)

Dax was having a full day, but he didn’t care as long as Chris was resting.

Rowan’s last updates had been clipped and efficient – Chris had eaten, Chris had slept, Chris had complained about fruit like it was political oppression – and through the bond there was that constant low hum that told Dax everything he needed to know: his mate was safe, warm, and currently committing treason against productivity by binge-watching true crime while Killian made sure he stayed fed.

Nadia checked on him every day for changes, because these months were the most fragile for the life growing inside Chris, and Dax refused to gamble with anything that could be protected.

Tyler Bell shadowed him with the rest of the entourage, because the next thing on Dax’s schedule was Crown Prince Sirius Alaric of Palatine – the heir Caelan had finally pushed forward under the public-friendly lie of ’letting the next generation lead.’

It would’ve happened eventually, but it happened faster after Chris made his support for Ethan impossible to ignore almost three years ago and then sealed that support with something even louder than a speech: becoming Zeno’s godfather a year later.

Caelan smiled for the cameras and sent Sirius in his place, as if it were generosity rather than pressure and overwork.

The meeting was official.

The lunch afterward was not.

And Sirius had asked Dax, in advance, for a private moment – one that didn’t include Chris and Ethan.

Dax let the request sit in his mind like a knife he hadn’t decided to pick up yet.

Because he didn’t dislike Sirius. He didn’t distrust him by default, either.

But a private moment was never just a private moment, not at this level. It was either sincerity or strategy, and Dax didn’t give men space to choose which one it was without him watching.

The diplomatic conference room had been prepared the way Saha prepared for anything involving Palatine: immaculate, over-secured, and polite enough to be insulting. A long table. Water and coffee. Flags placed just so. Chairs positioned at the correct distance to suggest equality while still reminding you whose palace you were breathing in.

Sirius was already there when Dax entered.

He rose as Dax approached, every inch the heir of a nation that had survived by learning to smile while holding a blade behind its back. He wore diplomacy the way he wore his suit: tailored, clean, and built to withstand impact.

Behind him sat the Palatine delegation: ministers, secretaries, legal aides, and security officers pretending they weren’t security. Saha’s side mirrored them with the same careful symmetry.

Dax didn’t offer warmth. He offered acknowledgment.

“Your Highness,” he said.

“Your Majesty,” Sirius replied, and for a heartbeat his gaze flicked toward the corridor behind Dax, like his body expected Ethan to be there anyway.

Dax noted it, then he sat, and the room sat with him.

The opening formalities were brief. Necessary. Mostly for the secretaries who needed words they could file.

Dax leaned a fraction forward, hands resting on the table, and spoke with the unembellished clarity of a man who hated wasting breath.

“This meeting was scheduled to update our standing understanding regarding the western corridor,” he said. “The Saha–Palatine border procedures. Passage, documentation, and security coordination.”

Sirius’s expression remained composed, but there was a faint shift through his delegation.

“We agree,” Sirius said evenly. “The framework has held for years. We’re here to keep it holding.”

Dax let the table settle into that familiar, workable rhythm, two courts doing what they’d done for decades: keeping the border quiet enough that civilians could live their lives without becoming collateral.

Tyler Bell slid a thin folder forward. “Our last full procedural update was four years ago,” he said. “Since then, traffic patterns changed, and so did the methods used to exploit them.”

A Palatine secretary nodded, already marking the date. “The corridor volume doubled,” she confirmed. “Seasonal workers, medical transit, education permits. The old structure still functions, but it’s slow under load.”

Sirius’s gaze stayed on Dax. “Palatine is not asking for less security,” he said calmly. “We’re asking for predictable security.”

Dax’s mouth twitched faintly, almost in approval. “Then we build predictability into the process.”

He tapped the table once. “We separate civilian passage from documentation-heavy passage. Two lanes. Two protocols.”

A Sahan minister – older, with the patient expression of someone who’d seen paperwork start more wars than cannons – leaned in. “Civilians are not the problem. The problem is what tries to hide among them.”

Sirius’s minister opposite him replied without offense. “Agreed. The concern is that separating lanes becomes a new choke point.”

“It won’t if we stop treating everyone like a suspect,” Tyler Bell said. He opened the folder and pulled out a printed schematic. “Pre-clearance registry for frequent travelers. Biometrics. Rotating audits. Shared ledger access between our border units.”

A Palatine aide frowned. “Shared ledger access raises privacy risks.”

Dax didn’t blink. “So we write privacy safeguards into the update.”

Sirius’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Define safeguards.”

Tyler didn’t hesitate. “Access logs. Automatic flags on abnormal queries. Joint audit committee. Immediate suspension of access on misuse.”

“And a maximum processing window,” Dax added, because he knew where civilians bled first: in time. “For pre-cleared passage.”

The Palatine side exchanged quick glances. One minister’s pen paused.

Sirius asked, measured, “What window?”

“Thirty minutes,” Dax said. “For pre-cleared civilians, barring an anomaly that triggers secondary screening.”

“A written cause is required if it exceeds that,” Tyler Bell continued.

That got them. Not because Palatine distrusted Saha, but because accountability was the only language bureaucracy respected.

Sirius nodded once. “Accepted in principle.”

A Sahan secretary quietly began drafting the clause.

Then Sirius gestured with two fingers toward a second stack of documents. “Documentation for goods,” he said. “This is where the old understanding strains.”

“It strains because people abuse ambiguity,” Dax replied. “We remove ambiguity.”

Tyler Bell spoke again, voice crisp. “Standardized manifests for anything that isn’t a person. Medical equipment, industrial components, dual-use materials, and high-value cargo. A jointly approved form. Digitally filed before transit. Barcode verification at entry and exit.”

A Palatine minister lifted his brows. “Dual-use is a wide category.”

“It is,” Dax agreed. “So we define it together. Not on the day a shipment arrives.”

They moved into lists and categories, the way these meetings always did when they were done properly – everything that could become a loophole being named and nailed down.

Medical travel got its own track: emergency letters recognized by both states, hospital contacts verified, and escort permissions clarified.

Seasonal work permits got streamlined: pre-approved employer lists, defined duration stamps, and a renewal process that didn’t punish people for being poor.

Education and research transit got a clean procedure: institutional endorsements, equipment declarations, and an expedited lane for accredited programs.

No one argued the necessity.

They only argued over wording.

And that was how Dax knew it was going well.

By the time an hour passed, the table was covered in annotated pages and marked-up drafts. The atmosphere wasn’t warm, but it was functional. Professional. The kind of quiet cooperation that kept borders from becoming graves.

Sirius sat back slightly, rolling his shoulders once. “This is… clean,” he said, tone neutral but real. “Caelan always preferred to keep certain clauses vague.”

Dax’s gaze flicked to him, sharp. “Vague clauses are for men who want to move things without being seen.”

Sirius didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

A beat of silence landed, heavy with shared understanding neither delegation would ever write down.

Then Sirius’s secretary cleared her throat politely, saving them all. “We’ll need confirmation on enforcement authority,” she said. “Who has final discretion at the crossing when procedures conflict in real time?”

Tyler answered, “On-ground commanders retain discretion for immediate safety. But any deviation from protocol triggers an automatic joint review within forty-eight hours.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “Good.”

“Then we finalize,” Dax said. “Your team and mine draft the updated understanding today. We sign tomorrow.”

Sirius’s expression held steady. “Agreed.”

That was the official end.

The room began to move – ministers collecting folders, secretaries organizing drafts, and aides murmuring about schedules and signing procedures. The usual quiet exhale after productive bureaucracy.

Tyler Bell leaned toward Dax just enough to be heard. “The next item is lunch.”

Dax’s gaze stayed forward. “Lunch is not an item.”

Tyler’s mouth twitched. “It is, unfortunately. It’s on paper.”

Dax didn’t dignify that with an answer.

Across the table, Sirius rose with the delegation’s slow, practiced dignity. He offered Dax his hand.

Dax stood and shook it – firm, brief, and neutral.

“Thank you for the clarity,” Sirius said. “This corridor matters. It keeps people alive.”

Dax’s voice stayed even. “Then we keep it clean.”

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