Chapter 400: Chapter 400: Theatrical Immunity

A month passed inside the private wing. Time became a loop of soft light, warm blankets, Nadia’s relentless schedules, and a baby who acted like sleep was a personal insult unless it happened on Chris.

Outside the wing, the palace had paced.

Rumors had tried to form like mold in damp corners. Nobles had attempted polite ambushes in hallways. Sahir had written three speeches, two prayers, and one resignation letter purely out of frustration.

Rowan had confiscated all of it.

By the time Nero was six weeks old, Chris was healing properly, and the suite no longer smelled like antiseptic as much as it smelled like milk and clean skin and that faint, stubborn sweetness that belonged to Nero alone. His pheromones had dimmed down to almost nothing, so low it was unfair, really, that the child who had arrived like a national emergency now felt like a normal infant.

Normal, in this palace, meaning still dangerous, just quieter about it.

Chris was learning to move without flinching every time his body remembered stitches. He was also learning that ’recovery’ did not mean ’rest’ when you lived with Dax.

Because Dax was, by the day, becoming more himself.

At first, he’d been all restraint, silent terror, and that careful stillness of a man afraid to breathe wrong near his own son. He’d moved through the suite like a guard posted at the altar of something sacred. He’d spoken in short sentences. He’d watched the door like it was a threat.

Then Chris stabilized.

Nero dimmed.

The danger of immediate loss backed away enough for Dax’s natural personality to return like a sun rising, slow at first, then impossibly bright.

By week six, the King of Saha had regained the ability to be theatrical.

It was, frankly, alarming.

Chris was lying on the bed when it began, no longer a pillow fortress but still an impressive structure, because Chris refused to admit he liked being propped up.

Nero was sprawled against Chris’s chest, cheek pressed into the soft cotton of Chris’s shirt, one tiny hand fisted like he was holding the world in place. His eyes were closed, lashes pale. His mouth was slightly open in sleep, like he’d finally forgiven existence.

Tania was curled at the foot of the bed like an enormous living wall. Her pale head rested on her paws, but her eyes tracked every movement in the room. She’d appointed herself shield and judge.

Dax stood at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind his back like he was addressing a council, except the council was one recovering omega and one sleeping prince who drooled a little when he got comfortable.

“I have decided,” Dax announced, voice rich with ceremony, “that the heir of Saha requires a proper celebration.”

Chris didn’t even open his eyes. “I have decided,” he muttered, “that the heir of Saha requires me to sleep.”

Dax’s gaze flicked to Nero, immediately softening. “He requires you,” Dax corrected, like it was a religious principle. “He has excellent taste.”

Chris’s mouth twitched. “He’s a baby. He’d latch onto a warm rock if it had milk.”

Dax leaned closer, expression offended on Nero’s behalf. “Do not insult him. He’s clearly chosen you.”

Chris cracked one eye open. “He chose the food source.”

Dax’s tone turned smug. “The food source is my moon.”

Chris closed his eyes again in defeat. “Stop saying ’my moon’ like it’s a title.”

“It is a title.”

“It’s a problem.”

Dax looked pleased. “Yes.”

Nero made a tiny sound in his sleep and burrowed closer, face pressing into Chris’s chest like he was confirming, loudly, that Chris belonged to him and no one else.

Chris sighed, half fond and half exhausted. “See? Spoiled.”

Dax’s expression turned delighted. “Spoiled by you.”

Chris’s voice went flat. “Spoiled by you. You hover like a tragic statue. He’s going to grow up thinking kings exist exclusively for cuddles.”

Dax didn’t deny it. “He’s correct.”

Chris stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

Dax’s eyes glittered. “I am the King of Saha. I am always serious.”

Tania’s tail flicked once, as if she disagreed and was judging them both.

Chris’s hand moved lazily, fingers brushing Nero’s blanket. The baby didn’t even wake. He just sighed like a satisfied tyrant.

“I’m not going to a celebration,” Chris mumbled. “I’m not leaving this bed. The prince has decided I am the only thing he needs.”

Dax’s smile turned sharp. “Then we bring the celebration here.”

Chris opened his eyes fully this time, suspicion immediate. “No.”

Dax lifted a brow. “Yes.”

Chris stared. “Dax.”

Dax stepped closer, a little too pleased with himself. “A month has passed. The wing is stable. The physicians have cleared controlled exposure. The heir has dimmed. We can allow…”

Chris cut in, already alarmed. “No one. No exposure. Controlled or otherwise. I will bite.”

Dax’s eyes warmed with amusement. “That’s my moon.”

Chris glared. “Stop using my threats as pet names.”

Dax leaned in toward Nero, voice softening on instinct. “My son deserves a national celebration.”

Chris stared at him like he’d just announced he was rebuilding the palace into a shrine.

“A national celebration,” Chris repeated, slow. “For a six-week-old potato.”

Dax’s expression didn’t even flicker. “He is not a potato.”

Chris’s mouth twitched. “He is a loud, demanding potato with a royal bloodline.”

Dax’s eyes flashed, delighted. “Exactly.”

Chris pressed his lips together. “You’re insane.”

Dax’s smile deepened. “Yes.”

Chris exhaled. “Dax, I swear to god—”

“I’ve already scheduled the fireworks,” Dax said smoothly.

Chris went still.

“…You did what?”

Dax looked pleased with himself in a way that belonged in a courtroom confession. “Not near the wing. Calm down. Over the river. Visible from the windows. So you can remain in bed while the kingdom celebrates.”

Chris stared at him. “You’re making a national celebration that I’m required to witness.”

Dax nodded. “Yes.”

Chris let out a slow breath. “This is coercion.”

“This is love.”

Chris dropped his head back onto the pillow like the ceiling might give him mercy. “I married a tyrant.”

Dax’s voice softened. “You married a king.”

“Same thing.”

Dax leaned closer, careful not to disturb Nero. “Sahir is also being allowed inside.”

Chris’s head snapped toward him so fast it made Tania’s ears twitch. “No.”

Dax’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “You are not unleashing Sahir into my recovery suite.”

“He’s been outside this door for a month,” Dax said, faintly sympathetic, which was terrifying. “He’s started reorganizing my schedule out of spite. He has opinions. He’s suffering.”

Chris stared. “Good.”

Dax’s eyes sparkled. “He cried on the third week.”

Chris looked delighted. “Excellent.”

Dax sighed, like he was forced to deal with unreasonable people. “Moon.”

Chris glared. “Dax.”

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