Chapter 79: Chapter 79: Silent night

The lamps had been dimmed hours ago.

Only the glow from the chandelier, amber and ruby glass, throwing soft reflections over the gilded trim, remained. The air was still, touched faintly by the scent of tea and the last traces of sandalwood from the evening fire.

Chris had fallen asleep where he’d been reading earlier, half-curled on one of the couches that lined the window alcove. The patterned cushions had swallowed him whole, color and quiet, until he looked more like part of the room than a person in it.

Outside, the night stretched deep over the palace terraces. Somewhere below, the sound of the city had softened to a hush.

When Dax finally entered, he didn’t speak. The door closed behind him with a soft click. He’d come straight from council, with no security nor attendants, just exhaustion trailing behind him like a shadow.

The gold of his cloak was gone, replaced by the darker simplicity of his shirtsleeves. His collar was open, his hair slightly undone from hours of briefings. He looked like someone who’d fought the day to a draw and barely won.

He paused at the threshold, eyes adjusting to the low light… and then found him.

Chris.

Fast asleep, barefoot, one arm draped over a pillow, the other curled near his chest. The soft fall of his hair brushed against the embroidery. There was color in his cheeks again, faint but real.

Dax exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing an inch.

He crossed the room quietly, careful not to wake him. The sight of the omega asleep in his space, his wing, his couches, his home, did something to the steady rhythm he’d forced into himself all day. He’d spent hours negotiating, shaving down his departure to Rohan from ten days to seven, then to five. The idea of leaving the capital while Chris was still adjusting made his stomach knot.

He should be thinking of trade routes, not of how his absence might feel to one person. But the moment he looked at him again, the thought dissolved.

Chris shifted in his sleep, a faint frown tugging at his brow as if even his dreams were too loud. Dax moved closer on instinct, the air around him cooling with the hint of his own scent, warm spice, faintly sweet, threaded with calm.

It worked. The tension in Chris’s face smoothed. His breathing evened out.

Dax stopped beside the couch, hands loose at his sides. He wanted to touch him, just enough to brush that stray lock of hair away, to anchor himself in the proof that he was real and here, but he didn’t. Instead, he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the nearby armchair, close but not intruding.

For a while, he simply watched him. The rise and fall of his chest, the tiny crease between his brows that never quite disappeared, even in sleep.

“You’ll drive me mad,” he murmured under his breath, his voice so quiet it barely existed.

It wasn’t a complaint.

The shadows around the room seemed to soften at the sound.

He leaned back slightly, looking toward the balcony where the breeze carried the scent of night-blooming flowers. The weight of the day pressed at the corners of his eyes, but it was easier to bear here, where the noise of the world didn’t reach and where the person he couldn’t seem to leave was sleeping under his roof.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, muttering half to himself, “Five days. I can make it five.”

Chris stirred faintly, a small sound escaping his throat, something between a sigh and a sleepy hum. Dax froze, then smiled when the movement stilled again.

“Sleep,” he whispered, softer now. “I’m here.”

And for a long time after, he stayed exactly where he was, watching the light from the chandelier fade to nothing, one hand resting loosely against the armrest near where Chris’s fingers had fallen.

He didn’t touch him. But the distance between them had never felt smaller.

—

When the last light dimmed to amber, Dax finally stood.

The room had settled into a kind of hush only found after midnight, the chandelier’s glow turned low and warm, and the faint hum of the palace’s central systems was barely audible behind the thick walls.

He took one last look at Chris before leaving.

Curled on the couch, barefoot, his breathing soft against the velvet cushions. The city’s light filtered through the tall arched windows, catching on his hair, on the curve of his cheek. Dax reached down and adjusted the blanket that had slipped past his shoulder, the motion steady, almost reverent.

His fingers lingered an inch too long before he pulled away. If he stayed any longer, he’d forget why leaving mattered these days.

He left the sitting room quietly, the door sliding shut with a muted click behind him. The corridor outside was lined with soft insets of golden light, motion sensors flicking on as he passed. His reflection trailed in the polished black floor, sleeves rolled, collar undone, a man caught somewhere between empire and exhaustion.

The walk to his private study was brief, but it was enough to rebuild the walls he’d let down for a few stolen hours.

When he entered, the sensors recognized his biometric tag. The lights rose automatically, throwing a warm glow across the wide, wood-paneled space. A digital console blinked awake on the side of the desk, joining the open sketches and physical documents scattered across the polished surface, a delicate blend of old and new, as if he refused to let technology erase the texture of his world.

He loosened his cuffs, switched on the desk lamp, and sank into the chair. The quiet filled the spaces between thought and breath, that thin hour of night where even the palace seemed to hold itself still.

In front of him, the neat stacks of contracts, sealed declarations, and coded intel all blurred into the same meaningless pattern. His focus stayed on the single sheet that didn’t belong among them… the jeweler’s sketch.

He huffed a tired laugh under his breath. The omega sleeping a few rooms away would hate it. Chris would bristle, argue, accuse him of arrogance the moment the collar touched his throat and… he’d be right, of course. It was arrogant. Possessive. Entirely Dax.

But that wasn’t the point. He could handle Chris’s temper. What he couldn’t handle was the thought of someone else taking him.

Until today, he’d kept the world at bay with pheromones alone, a silent warning that turned heads and silenced questions. Most of the court already believed the omega was marked. And for a while, that lie would have been convenient.

But tonight, he hadn’t used them. Chris’s body was raw from withdrawal, his senses sharp enough to catch even the smallest shift in air or scent. Dax had seen the strain in him, the unsteady breath, and the way his pulse reacted like a live wire. So he held back. For the first time, he’d pulled his scent tight to his skin and let the air between them stay clean.

It didn’t mean he’d changed his mind. It only meant he was patient until Chris could handle it.

He reached for the mechanical pencil lying beside the inkwell and drew another line across the design, refining the curve of metal at the throat’s base. The sketch gleamed softly under the lamplight, diamonds and platinum forming an unbroken circle.

Hours passed unnoticed. The digital clock on the corner of the desk shifted from 02:00 to 03:00, then to 04:17, before he finally leaned back, pen still in hand.

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