Chapter 66: Chapter 66: Dax’s patience
Chris’s fingers twitched against Dax’s chest. "I—" he tried again, but the confession stuck in his throat. His body knew the routine of reaching for the bottle; it didn’t know what to do with a king pressed close enough for his scent to drown everything else.
He knew it was wrong, and for all it was worth, Dax was strangely calm about it. But that calm felt like glass under pressure. Chris had the unnerving sense he was only a hair away from feeling the king’s real temperament break across him.
Dax drew a slow breath against his throat, and the warmth of it made goose bumps rise on Chris’s skin. "You don’t have to tell me," he murmured, voice still low and even. "I can smell it." One large hand slid up to the back of Chris’s neck, just resting there, a quiet reminder of how easily he could feel every tremor. "No more hiding," he said softly. "If it’s too much, you say it. To me. Not to a pill bottle."
"Dax..." Chris’s voice came out a whisper, caught somewhere between warning and plea.
"Little moon," Dax said, and the way he said it sent a shiver down Chris’s spine. "This is a very good time to say nothing but yes." His tone was still velvet, but the weight under it was unmistakable, a low growl wrapped in silk. Dark-spice pheromones had already filled the narrow space of the walk-in wardrobe, clinging to the wood and the fabric, seeping into Chris’s lungs with every breath.
Chris’s fingers curled unconsciously against Dax’s damp skin. ’Gods, he’s close. Too close.’ He could feel his own pulse under the man’s palm, every beat betraying him. ’Is he angry? ... Of course he is.’
Dax’s thumb moved once in a slow, circling stroke at the base of his skull, more warning than comfort. "Say yes," he murmured, eyes hooded. "And breathe. That’s all I’m asking of you right now."
Chris shut his eyes for a heartbeat, the pill bottle forgotten on the dresser, the steam-warm scent of Dax curling around him like a net. "Fine, yes. You will be the first to know."
For a moment Dax stayed exactly as he was, breath warm against Chris’s neck, thumb still tracing slow circles. Then, finally, he exhaled, a sound halfway between a purr and a sigh, and the iron edge in his scent eased, the storm rolling back without quite disappearing.
"Good," he murmured, voice low but lighter now. "Now, let’s get breakfast together."
Chris cleared his throat, searching for anything to break the heavy air. "Did you sleep last night?" he asked, aiming for casual but sounding more curious than he meant.
Dax drew back just enough to look at him, violet eyes glinting with amusement. A damp strand of hair slid across his forehead as he smiled, slow and lazy, like a big cat stretching after a hunt. "Sleep?" he echoed. "No, I didn’t." He tilted his head slightly, still close enough for his scent to brush Chris’s skin. "Why..." his smile curved a fraction more, "...Did you miss me?"
Chris blinked, thrown by the sudden pivot, the question landing heavier than the teasing tone suggested. ’Did I? Gods, I slept in a bed that still smelled like him and felt wrong without the weight of him there.’ He fought the heat creeping up his neck and managed, "Forget that I said anything."
He slipped from Dax’s hold before the king could answer, retreating toward the bathroom with the pill bottle now conspicuously absent from the dresser. The tiles were cool under his bare feet; steam still clung to the doorway from Dax’s earlier shower. Without looking back, he shut the door and twisted the lock.
Dax stayed where he was, a faint smile still curling his mouth, watching the omega’s back until the latch clicked. Only then did he straighten, rolling his shoulders once, the lazy-cat posture shifting into something sharper. The towel at his hips hung low, water tracing a slow path down his chest. For a heartbeat he stood perfectly still, violet eyes fixed on the closed door as if he could see through it. The faint smell of suppressants clung to the air like a stain.
He turned and crossed the room in three smooth strides. When he opened the bedroom door, Killian was already waiting in the hall, tablet tucked under his arm, storm-grey eyes unreadable.
"Majesty," he said quietly, inclining his head. "You sent for..."
"I want the attendants responsible for his belongings," Dax cut in, his voice still low but edged. The gold-threaded shawl from the night before was gone; bare skin and damp hair did nothing to soften the command. "Now."
Killian didn’t move except to tap the tablet. "Which attendants?"
"All of them who handled the luggage from Palatine," Dax said. His pheromones spiked once, an invisible pressure filling the corridor like a sudden drop in air pressure. A passing footman staggered under it, knees buckling until he braced a hand against the wall. "Have them in the south waiting room until I get dressed."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Dax turned back into the suite without another word. The door clicked softly shut behind him, shutting the scent of fear out like stale air. Inside, the faint hiss of the shower told him Chris was still busy in the bathroom. Water was beating against tile, the soft echo of movement.
He crossed to the wardrobe, rolling his shoulders once, and reached for the first shirt in the row, a dark, soft button-down, and tailored slacks. His hair was still damp; he dragged a fresh towel through the pale strands, each movement slow, like a predator grooming itself between hunts.
By the time he finished buttoning the shirt, his breathing had smoothed but the tension hadn’t gone anywhere. ’Suppressants. They had let nonscripted pills in my omega’s hand.’ His jaw clenched. ’The pills don’t stop me from feeling him; it just mute his potential and stole what should have been ours.’
He dropped the towel onto the bench and straightened, the calm mask back in place. In the south sitting room two unfamiliar attendants were waiting, young, nervous, and, to Dax’s eye, sloppy. They didn’t even rise properly when he entered. The faint tremor in their hands told him they already knew who they belonged to. Stepmother’s pawns. And they had been close enough to Chris to leave him that bottle.
Dax’s violet gaze slid over them once, flat and cold, the room filling with the low, unseen pressure of his scent. He didn’t bother to ask a question; he didn’t care about excuses. Someone was going to pay for the fact that he’d walked into his own bedroom and found suppressants in his omega’s hand.
Killian stood just inside the door, tablet tucked under one arm, watching without expression. He’d seen this before; he didn’t need to be told what would happen.
Dax moved a step closer to the pair of attendants, voice still soft but absolute. "You had one job," he said. "And you thought I wouldn’t notice."
The two of them dropped to their knees as the pressure in the room increased, air thick as water. Dax’s scent was enough to drive them to the floor, shaking, unable to look up.
He glanced at Killian. "Dispose of them," he said quietly. "I don’t want their names on any list. Just erase them."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Killian replied, already moving to signal the shadows waiting outside.
Dax’s eyes flicked once toward the hallway that led back to his suite, to the faint sound of water running where Chris still showered, unaware. He rolled his shoulders again, feeling the last of the towel’s dampness in his hair, and let his voice drop to a murmur only Killian could hear. "Make sure that there are no more pawns touching him."
Killian inclined his head. "It will be done."
Dax turned, calm once more, and left the south sitting room without looking back, the scent of dark spice and iron rolling after him like a tide.