Chapter 57: Chapter 57: Fallout
Dax stood with his back to the tall windows, the skyline of Altera spread below in a haze of late-morning heat. The press conference had ended less than an hour ago and already the city’s pulse had changed. The Health Ministry scandal was no longer a rumor; it was headline banners and urgent crawls across every screen. His words and the evidence Tyler had released had landed like a hammer: the minister suspended, warrants issued, and clinics seized overnight. For now the fallout was contained, but he could feel the opposition’s fingers scrambling behind the curtain, trying to spin their people as victims of a purge.
He rolled his shoulders once and set the briefing folder aside. "Status?"
Tyler didn’t look up from the tablet he was scrolling through; his thin hands moved, cutting through data at speed. "The international feeds are running our narrative. Domestically it’s fifty-fifty. They’re painting you as a tyrant, but the images of the children were strong. The High Council’s silent. They’re waiting to see if you falter."
"I won’t," Dax said flatly.
"I know." Tyler slid a new file across the desk. "Arrests are complete in three provinces. Asset seizures are underway. We’re tightening their accounts before they can move anything offshore."
Dax flipped the file open, scanning the lists without really reading. His mind was already moving elsewhere. "And the omega?"
Tyler blinked. "Christopher?"
"Yes." Dax’s violet eyes stayed on the page but his tone sharpened. "What did the physicians report?"
"They’re finishing the panel now. Vitals stable. No complications." Tyler hesitated. "They’ve started a full allergen screen at your order. But there was nothing in the file our men put together to suggest... anything. Not even a note about poppy."
Dax closed the folder, slow and deliberate. "My people don’t miss things," he said quietly. "If it wasn’t there, someone kept it out, or he never told anyone."
Tyler lifted a brow. "He’s a ghost, Majesty. Even his medical registration was buried in a temp agency file. If he didn’t declare an allergy, there’s nothing to find."
"That ends now." Dax turned from the window at last, the dark-spiced scent of his suit curling in the cool air. Chris’s phone was still in his pocket from when he’d left the omega in the medical wing. No password. Mia’s number sat near the top of the list.
He pressed call.
The line picked up on the second ring. "Chris? Are you missing me?" she asked playfully.
Dax let a hint of warmth slide into his tone, the same voice he’d used over dinner. "Not quite, Mia."
There was a pause on the other end; he could almost hear her spine straighten. "Majesty," she said carefully. "I didn’t expect you to call me yourself."
"I thought it better than going through your employer," Dax replied, still looking out over the city.
"I see," she said, wariness threading through the words. "I didn’t think you made social calls from my brother’s phone."
"I don’t." The velvet in his voice thinned just enough to let the steel show. "Christopher is in my care. He’s stable, but he nearly went into anaphylaxis on my aircraft this morning. Nothing in his records mentioned a poppy seed allergy."
On the other end of the line, Mia’s breath caught. "Poppy seeds?" she repeated, then exhaled hard. "It’s not the seed itself, Majesty. It’s the alkaloids in the unprocessed coating, morphinans. Chris reacts to that trace compound, not to the seed itself." She paused for a moment. "He didn’t have a reaction since he was ten, I think. I never saw it; I just... knew, in case."
"I see." Dax’s voice stayed low, a measured velvet. "Is there something else I should be aware of, anything I won’t find on a lab panel?"
There was a small silence on the line. When Mia spoke again, her tone had lost most of its playfulness. "He hides things," she said simply. "Not medical conditions so much as everything else. He’ll tell you he’s fine when he isn’t. He’ll work until he collapses, and he’ll skip meals rather than draw attention. He doesn’t like being fussed over."
Dax’s fingers drummed once against the desk. "Habits I’ve already noticed."
"He also reacts badly to sedatives," she added after a beat. "It’s not an allergy but a sensitivity. Small doses go a long way. Beyond that..." she hesitated. "He hates doctors. He won’t say it, but it makes him feel cornered."
"Good," Dax murmured. "That’s the kind of thing I needed to hear."
Mia drew in a breath. "So... he’s really safe?"
"He’s in my medical wing, stable," Dax answered, velvet but cool. "I’ll see he’s tested and documented properly. Thank you for the context, Mia. It makes a difference."
On the other end she let out a short breath, still wary. "Then just... be careful with him, Majesty. He doesn’t trust easily."
"I know," Dax said, and ended the call.
Dax let the line go dead and set the phone down on the polished desk. For a moment he stayed where he was, looking out at the city sprawled beneath the palace like a map. The ministers were in custody, the press cycle was under control, and the opposition’s first counter-narrative was already unraveling under the weight of evidence Tyler had released. The morning had been nothing but crisis and counter-crisis, and through it all he’d felt the faint tug of the bond he hadn’t marked but already felt, a thread leading back to the medical wing.
Tyler cleared his throat from the far side of the desk. "Press are off the gates, Majesty. Internal Security has the clinics locked down. The Council session at noon can be handled by proxy."
"Good." Dax’s tone was clipped but even. He signed the last warrant with a deliberate stroke and set the pen aside. "Nothing else will matter until I see him."
Tyler didn’t argue; he simply inclined his head and melted back into the hall, tablet already flashing with new updates.
Dax straightened the cuffs of his jacket, letting his hands smooth once over the dark fabric. The scent of ink and paper still clung to his skin, but under it he could smell the ghost of dark spice and rum, his own scent, wrapped around a fragile heartbeat down in the palace’s medical wing. He left the office without a word.
The corridors of Altera Palace parted for him. Guards and clerks stepped aside, bowing low as he passed. His stride was unhurried but carried a weight that made people flatten themselves against the walls. Every door ahead of him opened before he reached it; the hush that followed him was almost physical.
At the end of the last corridor, the double doors of the medical wing stood open, cool air drifting out, laced with antiseptic and citrus. White coats moved inside like ghosts. He caught sight of Killian’s violet shawl near the far wall, the steward’s storm-grey eyes flicking up at once in silent acknowledgement.
Dax crossed the threshold. The physicians straightened instinctively but didn’t speak. On the central chair, under a light blanket, Chris sat propped upright, the IV still in his arm, color creeping back into his cheeks. His black eyes flicked up at the movement, wary but steady.
Dax didn’t slow until he was standing over him. The scent of dark spice and rum rolled across the sterile air. "You’re done?" he asked the nearest physician without looking away from Chris.
"Yes, Majesty. Vitals are stabilized. We’ve begun the allergen panel."
Dax inclined his head once, then extended a hand, palm up, to the omega. "Come," he said quietly, violet gaze glinting. "Enough tests. You’re coming with me."