Chapter 48: Chapter 48: A change of plans
Dax followed Tyler out of the dining room and down the quiet corridor toward his office. The muted glow of the sconces slid over the dark gold at his cuffs; behind him the sound of Mia’s laughter and Chris’s voice faded into the hush of the villa. He still caught the faint trace of rain-clean scent on his hands and cuffs, a thread of warmth clinging even as he put the mask back on.
"What’s happened?" he asked, his voice dropping into its habitual low register.
Tyler glanced at the tablet, thumb flicking through encrypted pages as they walked. "The full Health Ministry audit you ordered has been completed. The findings are worse than the preliminary reports suggested."
Dax’s eyes narrowed. "Define ’worse.’"
"Multiple hospitals in three provinces," Tyler said. "We have documentation showing comatose patients transferred off-record to private ’rehabilitation clinics.’ Organs removed and sold. Families were either never contacted or given forged death certificates. Over a hundred cases confirmed, including children who were technically wards of the state."
The king’s pace slowed, violet gaze darkening. "Names?"
"The minister’s inner circle, several deputy directors, and a network of executives running the front companies. They’ve been falsifying procurement orders for years to hide the trafficking. Surgeons, anesthesiologists, and nurses are listed, but they’re essentially disposable; the money and direction came from the top. We have signatures, bank transfers, offshore accounts, everything."
Dax’s jaw flexed once, his hand tightening against the seam of his coat. "Children," he repeated, quieter but deadlier. "And the opposition has been feeding on this?"
"They’ve been sitting on it," Tyler said, voice low. "He’s one of their oldest ministers. If this breaks without you in the capital, they’ll frame it as a political assassination. You’ll be accused of fabricating evidence to destroy a rival."
They turned another corner; the villa was quiet, the only sound their footsteps and the low hiss of the sea outside the stone walls. "We have the data locked," Tyler continued. "No leaks yet. But the press cycle resets at six a.m. Altera time. If we’re there before the first broadcast, you can control the narrative and move on the arrests yourself."
Dax stopped at the office door, one hand braced briefly on the frame. The faint trace of Chris’s scent, rain, and warm skin lingered in his mind, pulling against the steel of his job. He had promised him calm and a few days of space. Now even that was being stolen.
He exhaled once, slow and steady. "And they call me mad," he said at last. "Prepare the justice team draft immediate suspension orders for everyone implicated."
Tyler dipped his head. "Already in progress, Your Majesty. The warrants will be ready for your signature on arrival."
Dax’s fingers stayed pressed against the doorframe for a heartbeat longer, knuckles whitening. Children stolen from state care. Families lied to. A ministry run like a butcher shop under the banner of medicine. And all of it sitting like a weapon in the opposition’s lap.
"Make sure the internal security unit locks down every clinic named in the audit tonight," he said. "No leaks, no documents walking out the back door."
"Understood."
Dax let his hand drop and pushed the office door open. The lamplight fell across stacks of sealed folders already laid out by Tyler before dinner: testimony transcripts, wire transfers, photographs with the faces blacked out, and a column of names under the heading Ministry of Health, Executive Circle. Even without opening it, he could feel the weight of it pressing against his ribs.
"We’ll leave at dawn," he repeated, quieter now. "Notify the pilots, but keep it off the manifest until the last possible moment. I don’t want this trip flagged to the press."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
He crossed to the desk and sat, smoothing one palm over the dark wood to ground himself before touching the papers. ’Organ trafficking. Comatose wards. Families lied to.’ The words weren’t new, rumors had reached him months ago, but the proof was. This was why he ordered audits instead of relying on ministers. This was why he never trusted anyone who’d built a career under the old party.
His eyes flicked once to the clock on the wall. Just after nine. Less than an hour, and Chris would be expecting him back at dinner.
He closed one of the folders without reading further. He already knew enough to act. "Have my tablet ready after dinner. I will read the documents at night."
Tyler nodded. "You’ll speak to Mr. Malek tonight?"
"Yes." Dax’s jaw flexed once. "He deserves to hear it from me."
—
Chris watched the door swing shut behind the king; the dining room suddenly felt too big without that steady, dangerous presence at the head of the table. The candles flickered in the draft; the scent of spiced wine clung to the air.
Across from him, Mia was still swirling her glass, eyes sparkling with unspent mischief.
"You," Chris said, stabbing his fork at her like a weapon, "are a traitor."
She batted the air with her free hand. "Please. That wasn’t betrayal; that was public service. Someone had to tell him about the window stunt. And the café girl. And the perfume."
Chris dropped his head into his hands, groaning. "You had one job, Mia."
"I did my job," she shot back, grinning. "You were the one climbing out of windows and hiding things from your family. You think Andrew and I didn’t notice how weird you were? We just didn’t know why."
He peeked at her through his fingers. "I was protecting you."
"And look where that got you," she said, leaning forward. "In a palace, in a suit, with a king staring at you like you’re oxygen."
Chris groaned again. "Stop saying things."
"No," she said sweetly. "I like watching you squirm. Also, for the record? I approve."
He lifted his head, glare loaded. "You what?"
"I approve," she repeated, more gently this time. "I’ve seen him up close now. He’s intense, sure, but he listens to you. He made sure your feet were bandaged before dinner, Chris. No man who wants to own you does that."
He didn’t have an answer for that. His fingers found the edge of the napkin and worried at it instead.
Mia drained the last of her wine and pushed her chair back with a sigh. "I have to go," she said. "Dawn shift at Fitzgeralt tomorrow. Some of us don’t get royal breakfasts."
"You came all the way here to tease me and leave?"
"To check you’re alive." She stood, smoothing her dress. "You are. And apparently thriving. Text me if you’re not kidnapped across another sea before lunch."
Chris muttered something under his breath but stood with her anyway, escorting her out into the corridor.
At the main doors of the villa, Alfred the butler was already waiting, coat over one arm, polite as a ghost. Beyond him, headlights glowed faintly in the mist where a car idled.
Dax was just coming back down the hall from his office, his coat falling perfectly into place as he walked. His violet eyes flicked first to Mia, then to Chris. The warmth that crossed his face at the sight of them together was so quick Chris almost thought he imagined it.
Mia caught it too. Her grin sharpened, but she kept her tone light. "Thank you for dinner, Your Majesty. Next time I’ll try not to empty your wine cellar."
"You’re welcome any time," Dax said, voice velvet low, and extended a hand to her with court-perfect ease. "Safe trip back."
Mia shook it, eyes still sparkling. "Take care of him," she said quietly enough for only Dax to hear, then turned and headed for the waiting car.
Chris stood awkwardly at the door, slippers silent on the polished floor. Dax’s gaze slid back to him, the weight of it steady but not crushing.
"Walk with me," the king said softly. "We need to talk."