Chapter 61: Chapter 61: Taunt the mad king
"You promised me you’d let me run once," Chris said at last, lifting one finger as though making a point in a meeting. His other hand stayed curled around the coffee cup, the porcelain warm against his palm. His black eyes stayed on Dax, steady even though his cheeks were heating.
Dax met his gaze without hesitation. Sunlight from the tall windows caught on the gold thread of his shawl and the clean lines of his face. He knew exactly how he looked and made no effort to hide it. His smile widened, a charming smile if not for the cruel glint in his eyes. "If you ask nicely," he said, voice low and smooth, "I might even open the door myself."
Chris blinked, thrown. "Really?" he asked, cautious, a flicker of hope slipping into his tone before he could stop it. "Are you serious?"
"No," Dax said. The answer was simple, but the smile stayed. In his eyes there was no doubt, only quiet certainty. He wasn’t going to let Chris go, not now, not ever.
Chris stared at him, heat rising under his skin. ’Right. Am I stupid?’ He’d actually believed, for a heartbeat, that the man who had carried him halfway across a continent would hand him a key and wave goodbye.
He set the cup down on the table with a small clink. "Then stop saying things like that," he muttered. "It’s confusing."
Dax adjusted the fall of the gold-threaded shawl on his shoulder. "I didn’t think I was being unclear," he said lightly. "You’re here. With me. That’s not going to change because you ask nicely."
The silence that followed felt heavier than the carved beams overhead. One of the attendants fumbled a clasp at Dax’s cuff and immediately dropped to a bow to hide it. Another fixed his gaze on the carpet as if it were suddenly fascinating. Everyone in the room knew what it meant for someone to speak to the King of Saha that way in his own tongue; everyone knew he had killed for less.
Yet Dax stood there, calm as a man waiting for tea, watching Chris with that steady, amused look instead of reaching for a weapon. The only movement was his thumb rubbing once against the signet ring on his hand, an absent habit that in another context would have preceded a death sentence.
Chris’s pulse jumped. ’Of course it’s not. Look at him. He’s built entire provinces out of willpower and bad jokes. What did I think, that he’d just let me slip out the door?
"You are unbelievable," he said at last, fingers curling against his knee.
Across the room Killian’s brows rose a fraction, storm-grey eyes flicking between them like a man witnessing a ghost story come alive. He’d watched Dax crush ministers with a sentence and gut a would-be assassin with a single stroke; now he was watching him let an omega talk back in Sahan and live.
Dax tilted his head a little, as if considering the remark. "So I’ve been told," he said mildly. The edge of his smile deepened, not cold but very sure. "And yet, little moon, here you are. Talking to me like that and still breathing."
No one in the room moved. The attendants bent lower over their work, pretending not to hear. Even Killian’s neutral stance held a flicker of disbelief.
Chris swallowed, eyes fixed on his own hands. ’Great. Just great. I’m going to be the first person to sass him into changing his mind about not killing me. How does this man change so much?’
Dax crossed the last few steps between them, coat whispering over the carpet, and bent slightly until they were eye-to-eye. "Ask me to stop when you are uncomfortable, little moon, and I will. But ask me to let you go..." a slow curve of his mouth, "...and we’ll see how polite I can be."
"You are deranged," Chris said with a huff. The sound wasn’t quite a laugh but it wasn’t fear either. Around them the staff almost forgot to breathe; a few hands trembled over gold clasps, and one attendant’s eyes went wide before dropping to the floor. No one in this palace wing had ever heard anyone call the king that and stay upright.
Dax only looked more amused. "Deranged?" he repeated softly, violet eyes holding his. "I’ve been called worse."
Chris lifted the cup again to hide his mouth, shoulders loosening a fraction. "Haa... I’m not an idiot, Dax. I won’t run..." ’not while Mia and Andrew are within reach,’ he added silently. ’But I can still taunt him... just for my mental health.’
"...yet," he added aloud with a crooked smirk just visible above the rim of the mug.
A flicker of something, heat, satisfaction maybe, passed through Dax’s expression. He didn’t scold, didn’t threaten. He simply straightened, letting the coat settle back over his frame, and adjusted the gold-threaded shawl as if he hadn’t just been challenged. "Good," he said quietly. "Then we understand each other."
The attendants bent lower over their work, grateful for something to do. Killian’s storm-grey eyes stayed on Chris, a faint glint of curiosity there now; he’d seen Dax kill for less, and yet here stood this omega, sipping coffee and teasing the king.
Chris kept his gaze on the mug in his hands, his pulse still quick but steadier. ’Right. This is my life now. Don’t poke the tiger too hard; don’t give him a reason to reach for the people you care about. Just keep breathing and keep your mouth half a step ahead of your fear.’
The last of the attendants withdrew, bowing their way out of the chamber under Killian’s silent signal. The carved doors shut on a muted thud, leaving only the soft hiss of the ceiling vents and the faint scent of spiced rum from Dax’s pheromones. For the first time all morning there was no audience, no clinking clasps, no shuffling feet, just the two of them and Killian, a single, unmoving shadow at the far wall.
Chris lowered his cup and stared into the dregs. "You clear rooms like a storm," he muttered. "Do you do that for everyone who irritates you?"
Dax’s mouth curved, almost lazily. "No. Just for you." He dropped into the armchair opposite as though the throne room had always been a living room, one long leg stretching out, the shawl pooling gold at his side. "If you’re going to throw barbs at me before breakfast, you get privacy to do it."
Chris snorted despite himself. "Considerate or... you don’t want for your people to believe that you softened."