Chapter 55: Chapter 55: Dignity under supervision
The hum under their feet deepened as the engines throttled back. Through the small oval window the sky had shifted from steel to pale gold; the sprawl of Saha’s capital glimmered below, low morning sun striking on domes and glass. The landing gear thumped down, a muted vibration running through the cabin.
"Almost there," Dax murmured, feeling the subtle easing of Chris’s pulse under his palm. "Stay still."
Chris gave a small, hoarse sound of protest. "I can walk."
"You can try," Dax said, the words more a purr than a warning.
The wheels kissed tarmac with a low roar, the jet’s body shuddering once before rolling smooth. Attendants moved like ghosts through the cream-and-gold cabin, collecting trays and blankets. Tyler reappeared at the forward bulkhead, tablet in hand. "Per your orders," he said quietly, "the press has been held back at the perimeter. Only the medical team and your guards are on the strip."
Dax gave a single, approving nod. "Good."
Outside, through the tinted windows, a cordon of Sahan soldiers formed a living wall, broad backs and mirrored visors shielding the stairway from the lines of waiting lenses beyond the fence. At the base of the stairs a medical team in white coats stood ready, flanked by guards.
Chris shifted against him, trying to straighten. "Put me down," he muttered, still pale but stubborn. "I can walk out on my own."
Dax tightened his hold fractionally, muscles like iron under the expensive suit. "No," he said simply. "Not until the physicians clear you."
"I’ll look ridiculous," Chris hissed, struggling to pull his shoulders back. "I’m not some fainting actress..."
"You’re an omega who just went into anaphylaxis at thirty thousand feet," Dax cut in, voice low and velvet but implacable. "You can regain your dignity once you’re breathing without help."
Chris opened his mouth, then closed it again, color creeping up under the pallor of his cheeks. "You’re impossible," he muttered, finally sagging back into the king’s hold.
"Alpha," Dax corrected softly. One arm braced under Chris’s knees, the other firm across his back, he shifted the omega’s weight until it rested more securely against his chest. "Now, be good and stay put until we can check if you really are okay."
Chris’s fingers twitched at his lapel, more embarrassment than fight left in them. "You sound like you’re talking to a cat."
Dax’s mouth curved, a flash of teeth in the morning light. "You scratch like one," he said, lowering his voice so only Chris could hear. "And right now you’re still shaking."
"I’m fine," Chris muttered hoarsely.
"You’re pale, your pulse is erratic, and you nearly stopped breathing in my arms," Dax murmured back, calm but unyielding. "You’re not fine. You’re alive. That’s different."
The cabin door opened with a hiss, warm air spilling in. Outside, the soldiers’ formation tightened, mirrored visors glinting as they shifted to block every possible angle. To the press beyond the fence, there would be nothing to see but a wall of black and silver moving around their king.
Chris turned his face away from the light, jaw tight. "They’re all staring."
"They’re staring at me," Dax said, stepping forward into the doorway, voice low and sure. "All they’ll see of you is that you’re being carried. The rest is mine to reveal when I choose."
Before Chris could argue, movement below caught his eye. The medics were already at the foot of the stairs, white coats snapping in the heat. They didn’t speak or gesture wildly; they bowed once, crisp and short, then stepped back to reveal an open sedan waiting behind them.
It looked like any other black government car from the outside, polished and unremarkable. But with the rear door held wide, Chris could see the difference: pale leather seats, a built-in medical console running along one side, racks for oxygen and IVs hidden under panels, monitors humming softly behind tinted glass. A clinic on wheels, waiting like an extension of the jet.
Dax didn’t slow. The soldiers shifted to create a tighter corridor, mirrored visors catching the sun and throwing it back at the fence line. Beyond them, the lenses of cameras flashed uselessly. All anyone would see was the tall king descending the stairs with a shadow of a figure in his arms, then vanishing into a car.
Chris tried to straighten, a weak protest caught in his throat, but Dax’s grip only firmed. "No," the king murmured without looking down. "Not yet."
The morning heat rolled up from the tarmac, bright and salt-sharp. The medics stepped aside as Dax reached the car. Inside the sedan the air was cool, filtered, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and citrus. Equipment screens glowed soft green, ready.
"Inside," Dax said, ducking his head as he carried Chris across the threshold. "You’ll be checked before you take another step in my city."
The door shut with a muffled thump and the car slid smoothly into motion. Through the tinted windows Chris could see nothing but the blur of soldiers on either side as the convoy began to roll. Engines growled low and even, a sound felt more than heard; every intersection on the private strip was already sealed, every car ahead and behind theirs an extension of the king’s will.
Inside the sedan the world was muted and cool. Monitors glowed a steady green; one of the medics adjusted the portable scanner built into the side panel, and another checked a set of vials in a recessed tray. No one spoke unless it was to confirm a setting or pass an instrument. Dax stayed seated with Chris across his lap, his broad hand still steady at the nape of his neck, his thumb moving in slow circles as if he could keep him anchored by touch alone.
Chris shifted once, weakly. "I can..." he started, voice hoarse.
"No," Dax said again, the single word soft but absolute.
The convoy left the airstrip and swept into the private highway that led straight to the Altera Palace. Sunlight flickered over the tinted glass, turning the soldiers’ visors into flashes of silver. The city blurred past in muted gold and grey. Inside the car the only sound was the soft whir of the air filters and the uneven cadence of Chris’s breathing.
By the time they turned under the shadow of the palace gates, Chris had stopped trying to sit up. His eyes were open but distant, following nothing. The cars slowed as they crossed the inner courtyard; a team of white-coated physicians and two Shadows were already waiting by the private entrance, the path clear of all but trusted staff.
Dax finally moved to transfer Chris. He stood, still carrying the omega, and stepped out into the hush of the covered portico. The scent of polished stone and cool water replaced the salt of the tarmac. Guards closed in behind him, blocking the last sliver of view from the outside world.
Inside the palace’s medical wing a chair had been prepared, padded and angled under soft light. Dax lowered Chris into it slowly, hands lingering a fraction longer than necessary until he was sure the omega wouldn’t simply slide off.
The physicians moved in at once, crisp and silent, attaching sensors and preparing a drip. Dax stayed where he was, standing at Chris’s shoulder, violet eyes fixed on him like a command. The look on his face made every medic glance away; it said without words: ’touch him, test him, but don’t hurt him and don’t speak unless I ask.’
Chris’s throat worked. He started to lift a hand to push at one of the cuffs being fitted to his arm but stopped when he saw Dax’s gaze. The king’s eyes softened a fraction but did not shift away.
"Stay," Dax murmured, low enough for only Chris to hear. "Let them work. You’re still mine until they tell me you’re safe."
Chris’s fingers curled back against the chair’s armrest. He didn’t move.