Chapter 70: Chapter 70: Understanding
Chris said nothing; he just moved his gaze to the food in front of him. There was no point in arguing with a man who thought he was right. His throat burned; he fought the tears in his eyes and, for the second time in an hour, he won.
"I understand," he muttered, and took a sip of his coffee.
The taste was bitter and cooling on his tongue. Across the table Dax’s eyes flicked to the mug, then back to his face, reading the minute tremor in his hands and the tension in his shoulders. A muscle twitched once in his jaw. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its edge but not its weight.
"Good," he said quietly. "You should eat." The words were simple, but the way he said them made them feel like an order wrapped in concern. He gestured, a small tilt of his fingers, and one of the covered dishes slid a few centimeters closer across the polished wood. "At least try."
Chris’s stomach clenched, but he knew better than to push back now. He reached for something light, a slice of fruit, a piece of bread, and let the quiet settle between them. The scrape of porcelain and the faint clink of cutlery were suddenly loud in the echoing room.
Dax didn’t speak. He simply watched, elbows on the table, long fingers steepled in front of his mouth, violet eyes following every small movement. The scent he gave off had shifted again; not an alpha’s push, but a slow, steady warmth that hung around the edges of Chris’s senses like the aftertaste of wine.
Chris chewed mechanically, aware of every swallow. His heart had stopped racing, but a different kind of pressure sat behind his ribs now, the odd, unwelcome knowledge that beneath all the orders and logic, Dax was still waiting for something he couldn’t name.
When he finally set the fork down, the silence was still there, deep and heavy. Dax’s gaze dipped briefly to the plate, then back to Chris’s face. "Better," he murmured.
The door opened on a whisper of hinges and Tyler slipped inside, tablet held against his chest. He bowed once, voice pitched low. "Your Majesty. The conference call with the Northern Trade delegation has been confirmed for noon. The health ministry papers are on your desk. And the security briefing before departure is waiting for your signature."
Dax’s eyes lingered on Chris for a breath before he pushed his chair back. "Bring them," he said. He rose with the same unhurried precision he’d used to dominate the room moments ago. "We’ll review everything in my office."
Tyler inclined his head and stepped aside to let him pass. Dax moved toward the door but paused long enough to tilt his head at the man waiting in the corridor. "Killian, stay with him."
The words weren’t a request. Then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, Tyler falling into step at his shoulder, the sound of their low conversation fading down the hall.
Killian remained where he was for a moment, watching Chris without the usual mask. He poured more coffee into Chris’s mug and set the pot aside, the scent of roasted beans cutting through the heavier air.
"He clears rooms so you can breathe," Killian said finally, voice low but steady. "He doesn’t want you fainting on him."
Chris’s mouth twitched. "And you’re here to make sure I follow orders?"
"I’m here to make sure you’re all right." Killian’s tone stayed dry, but there was something softer underneath it. "You don’t have to like him. Just don’t starve yourself."
Chris picked up a grape, rolled it between his fingers, and set it back down again. "That’s very noble of you," he muttered, the bitterness in his tone obvious. "But you are not the one without a word in this palace."
He rose from his chair, straightening his posture even as his eyes stung. His hands smoothed down the front of his shirt with a precision that looked like calm and felt like survival. "If there isn’t anything that involves me," he said, voice clipped, "I will be in the sitting room."
Killian didn’t move to block him. He shifted his weight instead, hands folding behind his back, storm-grey eyes following Chris but not pinning him. "No one’s going to drag you anywhere," he said quietly.
"Killian, don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid." Chris’s voice was low but sharp, the kind of edge that came from exhaustion more than temper. He tightened his grip on the back of the chair he’d just left, knuckles pale.
The older man inclined his head a fraction, as if conceding the point. "Then don’t talk about leaving him or the suppressants," he said, his tone still even but firmer now. "Anything else can be moved or changed as you want."
Chris gave a small, humorless laugh. "Anything but the things that matter."
Killian didn’t flinch. "Anything but the things that will break you if you push too hard," he corrected softly. "He’s not trying to punish you, Christopher. He’s trying to keep you breathing."
Chris turned his head just enough to meet the grey eyes. For a moment he looked as though he might say something more; instead he drew in a shaky breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped toward the corridor. "Then you can tell him I’m breathing just fine," he said. "In the sitting room."
"Master Christopher..." Killian’s voice followed him, low and even. "I would advise you one thing. Don’t provoke the king. He won’t kill you, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt you, even when he doesn’t want to."
Chris stopped in the doorway but didn’t turn around. The warning hung in the air like smoke; it wasn’t a threat, not really, but it was heavy with the knowledge of someone who had seen too much. His fingers tightened on the frame for a heartbeat, the sting of unshed tears making his eyes blur.
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, brittle around the edges. "Then maybe he should stop pushing me into corners," he murmured. "Because I don’t know how not to push back."
Without waiting for a reply, he walked on, his steps echoing down the corridor toward the sitting room. Behind him Killian stayed where he was, hands still clasped at his back, storm-grey gaze fixed on the empty space where the omega had stood, the weight of his own warning settling over him like a second cloak.