Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 382: Diplomatic (2)

Chris froze too, just for a second.

Then Chris’s mouth twisted into a grin that was too pleased, too familiar, and too old.

Ethan’s stomach dropped.

He had seen that grin before. It was the grin Chris wore right before chaos.

Ethan’s voice went cautious. "Why are you calling my child sweetheart?"

Chris popped another grape into his mouth and chewed like he had all the time in the world. "Because he’s cute."

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Chris."

Chris blinked at him innocently. Dax was not in the room.

That, somehow, made it worse. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Because whatever was going on, Chris was doing it on purpose.

Ethan shifted Zion higher on his hip and stepped closer, scanning the room instinctively like he expected an ambush.

There were no Dax or visible threats.

Just the TV’s calm voice describing forensic evidence and Chris looking like he’d time-traveled back into his pre-royal life with a vengeance.

Ethan lowered his voice. "Rowan told me I’d find out. Find out what."

Chris’s eyes gleamed.

Ethan felt an immediate, primal dread.

Chris smiled.

And Ethan realized that the nesting comment had not been a joke.

Chris’s tone was gentle, which was always a lie. "Put Zion down for a second."

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. "No."

Chris’s brows lifted. "Ethan."

Ethan tightened his grip on the toddler. "Absolutely not. You’re acting strange. You’re in pajamas. You’re eating like a normal person. You’re watching murder on television like it’s self-care. You’re soft. That’s not allowed. Explain."

Chris sighed, patient and smug. "I’m using my privileges."

Ethan stared. "What privileges?"

Chris leaned back into the couch like a man settling into a throne, ruffled hair and all. He lifted another grape and said, with the calm cruelty of someone delivering a punchline:

"I’m pregnant."

Ethan stopped breathing.

Zion patted Ethan’s jaw with sticky comfort, as if to say, "It’s okay, Father; the world ends sometimes."

Ethan’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

He tried again, voice strangled. "No."

Chris’s grin widened. "Yes."

Ethan turned his head slowly, like a haunted man, and looked at Rowan.

Rowan’s expression was deeply resigned. "I told you."

Ethan looked back at Chris, eyes wide with horror that had nowhere to go.

"You," Ethan whispered, scandalized, "are..."

Chris nodded once, satisfied. "Yes."

Ethan’s voice cracked in a whisper that was both accusation and awe. "When did it happen? Last month you were ranting about nobles being suicidal and asking about when you would get pregnant. You were afraid of being pregnant."

Chris’s eyes flicked to him - sharp, fond, and very, very pleased with himself.

"Yes," he said, like that was a complete answer.

Ethan’s stare turned feral. "That’s not an answer."

Chris sighed, the long-suffering sound of a man being persecuted by friendship, and finally tore his gaze away from the TV. The narrator kept calmly describing blood spatter patterns like the palace wasn’t currently collapsing in Ethan’s head.

"I was afraid of being pregnant," Chris admitted, voice smooth and annoyingly calm. "And then I got pregnant anyway."

Ethan made a sound that could only be translated as "I will throw you out of a window."

Rowan shifted in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the situation the way one watched a controlled burn: with respect, dread, and a detailed evacuation plan.

Ethan stepped closer, lowering his voice like the walls could gossip. "How far along?"

Chris’s mouth twitched. "Early."

"That’s not a number."

Chris’s eyes slid toward Zion, then back to Ethan. "Enough for Dax to start treating the entire palace like it’s made of glass and lawsuits."

Ethan’s gaze dropped to Chris’s pajama-clad body like he expected to see proof through cotton. "So this is why you’ve been..." He waved vaguely at the fruit, the couch, the absence of jewelry, and the general vibe of domestic treason, "like this?"

Chris picked up a strawberry with two fingers and regarded it like it had personally wronged him. "Killian has implemented a nutrition regime."

Ethan stared. "Killian?"

Chris nodded. "Killian."

Ethan looked at Rowan again, offended. "Killian is involved."

Rowan’s face remained blank, but his eyes said, ’You have no idea how involved.’

Ethan swallowed hard. "Does anyone else know?"

Chris’s gaze sharpened. "Only the people who would die before letting the wrong person find out."

"That’s not—" Ethan cut himself off, because he knew exactly who Chris meant. "Rowan. Killian. Sahir. Andrew."

Chris lifted a finger, expression annoyingly serene. "And Dax, obviously."

Ethan’s mouth twisted as he crossed the room and dropped onto the couch like the furniture owed him compensation. He shifted Zion onto the cushions beside him, steadying the toddler by the waist before Zion could immediately attempt to launch himself off the edge in the name of exploration.

"Dax is the father," Ethan said, slow and pointed, "which means he should be sensing it in your scent."

Chris blinked at him.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. "Unless he’s not the father."

For a heartbeat, the room went very still.

Tania’s ears flicked.

Rowan, near the doorway, looked like he was considering moving two steps back just in case Ethan got murdered.

Chris stared at Ethan like Ethan had suggested replacing state security with interpretive dance.

Then Chris leaned forward slightly and spoke with the calm patience of a man educating a beloved idiot.

"Dax is the father," he said.

Ethan lifted his brows, unimpressed. "Then why are we acting like this is a classified disaster and not... obvious?"

Chris sighed, the sound of someone forced to unpack reality for a friend who kept insisting the world should be simpler.

"He did sense it," Chris said. "In the first week."

Ethan froze. "He what?"

Chris’s mouth twisted with something that was almost fondness and almost exasperation. "He knew. Before the test. Before I admitted anything was different. Before I could even decide whether I was imagining it or just tired."

Ethan’s gaze flicked over Chris’s face, then to the fruit bowl, then to the pajamas, like he was reconstructing the timeline with growing horror.

"And he didn’t tell you?" Ethan said slowly.

Chris’s eyes narrowed. "He didn’t say it out loud."

Rowan muttered from the doorway, flatly, "Because he has functioning survival instincts."

Ethan’s head snapped toward Rowan. "Explain."

Rowan didn’t blink. "If Dax had said it out loud in that first week, Chris would’ve spiraled."

Ethan looked back at Chris.

Chris didn’t deny it.

His mouth tightened for a second, then smoothed again, like he refused to be owned by the memory.

Ethan’s voice went quieter. "So Dax kept it to himself."

"Yes," Chris said simply. "Because he knew the pregnancy could fail."

Ethan’s throat tightened.

Chris’s gaze slid away for half a second, then returned, like he’d built his spine out of steel and sarcasm.

"He didn’t want to stress me," Chris continued. "He didn’t want me counting days like a sentence. He didn’t want me listening to my own body like it was a ticking device."

Ethan swallowed. "So he waited for confirmation," he said, and there was something careful in the way he said it, like he was touching glass. Then his mouth twisted, the tenderness snapping back into its usual shape - sarcasm with teeth. "So he knows how to be considerate. He just doesn’t want to be unless it’s you."

Chris blinked.

Then he laughed, a short, soft sound that was almost surprised.

"That is," Chris said, "the most offensive compliment I’ve ever received on his behalf."