Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 408: Prime Ministerial Paperwork

Sahir arrived with such timing that it was impossible to believe it was a coincidence.

The door opened without the usual announcement of Rowan over the intruders. Just the Prime Minister of Saha stepping into the queen’s office as if this was normal, as if he hadn’t been elected into one of the most powerful positions on the planet, as if he hadn’t spent fifteen years holding the country steady with nothing but competence and a spine made of policy.

He held a single folder in one hand.

One.

Chris looked up from the procurement dispute he was currently dismantling and felt a flicker of amusement turn into something warmer.

Rowan straightened by instinct, posture shifting from ’tired’ to ’ready,’ because Rowan’s body didn’t understand the concept of safe - not even when the man entering the room was an elderly omega with silver at his temples and a reputation that could make ministers sweat just by clearing his throat.

Sahir’s mantle was perfectly in place over one of his lighter suits. A pale blue that matched his frosted eyes.

He was around eighty now, old enough that people sometimes forgot omegas in Saha could live long, long lives if the country wanted them to.

"Your Majesty," Sahir greeted, voice smooth. "You’re upright."

Chris’s mouth curved. "Astounding, isn’t it?"

Sahir’s eyes flicked briefly to the collar at Chris’s throat - diamonds and amethysts catching cold light like Dax had personally translated devotion into gemstones - then returned to Chris’s face with the calm respect of someone who knew exactly what omega power looked like when it wasn’t apologizing.

"It suits you," Sahir said simply.

Chris didn’t pretend it didn’t land. "Thank you."

He set his pen down with carefuly. "What’s that?"

Sahir lifted the folder slightly, his expression innocent in a way that should have been illegal for a man with that much political experience. "Something for you to sign."

Rowan made a low sound that might’ve been a cough if Rowan coughed. It came out more like suspicion with manners.

"Prime Minister," Rowan said politely, "your office has authorized deputies who can route documents digitally."

Sahir turned his head just enough to look at Rowan. "Captain Rowan."

"Yes?"

"I am aware."

Rowan held the stare for a beat, then looked back at Chris with the silent clarity of ’He’s here because he can’t get this past the king.’

Chris narrowed his eyes slightly at the audacity of the tactic.

Then, because Chris was Chris, he decided to reward it.

"Bring it," Chris said, and gestured with his pen.

Sahir crossed the room with measured steps and placed the folder down gently, as if the paper could bruise. He did not overstep. He didn’t lean. He didn’t assume access. Even after years in power, Sahir treated boundaries like a discipline.

Anna, to her credit, just moved a stack aside and created space on the desk, practical and calm, like accommodating the Prime Minister was simply hospitality.

Rowan stayed where he was, still watching Sahir’s hands like they might pull a blade instead of a proposal.

Sahir didn’t comment. He’d known Rowan long enough to treat paranoia as love in uniform.

Chris opened the folder.

The header made his eyes sharpen immediately.

Retirement transition proposals.

Chris scanned the first page, then flipped to the second.

A timeline. A succession framework. Advisory continuity. A list of candidates. A careful set of safeguards that prevented the next Prime Minister from dismantling the systems Sahir had built it just to make a point.

Chris looked up slowly.

"You’re serious."

Sahir’s gaze didn’t flinch. "Yes."

Rowan’s brows lifted faintly. "This is... thorough."

Sahir’s mouth twitched. "I have been Prime Minister for fifteen years. I refuse to leave like an emotional scandal."

Chris stared at the document again.

Sahir could easily serve longer. Omegas like Sahir, and omegas in Saha in general, didn’t age like people elsewhere expected. The kingdom had the medicine, the care, and the protocols. Sahir could live many more years.

Chris leaned back into his chair and couldn’t keep the grin from forming. "You came to me with this one because Dax won’t even look at it, didn’t you?"

Sahir didn’t deny it.

He didn’t even bother pretending offense, which was how Chris knew he was genuinely tired.

"The king," Sahir said with exquisite restraint, "hears the word ’retirement’ and translates it as ’betrayal.’"

Rowan, standing a few steps behind and to the side of Chris’s chair like a shadow that had learned how to read paperwork, made a small sound that might have been sympathy if sympathy had been part of his brand.

Chris’s grin sharpened. "That’s almost romantic."

"It’s not," Sahir replied flatly. "It’s inconvenient."

Chris tapped the folder once with the tip of his pen. "So you brought it to the only person in this palace who can force him to read a sentence he dislikes."

Sahir’s mouth twitched. "I brought it to the only person in this palace he actually listens to when he’s pretending he isn’t."

Rowan’s eyes flicked between them, wary, because what Sahir was asking for was not paperwork. It was an emotional demolition job on the most powerful man in the country.

Before anyone could continue, the door of the office opened, and Dax, dressed in Sahan traditional clothes, his golden mantle over his right shoulder, and a glare that could kill lesser men, entered.

The room didn’t so much react as... recalibrate.

Anna went still in the exact way of someone who had learned how to survive royal weather. Rowan’s posture shifted half a degree, more out of principle than necessity. Sahir didn’t move at all, because at eighty, you either learned to flinch or you learned to become unflinchable.

Chris, seated behind his desk in ivory and gemstones, looked up and felt his own pulse settle rather than spike, because Dax’s anger was familiar.

It was also, always, aimed like a weapon.

"Don’t you dare drag Christopher into this," Dax said, voice low and lethal. "You resign, and I will bring Cressida to take your place."

Silence.

Not because anyone was shocked, but because everyone, collectively, pictured it.

Cressida.

In the Prime Minister’s chair.

Running cabinet meetings like a battlefield.

Turning legislation into a moral crusade.

Staring down ministers until their souls left their bodies politely.

Rowan’s face did something complicated. Anna’s eyes dropped, as if looking directly at Chris might be considered unsafe.

Sahir blinked once and then exhaled with the weary dignity of a man who had survived fifteen years of Dax’s reign by refusing to be intimidated by his theatrics.