Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 432: Mostly

The reunion was, by every measurable standard, a success.

No one had bled, declared war, or been escorted out by security.

The children behaved... mostly.

Sebastian’s foam fort survived the day like a small nation that had somehow avoided annexation. Cassius managed to enforce rules long enough for everyone to acknowledge his authority, which - tragically - only encouraged him. Layle’s plush tribunal expanded into a full legal system, complete with sentencing - mostly for Zion. Zion did, in fact, commit at least three acts of toy-vehicle violence, but all of them were technically non-lethal and therefore, in Saha, counted as ’growth.’

Nero sneezed on Cressida twice more.

Cressida pretended not to be delighted and failed spectacularly.

Serathine flirted with disaster the way other people flirted with strangers - smiling, composed, and fully aware that it made the room rearrange itself around her. Trevor survived by clinging to discipline and caffeine. Lucas survived by clinging to Trevor and pretending he wasn’t emotionally attached to every soft domestic moment as if it might be confiscated by the state.

Chris survived through the ancient, noble art of running his mouth.

It should have ended badly.

It didn’t.

Because at some point - somewhere between Nero trying to eat a necklace, Sebastian accidentally headbutting Andrew’s knee, and Cressida correcting Chris’s posture with a single look that could have straightened a spine through armor - the atmosphere shifted from tension to something dangerously close to normal.

Which meant laughter that wasn’t sharp. Conversation that didn’t feel like negotiation. Adults watching children with softened faces, as if they’d temporarily forgotten the world could be cruel.

Even Dax, who was built for war and rule and bloodline expectations, sat on the edge of the couch with Nero in his arms and looked like the concept of peace had been personally assigned to him and he’d decided to accept the duty.

When Serathine finally stood to leave, she kissed Chris’s temple like she’d raised him herself.

"Try not to start an international incident before my next visit," she said sweetly.

Chris blinked. "That’s not a reasonable request."

Cressida paused at the door, Nero’s scent still faintly clinging to her coat like a violation she intended to cherish.

She only looked at Chris and Dax once.

"Good," she said. It was all she offered.

The door closed behind them.

The lounge exhaled, and life in the palace resumed.

Time passed through meetings that started with ’urgent’ and ended with ’manageable.’ Through briefings that arrived like storms and left like paperwork. Through ceremonies where Chris stood beside Dax in immaculate control, smile clear, crown heavy in ways no one could see.

They were still king and queen of Saha.

Nero became a constant presence, not an accessory or a secret hidden away in the private wings.

An heir. A small, warm weight that rewired the palace around him.

He appeared in staff corridors the way sunlight did: sudden, unavoidable, and immediately followed by people pretending they weren’t watching.

Chris caught himself pausing in doorways just to see Nero in someone else’s arms - Nadia walking with him tucked against her shoulder like an objective she refused to drop. Rowan held him with the stiff terror of a man convinced he could be arrested for doing it wrong. Sahir was looming nearby, pretending he wasn’t hovering, like he didn’t want to memorize every breath Nero took.

Dax carried him as if the child were part of his body now.

And Chris... Chris learned the strange violence of tenderness.

—

"You’re staring," Chris said one night, dropping into the couch in their private suite with a file folder and the kind of exhaustion that didn’t belong to a human body.

Dax didn’t deny it. "Yes."

Chris sighed. "If you’re trying to will my heat into happening, it’s not working."

Dax’s gaze stayed on him, steady. "I’m not trying to will it."

"What are you trying to do?"

Dax leaned back slightly, one arm draped along the back of the couch like he owned the room and everyone in it.

"I’m trying," he said, voice calm, "to be ready."

Chris’s stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Because "ready," from Dax, didn’t mean horny.

It meant being prepared to protect, to lock down the wing.

Prepared to cancel public appearances without anyone daring to question it. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Prepared to keep Chris safe from his own biology and everyone else’s hunger for spectacle.

Chris exhaled, trying to pretend his pulse hadn’t reacted like a traitor.

"Overkill," he muttered.

Dax’s mouth twitched. "It’s you."

Chris rolled his eyes, but his lips tugged anyway, because that was the problem.

He liked being someone Dax took seriously.

And then, in the middle of all that waiting, the palace did something that made the entire country lose its mind.

They released the first official photo.

A quiet portrait in soft daylight: Dax stood tall in black-and-gold formal wear stripped of most of its ceremony, mantle absent, his sleeves rolled just enough to look human. Chris at his side, elegant, hair slightly undone in the way it never was at public events. Nero in Chris’s arms, face turned toward Dax, tiny hand clutching at the front of Dax’s shirt like the world was his and he expected it to comply.

Dax’s gaze was fixed on Nero.

Chris was smiling.

The photo went live.

And Saha... Saha fell in love.

They loved them the way civilians loved symbols when the symbols finally felt human.

The networks flooded.

The comments came in waves.

They called Dax terrifying in the best way, because he looked like a man who would burn the world down for his family and still sign the reconstruction budget afterward.

They made memes within the first hour.

One was just Nero’s tiny hand on Dax’s shirt with the caption: "HE SIGNED THE KING."

Rowan saw it and had to leave the room.

Nadia printed it and taped it inside a folder labeled "Public Morale."

Sahir stared at the analytics like he was reading prophecy.

Chris pretended he didn’t check the comments.

He checked the comments.

Dax didn’t pretend. He read them out loud in bed like they were battle reports.

"This civilian says," Dax murmured, scrolling with the calm focus of a man selecting targets, "’If anyone looks at our Queen wrong, I’m joining the royal guard.’"

Chris groaned into his pillow. "Please stop."

Dax kept going. "’The King looks like he’s about to execute the sun for shining too close to them.’"

Chris turned his head, muffled. "That’s not a compliment."

Dax’s voice softened. "It is."

Chris peeked at him. "You’re enjoying this."

Dax’s eyes warmed. "Yes."

Chris sighed, dramatic and long-suffering, because that was his role in the marriage.

Then he reached out, fingers brushing Dax’s wrist lightly, because it was also his role to remind Dax that love wasn’t a weapon.

Not always.

"Fine," Chris muttered. "Enjoy it."

Dax leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and controlled and unhurried.

"Good," he murmured. "Because the country is watching."

Chris’s brows lifted. "Is that supposed to be romantic or threatening?"

Dax’s gaze slid over him, quiet and intent.

"Yes," he said.

Chris swallowed, annoyed that his body reacted like it understood exactly what that meant.

Outside their door, the palace continued moving.

Briefings, meetings, schedules, security updates.

Inside, time kept passing.

Chris kept waiting.

Dax kept watching.

And Nero kept growing.