Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 395: Glass

Dax appeared out of nowhere, making sure to be present for everything involving his mate and the child.

The room, already crowded with medical authority and quiet dread, reoriented around him in the same way that bodies do with gravity. Dark Sahan clothes, a straight back, and that particular stillness that suggested he could be gentle or violent in the same breath, depending on what the situation demanded.

His purple gaze swept the consultation room in a single line, passing physicians, midwives, Nadia standing as a sentry, and Chris seated with his hand resting on the curve of his stomach.

When Dax’s eyes landed on Chris, the sharpness softened.

Dax moved to his side without asking. His hand settled on the back of the chair, then slid to Chris’s shoulder with caution, as if touching him too suddenly would send the entire building into a panic.

"What did I miss?" Dax asked, voice low.

Chris looked up, calm in that way that always made people anxious because they couldn’t tell if he was about to cooperate or set something on fire. Then his mouth twitched.

"We’re talking about delivery," Chris said. "Well, I was ambushed and brought here if one wants to be specific."

"Are you still thinking that you can give birth to a child that took his body proportions from me?" Dax asked mildly.

Chris narrowed his eyes, mostly amused but with a hint of indignation that Dax would phrase it as a personal crime. "I was thinking," Chris said, "that people have been giving birth since the beginning of time."

Dax’s thumb moved once against Chris’s shoulder.

"And people have also been dying since the beginning of time," Nadia cut in, flat. "It’s not a convincing argument."

One of the physicians made a sound like he’d been holding his breath for a month and had just remembered oxygen existed. Another midwife stared at Nadia with the reverence usually reserved for saints and executioners.

Chris turned his head slightly toward Nadia, gaze sharp but not hostile. "I’m not trying to martyr myself."

"No," Nadia agreed. "You’re trying to optimize."

Chris blinked once, then let out a small, reluctant breath that might have been a laugh. "That is..." he began.

"Correct," Nadia finished.

Dax’s mouth twitched, the barest hint of amusement that anyone else would have missed. His eyes, however, remained fixed on Chris’s face like he was reading microexpressions for signs of danger.

The senior physician cleared his throat as if politely asking permission to exist. "Your Majesty, Consort, if I may."

Dax didn’t look away from Chris. "Speak."

The physician’s shoulders squared. "We’ve reviewed everything. Consort Christopher is stable. The fetus is stable. But because of the probability of complications during labor - and because of the importance of controlling variables - we recommend a planned cesarean."

Chris’s fingers rested on his stomach, palm spread as if he could calm the baby through touch alone. "Explain the probability," he said.

The physician seemed almost relieved to be asked something he could answer with data instead of diplomacy. "In your case, the risk of emergency surgical intervention rises notably if labor becomes prolonged, if fetal distress occurs, or if there’s hemorrhage. A planned cesarean reduces the window where we might be forced to react instead of prepare."

Chris nodded slowly, absorbing it.

Dax’s gaze flicked briefly to the physician, then back to Chris. "And if labor starts early?"

"We have a protocol," the physician said quickly, as if he’d been waiting for that exact question. "We can proceed emergently if needed, but planned is always safer than rushed."

Chris leaned back a fraction, exhaling through his nose. "You know I’m not some distressed deer. You could have told me. I understand; we can go with what is safer."

The room went still in that awkward way it always did when royalty said something reasonable, like no one had rehearsed for it.

The senior physician blinked once, then nodded too quickly. "Yes, Consort. Of course. We... did not intend to imply..."

"I know what you intended," Chris cut in, not unkind. He glanced at the line of tense shoulders, the careful hands clutching clipboards like shields, and the midwives trying not to look like they were one sentence away from tears. "You all look like you’ve been waiting for me to bite someone."

Nadia made a sound that was both a sigh and a threat. "Because you do bite people."

Chris’s mouth twitched. "Only when provoked."

Dax’s hand stayed on his shoulder, warmth bleeding through fabric. Chris could feel how controlled Dax was being, how much effort it took him not to reach for violence the way other men reached for words. The king didn’t like rooms full of risks. He liked threats he could eliminate.

This was not a threat he could stab.

Dax looked at the physician again. "Explain all of it. Timeline, staff, contingency."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the physician said immediately, grateful for a task that had clear steps. "We schedule the procedure within the safest window based on fetal development and Consort Christopher’s condition. He’ll come in beforehand, we confirm vitals and fetal monitoring, place an IV line, administer anesthesia..."

"Regional," Chris interrupted, because he’d been listening for the last months.

The physician’s eyes widened a fraction, then softened with relief. "Yes. Regional anesthesia is preferred. You remain awake, you can hold the child soon after, and recovery tends to be smoother than with general."

Chris nodded slowly, absorbing and filing it away like he did with everything that mattered.

"We manage the following recovery and pain proactively," the physician replied. "Medication, monitoring, mobility support. We can plan that without haste. That’s one of the advantages of scheduling."

Chris’s gaze drifted briefly to Nadia. "So the plan is controlled, not dramatic."

Nadia’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t romanticize surgery."

"I’m not," Chris said. "I appreciate competence."

One of the midwives let out a tiny, strangled laugh and immediately looked guilty for it.

Chris noticed. He looked at her, his expression softening just enough to reassure. "You’re allowed to laugh. I’m not made of glass."

Dax’s hand tightened slightly on Chris’s shoulder, then relaxed, a reflex act, like his body didn’t like hearing that sentence even if his mind understood it.

"You are not glass," Dax said quietly.

Chris looked up at him, and for a moment his face shifted into something more human than sharp. "No. But everyone has been treating me like I’ll shatter if someone breathes wrong."

The physician swallowed, brave enough to meet Chris’s eyes now. "We’re not afraid you’ll shatter, Consort. We’re afraid we’ll fail."

That landed harder than any warning.

Chris’s throat tightened for half a second, and he covered it by turning it into something lighter.

"Well," he said, voice smooth again, "don’t."

Nadia snorted. "That’s not how fear works."

Chris shrugged a fraction, palm resting on his stomach. The baby shifted again, and something in Chris’s posture softened instinctively, protective in a way that didn’t require words.

"Okay," he said, calmer. "Here’s what I need. I need you to stop circling me like I’m about to bolt. Just give me information. I can handle information."

The physician nodded quickly, almost fervently. "Yes, Consort."

Dax’s gaze remained on Chris, as if he was memorizing the shape of his composure. "And you," Dax murmured, low enough that it felt private even with a room full of witnesses, "need to tell me when you’re scared."

Chris’s mouth twitched. "I’m not..."

Nadia’s stare cut in like a blade.

Chris exhaled, defeated by the combined force of nurse and king. "Fine. I will. But I’m not scared of the procedure. I’m..." He hesitated, then chose honesty, because this wasn’t a room for pride, "unhappy about being vulnerable."

Dax’s expression softened further, the dangerous edge easing into something almost reverent. "I know."

Chris straightened slightly, reclaiming his composure because he couldn’t help it.

"Alright," he said, brisk again. "Tell me what day you’re recommending, and what happens if the child decides to arrive early anyway."

The physician looked like he’d just been granted permission to do his job without walking on eggshells.

"Yes, Consort," he said, and for the first time since Chris had entered the medical wing, his voice didn’t shake.