Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 407: Back to work

Morning came like a negotiation.

Chris hadn’t gotten much sleep after that conversation, not because of Dax, but because Dax was correct. The mind, once accused properly, became defensive.

By ten, he was dressed in ivory, the cut of his omega robe falling perfectly on his body, and one of the collars Dax loved gifting him - one Chris loved wearing. A row of diamonds and amethysts rested at his throat, cold and luminous, yelling ’expensive’ in Dax’s language.

In Saha, omega robes and collars were tradition, language, and power worn on the skin. People admired Chris for accepting it and wearing it with pride and power, while remaining an equal to Dax.

Nero was in the nursery. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

Chris had stood there for a full minute before leaving.

The prince had been bundled in pale blue, white-blond hair absurd against the blanket, purple eyes wide and unfocused in the way of infants who did not yet understand they had destabilized a nation by existing. One of the nannies had been humming softly. Tania lay near the crib like a living wall of white muscle and watchfulness.

Killian stood at the window, hands folded behind his back, posture exact.

"I will personally oversee rotations," he had said without turning. "You have an inbox attempting to declare independence."

Chris had almost smiled. "If it forms a republic, let me know."

He could have stayed longer. He could have hovered.

But he had already done the part of recovery that required surrendering control.

He had taken the break because his body had demanded it, because he had been cut open and stitched back together. And because he could trust the structure he and Dax had built over the years.

Dax and Sahir had handled most of it while he recovered.

Now, in his office, the kingdom had fully mobilized.

The desk was buried.

Three trays overflowed with correspondence, two sealed boxes had been opened and emptied onto the surface like someone had simply given up, and a tower of documents stood to the right like a dare.

Rowan stood opposite him, tablet in hand, expression somewhere between loyal and exhausted.

He looked like a man who had spent the last month keeping a kingdom quiet while its queen healed and had succeeded - at the small cost of his own sleep and everyone else’s sanity.

He wore formal black today, with clean lines and concealed seams, the kind of outfit that said security without the need for a badge. The tablet wasn’t for show either. Half the files on Chris’s desk had security implications, because in Saha, administration and threats lived in the same inbox and smiled at each other politely.

"Before you say it," Rowan said, voice level, "no. Your inbox does not actually qualify as a hostile entity under statute."

Chris lowered himself into his chair with careful grace, robe pooling like expensive water. The collar at his throat caught the cold light, diamonds and amethysts resting there like a vow he’d chosen willingly.

"I disagree," Chris said calmly. "It’s organized. Persistent. And it clearly wants me dead."

Rowan’s mouth twitched. "It wants your attention. There’s a difference."

Chris’s gaze moved over the trays, over stamps and seals and letterheads, and the part of him that used to read construction documentation for flaws slid into place.

Rowan tapped his tablet once, bringing up a categorized list. "I’ve separated it into three sections," he said. "Administrative. Administrative pretending it’s urgent. And security items disguised as bureaucracy."

Chris’s eyes flicked up. "How many in the last category?"

Rowan’s expression flattened. "Too many."

Chris’s smile deepened, faintly pleased in the way he only got when something attempted to be clever and failed.

"Good," he murmured. "I was starting to feel underappreciated."

Rowan ignored that like a professional.

"You’re going to start with the first tray," Rowan continued, and the fact that he said it like an instruction was routine. They’d been doing this dance for five years. Chris could be cruel when he wanted. Rowan could be immovable when he needed to be.

"And then," Rowan added, gaze pinning him, "you’re going to eat something."

Chris’s pen paused before it even reached paper.

He looked up slowly. "That wasn’t part of the constitution."

"It’s part of my job description," Rowan replied. "Chief of security. Protect the queen from hostile forces."

Chris’s eyes narrowed. "You’re classifying hunger as hostile."

Rowan nodded once, unbothered. "Correct."

Anna arrived two minutes later with coffee and a stack of folders, and she looked entertained, which meant Chris had returned to full operational status.

Anna was one of Chris’s chief secretaries, and she was capable of picking up where she needed to take control and hand it over to Chris.

"Your Majesty," she said crisply, setting the tray down with the quiet competence that made Chris keep her. "And Captain Rowan."

Rowan gave her a nod without looking away from Chris’s hands, like he was tracking a weapon.

Chris opened the first folder.

Infrastructure approvals. Site permits. Funding allocations.

He forced himself to breathe once, slowly and deliberately. The office smelled faintly of paper, ink, and the polished wood that had watched five years of decisions.

He signed the first page, clean and final.

Then the second.

His hand didn’t shake. The scar didn’t speak. The mirror didn’t exist in here.

Rowan spoke in the background, quiet updates threaded between signatures.

"Security clearance renewals for the southern wing," Rowan said, scrolling. "Two requests to adjust nursery rotation schedules. I denied the one that suggested ’fewer guards for optics.’"

Chris’s eyes didn’t lift from the page. "Good."

"And a formal complaint," Rowan added, dryly, "from a minor lord who believes it’s unreasonable that his wife can’t ’drop by’ with gifts."

Chris’s pen paused mid-stroke.

He looked up, eyes bright and cold in a way that made entire court wings reconsider their hobbies.

"Who," Chris asked softly, "told him he could approach my child like a charity event?"

Rowan met his gaze without flinching. "No one. He decided it himself."

Chris’s smile came sharp, beautiful, and lethal in the way Saha’s omegas had always been when they were taken seriously.

"Draft the response," Chris said. "Formal. Polite. Make it sting."

Rowan’s brows lifted faintly. "I’ll have it done in five minutes."

Anna’s mouth twitched, clearly trying not to laugh. She quickly began sorting the next pile.

Chris returned to the paperwork.

Procurement disputes next. He didn’t need ten minutes with them. He needed thirty seconds and a pen.

He found the clause, buried like a coward and send it back with grim satisfaction.