"Christopher Malek, Your Majesty," he said, bowing. His voice was even, though his pulse was trying to punch its way out of his throat.
Dax repeated the name like he was rolling it over his tongue. "Malek." His eyes narrowed with that same dissecting curiosity. "You’re not part of my household," Dax went on, eyes flicking briefly over Christopher’s plain black server’s jacket. "Nor Trevor’s. Nor the Empire’s own staff."
It wasn’t a question, and yet Christopher felt cornered.
"No, Your Majesty," Chris admitted. "Called in last minute. A favor. My sister is on your usual rotation."
"A favor," Dax echoed, amused. "A freelancer, then?"
’Fantastic. Of course he knows. And of course I had to blurt it out. Should’ve faked choking and bolted when I had the chance.’
"Yes, Your Majesty," Chris said tightly. "A freelancer."
Dax leaned forward, resting an elbow on the armrest, eyes dragging over him with deliberate weight. "A freelancer with enough gall to interrupt a king’s toast and accuse his wine of insult."
"It didn’t seem wise to stay silent," Chris replied, careful. "Not when I saw what I saw."
Dax’s laugh was low and dangerous, amused in the way storms are amused by trees. "Not wise. Or not stupid. There’s a difference."
’Did he just praise me or insult me? Both? Of course, both. And I’m the idiot standing here playing along in borrowed shoes that cost more than my rent. Brilliant life choices, Chris. Brilliant.’
Silence stretched thin as wire. Then Dax tilted his head, smirk deepening.
"When this is over, Malek, you’ll remain. Someone will find you."
Chris blinked but bowed again. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
"Good." Dax lifted a different glass this time, swirling it lazily. His gaze lingered on Chris like he was already an answer to a question.
"And Malek?"
Chris froze. ’Here it comes. Public execution? Job offer? Same thing, really.’
"Next time you decide to save a king," Dax murmured, smile curling slow and sharp, "try not to look so surprised when he notices you’re a dominant omega."
Chris’s stomach dropped. ’Oh, shit. There it is.’
Christopher’s breath caught in his throat. For a heartbeat, the noise of the hall, the music, the laughter, the clink of crystal faded into a low, distant hum. His jaw tightened, but he forced himself not to flinch, not to let anything more than a single slow blink betray him.
’He knows. How the fuck?!’
He had been careful. Painfully careful. He had buried every trace of what he was, hidden it so deep that not even his own family had ever guessed. To them, he was just Christopher.
And yet here he was, standing under the violet gaze of a king, because his sister had called him at the last minute with that too-bright tone she used when she wanted something. Mia had been scheduled for tonight, but she was sick with heat, and Chris had sworn a dozen times he wouldn’t cover for her again.
So here he was. Silver trays, chandeliers, nobles with wine-soft tongues, and, apparently, the tallest, most dangerous man in the room staring at him like he was a puzzle piece that didn’t belong.
Dominant. Omega.
Which was basically the genetic equivalent of a neon sign screaming "kidnap me" in this world.
"You hide well," Dax murmured, swirling the wine in his glass, his voice smooth as silk but edged like a blade. His gaze flicked up again, pinning Christopher in place. "But not well enough."
Christopher lowered his head immediately, bowing with the kind of deference he didn’t quite feel, pulse hammering so hard it made his teeth ache.
"As you say, Your Majesty," he said evenly, though each syllable felt like walking a tightrope.
Inside, he was already swearing. ’Great. Fantastic. This is exactly how I pictured dying: overdressed, underpaid, and at the hand of a giant.’
Dax’s smirk deepened just slightly, a slow curl of satisfaction, like he’d stumbled across something rare in a game he was already winning.
"Dominant omegas are rare," he said softly, almost to himself, eyes never leaving Christopher. "And you’re unmarked. Unbonded."
The words slid under his skin like a blade. Chris’s stomach went cold.
’Unmarked. Unbonded. Translation: prime real estate. Fabulous. Just fabulous.’
He bowed deeper, backing away step by careful step, blending himself into the flow of servers easily enough to be mistaken for instinct. Years of invisibility kicked in: ’keep your head down, stay useful, disappear before the spotlight burns you alive.’
’Get out. Get out now before anyone else notices. Before he gets his hands on you.’
Behind him, laughter bubbled, music swelled, and nobles toasted the night as if nothing had happened.
Dax watched the omega go, his expression unreadable except for that faint, knowing curve of his mouth. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he beckoned his secretary.
"Tyler," he said, voice calm, almost lazy. "Find everything about him. Everything; I don’t care how insignificant it is." Dax swirled his wine, his gaze on the man that tried his best to be invisible. "And place guards to watch him. If he tries to run, arrest him."
Tyler Bell tilted his head, his brown hair reflecting the light from the chandeliers.
Dax leaned back in his chair, violet eyes still fixed on the spot where Christopher had disappeared. His smirk lingered, sharper now, like a predator humored by the idea of prey that thought it could walk away.