Chris’s brain, valiantly trying to restart after a day of disasters, took exactly three seconds to spit out a conclusion:
’Oh no. Oh no. He’s going to be weird about this.’
Chris swallowed. "It wasn’t a real request."
Dax tilted his head. "It sounded real."
"It wasn’t."
"You said it clearly."
"I was melting down! I have no idea what I was saying!"
"Even melted," Dax replied, stepping closer, "you are very honest."
Chris made a strangled noise. "Don’t you dare turn this into something sentimental."
Dax ignored that completely. Of course he did. He was already circling the chair, one slow, thoughtful pivot that made every nerve in Chris’s body decide to wake up and start filing threat reports.
He leaned down again, his voice a deep, warm ribbon of sound. "Christopher."
Chris gripped the arms of the chair like it might anchor him to sanity. "No."
"We must settle the debt," Dax murmured, brushing one knuckle down the side of the chair in a way that was not technically touching him and yet absolutely felt like touching. "I owe you compensation."
"You owe me NOTHING—"
"You improved my approval rating," Dax said, as if this were a financial crime he was now obligated to fix. "You stabilized the monarchy. You calmed foreign courts. You saved me at a gala. Twice."
"I didn’t save you!" Chris protested. "You tripped on your own pheromones!"
Dax’s eyes softened, warm and devastating. "And you steadied me."
Chris stared. "That’s not... you can’t count that as..."
"And," Dax added, lowering himself even further until he was level with Chris’s face, "you kissed me in public."
That shut Chris up.
Because the way Dax said it, low, reverent, and still hungry, was unfair. Unfair enough to ruin national morale.
Dax watched his reaction with the patience of someone used to hunting rare, skittish creatures.
"You did those things," he said quietly, "and so I owe you."
Chris blinked hard. "That is NOT how that works..."
"It is," Dax said, utterly sure. "You asked for payment."
"I WAS JOKING—"
"It doesn’t matter."
"Yes, it does!"
"No," Dax repeated, voice dipping, "it doesn’t."
Chris stared helplessly at him.
Because Dax wasn’t smiling now.
He looked focused and hungry in a way that was not heat-hungry but something more: devotion-hungry, bond-hungry, Dax-having-a-principle-hungry.
Chris tried to breathe normally. He failed when Dax’s pheromones invaded his mouth and lungs.
"Dax," he said, "I don’t want money."
"Good," Dax murmured. "I wasn’t planning to give you money."
Chris’s stomach dropped. "Then what the hell do you think you’re paying me with?"
Dax placed both hands on the arms of the chair, bracketing Chris in a cage of warm heat and ridiculous height. He didn’t touch him, but the proximity alone made Chris feel like someone had slammed a furnace door open beside his ribs.
Chris’s breath stuttered. "Dax."
The king lowered himself, slow and deliberate, until his face hovered inches from Chris’s, close enough that Chris could feel each exhale brush the corner of his mouth.
"Payment," Dax said softly, "should be personal."
Chris blinked rapidly. "Stop... whatever this is... stop doing it."
Dax’s voice dipped, velvet and ruinous. "You want me to stop being personal with you?"
Chris made another strangled noise. "No! Yes! NO! ... that’s not what I meant..."
"Good."
Dax leaned in closer, the chair creaking under his weight as his presence wrapped around Chris like a warm, suffocating cloak.
"Because my little moon deserves something personal."
Chris’s pulse leapt straight into the stratosphere. This shameless man was playing with him, and his omega body had no problem with it.
"You’re doing that on purpose," he hissed.
"Yes," Dax said simply, pleased. "You get very skittish when I’m close. I like it."
Chris’s soul was halfway out of his body, but apparently Dax wasn’t finished ruining him.
"This is why," Chris snapped, "I should have stormed into the council room and asked directly. Maybe then you wouldn’t be this impossible."
Dax did not even pretend to be chastised.
"Impossible?" he echoed, amused. "For wanting to settle a debt with my mate?"
"That is not settling; that is... that is..." Chris gestured wildly at all seven feet and endless inches of him, "weaponizing being tall!"
A pleased hum rolled out of Dax’s chest like heat. "You like that I’m tall."
Chris nearly combusted, regretting and loving every decision that brought him there. "I hate that you can just say that!"
"No," Dax murmured, leaning even closer, "you love that I can say that."
Chris slapped a hand over his mouth before his traitorous scent response could betray him. Not that it mattered. Dax could smell every spike of flustered omega adrenaline rising off him.
Dax’s eyes darkened slightly. "Christopher."
Chris froze. "Don’t."
"Don’t what?" Dax asked in the most innocent tone a morally compromised monarch had ever faked.
"Don’t do the voice."
"What voice?" The innocence in his voice almost made Chris yell at him. Where did this alpha get all his confidence?
"The I’m-about-to-devour-you voice." Chris said it fast, as he couldn’t bring himself to look at the alpha while saying it. He did everything in his power to avoid that purple gaze, but the king chose his placement in such a way that Chris was acutely aware of him.
Dax smiled. Worse, it was soft around the edges, slow, sensual, and the kind of smile that could undo the foreign ministry.
"You asked for payment," Dax reminded him, leaning forward until their noses nearly brushed. "It is only fair that I give it."
Chris made the noise of a dying kettle. "I want a refund."
"No refunds," Dax murmured. "Only compensation."
"Compensation was a joke... a meltdown... a..."
"It wasn’t," Dax said simply. "You need something from me."
"Yes," Chris said quickly, desperation hitting survival mode. "Yes, I do. I need..."
Dax’s entire body remained still, intent and anticipatory, his pupils dilating as if he were prepared to reshape a continent if Chris asked.
Chris panicked.
"...clemency."