Chris arrived at the East Wing corridor looking like he’d been sculpted out of diplomatic obligation, expensive tailoring, and sheer willpower.
Against all his whining about etiquette classes, Sahir’s lectures, and the two matriarchs terrorizing him with binders and footnotes on how to breathe "correctly," Chris had actually tried. He learned the order of precedence. He practiced the greetings. He memorized titles that humans had no business inventing. He even learned how not to slouch in chairs that cost more than his entire Palatine apartment.
He did it because it mattered in Dax’s world. Now... his too.
And honestly? In the first days in Saha, he’d been curious, stupidly curious, about how much things cost in Dax’s wing. After realizing the prices weren’t "contact us for an evaluation," but more like "if you have to ask, you cannot afford the hallway you’re standing in," Chris had given up. Entirely.
Now he was wearing clothing that probably had five zeros per piece, and for the sake of his mental health, he did not check.
Rowan followed him silently, alert and present. Chris couldn’t see the other guards, but he felt them. A faint hum of movement near the walls, the subtle whisper of boots repositioning, and five alphas at minimum for a private event. Ten to twenty for anything public.
Tonight, being a diplomatic dinner, he had nine shadows, because Dax was more obsessed than possessive.
Andrew and Mia’s arrival had made him happier than he expected, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. But their presence also reminded him of the life he’d left behind: his apartment in Palatine, his old routines, and the simple reality of not being watched or protected or claimed by a king.
He loved Dax. That wasn’t the issue. But the taste of it, sweet, heavy, and bittersweet at the edges, was still new.
He was still adjusting.
He still couldn’t smell pheromones, not like other omegas. Not like everyone else but...
Rowan stepped a little closer to gesture toward the stairs... and Chris froze. A scent drifted past him, subtle but unmistakable. Warm, familiar, and a little sweet, like someone hinting at cinnamon and apples without actually baking anything. It wasn’t strong, just present enough for his brain to actually register it.
Chris narrowed his eyes. "Wait... what is that?"
Rowan stopped mid-step, already bracing himself. "What is what?"
"That smell," Chris said, squinting at him like Rowan had personally offended physics. "Is that you?"
Rowan blinked once, trying to understand what Chris was really asking. "My pheromones, yes."
Chris stared. "Rowan, why do you smell like dessert?"
Rowan looked personally attacked. "I do not smell like dessert."
"You absolutely do," Chris said. "It’s very... pastry-adjacent."
Rowan sighed. "Your Grace, these are my pheromones and yes, they do smell like cinnamon apple." He continued to lead to the dining room, then stopped dead in his tracks. "Wait. You can feel them?"
Chris shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "Yeah. I guess? It’s faint, but it’s there."
Rowan’s eyes widened a fraction, a huge reaction for him. "That means your system is waking up. Nadia is going to throw a party. A terrifying medical party."
Chris grimaced. "Please don’t tell her yet."
Rowan ignored that instantly. "We need to test this."
"No, we don’t," Chris said, horrified.
Rowan was already signaling.
From the shadows, one of the alphas detached himself from the wall, broad-shouldered, stoic, the kind Dax collected like scary houseplants. Chris recognized him as Hale, one of Rowan’s senior officers. The man saluted Rowan and Chris with crisp movements.
Rowan pointed at him. "Hale. Low-output pulse."
Hale blinked. "Sir, are you sure..."
"Yes," Rowan said. "Consort’s sensitivity recalibration. Quiet test."
Hale nodded, then glanced politely at Chris. "Your Grace, permission to approach?"
Chris felt ridiculous. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."
Hale stepped forward, slowly, like the omega was a scared cat. Chris felt nothing at first.
Then, like someone turning a dimmer switch, something brushed the edge of his awareness. Dry, warm, almost like cedar left in the sun. Not sweet like Rowan’s, but something sharper and a little smoky.
Chris startled. "Okay... yeah. I felt that."
Rowan’s entire posture brightened. "Describe it."
"Like expensive wood furniture," Chris muttered. "If that furniture could punch someone."
Hale’s mouth twitched. "Accurate enough, Your Grace."
Rowan nodded, satisfied. "Good. Very good. Again... this time do it from a different direction, Hale."
"No... again?!" Chris protested.
Hale stepped to the other side, gave another controlled pulse, and Chris winced at the shift, still faint but undeniably real.
He groaned. "Great. Now everything smells like a very moody forest."
Rowan clapped him on the shoulder, delighted. "Your pheromone receptors are functioning."
"Fantastic. I can now smell people," Chris deadpanned. "What a life upgrade."
Rowan ignored the sarcasm completely. "We should tell His Majesty."
"No," Chris snapped. "Because he will explode and we still need to go to the dinner."
Rowan smirked. "He absolutely will."
Chris glared. "Rowan."
Rowan lifted both hands innocently. "I’ll tell him after dinner. Maybe."
Hale bowed. "Congratulations, Your Grace."
Chris groaned again, wishing he could sink into the nearest floor tile. "This is mortifying."
"On the contrary," Rowan said, starting toward the dining hall again, "this is progress. And I’m proud of you."
Chris blinked. "You’re proud of me? For smelling you?"
"Yes," Rowan said, absolutely sincere. "You smelled me before you smelled Hale. That means you like me more."
Chris nearly tripped. "That’s not how pheromones work."
Rowan shrugged. "I choose to interpret it that way."
Chris elbowed him again. Rowan grinned like the menace he was.
And just as Chris was recovering from that humiliation, the atmosphere shifted, the guards straightened, the hallway quieted, and Rowan’s expression snapped into full professional mode.
Dax was approaching.
Rowan whispered one last time, smug as hell, "Tell him. I dare you."
Chris shot him a death glare.
But it was too late, Dax was already stepping into view, eyes locked on Chris like nothing else in the world mattered.
"What do you have to say, Christopher?"