Chris woke alone, the wide bed cool on Dax’s side, the faint imprint of his weight already gone. The palace was quiet in the particular way only functional power was quiet. Somewhere below, assemblies were forming. Dax would already be dressed, doing the work that required him to be seen.
Chris lay still for a moment, cataloguing his body with professional detachment. Sore, yes. Tender in places he would prefer not to think about before breakfast. But functional. The medication from the night before had worn off cleanly, leaving no fog behind, only a dull awareness he could manage.
He sat up slowly, feet touching the floor, grounding himself.
Today was supposed to be practical.
No more etiquette manuals or abstract explanations of "consort influence." Today, he was meant to observe, attend, and begin learning how authority actually moved through Saha when it wasn’t wrapped in ceremony. Dax had been very clear about that before leaving: shadow him later, ask questions, and take notes if you must, but see it.
A knock came, precise and controlled.
"Enter," Chris said.
An aide he recognized stepped in with a tablet and a brief bow. "Your schedule has been adjusted. His Majesty’s assembly is expected to run long. However, there is a private request to see you."
Chris accepted the tablet. "From whom?"
"Viscount Blackbourne Andrew Black."
That made him pause.
Chris’s thumb stilled on the edge of the tablet.
"Andrew?" he echoed, more surprised than alarmed.
"Yes, Your Highness," the aide said evenly. "He requested a private audience. Informal, if permitted."
Chris exhaled through his nose. "If Andrew Black requested formal, I’d be worried. Send him in."
The aide inclined his head and withdrew.
Chris stood, shrugging into a loose robe, one of Dax’s, inevitably, and crossed to the window. The city beyond the palace was already awake, traffic threading the avenues, the river catching morning light.
A moment later, the door opened again.
Andrew stepped in, jacket already discarded, sleeves rolled to the forearms. He looked tired in the way only responsibility produced: alert, composed, and running on discipline rather than sleep. The visor of professionalism slipped the instant his eyes found Chris upright and breathing.
"Good," Andrew said. "You’re vertical."
"High praise," Chris replied. "I even walked here."
Andrew snorted, then stopped himself, gaze sharpening as he took in the details Chris had tried not to think about, posture a touch careful, movements measured. "How bad?"
"Manageable," Chris said. "I’ve had worse project deadlines."
Andrew’s mouth twitched, then he sobered. "I wanted to see you before the day got away from both of us. Dax is busy being a king. Parliament is circling. And you..." He paused, choosing his words. "You looked calm last night, but that doesn’t mean that you are untouched."
Chris leaned back against the window ledge. "You didn’t come to ask how I’m feeling."
"No," Andrew agreed. "I came to ask how much you want to know."
That made Chris lift his head. "About?"
"About how things actually work when they’re not being explained by someone who loves you," Andrew said quietly. "About how I got to be the Black’s heir overnight and what will happen once you become the Queen of Saha."
Chris studied him for a moment, then nodded once. "Tell me."
Andrew let out a slow breath, as if that answer mattered more than he was willing to admit. He moved further into the room but didn’t sit, his posture instinctively alert, a habit from courtrooms and negotiation tables alike.
"I didn’t become the Black heir because I suddenly developed noble ambition," Andrew said quietly. "It was an agreement. Between the Black family, the imperial house of Palatine, and Saha."
Chris’s brow furrowed. "An agreement about me."
"About containment," Andrew corrected calmly. "The Maleks were already positioning themselves. You marrying into Saha gave them ideas. The Blacks needed to cut that off cleanly."
"And you were the clean cut," Chris said.
"Yes." Andrew didn’t flinch. "I take the title, the inheritance, and the legal standing. The Maleks get nothing to bargain with. No claim, no bloodline angle, no excuse to attach themselves to Saha through you."
Chris absorbed that in silence.
"There was another layer," Andrew continued. "Emperor Caelan insisted on it. He wanted the imperial house to retain the final word in any negotiation involving Saha and Palatine. I, as heir, answer to that structure. Not to Malek’s interests. Not to opportunists."
"So I’m the variable," Chris said quietly.
"You’re the catalyst," Andrew replied. "There’s a difference."
Chris exhaled, slow and controlled. "Dax didn’t tell me any of this."
"No," Andrew agreed. "Because Dax explains things when they’re ready. I explain things when they’re coming, whether you like it or not."
"That tracks."
Andrew allowed himself a brief, crooked smile before it faded. "Once you are crowned Queen of Saha, every move you make becomes political."
"I’m very much aware of it and the implications. I’ve... been wondering if it’s the right thing to be here, but honestly... fuck anyone who doesn’t like me."
Andrew watched him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "That," he said, "is exactly the correct instinct."
Chris huffed a short breath, almost a laugh. "Good. Because I was worried that might be the wrong answer."
"It would be the wrong answer if you were doing this out of spite," Andrew replied. "It’s the right one if you’re doing it out of clarity."
Chris shrugged. "I didn’t come here to be liked. I came here because Dax took a sniff and decided, ’This one is good.’"
Andrew’s mouth twitched despite himself. "That may be the least diplomatic summary of royal bonding I’ve ever heard."
Chris rolled one shoulder, unapologetic. "I’m simplifying. The point stands. He chose me. I chose to stay."
Andrew leaned back, expression sobering. "The Palatine delegation wants the first meeting next week. The King will brief you himself. Officially it’s courtesy. Unofficially, it’s calibration."
Chris nodded. "I assume they want to make sure we are presenting the same image."
"Exactly." Andrew paused. "Also... Maleks. They’ve been issued passes for every public event involving you. They’re lingering in shared spaces. Especially the gardens."
Chris exhaled through his nose. "Of course they are."
"They’re testing access," Andrew said. "Seeing what closeness they can normalize without pushback."
"Well," Chris replied evenly, "as Dax said, they’re the perfect test subjects for my etiquette lessons."
Andrew gave him a long look. "That sounds ominous."
"It’s educational," Chris said. "For them."