"Stay," Dax murmured, low enough for only Chris to hear. "Let them work. You’re still mine until they tell me you’re safe."
Chris’s fingers curled back against the chair’s armrest. He didn’t move. "You are fussing," he muttered hoarsely, a last flicker of sarcasm under the exhaustion.
Dax’s violet eyes cut down to him, one brow lifting. "You call it fussing," he said, his voice as even as a blade. "I call it making sure you don’t collapse in my hallway."
A physician clipped a monitor to Chris’s finger, and another rolled up his sleeve to take blood. Dax didn’t interfere, but his presence was a weight at Chris’s shoulder; every medic felt it and moved with extra care.
Chris tried for a glare but it came out more like a blink. "You’re hovering."
"I am," Dax agreed without shame. "Because you nearly died in my arms on my plane. Because no one told me you could. And because..." his thumb brushed once at the back of Chris’s neck, a subtle grounding stroke. "I don’t intend to lose you to something as ridiculous as a seed."
Chris let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "You make it sound romantic."
Dax’s mouth curved, the dangerous, wry flicker back for a heartbeat. "If that’s what it takes to keep you sitting still, little moon, I’ll call it whatever you like."
Chris sagged back into the chair, closing his eyes as the cuff tightened around his arm. "You should go. We are a day earlier because you have to deal with the fallout." He cracked one eye open and saw the faint hesitation in Dax’s face. "Nobody would dare to do anything. I’m fine and I’ll get better when you return. Do your job, King."
For a heartbeat the only sound was the soft beep of the monitor and the hiss of the air filters. No one ever told Dax what to do. No one, and lived.
The king’s violet gaze stayed on Chris, unreadable. Then, slowly, he straightened, the dark fabric of his suit falling back into perfect lines. "Killian," he said, his voice carrying to the door.
Killian stepped in as though the palace itself had bent to make space for him. Tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in black tailored so precisely it looked sewn onto his bones, a deep violet shawl draped over his right hand. Storm-grey eyes flicked once to the cuff on Chris’s arm, then to the king. He inclined his head to Dax. The air in the room changed around him.
"My king," he said, voice low, as smooth and dry as old brandy.
"Stay here," Dax ordered. "No one touches him without your say-so. If the physicians need anything, you make it happen. If anyone comes near who shouldn’t, you remove them."
"Yes, Majesty." Killian moved to stand just behind the chair, his presence a wall of quiet threat. His storm-grey eyes flicked once more to Chris, then away, already weighing the room.
Dax’s eyes returned to the omega, still seated, still pale but upright. "I will be back as soon as I can." His thumb brushed once more over Chris’s temple, a touch no one else would have dared. "If you need anything, tell Killian. He answers only to me."
Chris managed a weak smirk. "Hi there, I’m Christopher Malek, your king’s new toy," he murmured.
Killian’s storm-grey eyes moved back to him at once, unreadable, the faintest tilt of his head the only sign he’d even heard. "Killian Frost," he said simply, voice low and smooth as old brandy. "His steward."
No judgment. No warmth either. Just a statement, wrapped in the quiet threat that came off him like a second skin.
"You’re not a toy," Dax said before Killian could reply, the words almost a growl. "You’re under my protection. Remember that."
Chris’s smirk faltered, a flicker of color rising under the pallor. "It was a joke."
"I don’t joke about what’s mine," Dax murmured, his thumb making one last pass across Chris’s temple before he straightened. "Rest. Let the physicians do their work."
He stepped back, the dark-spiced scent of him lingering in the air as he turned toward the door. Killian shifted minutely, placing himself between Chris and the room without crowding him, a wall in a black and violet shawl. The physicians, already stunned by the exchange, dropped their eyes and began moving again, attaching monitors with the delicacy of people handling explosives.
Chris leaned back into the chair, still watching the doorway where Dax had gone, and then up at Killian. "You’re very quiet," he murmured.
"That," Killian said softly, storm-grey eyes returning to him at last, "is why I’m still alive."
"As dramatic as your king, I see," Chris said while one of the nurses inserted an IV in his left arm.
A faint crease appeared at the corner of Killian’s mouth, there and gone again before it could be called a smile. "I’m not dramatic," he murmured. "More like efficient. Drama is for people who have time to clean up after it."
Chris let out a weak laugh, settling back against the chair as the cool drip started to run. "Efficient. Right. That’s one word for him."
"He listens to you," Killian said, his voice still soft, still smooth as brandy. "That’s new."
Chris blinked up at him. "You sound surprised."
"I am." Killian shifted his weight slightly, the violet shawl sliding against the black of his sleeve. "Most people either bow, bolt, or try to use him. You told him to go do his job. That takes a different kind of nerve."
Chris shrugged one shoulder, the movement small under the blanket. "He looked like he was about to chew through the walls. Someone had to send him off before he exploded."
That earned him another ghost of a smile from the steward. "You may have saved three offices and a cabinet’s worth of furniture," Killian said dryly. "For that alone, I like you."
Chris blinked, startled into a small, real smile of his own. "You like me?"
"I like anyone who keeps my king from setting things on fire," Killian replied, storm-grey eyes glinting just a little. "It makes my job easier."
Chris let out a low, rasping chuckle and leaned back further into the chair, the IV tugging gently at his arm. He was still rattled, but the adrenaline had finally ebbed, leaving only a bone-deep weariness and the odd comfort of the steward’s dry voice keeping the silence from feeling like a cell.
"Good to know," he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. "Because I don’t plan on fainting my way through the rest of this trip."
Killian’s tone stayed even, but the flicker of humor was still there. "Then drink your fluids and stay in the chair, Mr. Malek. You’ve already given the palace enough excitement for one morning."