Nadia checked the vitals on her tablet one last time before setting it on the counter. "The patch is synced again. Listen to Rowan while I’m not here."
Chris nodded, tugging his sleeve back over the small, adhesive patch on his upper arm. It glowed faintly purple beneath the fabric, one more reminder that his body was being monitored like an unstable reactor.
The morning dragged into afternoon in quiet fragments. Rowan stayed nearby, alternating between security calls and standing at the window like a human shield. Nadia came and went, checking numbers, leaving bottles of electrolyte water and nutrient bars he didn’t touch until she glared him into it.
The palace felt too big without Dax in it. Every sound carried: the echo of footsteps in the hallway, the hum of the central ventilation system, and the soft buzz from the medical patch whenever his pheromone balance shifted. The scent of spice had faded completely the third day at noon, leaving sterile air and the faint sharpness of disinfectant.
He spent most of the days pretending to read reports he forgot about while Dax was there, the tablet screen glowing with data he didn’t absorb. Every few minutes, his eyes slid toward his phone on the nightstand. Nothing.
No message.
No call.
He told himself it was normal. Dax had work. Dax always had work.
And yet the longer the silence stretched, the tighter something coiled in his chest.
By evening, the light outside turned gold against the glass. Rowan was sitting on the couch across from him, scrolling through security logs. Nadia had left for the lower wing, leaving him with strict instructions to rest before dinner.
Chris stared at his phone again. Still blank.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the frustration that wasn’t supposed to matter. He was fine. He’d been fine long before Dax Altera decided to stroll into his life and turn equilibrium into a state of dependency.
The screen lit up.
His pulse jumped, he reached for the phone and read the caller’s name.
Ethan Rains.
For a second, his brain refused to connect the dots. He just stared at the glowing screen like it had personally betrayed him. ’That bastard forgot about me.’
Ethan Rains.
Not Dax. Not even a message from Killian pretending to be professional while absolutely reporting everything to Dax anyway. No. It was Ethan.
The quiet part of his mind that had been waiting for a violet name to appear, just to prove the king hadn’t forgotten him, curled in on itself.
He exhaled sharply and hit accept.
"Hey," came Ethan’s voice, warm and casual, like they hadn’t been disappointed to his bones. "You alive?"
"Barely," Chris said, sinking deeper into the armchair. "And before you ask, yes, I’m eating, yes, I’m resting, and no, I haven’t joined a cult."
Ethan laughed, his warm voice rolling through the phone’s speakers. "That last one sounded defensive."
"Because it is defensive. My current living situation is suspicious. I have security details bigger than most armies." Chris said letting himself fall on the bed with a muffled thud.
"Ah. So palace life is treating you well," Ethan teased.
Chris made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a sigh. "That depends on your definition of well." He paused. "How’s work?"
"Same as ever," Ethan said. "Concrete, dust, people ignoring blueprints until disaster strikes. You know... romance, but for engineers."
That earned a small laugh, brief but real. "I miss that kind of disaster. It doesn’t argue back or try to scent-mark your oxygen."
There was a pause. "Chris," Ethan said, his tone shifting, gentler now, probing. "Are you okay?"
"Define okay," Chris said lightly.
"Eating, sleeping, not spiraling over a certain six-foot-whatever monarch."
Chris stared out the window, the sunset bleeding orange into violet. "I’m fine."
"Liar."
He laughed, quiet and humorless. "You sound like him."
"The king?"
Chris hummed in affirmation. "Yeah. He says that too."
Ethan hesitated, not knowing if the question would help or wound deeper. "Do you... want to talk about it?"
"No. I’m windrawling from suppressants I took for nine years, things... are interesting." Chris said quietly, rolling on his belly, ignoring Rowan’s brows raising.
Ethan’s voice softened immediately. "Still rough?"
"You could say that," Chris muttered, face half-buried in the pillow. "I’m an emotional landmine with a caffeine dependency. Nadia keeps calling it ’progress.’ I call it ’hell with lab coats.’"
Ethan laughed quietly. "That sounds about right. Do you remember when you tried to quit coffee before that bridge inspection?"
Chris groaned. "Please don’t. I almost threw a torque wrench at your head."
"Almost?" Ethan teased. "You did. You just missed."
Chris smiled despite himself, a low sound caught somewhere between amusement and nostalgia. "Good times. Back when the most dangerous thing in my life was gravity."
"Yeah, well," Ethan said, voice warm with the kind of friendship that didn’t need pretense, "some of us still deal with that. Thanks for the help the other day, by the way. I don’t know how I managed to forget about that project."
Chris smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Don’t worry about it. I don’t exactly have much to do anyway. Most of my projects got outsourced by Dax, ’conflict of interest,’ he said. That, and the whole convalescent omega thing."
Ethan laughed under his breath. "Right, because God forbid you heal in peace without corporate interference."
"Apparently not." Chris rolled onto his side, facing the window where the sunset was bleeding into dusk. "I think he’s terrified I’ll overwork myself. Which, fair, but still insulting."
"You? Overwork yourself?" Ethan said mock-dramatically. "Never heard of it."
Chris snorted. "Shut up."
"Can’t. It’s a coping mechanism."
On the other end of the line, someone called Ethan’s name, distant and muffled through the static.
"Crap," Ethan muttered. "Site team’s here. If I don’t go now, they’re going to start using the rebar as an antenna again."
Chris chuckled, low and genuine. "Go save your project before someone electrocutes themselves."
"I’ll call again soon," Ethan promised. "Don’t let the royal medics sedate you for fun."
"No promises."
"Figures." Ethan’s voice softened for a beat. "Take care, Chris. Seriously."
"I’ll try."
The line clicked off, leaving silence and the faint hum of the palace air system behind. Chris let the phone fall onto his chest, staring up at the ceiling.
For a while, he didn’t move. His mind was torn between the weight of what he missed and what he didn’t want to admit missing.
Across the room, Rowan was still at his post by the window, pretending not to notice the quiet shift in Chris’s breathing.
"So," Rowan said after a moment, his tone mild, "was that the engineer who once threatened a subcontractor with a slide rule?"
Chris turned his head, squinting at him. "You read my file."
"I read everything."
"Creepy."
"Comprehensive," Rowan corrected smoothly.
Chris sat up, brushing a hand through his hair. "You ever get tired of pretending you’re a piece of furniture?"
Rowan’s mouth twitched. "No. But I do get tired of pretending I don’t know you’re waiting for a message."
Chris glared at him. "I’m not."
"Of course not," Rowan said, all calm professionalism, but his eyes gleamed with faint amusement.
Chris grabbed a cushion and lobbed it at him. Rowan caught it one-handed, unflinching.
"Impressive," Chris muttered. "You’d make a great statue."
"I aim to please."