Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 256: House rules

Chapter 256: Chapter 256: House rules
Killian did not enjoy gatherings of staff.
He tolerated them when necessary, endured them when ordered, and resented them when they should not have been required at all.
This was one of those moments.
The hall reserved for household briefings was full, every rank present, from senior attendants to junior maids, from guards assigned to interior rotations to aides who rarely left the administrative wing. They stood in neat rows, backs straight, eyes forward, the picture of discipline in dark grey and purple.
It should have been enough.
Killian stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, expression composed in the way that had made entire departments reorganize themselves without a word. The purple mantle of his office rested heavily on his shoulders, an unmistakable reminder of where authority began and ended in the imperial household.
The king and his consort were away at the gala.
That fact alone made this discussion necessary.
Killian waited until the room settled fully before he spoke.
"I have been instructed," he began evenly, "to remind you of standards that should not require reminding."
A ripple of uneasiness passed through the room.
"You were trained to serve the Crown," Killian continued, voice calm. "Not to observe it. Not to comment on it. And certainly not to narrate it."
His gaze swept the rows, stopping nowhere, missing nothing.
"His Majesty had to remind me that staff should not do any of those things," Killian continued, his voice neither raised nor softened. "Which is... remarkable, considering these are the most basic principles taught to anyone serving the Altera Royal House."
He paused, his head tilting in an expressionless manner, sending shivers down the staff’s spine.
"Should I also remind you," he went on calmly, "that His Majesty hears better than anyone alive in this kingdom? That conversations you believe to be private are not, in fact, private at all?"
The unease in the room deepened. A maid in the third row lowered her gaze too quickly. Killian noticed, his eyes narrowing.
"There has been gossip," he said. "About the King. About the Consort. About their habits, their movements, and their moments together." His tone did not change, which made the words land harder. "That alone would warrant correction."
He let the silence stretch before adding, "But what concerns me more is the familiarity."
Killian took a measured step forward.
"Some of you have spoken of the Consort and Chief Rowan as though they were acquaintances," he said. "As though standing close to power grants equality. As though service erases rank."
His gaze sharpened at last.
"Rowan is not your colleague," Killian stated. "He is Chief of Security to the Consort. He answers directly to me. I answer directly to His Majesty." A pause. "There is no ambiguity in that chain."
No one moved.
"You are not friends," Killian continued. "You are not confidants. You are not observers of intimacy, affection, or private life." His eyes swept the room again. "You are staff."
He straightened fully.
"If I hear another discussion regarding His Majesty’s relationship," he said evenly, "or the Consort’s behavior, or imagined meanings behind their presence together, the individual responsible will be dismissed immediately."
Killian had more work to do than ever now and he expected one thing from his staff. To do their jobs.
"But Steward..." the maid continued, emboldened by the silence, her voice pitched somewhere between defensiveness and misplaced familiarity. "It is impossible not to talk when odd things happen. And Consort Christopher..."
Killian turned then.
His gaze found her without effort, pinning her in place with the attention of a man that made people forget how to breathe. She stood in the third row, hands clasped too tightly in front of her apron, chin lifted in the fragile confidence of someone who had mistaken routine access for relevance.
"Go on," Killian said calmly.
She swallowed. "Last night, I was assigned to clean the wardrobe apartment. The floor." A nervous laugh escaped her. "It was... well. It was clear what had happened there. Everyone knows the King and the Consort..."
"That will be enough," Killian said.
The maid faltered, realizing too late that she had crossed from explanation into confession. "I only meant... people talk. The Consort hears things. If he didn’t want..."
Killian took one step forward.
"You were assigned to clean," he said, enunciating each word like he was talking with a particularly slow kid. "Not to infer nor speculate. And certainly not to discuss."
She opened her mouth again.
Killian raised one hand. She stopped.
"You have just demonstrated," he continued evenly, "exactly why this meeting was necessary." His gaze did not leave her face. "You have also demonstrated why His Majesty was correct to be concerned."
The room was utterly silent now.
"You believe," Killian went on, "that because you wiped a floor, you are entitled to context. That because you recognized intimacy, you are permitted to narrate it." A pause. "You are not."
Her face drained of color.
"The wardrobe apartment is a private residence," Killian said. "What occurs there is not
’odd.’
It is not a spectacle. It is none of your concern. The private wing is the king and his consort’s home."
He turned his head slightly, addressing the room without losing her entirely. "Let this be clear to everyone present. Cleaning evidence of intimacy is not an invitation to discuss it. It is proof that you were trusted to be silent."
He looked back at her.
"You failed."
The word landed softly.
"You are dismissed from service effective immediately," Killian said. "Your badge will be surrendered before you leave this hall. Security will escort you to collect your personal effects."
Her breath hitched. "Steward, please..."
"No," Killian replied.
She was already being approached by guards.
Killian did not watch her go.
Instead, he faced the rest of the staff, disappointment settling cold and unmistakable across his features.
"This," he said quietly, "is what happens when you confuse closeness with permission."
He let the silence stretch, ensuring the lesson embedded itself properly.
"The King was not being cautious," Killian added. "He was being thorough. He knew that if even one of you felt entitled to speak, the Consort would hear it."
A pause.
"I suspect," he added, voice measured, "that he already did. And chose not to shame you publicly."
That landed harder than any reprimand.
"Do not mistake restraint for ignorance," Killian said. "And do not mistake mercy for tolerance."
He straightened, mantle settling against his shoulders with quiet finality.
"The remaining staff will undergo retraining on fundamental protocol," he continued. "Discretion. Hierarchy. Silence." His eyes hardened. "If another lapse occurs, there will be no discussion. You will be removed from service immediately."
No one moved. No one dared to speak.
"This palace is not a marketplace for rumor," Killian concluded. "It is a home. And you will treat it as such."
He let his gaze linger a moment longer, ensuring understanding was complete.
"Dismissed."
The hall emptied in perfect order.
Left alone, Killian exhaled slowly, jaw tight.
Dax had not been excessive.
He had been right.