Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 263: Lunch with the new parents

Chapter 263: Chapter 263: Lunch with the new parents
The terrace belonged to another world.
High above the city, shielded from the ordinary traffic of the palace, the restaurant reserved for royalty and foreign envoys opened onto stone balustrades and carefully trained greenery. Linen-draped tables caught the late morning light, crystal chimed softly when the breeze moved just right, and everything, from the spacing of chairs to the angle of the sunshades, had been designed to suggest leisure without ever quite allowing it.
Chris noticed the guards first. They were present without being visible, folded into corners and reflections, stationed where a casual eye would miss them. Not Dax’s murderous alphas but enough to remind him that even family lunches happened inside a perimeter.
Mia was already seated, legs crossed, sunglasses perched on her head like she had claimed the place by right of irritation alone. She looked up when Chris approached and grinned.
"Finally," she said. "I was starting to think they’d replaced you with a diplomatic double."
"Tempting," Chris replied, sliding into the chair beside her. "But I’m less convincing in a crisis."
Across from them, Denise Black set down her glass and smiled with quiet warmth. She was impeccably dressed, tailored lines softened by color, her silver hair swept back, her gold earrings catching the sunlight just right. Milo was a handsome man even at his age, his deep blue eyes neutral in that way Chris began to associate with power.
"I think this is our first casual meeting. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting." Chris said with a soft tilt of his head.
"Oh, dear, don’t worry about it. We are family now and we would see each other more often." Denise said with her warm tone.
Denise’s words settled gently, but the weight behind them was anything but light.
Family.
Chris felt it land somewhere careful in his chest, not unwelcome, just... unfamiliar. He nodded, accepting the term without flinching, even as he catalogued the way Milo watched the exchange with quiet attentiveness, saying nothing, offering no correction, simply allowing Denise to set the tone.
Milo Black had the composed bearing of a man who had spent decades near thrones without mistaking association for power. His posture was relaxed, but nothing about him was careless. Palatine nobility influence lived in what they noticed and what they chose not to comment on.
"You’ve adjusted quickly," Milo said at last, voice calm and measured.
Chris smiled faintly. "I didn’t have much choice."
Mia snorted into her glass. "That’s one way to describe being kidnapped by a king."
Denise shot her a warning look. "Mia."
"What?" Mia leaned back, unapologetic. "We’re on a terrace in Saha with armed guards pretending to be decorative plants. Let’s not pretend this is normal."
Chris huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. Denise watched him carefully then, her gaze softening, as if the sound had confirmed something for her.
"You’re allowed to call it strange," Denise said gently. "Palatine teaches us to normalize survival. Saha prefers honesty." A pause. "I think you’ll find the latter healthier."
Milo’s mouth curved, just barely. "Aysha would agree with you."
The name, Empress Aysha, hung there without ceremony, as natural as weather. Cousins spoke of cousins, even when one wore a crown.
Chris noted it. Filed it away.
"So," Mia said, tapping her fork against the plate with theatrical intent, "how long before someone tries to turn you into a political anecdote?"
Denise laughed softly. "Oh, they already are. He’s just not cooperating."
"I’m trying very hard not to," Chris said. "Dax insists I eat instead."
Milo inclined his head. "A wise priority."
The waiter arrived then, moving with discretion, setting down plates that were elegant without being ostentatious. The moment folded back into something resembling normalcy with conversation drifting to travel, to Palatine winters versus Sahan heat, to the subtle differences in court etiquette that only nobles bothered to notice.
Chris listened more than he spoke, absorbing the cadence of them. Denise’s warmth was not performative; rather, it stemmed from choosing kindness in rooms that rewarded cruelty. Milo’s silence was not dismissal but consideration.
And Mia... Mia was a familiar anchor, reminding him with every glance that whatever else he had become, he was still himself.
Milo was the one who steered it there, gently, as if the topic had been waiting its turn.
"How is Andrew?" he asked, cutting into his meal with ease. "I hear Palatine has discovered it has an heir now."
Chris looked up, surprised, then smiled. "Relentless. Exhausted. Pretending not to be either." He hesitated, then added more softly, "He’s trying very hard to deserve it."
Milo nodded, the movement small but weighted with recognition. "That sounds familiar."
Mia leaned an elbow on the table. "You mean the way he suddenly sounds like he’s cross-examining everyone at breakfast?"
Chris laughed, a short, fond sound. "He’s always had that voice. Even when we were kids. You’d ask him to pass the salt and somehow feel like you’d confessed to something."
"That voice keeps people alive," Milo said calmly. "It kept me alive once."
Chris blinked. "You?"
Milo met his gaze then, openly. "I was not always Count Black," he said. "And I was not always certain I wanted to be one. Andrew reminds me of myself at that age: sharp, principled, angry at the world for not doing better, and still cautious around the people he cares about." A pause. "He chooses his words even when he shouldn’t have to."
Chris felt that he should settle somewhere quiet and tender. "He does," he agreed. "Even with me. Especially with me." He glanced down at his soup, then back up. "I still catch myself doing the same thing around him. Choosing every sentence like it might be evidence."
Denise reached across the table and rested her fingers briefly over his wrist. "That will ease," she said. "Families learn new languages."
Mia made a face. "Speak for yourselves. I refuse to censor myself for any heir."
Milo’s mouth curved again. "And yet, you do."
Mia opened her mouth to argue... and then everything went wrong.
A sudden jolt. A sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind Chris. A tray tilted. Liquid surged.
Hot soup and a full glass of water sloshed forward in an ungraceful arc, splashing across Chris’s chest and lap, soaking into fabric in an instant.
"Oh... Gods... Your Grace, I...!"
The chair scraped. Someone swore under their breath. The warmth against Chris’s skin was immediate, startling, and the world seemed to pause on the edge of something much larger than spilled lunch.
Guards were already moving.
Chris froze, breath caught halfway in, eyes lifting instinctively...