Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 265: Report and their home

Chapter 265: Chapter 265: and their home
The meeting ended in the same way that all long meetings do: with exhaustion disguised as consensus.
Dax remained seated until the final formal phrase was spoken and acknowledged, his expression unchanging and his posture perfect.
The chamber exhaled as one.
Voices trailed off. Papers were gathered. Courtiers rose already, filtering into clusters that would try to undo half the decisions before sunset.
Andrew stayed where he was until protocol released him. Only when the doors began to open and ministers started breaking into quiet knots did he step closer, angling his body in the way that meant
’this is not for anyone else.’
"Your Majesty," he said quietly. "There is a when you are ready."
Dax nodded and turned down the side corridor reserved for the Crown, the heavy doors closing behind them with a final, echoing sound. The noise of parliament fell away almost immediately, replaced by the muted quiet of stone and distance.
They walked in silence for several steps.
Andrew was repeating the from Rowan while mentally preparing for anything the kind would do.
"There was an incident," Andrew said at last.
Dax didn’t slow. His stride remained even, measured, already calculating how quickly he could clear the remainder of the day. He had planned to be done by evening to steal the time back with Chris.
"With paperwork?" he asked dryly.
Andrew almost smiled.
"No," he said instead. "With the Consort."
Dax stopped so suddenly that Andrew felt the shift beside him, the subtle shift in focus that always preceded something irrevocable.
"When?" Dax asked.
"Lunch," Andrew replied. "Upper terrace."
Dax’s purple eyes darkened, his pheromones already spreading at an alarming rate. "Are you going to talk or should I force the ?"
Andrew didn’t flinch.
He had known this moment was coming from the second Rowan’s voice had come through the channel, tight in the way it only ever was when something had gone wrong in proximity to Chris.
"A noble from the Rohan delegation," Andrew continued, "seated two tables back. Beta male. Minor house, but officially attached to the delegation with blue credentials and cleared access. He stood abruptly during service."
Dax’s fingers curled once, slowly, at his side.
"Service?" he echoed.
"A waiter was in motion," Andrew said. "The server did nothing wrong. The noble used the moment to step forward and force a spill across the Consort’s torso and lap with soup and water."
Dax stopped again. "If Christopher was burned..."
Andrew cut in immediately, not letting the sentence finish the way it wanted to.
"He wasn’t," he said. "The soup was lukewarm, like His Grace usually likes it. His clothes were stained but he is not injured."
Dax’s breath left him slowly, controlled to the point of pain. His pheromones did not recede. If anything, they sharpened, the air around them tightening as if the corridor itself had learned to be wary.
"Explain intent," Dax said.
Andrew nodded once. He appreciated that Dax was going straight to the point instead of circling it with fear. "It wasn’t clumsiness. We have it on camera. Three angles. The timing, the step forward, the arm movement. He waited for the tray to pass and used it as cover. The team believes that the goal wasn’t harm."
"Then what?" Dax asked quietly.
"Humiliation," Andrew replied. "Maybe to startle. Testing response time. Testing whether proximity to the Consort would slow security or make them hesitate."
Dax’s jaw set. "Did it?"
"No," Andrew said. "Rowan was already moving before the spill fully landed. The noble was on the ground within seconds."
"How is Chris?"
Andrew allowed himself a breath before answering, letting the picture settle fully before he spoke. "He froze for less than a second. Then he de-escalated. Stopped the guards from crowding him. Checked himself and left before the scene could be escalated by the other diplomats from Rohan. He is already in the private wing with Lady Mia."
Dax closed his eyes briefly, stopping himself from storming to the detainment center and killing the man personally.
"Schedule a meeting with Sahir and Karan. I want Rohan to answer for this."
Andrew inclined his head, already adjusting the schedule in his mind. "I’ll have them summoned."
Dax opened his eyes again. Whatever fury had flared there a moment ago had been pressed down into submission. A spark away from being unleashed again.
"Rohan will call it a misunderstanding," Andrew continued, because it was his job to say these things out loud. "They’ll emphasize that the noble is minor, that he acted alone. They’ll offer apologies. Possibly compensation."
"They will do none of that until I tell them to," Dax said evenly. "And when they do, it will not be to me."
—
Mia had expected luxury.
She had not expected historical luxury.
The private wing wasn’t ostentatious the way newer palaces were. There were no harsh lines, no glittering surfaces meant to remind you who paid for them. Instead, the space unfolded slowly, like something that had been waiting to be noticed again.
High arches curved high overhead, their edges carved with the kind of detail no one bothered with anymore, floral reliefs softened by time, geometric patterns worn smooth where generations of hands had passed. Light filtered in through stained glass panels set deep into the walls, fractured into warm golds and cool greens that moved lazily across the floor as the sun shifted.
Mia stopped just inside the threshold.
"Oh," she said again, this time quieter.
Chris glanced back at her and laughed at her face. He was the same when Dax brought him here for the first time. The difference is that Chris panicked and wanted to leave while Dax caught him.
Mia walked farther in now, heels sinking slightly into thick woven rugs.
"This is..." she gestured vaguely, then laughed under her breath. "This is not what I imagined when you said
’private wing.’
"
Chris shrugged. "Asir built it."
That made her pause.
"Dax’s grandfather," she said.
"Yes. Before the expansions. Before his grandsons decided destruction was easier than inheritance."
She turned slowly, looking again with new eyes. The carvings. The stonework. The equilibrium between openness and shelter.
"And this survived," she said.
"It was sealed," Chris replied. "Hidden, mostly. Dax refused to let his brothers touch it."
They moved deeper into the wing, past a sitting alcove tucked beneath an arched window, low cushions layered in textured fabrics, and greenery climbing trellises worked directly into the stone. Beyond that, the corridor opened into the bedroom.
Mia stopped dead.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Chris," she said faintly, "this looks like a museum exhibit titled
Here Lies Everyone Else’s Standards."
He snorted. "Wait until you see the wardrobe."