Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 267: Damage by slit

Chapter 267: Chapter 267: Damage by slit
Dax signed the final document with the firm hand of a man who had been doing this for the last decade and had never once enjoyed it.
The Ministry of Transportation stood arrayed before his desk in orderly tension, folders aligned, arguments exhausted. Rail expansion approved. Port levies amended. Safety audits accelerated. Nothing dramatic or that would make it into a history book. Exactly how Dax preferred his infrastructure policy.
Andrew stood to his right, quiet and observant, and his duty was more to keep others safe from Dax than to keep his King alive. For all it was worth, Dax could level an army with his pheromones.
"You’ll receive the formal decree by end of day," Dax said, voice even. "If there are no further objections."
There were none. The officials bowed and filed out, the doors closed with a solid, final sound.
Dax straightened and rose from his seat, easing the stiffness out of his shoulders with a slow roll.
"Sahir and Karan?" he asked, his tone casual enough to pass as routine.
Andrew answered without hesitation, already checking the day’s internal choreography against his mental map of the palace. "They confirmed their availability." His gaze flicked briefly to his watch. "Twenty minutes, give or take. They adjusted their schedules for it."
Dax nodded, accepting that with a quiet hum, and turned back toward the desk as if the matter were settled.
For a moment, it was.
He reached for the next folder out of habit rather than interest, thumb pressing into the edge of the paper as he skimmed the heading without really reading it. His mind was already shifting ahead, lining up questions, anticipating Sahir’s measured irritation and Karan’s blunt assessments. The soup incident would require careful planning and a clear message about boundaries that reminded people why testing them had consequences.
His phone vibrated.
Once.
Dax did not look at it; it was not Chris; he had created a custom vibration pattern for him.
Andrew noticed anyway. His posture adjusted by a fraction, attention sharpening, ready to intercept whatever new complication had decided to announce itself uninvited.
The phone vibrated again, closer together this time, impatient.
Dax exhaled through his nose and reached for it, irritation already threading beneath the surface. He glanced at the screen.
Mia.
There was no greeting. No explanation. Just a single message.
’You’re welcome.’
Amused already, Dax unlocked the phone.
The first image loaded, and the amusement sharpened.
Ivory silk. Gold embroidery. Chris was standing in their wardrobe, posture composed in that way that always fooled people into thinking he was unaware of the effect he had. The diamond collar sat at his throat, catching the light.
Dax’s smile widened, slow and territorial.
’Mine.’
The thought settled easily, comfortably, like something that had never once been in doubt.
The second image followed immediately.
This one was zoomed in on the deeper neckline. Skin framed exactly like Chris looked in the robe he chose to wear as a gift for him. The collar was centered, securing the whole dangerous composition.
Dax huffed a quiet breath through his nose, amusement threading through the rising heat.
He really should have burned more of these.
Then the last image loaded.
And amusement gave way to something darker.
The lateral slit climbed all the way to Chris’s waist.
Chris’s right hip was exposed in a way that tugged straight at dominant instinct, silk pulled aside as if it had been designed to test exactly this kind of restraint. His chest was nearly bare now, with gold embroidery doing the bare minimum required to keep it ceremonial. The diamond collar remained, transforming the entire display from invitation into ownership.
Dax let out a slow, pleased breath.
That... that was damage to his control.
Heat coiled low in his chest. He stared at the image longer than he should have, eyes tracking the slit, the line of skin, and the collar that marked Chris as his even when the rest of him dared the world to look.
His phone vibrated again.
’I made him try it on. I regret nothing.’
Then he locked the phone and set it face down on the desk, careful and controlled, as if the thing might still hum under his palm.
Andrew watched him closely now. "Your Majesty?"
Dax rolled his shoulders once, grounding himself, the faint smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth.
"Cancel my next two meetings," he said calmly.
Andrew blinked. "Both?"
"Yes."
"Sahir and Karan are scheduled for the soup incident," Andrew reminded him, careful with his wording. "You wanted to address that personally."
"I still do," Dax replied, already moving away from the desk. "You’ll brief them."
Andrew frowned slightly. "On what authority?"
Dax stopped and looked at him.
"Mine."
Andrew inclined his head at once. "Rohan as well?"
"Yes. The staging, the intent, the escalation. Everything we have so far." Dax paused, then added, "Tell them I want it resolved quietly; otherwise, I will start a war with Rohan. Their king pissed me off anyways."
Dax paused only long enough to let the words settle, then continued as if he hadn’t just casually threatened international consequences.
Andrew absorbed it with the calm efficiency of someone who had long ago learned how to translate Dax’s moods into actionable steps. "Understood," he said. "I’ll make sure they have the full briefing."
"Good." Dax was already reaching for his mantle, tightening the gold clasp on his shoulder. The faint smile hadn’t left his mouth, but there was nothing light about it now.
He moved toward the door, then stopped, head tilting slightly as another thought occurred to him.
"And Andrew," he added, voice mild. "Have Rowan keep the security outside our wing."
Andrew blinked once. "Outside?"
"Yes."
Andrew inclined his head. "I’ll call him now."
"Thank you."
Dax opened the door and stepped into the corridor, the shift immediate. Guards straightened without being told. Conversations died mid-breath as he passed. It wasn’t fear that followed him, but the sense that something had just tipped, subtly, in a direction it was wiser not to question.
He pulled his phone back out as he walked, already dialing.
Killian answered on the second ring. "Your Majesty."
"Killian," Dax said pleasantly. "I need a favor."
"Of course."
"Mia is currently in my wing with my husband," he said, tone still courteous, still controlled. "I would like her escorted elsewhere. Somewhere comfortable. Somewhere far enough away that she cannot reappear by accident."
There was a pause, just long enough for understanding to bloom.
"Immediately," Killian said.
"Thank you." Dax ended the call and slipped the phone away again, stride lengthening as the corridor opened into the private passage that led toward his and Chris’s wing.
The palace felt different here. His senses adjusted without conscious effort, attention narrowing as the distance closed. He could already feel it, Chris’s presence, familiar, grounding, and maddening all at once, tugging at him like gravity.
Possession settled low and steady in his chest.
Whatever Mia had stirred, whatever lines had been recklessly crossed in silk and embroidery and ill-advised enthusiasm, Dax would handle it himself.
He wanted Chris alone and he intended to have him.