Caught by the Mad Alpha King-Chapter 282: Babysitting (1)

Chapter 282: Chapter 282: Babysitting (1)
Chris had somehow become comfortable talking with new people.
It was a strange realization, considering the way his life had unfolded. Serathine had taught him how to wield social presence, and Cressida had taught him that kindness could be wielded with authority and that poise was in itself a weapon. Sahir had refined the final edges, reminding him that grace could be strategic. And Dax... Dax had burned into his bones the understanding that in Saha, public events were never merely social gatherings. They were battlefields with chandeliers.
So yes, he was prepared to be on guard at all times.
He simply hadn’t expected that sometimes, it could still feel... pleasant.
Conversations flowed easily. Diplomats leaned in carefully. CEOs spoke with the guarded enthusiasm of men who understood how rare stability truly was. Generals evaluated him, then nodded as if reassured by something in his composure. He had endured sharper rooms than this. He had walked through worse storms. This... he could handle.
’Surely there aren’t enough suicidal people like the Maleks to provoke Dax tonight,’
he thought, almost amused at his own optimism.
Rowan shifted slightly behind him and extended a glass toward him. A very specific glass. A very specific champagne. Checked, approved, and prepared exclusively for him.
Chris accepted it with the quiet gratitude of someone who respected professionals and also had no desire to be poisoned in public.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Rowan inclined his head, the faintest acknowledgment, then resumed being a living fortress.
Chris allowed himself a slow breath and lifted his gaze back across the room, letting the atmosphere seep back into clarity. Marianne and Dax continued to play. Adonis Malek watched like a man witnessing proof of a strategy he believed he’d orchestrated. Sahir moved through the gala at a measured pace that guided conversations without ever seeming to control them. Everything was unfolding beautifully.
For a rare moment at a public Sahan event, Chris allowed himself to believe that perhaps,
just perhaps,
the evening would pass without incident.
Which, of course, is when the universe chose violence.
Rowan shifted almost imperceptibly, but Chris sensed it and raised his guard even higher now that the intrusion was confirmed.
He sipped calmly, letting the room believe that he was still comfortable. He let Sahir’s perfectly curated diplomacy continue shaping the night.
And then something sweet and sharp slid into the atmosphere. a sharp perfume Chris associated with entitlement.
A voice came from just behind him, close, bold, and utterly convinced of its own right to exist here.
"So you are the one in my way."
Chris blinked slowly.
He did not react right away. He turned with a graceful unhurriedness that felt more like condescension than politeness, because if someone was going to be rude, he’d at least try to deal with it elegantly.
There was no one.
Then Rowan’s posture shifted half a breath lower. Chris followed the line of his gaze.
’Ah.’
’Princess Heather.’
Wrapped in lavender silk, crowned in diamonds she absolutely did not deserve, chin tilted at a defiant, imperious angle like she had personally conquered nations instead of inconveniencing her staff. Even the way she stood radiated conviction that the world existed exclusively for her narrative convenience.
She looked at him the way a cat might stare at a polished vase before deciding to push it off the table.
"So," she announced brightly, "you’re the placeholder."
Conversation within earshot
died.
Heads turned. Someone choked discreetly into champagne. Sahir closed his eyes for exactly one exhausted heartbeat before schooling his expression again. Rowan’s fingers twitched like he was mentally drafting a formal apology to every security protocol ever written.
Chris smiled pleasantly, tilted his head, and greeted her as he would a queen.
"Good evening."
Heather waved the greeting away with the airy dismissal of someone who had never once understood danger.
"Yes, yes, hello," she said. "Princess Heather of Rohan."
"I know," Chris replied smoothly. "Your reputation tends to arrive several minutes before you do."
She beamed, her blue eyes sparkling. She thought that was a compliment.
"Of course," she said proudly. "I have that effect. Anyway." She leaned forward conspiratorially, utterly unaware of how many people shifted or how much security sharpened. "I wanted to see what kind of omega Saha accepted temporarily."
Temporarily.
Chris took another sip of champagne to avoid laughing.
"Temporarily," he echoed gently. "That’s... a bold assessment."
Heather nodded solemnly, like she was being incredibly generous by explaining reality to him.
"Well of course," she said. "This is all very sweet, I suppose. Dramatic. A little tragic, if I’m being charitable. But clearly temporary. You’re here because Dax cannot possibly remain unbound until I am of age."
Rowan inhaled, trying to smother the risqué laugh.
Chris blinked, confused as to where the teen in front of him found so much audacity.
"That is... quite a thesis."
Heather nodded, pleased. "Oh, it isn’t a thesis. It’s inevitable. My father says these arrangements always crumble when true political necessity arrives. And besides..." She smiled sweetly, "Saha deserves a real queen. Not..." she gestured vaguely at him, "an emotional episode with jewelry."
Someone gasped. Someone else whispered a prayer. Several people began actively seeking exits. The orchestra faltered for half a second before sheer terror forced them to keep playing.
Heather continued, blithely oblivious.
"My wedding will stabilize three nations. Yours is... well. Cute." She tilted her head kindly. "But don’t worry. You’ll be remembered fondly. A charming interim story. The omega who helped Dax through his lonely years until something appropriate came along. I’ll even insist they write something flattering about you in the history books."
Chris stared at her for a heartbeat.
Then he smiled. Bright. Polite. Terrifyingly calm.
"Oh," he said softly. "You’ve misunderstood the fairy tale entirely."
Heather blinked far too quickly, like a system attempting to reboot after overheating. For a moment, Chris could almost see the sparks behind her eyes as her brain tried and failed to process what was happening.
He only smiled wider, pleasant and patient, as if explaining something extremely simple to a child who insisted on swallowing marbles.
"Allow me to clarify, Princess."
She straightened at once, chin lifting, utterly convinced whatever clarification was coming would support her.
"His Majesty, King Dax, is thirty-four years old," Chris continued gently. "He is six years older than I am and could, quite easily, be your father."
A few people in polite earshot stiffened. Several absolutely did not breathe. Rowan very carefully schooled his face into a blank line because he had a job, and that job was not laughing himself to death during an international event.
Chris tilted his head slightly, eyes soft, voice still warm enough to almost sound kind.
"So tell me, Princess Heather... Do you truly want a man old enough to parent you as a husband?"