CHAPTER 119: CHAPTER 119: THE COLLAR

The imperial suite was too beautiful to feel alive, but its beauty made Christopher feel even more trapped.

Every surface glowed faintly under the amber chandelier, its cut-crystal tiers catching the last shimmer of daylight spilling through the arched windows. Beyond them, the capital unfolded like a painted mirage, domes and terraces climbing the cliffs, pale smoke rising in the distance. The room itself was an intricate blend of centuries: brocade cushions in deep crimson and gold, polished brass tea sets on carved tables, and woven rugs that muffled every sound, yet beneath the carved wood and embroidered silk, sleek lines of hidden climate vents and discreet sensors whispered of modernity.

It was one of the rooms he never used until now; he moved from his usual sitting room to this, there was not enough strength left to deal with his things disappearing to more luxury. Finally, he wasn’t struggling to grasp this reality; instead, he could simply exist like a well-guarded piece of furniture.

Christopher sat on one of the long couches near the window, the red and navy cushions pressing into his back like a silent scolding. His clothes were simple compared to the room: pajama pants and a soft ivory shirt, Dax’s, rolled to the elbows, its collar undone. He hadn’t bothered to change since morning. The book on his lap had gone unread for hours. The faint red patch on his arm flickered unevenly, catching the gold in the chandelier like a dying ember.

He didn’t move.

Outside, the wind brushed the hanging lanterns along the terrace, and somewhere deeper in the suite, a purifier hummed softly.

The door opened with a whisper, carefully enough not to startle.

"Your Grace," Hanna said, her tone perfectly neutral, trained to sound like kindness.

Christopher didn’t look up. "You think I’m still awake every night."

"And I’m always right."

Her steps clicked across the mosaic floor, the sound soft against the rug’s intricate weave. She wore a slim dress the color of polished steel, elegant and sharp against the room’s warmth. In her hands was a narrow velvet case, its surface embossed with a discreet golden crest.

"I wanted to show you something before you rest."

He turned his head slightly, weary eyes tracing her silhouette. "More fabrics?" he asked dryly.

"Hardly." Hanna’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She came closer, the case balanced delicately between her palms. "This arrived from Saha this morning. His Majesty’s personal request."

That made him blink. Slowly, he set the book aside. "From Dax?"

"Of course," she said, and opened the case.

Inside, the necklace gleamed, a marvel of precision and wealth. Hundreds of diamond rows wove together like threads of frost, bound by platinum filigree and crowned with a teardrop gem at the center. The metal caught the chandelier’s glow, scattering it across the room in thin shards of light.

Christopher leaned forward slightly. The faint movement of his chest betrayed exhaustion more than curiosity. "It must have cost a fortune," he murmured. "It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before."

"It’s unique," Hanna said, voice lowering almost reverently. "Made for you alone. Twenty million crowns in stones. But it’s not the price that matters, but your position with it."

He gave a faint, tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "That’s poetic for jewelry."

She moved closer, lifting the piece carefully. "May I put it on you, Your Grace?"

His patch blinked red again, a soft pulse reflected on the glass. He exhaled, long and unsteady. ’If I refused, she would press the issue until my mind was filled with her voice. Just...’

"Fine," he said finally. "If it’ll stop you from hovering."

Hanna stepped behind him, the necklace cool against her hands. The diamonds shifted like water under the light. She hesitated for a second... and the air changed.

The door opened without warning, the scent of spice and iron cutting through the sweetness of the room.

"Enough," Dax’s voice filled the space, the timbre lower than usual.

Hanna froze. The collar glittered in her hands, a captured serpent mid-coil.

Dax stepped inside, his coat still dark from the road, the faint streaks of dust, smoke, and blood on his shoulders only emphasizing the violence simmering beneath his composure. His gaze flicked from the open case to Christopher’s still form.

"Put it down," he said, every word an order wrapped in calm. "And leave."

Hanna’s hands trembled only once before she obeyed. She closed the case with a soft click, bowed, and retreated, her perfume dissolving into the heavy air.

When the door closed, the silence that followed was sharper than before.

Christopher’s voice broke it, flat and tired. "You could’ve knocked."

"I could have," Dax said, walking closer until the light from the chandelier gilded the edge of his jaw. "But then I’d have to watch her put that thing on you."

Christopher glanced toward the case, then back at him. "It’s just a necklace."

Dax’s eyes darkened, the faintest twitch in his jaw betraying otherwise. "No," he said softly. "It isn’t."

"Well, you are right; it’s a piece of art worth twenty million crowns. I know its meaning... Hanna was clear enough."

"Twenty-six," Dax corrected, his tone gentler now, but no less commanding. "Will you let me put it on?"

Christopher hesitated, his expression caught between suspicion and fatigue. The red flicker of his patch pulsed once against the soft fabric of his sleeve, then steadied. He leaned back against the couch, exhaling. "Fine," he said quietly. "You can put it on."

Dax moved closer, the faint scent of spice and something sharper replacing the perfume Hanna had left behind. He opened the velvet case and lifted the piece with both hands. Under the amber chandelier, the diamonds looked alive, shifting like water, each link of platinum catching and throwing back the light.

Christopher turned slightly, offering his neck without thought. The gesture was almost careless, but Dax felt it like a blow. His throat tightened.

"This might be cold," Dax murmured, stepping behind him.

Christopher gave a small hum in answer, eyes fixed on the reflection in the window. The glass framed the capital in miniature, towers and lanterns glittering like stars far below.

The collar brushed his skin, light, almost tender, and for a brief moment, he thought that was all it was. Jewelry. A gesture of appeasement, maybe guilt. But when Dax fastened the clasp, high and close against his throat, something shifted.

A faint click. Then warmth.

The diamonds shimmered once, their reflection pulsing faintly before fading back to stillness. The scent hit him a second later, Dax’s pheromones, sharp and overwhelming, swirling through the air like invisible smoke. His pulse jumped. The metal against his skin seemed to react, vibrating once, syncing to his breath.

Christopher froze. "What did you..."

"It’s locking," Dax said, quietly. "It responds to my pheromones. No one else can remove it now."

He didn’t sound apologetic.

Christopher turned, slow and disbelieving, his hand rising instinctively to the chain at his throat. The platinum links were seamless and cold beneath his fingertips, and the realization settled over him like a shiver.

"You..." His voice faltered. "You put a collar on me."