CHAPTER 189: CHAPTER 189: CITY DATE (1)

The motorcade slid out of the palace gates like a line of polished obsidian, sunlight glinting off chrome and tinted glass. For the first time since the gala, the people of Saha caught sight of both their king and his consort, together, and unguarded enough to make it look almost ordinary.

Almost.

Chris sat beside Dax in the backseat of the lead car, his reflection fractured across the dark glass as the capital’s skyline unfolded before them. He’d seen it in pictures before: sweeping streets lined with white stone, high bridges glinting over river canals, and the neon pulse of the markets, but this was different.

"You’re quiet," Dax said beside him, his voice smooth over the hum of the engine.

Chris’s gaze stayed fixed on the window. "I’m realizing I’ve been living in your country for months without ever actually being in it."

Dax smiled faintly. "Saha takes time. It doesn’t reveal itself all at once. It tests you first."

"Like you?"

"Exactly like me," Dax said, unashamed. "Demanding, complicated, worth the effort."

Chris shot him a look. "You left out infuriating."

"That’s implied."

The car slowed as they approached the old quarter, broad avenues giving way to narrower streets where glass towers gave up space to low, elegant stone façades. Shopfronts gleamed with pale lettering, flags fluttered above cafés, and the noise of the crowd rolled toward them like a tide.

Rowan’s voice came through the comms from the lead escort vehicle. "All clear ahead, Your Majesty. Crowd manageable and the press is stationed behind the perimeter."

Dax tapped the intercom. "We’ll walk from here."

Rowan hesitated audibly. "You sure?"

"Yes," Dax said, already reaching for the door handle. "Let them see."

The door opened with a hydraulic sigh, and the crowd outside responded instantly. Phones rose like a field of silver petals.

Dax stepped out first, white-blond hair catching the daylight like a strike of metal.

Chris stepped out of the car and immediately regretted everything.

The late summer heat rolled off the pavement in slow waves, thick enough to make the air shimmer. The scent of city stone, warm spices, and blooming citrus trees mingled with the noise of the crowd, pressing in.

Dax stood beside him, dressed like a man who knew how to break laws and negotiate peace treaties in the same breath. He was wearing a sleek, collarless black shirt with the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the elbow to reveal lean forearms and a glint of a silver watch. His slacks were charcoal, tailored within an inch of blasphemy, and his dark sunglasses made him look less like a monarch and more like... a mafia Don.

Chris wore fitted black jeans, white low-tops, and a graphite-gray short-sleeve button-down left open over a loose black tee. He really was aiming for a casual look. Dangerous enough with the sunglasses pulled down his nose and the leather messenger bag slung across his chest like a weapon of sarcasm... And the diamond and platinum collar gives anyone in range the signal of Chris’s real position.

They looked like they were on their way to buy a city.

Chris had been told this would be "a discreet outing."

He should’ve known better.

Chris narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses as another cheer rippled through the crowd, cameras flashing like they were already on some kind of red carpet.

"This is not casual," he muttered under his breath.

Dax didn’t glance over. "It’s casual for me."

Chris scoffed. "You’re wearing slacks that cost more than a mid-sized vehicle. I’m sweating through a shirt I picked specifically so I wouldn’t die of heatstroke, and you have a camera drone tracking our every step."

Dax smiled for the crowd. "They like the collar."

"I hate that you’re not wrong."

A small group of children waved from the café entrance up ahead. Chris blinked, forced a brief smile, and leaned in as they walked, tone sharp and low.

"You said this would be discreet. You said walk around the city, get coffee, and show your face. I agreed because you promised casual."

"This is casual," Dax said, without an ounce of shame. "There is no speech or press interview, and I vetoed the embroidery. I didn’t even wear a sash."

"Oh, well. Saints be praised. The king showed restraint."

They passed a floral stall, the owner halfway through handing a bouquet to a little girl before pausing, clearly realizing who had just walked by. The bouquet drooped slightly in her hand as she stared.

Chris reached out, took one of the flowers gently, and tucked it behind Dax’s ear as they walked. "There. That’s casual. Now we look like you kidnapped me from a poetry reading."

Dax didn’t flinch. "You’re dramatic."

"And you’re a liar."

"We’re both things," Dax murmured, smile still perfectly in place for the press, "but look, they’re not screaming. They’re not fainting and one’s trying to climb the palace wall."

"The bar is in hell."

"And you are doing better than I expected."

Chris rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of his skull.

"Oh, well, thank you, Your Majesty," he muttered. "Is that my official consort performance review? Did not trip. Did not cause an international incident. Minimal snarling at toddlers."

Dax didn’t stop walking. "I would never use the word ’minimal.’"

Chris shot him a look, dry enough to evaporate wine. "Remind me to leave a review for your fashion choices. Five stars for effort. Minus ten for making me feel like I’m dating an underground arms dealer."

Dax turned his head just slightly, a gleam of amusement under the lenses. "Correction: you’re married to one. Technically."

"That explains the property damage."

Another cheer broke out from the other side of the square, where a group of students had gathered by a food cart, half-whispering, half-filming. One of them gasped audibly when Chris turned his head, and another mouthed ’oh my god,’ like she’d just seen a comet crash.

Chris sighed. "I could be at home. In a cold shower. With air conditioning."

"You could be," Dax agreed mildly, "but then the city wouldn’t know you’re mine."

Chris stopped.