CHAPTER 211: CHAPTER 211: START OF THE CHANGE

The next week was... a disaster.

A polite, well-intentioned, utterly catastrophic disaster.

Chris tried. He really did. Every morning he woke up, glared at the etiquette binder like it had personally wronged him, and muttered, "For Saha. For peace. For my own questionable decisions."

Then he read a Chapter.

Meanwhile, Dax tried too. He woke up, looked at Chris, remembered the ban, and physically left the room like a man fighting gravity, instinct, and his own biology all at once.

By day three, Rowan was exhausted just from watching them.

By day four, Rowan had stopped pretending he wasn’t suffering. He stood in the hallway with a coffee the size of a fire extinguisher, watching Chris shuffle past with his binder like an underpaid monk and Dax stalking in the opposite direction like a large, frustrated jungle cat.

By day five, they both tried to pretend the situation had stabilized. Chris studied in the east sitting room with the kind of grim determination usually reserved for tax audits, and Dax attempted to rule the country from his office without grinding his teeth into dust. They exchanged polite comments at breakfast, kept a safe, respectable distance, and behaved like two adults entirely capable of following their own rules.

It was almost convincing.

Then Chris woke up on day six feeling strangely warm and a little too comfortable in his own skin. He didn’t think much of it. He brushed his teeth, fixed his hair, and wandered into the living room in a soft t-shirt, stretching his arms as he walked.

Dax looked up from his morning reports and nearly forgot how to function.

His posture straightened before he even realized it. His hands froze on the table, fingers still touching the edge of a document. His purple eyes fixed on Chris with an intensity that was definitely not normal for nine in the morning.

Chris paused halfway into the room. "Why are you staring at me like that? Did I grow a second head?"

Dax tried to answer, but words took a moment to land. "Your scent shifted."

Chris blinked and smelled himself, confused. "I smell like expensive laundry detergent. And despair."

"No," Dax said quietly, shaking his head a little. "It’s you."

Before Chris could demand a less cryptic explanation, a knock interrupted the tension. The door opened, and Dr. John Bird entered with his usual calm presence. Nadia followed, carrying a medical case and wearing the expression of a woman prepared for chaos.

"Morning," John said, giving both of them a quick once-over. "Good. You’re both here. Saves time."

Chris lowered his binder. "If this is about the blood tests I didn’t agree to, I would like it known that I’m filing an official complaint."

"You signed the form," Nadia reminded him.

Chris stared at her. "Under sedation."

"Yes," she admitted, "but it still counts."

Nadia tapped her tablet. "Your natural scent markers increased. Only slightly. About ten percent."

Chris opened his mouth, ready to call that insignificant, but Dax cut in with a low, rough exhale that said it was definitely not insignificant.

Nadia pointed at him without looking up. "He can feel it before you can. You two are bonded, and your alpha can sense the shift in pheromones, specifically the mating ones."

Chris turned to Dax. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"It felt mild," Dax said, though his voice had that strained edge he usually only got after diplomatic meetings that involved six competing heirs.

John opened the case, revealing a sleek treatment injector. "Your body needs a controlled adjustment. We’re starting a stabilizing course. It won’t trigger heats or cause any drastic changes. It’ll just regulate the hormonal reboot already happening."

Chris rested his chin in his hand. "So my body rebooted without permission."

"Exactly," John said. "And we’d like to prevent further surprises and a surprise heat... We hope."

John continued adjusting the injector, and the seriousness in his voice finally made Chris sit up straighter.

"It’s simple," John said, clicking the pieces together and checking the pressure gauge. "One microdose a day, back of the arm. It’ll smooth out the spikes in your cycle and keep things predictable. Or at least... more predictable than whatever your endocrine system has been doing on its own."

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. Perfect. I’m basically running on Windows ’98."

Nadia nodded sympathetically. "Yes. And you’re currently trying to run modern software on it."

Chris dropped his hand. "This is bullying."

John offered him the injector with all the warmth of a doctor handing out vaccines to children. "This is medicine, not bullying. And you need it."

Dax, still silent but visibly tense, tried to act like he wasn’t watching every microscopic change in Chris’s scent, posture, breathing, or existence. It wasn’t subtle even on a normal day; on a day like this, he might as well have had glowing neon arrows over his head pointing at Chris with the word ’mine’ flashing repeatedly.

Nadia cleared her throat gently. "Chris, this increase isn’t dangerous. It’s just... noticeable. And only to your mate. Ten percent might not sound like much, but dominant sensory perception doesn’t care about percentages."

Chris looked at Dax, who immediately looked away like he’d been caught staring at the sun. "So you’ve been dealing with this alone?"

Dax gave a single, reluctant shrug. "It was manageable."

Nadia didn’t miss a beat. "It’s not manageable now. His pheromones woke up. They’re in the room whether he wants them to be or not, and you’re reacting exactly the way your biology is designed to."

Dax’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t deny it.

John nodded toward Chris’s arm. "The sooner we start treatment, the less miserable your household will be."

Chris sighed, rolled up his sleeve, and offered his arm. "Fine. Go ahead. Stabilize me. Prevent spontaneous omega combustion."

John applied the injector with skill. A soft click, a tiny hiss, and it was done. "There. That’s the first dose. You’ll get used to them."

Chris rubbed the spot. "Does this mean I can keep reading the etiquette binder without accidentally seducing the king?"

Nadia lifted her eyes from the tablet, deadpan. "Chris, you could seduce him while wearing a hazmat suit. This is simply damage control."

Dax made a low sound in his throat, one that was almost a warning but softened at the end because, unfortunately for him, it was also agreement.

John packed up the case. "We’ll check your hormone levels next week. Don’t skip doses. Don’t try to go off it early. And try not to cause a diplomatic crisis in the meantime."

Chris scoffed. "I’m the reasonable one here."

Three pairs of eyes turned toward him.

Even Dax.

"...okay rude," Chris muttered.

Nadia smiled slightly and closed her tablet. "You’ll be fine. Both of you will. But..." she glanced at Dax, "don’t let him overwork himself. His cycle is adjusting. Stress affects stabilization."

Chris blinked. "Wait, I can’t stress?"

Dax looked almost panicked for a second.

John cut in before either of them could spiral. "Just... keep him calm. And no extreme physical exertion."

Chris raised a brow at Dax, who suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.

Nadia coughed. "And by that, I mean... no sparring. No intense exercise. No pushing his limits in any area."

Chris couldn’t stop the slow smile that spread across his face. "Any area?"

Dax let out a quiet, pained exhale. "This is going to be a very long week."

Chris patted his arm like he was comforting a wounded war hero. "Don’t worry, Your Majesty. I’ll be gentle."

Dax’s eyes darkened immediately, proving John’s point with brutal accuracy.

Nadia and John exchanged a look that said they were praying for the palace staff.

And then they left the two of them alone, the air warm and a little charged, the treatment still settling into Chris’s bloodstream.

Chris leaned back on the couch, folding his arms. "So. Ten percent?"

Dax nodded once, very slowly.

Chris grinned. "I think I’m starting to understand why you were acting feral at breakfast."

Dax closed his eyes like he needed divine patience. "Chris... please stop talking."

"Why?"

"Because," Dax said, voice quiet and strained, "you’re glowing. And now I know it wasn’t my imagination."