CHAPTER 216: CHAPTER 216: LOVE AND SCHEMING

Dax’s thumb kept tracing slow circles against Chris’s jaw, steady enough to feel comforting but intentional enough to make Chris suspicious. That was the thing about Dax, when he sounded calm, it usually meant reality was about to develop fangs.

Chris narrowed his eyes. "You’ve been thinking. That’s never good for me."

"It’s good for us," Dax corrected, which was even worse.

"Debatable," Chris muttered.

Dax ignored that completely. "Your relatives are coming here. Into my Capital and Palace. Into a country they don’t understand. Into a system that doesn’t bend to Palatine titles."

Chris stared at him, expecting something twisted to come out of Dax’s mouth. "...So far, this sounds diplomatic. I don’t trust it."

"It’s not diplomatic," Dax said, lips curving in a slow, dashing smile. "It’s strategic."

Chris pressed both palms flat against Dax’s chest, as if keeping some distance might keep the madness from spreading. "Define ’strategic’ before I regret breathing in your general direction."

Dax lowered his head, gaze sharp and warm and dangerous all at once. "You’ve been training."

Chris blinked. "Training what?"

Dax raised an eyebrow, as if daring Chris to not know what he was talking about. "The months of protocol with Cressida and Serathine."

Chris felt his stomach drop. "Okay... and?"

"And I want you to use it."

Chris stared at him. "Use it... on whom?"

Dax didn’t miss a beat. "On them."

Chris blinked once. Twice. "Them... as in the Maleks."

"Yes."

"You want me to practice on my extended family."

"Yes."

"You want me to use Cressida’s boot camp and Serathine’s eldritch diplomacy lessons on a bunch of arrogant Palatine nobles."

Dax nodded, still calm. "Correct."

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dax. Love of my increasingly unstable life. That sounds illegal."

"It’s not illegal," Dax corrected. "It’s educational."

"Oh my god."

"Christopher," Dax said, brushing his thumb across Chris’s cheek again, "they are the ones who taught you to fear your own nature. They made you hide. They convinced you that your existence was a burden or a bargaining chip. They failed you before you were even grown."

Chris swallowed. "Kinda dramatic, but... yeah."

"So they can be the ones you learn on," Dax said, and his voice dipped low enough to send a shiver down Chris’s spine. "Every lesson you’ve learned these months? Every skill you didn’t know you had? Use them."

Chris was quiet for a moment, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of Dax’s collarbone.

Then he lifted his head just enough to look up. "You’re serious."

"Deadly," Dax murmured.

Chris narrowed his eyes. "This is revenge dressed up as personal growth."

"Yes," Dax said, without shame.

Chris let out a small, helpless laugh. "You’re psychotic."

"Hmm... Maybe," Dax said, lowering his head until his breath brushed the shell of Chris’s ear, "but you really like the idea."

Chris felt the shiver shoot straight down his spine. "No," he lied instantly.

"Yes," Dax whispered, voice warm enough to melt steel. "Because for once, Christopher Malek gets to walk into a room with every advantage. And they won’t even realize it until it’s too late."

Chris made a strangled noise, somewhere between offended and uncomfortably delighted. "Stop sounding like you’re narrating my villain origin story."

Dax pulled back just enough to look at him, purple eyes bright with smug affection. "You say that as if I’m not proud."

"Oh my GOD," Chris muttered, covering his face with one hand.

Dax gently tugged his hand away. "Christopher," he said softly, "you spent your entire life shrinking yourself so no one would notice. You don’t have to do that anymore."

"That doesn’t mean I get to steamroll my family with etiquette spells," Chris snapped, though his voice lacked any real heat.

"You absolutely get to," Dax corrected. "And you will enjoy it."

Chris squinted up at him, suspicious. "Why do you sound turned on?"

Dax’s expression didn’t shift, which was somehow worse. "I like when you stop surviving and start acting like the force you are."

Chris choked. "THAT DOESN’T HELP."

Dax traced a slow line under Chris’s jaw with one finger, each inch carefully mapped. "You’re not a fragile ornament, Christopher. You’re stronger than you think. You were just never allowed to see it."

Chris stared up at him, chest tightening. "That’s... actually very sweet. Annoying. But sweet."

"And now," Dax continued with that maddening, velvety confidence, "your family will get to meet the version of you that doesn’t disappear into the background."

"God, I hate how much I want to see their faces," Chris muttered.

"I know," Dax said smugly. "And that’s why I said you like the idea."

"Don’t make it sound like a kink," Chris snapped.

Dax smirked. "I didn’t have to."

"Oh my GOD!"

"Christopher," Dax cut in smoothly, "this is justice."

"It feels like recreational homicide."

"No one will die."

"Dax."

"...Probably," he amended.

Chris groaned into both hands. "I cannot believe this is happening."

Dax gently pried his hands away again, kissing his knuckles and then holding them against his chest. "You don’t have to believe it yet. You just have to trust me."

Chris glared up at him, small and furious and slightly energized. "Do not use the trust card on me right now."

Dax leaned down, brushing their foreheads together. "Then let me use this one."

Chris blinked. "What card?"

"The ’I know you’re ready’ card," Dax murmured. "You think you’re still eighteen. You’re not. You are my mate and consort. And you’re walking into this with training, support, and more power than they ever expected you to have."

Chris felt a slow, reluctant warmth spread through his chest, combining pride, fear, and excitement.

"...So what? I walk in and destroy them politely?"

"Yes," Dax said, voice brightening like someone who’d just been offered dessert. "Exactly."

Chris groaned. "...Fine. But if they cry, you’re handling it."

"No," Dax corrected, smiling like a man who’d already won the war. "If they cry, it means you did it right."

Chris shoved his face into Dax’s shirt to hide the feral grin creeping up his mouth. "I hate you."

"You adore me," Dax reminded him gently.

"...Unfortunately," Chris muttered.

Dax’s arms tightened around him, warm and solid and smug. "Good," he said.

"Good," he said, sounding far too pleased with himself for a man who had just encouraged familial psychological warfare. His hand slid to the small of Chris’s back, guiding him gently away from the table. "Come on. It’s time for dinner."

Chris blinked up at him. "Dinner?"

"Yes," Dax said, already walking him toward the door like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Food. The thing you forget exists when stressed."

Chris rolled his eyes. "I eat."

"Air does not count," Dax countered, opening the door for him.

Chris stepped out into the hallway, still flushed from the conversation, still trying to get his brain back in order. Dax fell into step beside him, taking up half the corridor with sheer height and presence. Every few seconds, his hand brushed Chris’s lower back.

Chris glared at the contact. "You know you can’t touch me, right?"

Dax stopped mid-stride, turning to look down at him in genuine confusion. "I am touching you."

"I meant the other touching," Chris clarified, jabbing a finger upward at Dax’s broad chest. "The ban, Dax. The agreement. If I have to learn those books, you don’t get to put those giant hands anywhere that isn’t PG-rated."

Dax made a noise so deep and frustrated it sounded like a lion being denied its meal. "Christopher..."

"No," Chris said, picking up his pace before Dax could trap him against a wall again. "Rules are rules. If I’m doomed to etiquette hell, you’re doomed to celibacy."

Dax’s sigh echoed down the corridor like he was being spiritually punished. "This feels disproportionate."

"You agreed," Chris reminded him, absolutely smug.

"I agreed under duress," Dax muttered.