CHAPTER 198: CHAPTER 198: I WANT PAYMENT

Chris kicked him weakly from under the desk.

"It’s your job to protect me."

"Physically," Rowan corrected. "Emotionally? Socially? Politically? You’re on your own, High Consort."

Chris dragged both hands down his face. "I can’t do this. Not today. I’m exhausted. I’m embarrassed. My legs barely work."

His phone buzzed again.

SERATHINE—VIP COUNCIL:

Christopher. Do not panic. We only wish to discuss your posture, your breathing, and the fact that you lean into the king like he’s oxygen. Sit straight.

Chris let out a strangled noise. "They’re watching footage. They’re actually studying me."

Rowan patted his back in solidarity. "Welcome to life with matriarchs. They study everything."

Chris dropped his face back onto the desk, voice muffled and dying.

"I want to go back to bed."

"No can do," Rowan said brightly. "You have etiquette training in two hours, a ’posture review’

with Serathine, and now possibly a private lecture from Cressida."

Chris made a guttural sound of despair.

"Also," Rowan added cheerfully, "you should probably warn Dax you’re trending. Again."

"I have the hunch that he already knows and it is fueling his monstrous ego."

Chris didn’t lift his head, just peeled one eye open with the slow, pained resignation of a man who already regretted being conscious.

Rowan snorted. "Monstrous ego? Chris, the man, was radiating pride when he walked out of the private wing. I almost tripped over it."

Chris groaned and pressed his forehead harder into the desk. "Of course he did. Of course. Why wouldn’t he enjoy the entire kingdom watching him act like an unhinged territorial dragon?"

"Correction," Rowan said, counting on his fingers. "They’re watching you make him act like an unhinged territorial dragon. Small but important distinction."

"I’m going to die."

"You’re fine," Rowan assured him. "Dax is probably sitting in that council meeting right now, looking like the picture of self-control and secretly replaying every moment of you wrapped around him..."

"STOP TALKING," Chris snapped, slapping a hand over Rowan’s mouth on instinct before immediately recoiling because touching Rowan was the same as inviting commentary.

Rowan pulled back with a grin sharp enough to be illegal. "He’s definitely smug, though. He walked past me like he hadn’t been seconds away from..."

Chris flung a pen at him.

Rowan caught it effortlessly. "Violence noted."

Chris exhaled in a long, exhausted stream. "I swear, if he comes back with that look again..."

"You’ll melt," Rowan supplied helpfully. "Again."

Chris opened his mouth to deny it, then shut it. Honesty was too painful.

Instead, he picked up his phone with trembling fingers. "I should text him."

"Yes," Rowan agreed, "and tell him to calm down. Use stern words. Maybe caps lock."

Chris typed one letter before deleting it violently. "I can’t! I can’t text him while I’m like this. He’ll smell the embarrassment through the screen."

"That’s not how scent works."

"Well, with him it might!"

Rowan couldn’t argue that, Dax indeed could use his pheromones through the phone if mad enough.

Chris set the phone down like it was a live grenade. "Do you think he’s watching the trending page?"

Rowan looked him dead in the eye. "Chris. He’s the king. He has an entire media division. He definitely has multiple screens open."

Chris paled. "Gods."

"And," Rowan added, leaning back smugly, "if I know him at all? He’s not even pretending to be ashamed."

"He should be ashamed!"

"He’s not."

"What do you mean he’s not?"

"He’s proud." Rowan gestured dramatically. "His mate kissed him in public and the nation screamed. It’s basically a Sahan coronation ritual."

Chris dragged a hand down his face. "I can’t do this."

"You can," Rowan said, patting his shoulder. "And when he gets out of the meeting and comes back looking like he wants to carry you to bed again, I’ll be here to remind you of your responsibilities."

Chris glared weakly. "You’re not helping."

Rowan smirked, opening another tabloid.

"Oh look, another headline."

"NO."

"Yes," Rowan said, eyes bright with mischief. "’The King’s Gaze: How One Look From Dax Altera Rewrote Courtship Standards.’"

Chris stared at the ceiling like he was asking the gods for strength.

"They’re interviewing omegas on the street," Rowan continued. "Apparently, they want their alphas to look at them the way Dax looked at you."

Chris slammed his hands over his face. "Wasn’t he an infamous dominant alpha? The Mad King? Was all of this a lie?"

Rowan barked a laugh. "Oh, he is a dominant alpha. Infamous. Terrifying. Capable of snapping a diplomat in half with one hand."

Chris lifted his head one miserable inch. "Then why, WHY, is he looking at me like a besotted golden retriever with a PhD in worship?"

"Because," Rowan said, flicking through another tabloid like it was morning comics, "that’s what dominant alphas do when they’re bonded and absolutely feral about their mate. And, in your case, because you accidentally fixed his public image. His opposition tried painting him as mad for years. And don’t get me wrong, he was. He absolutely was. But then you arrived and suddenly the public opinion graph looks like a rocket launch."

Chris blinked. Twice. Slowly. "Oh yeah, he told me about it... I stabilized him, didn’t I?"

Rowan nodded like he was discussing weather. "Yup. You showed up, entered an internationally broadcast event in omega attire, kissed him once in public, and boom... twelve-point approval jump. Nobles impressed. Foreign nations confused. Omegas swooning. Alphas praying. Celebrities trying to copy your haircut and robe."

Chris stared in silence. Then, for the first time all morning, he inhaled a deep breath that didn’t sound like a dying animal.

"... So what you’re telling me," he said carefully, "is that I... improved the national approval rating."

Rowan blinked, thrown off by the change. "Yes?"

"And the economic sentiment index... also went up."

"Yes?"

"And foreign relations analysts are writing articles about how I single-handedly stabilized the monarchy."

Rowan slowly lowered his phone. "...Chris?"

Chris sat up straighter, smoothing his shirt and adjusting his diamond collar with growing dignity.

"Then I want payment," he declared.