The days that followed blurred into a disciplined kind of chaos.
Chris's schedule had gone from brutal to absurd. Lessons in diplomacy and public address were stacked like bricks over etiquette drills, and now Killian had quietly slotted in three extra "fitting reviews," masked behind vague calendar titles so seamlessly even the palace AI system assumed he was being tailored for the state dinner.
He survived on caffeine, sarcasm, and pure spite. The robe stayed a secret. Barely. More than once he'd caught himself mid-sentence around Dax, nearly saying 'hemline' instead of 'headline.'
By day three, Dax had looked at him over breakfast, still half-asleep and in a robe of his own, and said, "You're twitching like you're hiding a diplomatic scandal."
Chris had just nodded and replied, "Sleep deprivation is a scandal."
"You can reduce the hours of lectures again; don't let Cressida and Sahir bully you in their madness."
