The rest of the dinner had passed with forced civility and the kind of brittle politeness that made Dax want to disband half his cabinet.
Chris had returned to the table like nothing happened, chin high, scent calm, and posture that dared anyone to look twice. No one did. Not after Rowan escorted Draven out like expired meat.
Sahir had tried to make a speech. Cressida had shut him down with a toast. Serathine told a story about a Viscount who lost his trousers during a summit. And Chris? Chris had leaned against Dax's shoulder halfway through dessert and whispered, "I want credit for not unleashing the drones."
Dax hadn't laughed then. He was too busy memorizing the curve of Chris's mouth when he said it. But he would remember it later and laugh alone in his office like the madman people said he is.
—
A week later, the East Palace was still intact, no one had resigned, and Dax was catching up on six days' worth of bureaucratic sabotage disguised as reports.
