Neither of them remembered the final speech.
Not the closing fanfare, not the ceremonial procession, not the string quartet's diplomatic rendition of the Sahan anthem. The moment the palace doors closed behind them, shutting out the applause, the flash of press drones, and the breathless commentary of ministers and nobles who had witnessed the royal equivalent of a romantic detonation, Dax let go of restraint like it was a costume he'd worn long enough.
The corridor outside the gala hall had been cleared ahead of time. Of course it had. Killian saw this coming a week ago. Rowan had probably cleared it by force.
Chris didn't have the mental bandwidth to care.
Not when Dax moved like that, like a fuse was already burning somewhere under his skin.
The door clicked shut.
Dax turned.
Chris didn't even get a full breath before his back hit the wall.
Hard.
