Sahir didn't even flinch. Just slid the next set of documents across the table like he was dealing cards in a very high-stakes game of existential regret.
Chris blinked at the parchment. Then back at Sahir.
"Is that… a wedding application?"
"Imperial Union Authorization Request," Sahir corrected, polite as ever. "Pre-signed by His Majesty. Just needs your consent. No pressure."
"No pressure?" Chris repeated, voice rising half an octave. "I've been bitten, knotted, medically examined, and threatened with a gilded pigeon on my ass. You're telling me the only thing standing between me and full political bondage is a "yes" box?"
Sahir didn't blink. "Two boxes. Yes or no. We're very modern."
Chris stared at the form, then at Dax, who was now looking extremely pleased with himself.
"You planned this."
"I plan a grand wedding, but, yes, this will do until then."
Chris looked at him like he was seriously considering throwing the teacup. "You absolute tyrant."
