Dax didn't need to do anything except exist behind Chris with that molten, post-bond shamelessness radiating from every inch of him and Chris's entire nervous system reacted like he'd been plugged directly into a power grid.
They reached the intersection of the East Wing corridor where the hall split, one direction toward the council chambers where Dax was supposed to be right now, and the other toward their private residence where absolutely nothing good could happen.
Chris slowed, forcing himself to breathe, to remember he had the upper hand for once. "Meeting," he said, pointing sharply to the left. "You're going to your meeting."
Dax did not look left.
Dax looked at him, hungry, as if the concept of "meeting" was some foreign relic from a world that no longer mattered.
Then, without looking away, he tapped his comm with one finger.
"Killian."
Chris's blood pressure spiked. "Dax, don't you…"
The Prime Steward answered instantly, crisp as ever. "Majesty?"
