The door to their private wing slid open with a dignified hiss, a stark, almost comical contrast to the chaos Chris was left behind in bed.
And Dax stepped out, not as the molten, post-bond disaster Chris had been wrestling into self-control minutes ago.
Not the shameless, hungry, "this is agony" king who had nearly cancelled national duties for round two.
No.
This was King Dax Altera and his expression was carved from royal stone.
Every trace of earlier feral heat was locked away like it had been a hallucination.
Rowan, who had been leaning on the opposite wall looking like a man whose soul had left his body three times today alone, snapped to attention so fast he choked on nothing.
"Majesty…!" Rowan squeaked, immediately regretting the pitch of his own voice.
Dax paused mid-stride and turned his head.
Rowan froze.
