Chapter 72: Chapter 72: Care
The violet eyes didn’t look away as Dax closed the last meters between them. The staff fanned out a discreet distance behind him; only Tyler stayed close enough to murmur something about reports and security, a tablet clutched against his chest. Killian’s expression was the same unreadable mask he wore at court, but Chris caught the faint flicker of his gaze sliding from the towel to him and back again.
It was late in the afternoon now. The long shadows of the hedges crossed Dax’s elegant shoes as he walked, and the gold of the sun softened the harsh line of his shoulders. He looked tired but not diminished; if anything, there was a taut energy in the way he moved, like a bow just unstrung.
Chris’s stomach was a hard knot. He told himself not to look at the blood, not to imagine whose it was. Yet when Dax stopped in front of them, a few paces away, the first words out of his mouth surprised even him. "Are you hurt?" he asked, voice low but carrying.
For a heartbeat nobody moved. Rowan blinked; Tyler’s brows lifted. Dax stared at him as though Chris had just spoken in a language no one else could understand. Then, slowly, something eased in the king’s face. The violet of his eyes warmed, and his mouth curved, not his public smile, but something small and private.
"No," he said at last, his tone softer than Chris had heard it all day. "Not a scratch."
Chris’s eyes flicked to the towel, then back to Dax’s hands. "Then whose—"
"An assassin," Dax cut in quietly, before the question could finish. "He is detained now. There is no need to worry about it."
Chris let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "You need to wash your hands if you want to eat with me."
For a heartbeat there was only the sound of the fountain and the faint rustle of leaves. Then Dax’s smile widened, a flicker of white teeth flashing in the late sunlight. "Are you asking me to eat with you?"
Chris blinked, realizing how it must have sounded. "I’m asking you not to touch food with blood on your hands," he said dryly, trying to recover, but his ears burned anyway.
Dax’s eyes glinted, amused. "Still sounds like an invitation." He handed the towel back to Tyler without looking, then rolled his cuffs down with unhurried precision. "Give me five minutes to wash, and I’ll see if your picnic passes inspection."
Rowan bit down a grin, shifting the basket on his arm. "Looks like you’re getting company," he murmured to Chris under his breath.
Chris shot him a look but didn’t answer. The garden felt different now, still immaculate, but the tension between them had shifted, just slightly, like a string loosened by a single unexpected note.
Dax said a few words to Killian and disappeared through a side door that led back into the wing. The staff peeled away with him, leaving only the sound of the fountain and the faint hum of insects in the hedges. For the first time since stepping outside, Chris properly felt the sun on his skin.
Rowan laid the basket on the edge of the fountain and began unpacking it without comment: covered dishes, slices of bread, fruit, and a carafe of water. "He won’t take long," he said quietly. "He never does."
Chris lowered himself onto the marble rim opposite him, elbows on his knees. "I didn’t mean to sound like an invitation."
"I know," Rowan said, still unwrapping plates. "Doesn’t mean it won’t be one."
Chris’s mouth twitched but he said nothing. His stomach was tight, but the image of blood on Dax’s hands kept circling back in his mind. He hadn’t wanted to see him hurt. For all his bitterness, that had been his first instinct, to ask if Dax was all right, and that realization sat uneasily under his ribs.
The door in the hedge opened again. Dax came back across the gravel path alone, jacket gone, sleeves rolled down, his hands clean and damp from the wash. He moved more slowly now, the edge of his presence softened by the late light.
Rowan rose as he approached, giving him space. Dax’s gaze found Chris immediately, violet eyes flicking over him with the faintest hint of amusement. "Inspection time," he murmured.
Chris straightened a little on the fountain’s edge. "At least your hands are clean."
"They are." Dax stopped a step away, close enough for the scent of soap and warm skin to replace the memory of blood. "You didn’t have to wait for me."
"I wasn’t," Chris said, a touch too fast. "Rowan was showing me the gardens."
"Good," Dax said softly. "I’d rather you saw them like this."
He sat down on the opposite side of the fountain, not crowding him, fingers lacing loosely between his knees. "Show me what Marta packed," he said. "And we’ll see if it passes."
"Or you could just say that you are hungry," Chris said, raising a brow.
Dax’s mouth curved, the corner of it catching a glint of sunlight. "I am hungry," he said, his tone turning low and lazy. "But I wanted to see if you’d offer before I reached for it."
Chris gave a small, incredulous laugh. "Offer? You’re the king. You can take whatever you want."
"Not everything," Dax replied, eyes still on him. "Some things I have to be invited to."
Chris tore a piece of bread off one of the rolls and handed it across without looking at him. "Congratulations. You’ve been invited to carbs."
Dax took it between two fingers, a faint laugh under his breath. "Bread first. I was hoping for cake."
"You get what you’re given," Chris said, reaching for a plate. "This isn’t the royal kitchen. It’s Marta’s basket."
"I like Marta," Dax said easily. "She packs well."
"She’s also the only one who dares to tell me what she really thinks," Chris muttered. "You might want to keep her."
"Already have," Dax said, and the grin that flashed across his face was almost boyish. "But right now I’m keeping you."
Chris rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "You’re impossible."
"That’s not what you asked me at the hedge," Dax murmured, leaning forward to take a slice of fruit. "You asked if I was hurt."
Chris’s fingers stilled on the plate. "You had blood on your hands," he said flatly. "I’m not completely heartless."
"I know." Dax bit into a piece of melon, still watching him. "That’s why I’m here instead of at another meeting."
Chris huffed out a breath, part exasperation, part something he didn’t want to name. "Eat your fruit, Your Majesty. Before it warms up."
"Yes, Christopher." Dax’s tone was amused but softer than before. "I’ll behave. For now."
Rowan, a few paces away, caught Chris’s eye and made a small, helpless gesture with one hand, at least he’s eating, right?, and turned back to the basket.
Chris didn’t answer. But as he poured water into a glass and slid it across the fountain to Dax, the tightness in his chest had eased a fraction.