Chris arrived at the East Wing corridor looking like he'd been sculpted out of diplomatic obligation, expensive tailoring, and sheer willpower.
Against all his whining about etiquette classes, Sahir's lectures, and the two matriarchs terrorizing him with binders and footnotes on how to breathe "correctly," Chris had actually tried. He learned the order of precedence. He practiced the greetings. He memorized titles that humans had no business inventing. He even learned how not to slouch in chairs that cost more than his entire Palatine apartment.
He did it because it mattered in Dax's world. Now… his too.
And honestly? In the first days in Saha, he'd been curious, stupidly curious, about how much things cost in Dax's wing. After realizing the prices weren't "contact us for an evaluation," but more like "if you have to ask, you cannot afford the hallway you're standing in," Chris had given up. Entirely.
