The palace buzzed with the muted tension of a public day, guards shifting into formation, distant voices echoing through vaulted halls, and the whole building stretching awake in ceremony.
Chris, meanwhile, was very deliberately not thinking about the disaster zone beneath his clothes.
He stood before the tall mirror while fastening the last hook of the high inner collar of soft cream fabric rising all the way to his jaw, hiding every single incriminating bite Dax had left on his neck, collarbone, shoulders, chest… pretty much everywhere.
The diamond collar piece sat over it, elegant, shining enough to distract anyone from wondering why Chris looked like a man who needed a week of bed rest.
His outer robe was pale with bronze embroidery, flowing like something out of a royal painting.
Exactly the opposite of how he felt.
Behind him, Dax stared like he was witnessing a holy event.
"You're staring," Chris muttered, fussing with the collar.
