The palace windows stretched wide, glass panes catching the dying gold of Altera's evening lights. From the royal office, the capital seemed alive, sprawling like a furnace that refused to dim, its towers glowing, its streets humming far below. Yet behind the desk, the king stood motionless, broad shoulders framed against the horizon, violet eyes unblinking.
Dax hadn't moved in hours. Not since the silence.
The collar had been meant to anchor Christopher, to bind him in a way words and crowns could not. Instead, the quiet that followed had pressed against the walls like smoke, thick enough to suffocate. He had scented it on him earlier, anger, sharp and wild, but alive. And now? Nothing. Just silence.
His jaw tightened, the weight of his pheromones slipping into the room unchecked, a storm he hadn't realized he was unleashing. Heavy, iron-rich, searing at the edges like heat rolling off black stone. The air carried it, thick enough that the servants had fled long ago.
