Chris worked the way he always did when he was cornered by duty: with immaculate posture, sharp focus, and an expression that suggested paperwork was a personal insult he would defeat out of spite. He sat at the desk Dax usually occupied like it belonged to him too - because it did, because the crown was not one person and because Saha didn't get to collapse just because Dax had temporarily relocated his violence to Alamina.
By late afternoon, the sunlight had thinned into autumn gold.
The windows looked colder.
The air in the corridors smelled faintly of polished wood and distant rain, a clean, crisp scent that sharpened everything around it. The palace staff moved a little more quietly than usual, even the guards, as if everyone had collectively decided that the Queen running the country while the King fought pheromone beasts was not the moment to test fate.
Chris read reports until his eyes started to blur.
