Later, the palace directed them to the only place that mattered: the special section of the royal hospital, which had sealed floors, controlled access, guards in the corners with earpieces and hard eyes, and a sterile silence that felt enforced rather than peaceful.
Dax walked its corridor like he belonged to it and hated it.
The lights were too bright. The air smelled of disinfectant and filtered ventilation. Every surface reflected something back at him - his shoulders still carrying blood memory, his hands too steady for a man who wanted to shake, his face composed in that way kings learned to be composed when their insides were collapsing.
He had left Chris in their suite with Nero for the moment. Not because he wanted distance - he didn't - but because Otto was here and Arion was here and the child mattered more than anyone's grief.
If Dax stopped functioning now, it wouldn't bring Killian back.
It would only risk the next loss.
