Chapter 64: Chapter 64: Cage tour
Chris lifted his mug again, trying to hide the heat still in his face. ’Second day in Saha and already ten ghosts in the walls,’ he thought. ’Five days with Dax and I still don’t know where the line is between charm and teeth.’ Aloud he managed, "Guess I’m full of surprises."
Marta’s smile deepened as she gestured toward the corridor. "Come on, sir. Let’s get you some breakfast before the day starts. You’ll feel better with food in you." Her tone softened into something almost maternal. "And while we’re walking, maybe you can tell me what you actually like. Any allergies, favorite dishes, or times of day you prefer to eat? His Majesty gave me a blank check, but I’d rather cook for a person than for a title."
Chris blinked at her, a little disoriented by the normality of the question. ’When was the last time someone asked me what I want?’ "Coffee," he said finally. "And something that doesn’t smell like perfume. I’m not picky." He hesitated, then added, "Not lamb and I think the king already informed you about my allergy to alkaloids in the unprocessed poppy seeds."
Marta nodded at once, tapping a quick note into her tablet. "He did, but it’s good to hear it from you directly. Coffee, no lamb, no unprocessed poppy. Easy enough." She gave him another small, reassuring smile. "We’ll start there and build up once you’ve settled."
Rowan fell into step beside them, his presence a quiet wall. Chris glanced up at him. "How tight is it, really?" he asked, keeping his tone light. "The security. I’m not going anywhere, but it’s hard not to wonder."
Rowan’s rasp held a faint undertone of humor. "Ten agents under my direct command, rotating discreetly around this wing and anywhere you’re allowed to go. That’s aside from the permanent palace staff His Majesty already had in place. You won’t see them unless you need them. But if something happens..." his gaze flicked briefly toward the window. "...they’re the ones between you and everything else."
Chris raised his brows. "Ten agents. Just for me?"
Rowan’s mouth ticked in the ghost of a smile. "Just for you. You’re a consort now. We’d be failing at our jobs if we let you fend for yourself."
Marta added gently, "His Majesty will have our heads if anything happens to you. I wasn’t joking about that."
—
The rest of the morning blurred into a slow tour that felt at once like freedom and like being herded. Marta and Rowan stayed close, guiding him through Dax’s private wing without lingering too long in any one place. They were careful about their pace, careful not to make it feel like a security sweep, but Chris still caught the glint of cameras and the occasional flicker of movement at the end of a hall, the ten ghosts Rowan had mentioned, not far away.
The king’s wing was nothing like the parts of the palace Chris had glimpsed on arrival. Outside it, the architecture turned modern and austere: clean lines, pale stone, soft-humming climate vents, and sensor-locked doors that slid instead of swung. Inside Dax’s domain, the air changed. Carved arches framed windows with latticed shadows. Inlaid floors and muted rugs softened the echo of their steps. The ceilings glowed with the kind of warm light you only got from old glass and hand-tooled metal. Even the potted plants looked like they had been chosen to echo a pattern on the wall rather than to simply stand there.
Chris’s professional eye couldn’t help cataloguing it. ’Load-bearing columns hidden in filigree. Vaulting disguised as ornament. These arches aren’t just pretty; they’re taking half the weight of the upper floors. Even the marble panels had hairline seams that told him someone had retrofitted modern conduits behind them without disturbing the original design. Dax’s people either hire brilliant engineers or buy whole firms outright.’
Every corridor seemed to open onto another room, and each room was large enough for Chris to get lost in. By the time they reached the end of the wing, he was sure he could walk for hours and still not find the same door twice. ’Even the circulation pattern’s intentional,’
he thought. ’You could host a state banquet or stage an evacuation without bottlenecking once. Efficient and intimidating at the same time.’"Easy to lose track, isn’t it?" Rowan said quietly as they passed a high-arched window that looked out toward one of the courtyards. "I told you, ten of my people on rotation. You won’t see them, but they’re there."
Chris nodded, glancing out at the gardens below. ’Second day and I’m still mapping the cage. I’d be stupid not to know where the exits are.’
Marta slowed as they approached a set of double doors cut from dark wood and inlaid with gold. "This is the reception room," she said, lowering her voice as though stepping into a chapel. "His Majesty uses it for high-level visitors. It’s... different."
They stepped inside and Chris stopped without meaning to. The space opened like a storybook: soaring ceilings painted in muted colors, chandeliers spilling light like molten crystal, and balconies and marble pilasters glinting in the sun. Every detail had been designed to make a statement, not to him, but to whoever was important enough to be invited here. It didn’t look like the rest of the wing at all. It looked like the inside of a fairytale castle built to impress gods.
His engineer’s brain itched. ’Hidden steel under the plaster. Reinforced joists to hold the chandeliers. Those balconies could take a crowd, not just a handful of nobles. Even the acoustics, you could speak from the dais and hear it at the far door without a mic. Showmanship built on structural logic.’
Chris took a slow breath, trying not to show how much the sight struck him. ’This is for show,’ he thought. ’This is what he wants them to see when they come for him. And I’m the prop that stands next to him.’
Rowan watched him from the corner of his eye but didn’t comment. Marta just smiled faintly. "We won’t linger," she said. "It’s overwhelming at first."
They moved on, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the rugs and marble. By the time they turned back toward Chris’s suite, the day had already slipped past, leaving him with a head full of hallways, names, hidden supports, and a dawning sense of just how vast and carefully engineered Dax’s world really was.