Chapter 45: Chapter 45: Before dinner
The afternoon drifted by in an odd kind of quiet. Mia had claimed the sofa with her shoes off, scrolling idly through her phone, while Chris sat at the terrace table with the laptop Tyler had left for him. He wasn’t really working, more staring at files, trying to pretend his thoughts weren’t looping back to Dax every five minutes. The villa’s rhythm was soft: distant voices of staff, the muted crash of waves, and the smell of salt and polished wood.
A knock came at the suite door, firm but not loud.
"Come in," Chris called without taking his eyes from the laptop screen.
Tyler stepped in, tablet under his arm, expression as even as always. "Mr. Malek. Miss Malek." He inclined his head slightly to each of them. "Dinner will be served in an hour. His Majesty asks that you both dress for the occasion."
Mia raised an eyebrow from the sofa. "Dress for the occasion?"
"Formal but not ceremonial," Tyler said. "Out of respect for the guests. We’ve prepared clothing for you in the adjoining room. Tailored to your sizes."
Chris closed the laptop slowly. "You had my sizes?"
"We estimated from your existing wardrobe," Tyler replied without missing a beat. "Alterations have been done this afternoon."
Mia gave a low whistle. "Fast."
Tyler’s mouth almost quirked. "It’s our job. If you need assistance with the fastenings, the staff will be on call."
Chris stood, wary but resigned. "Right. Clothes. Of course."
"Dinner is at seven," Tyler said, already turning toward the door. "Someone will knock when it’s time to go down."
As the door closed again behind him, Mia flopped back on the cushions, grinning. "Well. At least they didn’t hand you a collar."
Chris shot her a look. "Yet." He pushed the chair back and headed for the adjoining room. "Let’s see what the royal dressing room has in store."
—
The adjoining rooms had been quietly transformed while they were on the terrace. One was set for Chris, the other for Mia; muted lights, garment bags already unzipped, polished benches with shoes and accessories laid out. The staff had vanished, leaving only the soft scent of fresh linen.
Chris slipped into his room first. The black suit hanging from the rail was cut lean and light, with a crisp white shirt folded beside it. On the low table, however, sat a tray with fresh bandages, antiseptic cream, and a pair of soft leather slippers instead of formal shoes. A discreet note in Dax’s hand rested on top: You need to change the dressing, either do it by yourself or ask the staff to help you.
A quiet knock at the inner door preceded a soft voice. "Mr. Malek? We were sent to help with your feet if you need it."
Chris glanced down at the state of his bandages, feeling the sting from the blisters when he moved. "I can manage," he called back, more out of reflex than pride.
"Very well," the voice said. "If you change your mind, press the bell. Everything you need is on the table."
He dressed slowly, swapping his old bandages for new ones, the antiseptic cool against his skin. The slippers were softer than he’d expected; when he slid them on, they didn’t rub at all. In the mirror he saw a man who looked as if he belonged at a state dinner, only barefoot inside soft shoes.
Next door, Mia had been given her own space. She emerged a few minutes later in a black designer dress that skimmed her frame, discreet but expensive. She’d chosen a pair of delicate earrings from the jewelry laid out for her and was already twirling them in the light like a magpie.
Chris stepped out at the same time, tugging at his cuffs. "We look like we’re going to a very fancy hostage negotiation," he muttered.
Mia smoothed her hands down the dress, eyes bright. "Speak for yourself. I look amazing."
Another knock at the main suite door signalled Tyler. "His Majesty will meet you in the dining room," he said when Chris opened it. His gaze flicked over both of them, noting the suit and the slippers. "Everything comfortable?"
Chris gave a curt nod. "It’s fine."
"Good," Tyler said. "Dinner is ready."
Mia leaned close to her brother as they followed him down the corridor. "You didn’t tell me he was this," she searched for the word, "this much."
Chris shot her a warning look. "Don’t."
She grinned, undeterred. "Too late. I’m already swooning."
Chris groaned under his breath. "This is going to be a long dinner."
—
Dax stood in front of the long mirror, fastening the last button at his collar. The long black Sahan coat lay perfectly over his frame, cut close through the shoulders and falling straight to mid-thigh, the high stand-up collar closing neatly at his throat. Dark gold thread traced subtle patterns down the center panel and along the cuffs. Simple black trousers and polished elegant black shoes completed the look.
He adjusted the fall of the coat with one hand, smoothing a faint crease, and watched his own reflection steady. It was a king’s silhouette without the crown or his usual gold embroidered shawl.
The door behind him opened, Tyler entering. "Mr. Malek and Your Majesty’s guest are ready."
Dax inclined his head once in the mirror, fingertips brushing over the last button at his collar. The coat sat exactly as it should, black lines clean over his frame, the dark gold thread at the cuffs catching the lamplight when he moved. "Good," he murmured, mostly to himself.
The door clicked open behind him and Tyler stepped in, tablet tucked under his arm. "Dinner’s plated," he said, voice low. "Staff are in position. They’re both waiting outside the dining room. Shall I escort them in, or will you receive them yourself?"
Dax looked at him through the mirror for a beat, then turned. "I’ll go," he said, adjusting one cuff. "And tell the staff this is just a dinner. There is no need for announcements and political etiquette."
Tyler’s mouth ticked, almost a smile. "Understood. Just service."
"That’s right." Dax gave a small nod, glancing at his own reflection again. "He’s nervous enough as it is."
"I noticed," Tyler said quietly. "The sister, though... she looks like she’s already charmed."
A faint sound that might have been a laugh escaped Dax. "Yes. She does."
"I’ll see to the staff," Tyler said, already turning for the door.
"Thank you," Dax said, and this time it wasn’t a command. Tyler gave a brief nod and slipped out, closing the door softly.
Alone again, Dax straightened the line of his collar with one thumb. The simpler coat and soft shoes made him look less like a monarch and more like a man, still unmistakably Sahan, but stripped of the weight. ’Keep it simple,’ he thought. ’Let him breathe before he arrives to Saha.’