Chapter 21: Chapter 21: The hunt has begun
An hour bled into another half, measured not by speeches or toasts but by the slow procession of courses and the way the crowd’s energy shifted from brittle formality into the velvet haze of true revelry. The chandeliers glowed hotter, perfume thickened, and laughter rolled through the high ceilings like smoke.
At the high table Dax looked every inch the visiting monarch: jacket open now, fingers loose on the stem of his glass, a lazy half-smile curving his mouth whenever a noble leaned in with a compliment. Underneath, his attention was elsewhere, tracking the movements of one server in a plain black jacket who never once stepped too close to the dais.
Tyler Bell appeared at the edge of his vision like a shadow sliding into place. Immaculate black suit, hair slicked back with surgical precision; not one crease out of place. Dax flicked two fingers and the cluster of courtiers at his side melted away without protest.
Tyler waited until the last well-wisher had drifted back under the chandeliers before leaning in, his voice pitched so low it wouldn’t carry beyond the table. "Your Majesty," he murmured. "The Malek file."
A slim black-leather folder landed on the linen between the silver cutlery, its corners perfectly aligned, as though the weight of the information inside wasn’t enough to tilt the entire room.
Dax let his fingers rest on the cover, violet eyes narrowing as though he were savoring a wine before tasting it. Then he flipped it open with the care of a predator unsheathing claws.
"Christopher Malek," Tyler said softly. "Twenty-six. He was registered as beta at eighteen; there are no files that would indicate prior testing."
A beat. "But that’s a lie. He is not a beta."
Dax’s mouth curved slowly, a flash of teeth in the chandelier light. He didn’t look up from the page.
"Secondary traces suppressed since adolescence," Tyler continued, voice even as a scalpel. "Cross-checked with private labs. Every result was buried or tampered with by outside channels. He’s been running from it for years."
Tyler exhaled once and flipped to the next page. "His test file is... unusual."
Dax leaned back in his chair, violet eyes lifting for the first time, his pale-blond hair catching the glow of the crystal chandeliers. "Go on."
"His first result flagged him as a dominant omega," Tyler said. "But the machine used at that time was known for false positives. He was recalled for testing six months later. Those labs show heightened sensitivity to pheromones... but otherwise, beta."
Dax’s fingers tapped once against the folder, thoughtful, the faintest flicker of a smile ghosting across his mouth.
"As Your Majesty suspected, he is at the moment unbonded and unmarked," Tyler finished. "Mister Malek does freelance work only, no permanent contracts, constant movement. Specialized in structural engineering. He’s done subcontractor projects for Saha’s government and a Fitzgeralt subsidiary, always as a reference, never as a direct hire."
The snap of the folder closing was lost beneath a swell of music. Dax’s expression smoothed into something unreadable, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as if the information pleased him more than he’d expected.
"Where is he?" Dax asked softly, already knowing.
"North wing tables," Tyler murmured. "Still here. He hasn’t bolted, but he’s alert." A pause. "Shall we move now?"
Dax’s smirk sharpened as his gaze drifted back across the hall, across the sea of silk and candlelight, to where Christopher Malek moved like a shadow with a tray in his hands, dark eyes scanning the crowd with a wariness only a few would recognize.
"No," Dax said at last, his voice soft and final. "Not yet."
He lifted his wine again, the glass catching firelight like a jewel. "Let him think the night is over," he murmured, a low edge of satisfaction in his tone. "Let him think I’ve forgotten him."
Tyler inclined his head once, perfectly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
Dax raised the glass to his lips but didn’t drink, letting the red swirl catch and scatter the chandelier light. Beyond the dais the wedding had begun to soften; the string quartet had shifted into something warmer, the scent of flowers mixed with wine and perfume, nobles leaning closer now that the formal speeches were over. Trevor’s manor had been built for displays like this, every arch and chandelier designed to frame his wealth and power.
Out of the corner of his eye Christopher moved again, a dark shape weaving between cream-and-gold tables, napkin over one arm, tray balanced high. He never lingered, never stood still long enough to be intercepted. A ghost among the guests at a duke’s wedding.
Dax’s fingers drummed once against the stem.
"Shadow teams?" he asked without looking at Tyler.
"Already deployed," Tyler murmured. "Two on the floor, one in the kitchen corridor, and one at each exit. Extra plainclothes at the garden gates and along the balcony. He won’t leave the Fitzgeralt perimeter without a badge I don’t sign."
Dax’s mouth curved faintly. "Good."
His gaze tracked the omega again. Even at a distance he could see the tension in the shoulders under that plain jacket, the way Christopher’s dark eyes flicked over the crowd as if measuring threats instead of tables. He looked like a man already rehearsing an escape route. Around him, guests laughed and raised crystal flutes, Lucas glittered at Trevor’s side, photographers caught every smile, and the server who’d saved a king’s life threaded between them like a rumor.
Dax tipped the glass but only let the wine brush his mouth, violet eyes still following every step. ’Run if you want. I won’t lose you again.’
"Keep the net invisible," he said softly. "Don’t make him feel cornered. I want him thinking he’s just another waiter at Trevor’s wedding until I decide otherwise."
Tyler’s reply was a quiet "Understood."
Dax sat back, looking for all the world like a man at ease, jacket open, hair gleaming under the crystal light. But under the table his hand closed once around the leather folder, knuckles whitening for a heartbeat before he released it.
Across the hall, Christopher slipped through a gap in the tables, tray shifting as he bent to refill a glass. The scent of him floated faintly even here, threaded through lilies and candle smoke, cutting straight to Dax’s frayed self-control.
Dax let the predator’s smile creep back to his mouth, small and private. "Every step," he murmured to Tyler, still not looking away from the omega. "I want him followed from the moment he leaves this room."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The music swelled again, nobles laughed and toasted, and the King of Saha looked like he was simply enjoying a wedding celebration. Underneath, every move Christopher Malek made at Trevor’s manor was already logged, tagged, and followed, a slow, patient hunt unfolding under cream-and-gold light.