[BL]Reborn as the Empire's Most Desired Omega
Chapter 208: Poisoned wine

Chapter 208: Chapter 208: Poisoned wine

Dax’s brows rose higher at that, his violet gaze sharpening with interest, the faintest smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth as the music and laughter carried on obliviously around them.

"Do you mean poisoned?" he repeated softly, the words slipping from his tongue with the laziness of a man in control. His was curiosity, cold and cutting, the kind of curiosity that made lesser men confess without being asked twice.

Christopher straightened from his bow, heart hammering against his ribs but his voice was steady, far steadier than he felt. "I mean that someone attempted to insult Your Majesty’s table." His black eyes flicked briefly to the glass still in the attendant’s hand, then back to Dax. "And that such an insult does not belong in this hall."

Dax let the words settle. He didn’t blink. He didn’t look away. For a breath, it felt as though the entire glittering hall had narrowed to the space between them, to the glass of wine catching light like a blade. Then, with disturbing calm, Dax shifted in his chair, turning slightly so that the full weight of his presence bore down on the trembling attendant holding the tray.

"Put it down," Dax said, voice low enough that it could have been mistaken for kindness, if not for the edge beneath.

The attendant obeyed immediately, setting the crystal onto a nearby table with hands that now shook just enough to make the wine ripple.

"Now," Dax continued, eyes still on the attendant, "tell me who handed you that glass."

The young man opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His throat bobbed; his face had gone as pale as a sheet.

Christopher felt a surge of grim satisfaction but didn’t let it show. He simply took a step back, keeping his head low in deference, though his eyes stayed on the exchange. ’This is more entertaining than I thought it would be.’

"Answer me," Dax said, softer this time, almost intimate, And far more dangerous for it.

The attendant stammered something, an incoherent name, a direction, eyes darting toward the far side of the hall. Dax didn’t even glance that way; he simply made a small gesture with two fingers.

Two guards moved from the shadows of the colonnade with predatory precision. One seized the attendant’s arm, twisting it behind his back with quiet efficiency, the other retrieving the glass and slipping it into a sealed case.

Christopher tensed instinctively, but Dax didn’t look at him yet. He watched as the guards marched the attendant toward the nearest archway, the man’s protests rising thin and frantic before the heavy door shut behind them.

Only then did Dax’s attention slide back to Christopher, slow as the turn of a blade. His expression was unreadable now, save for that faint, knowing curl at the corner of his mouth.

"You," Dax said at last, leaning back slightly in his chair, fingers drumming once against the polished table. "You have quick eyes. And quicker instincts." A pause. "Name."

’Fuck.’ Chris thought that Dax would ignore him, that maybe he would get to speak with one of his secretaries or guards, but he definitely didn’t expect for a king to give him attention.

Christopher swallowed, forcing his spine straight even as every instinct told him to drop his gaze to the floor and disappear into the crowd like smoke.

"Christopher Malek, Your Majesty," he said, bowing again, the words measured, careful. His own voice surprised him, steady, even respectful, though his pulse pounded in his ears like a drum.

Dax repeated the name slowly, tasting it like a wine he wasn’t sure about yet. "Malek."

His violet eyes narrowed with that unsettling curiosity again, the kind that dissected and cataloged without mercy.

"You’re not part of my household," Dax went on, eyes flicking briefly over Christopher’s plain black server’s jacket. "Nor Trevor’s. Nor the Empire’s own staff."

It wasn’t a question, and yet Christopher felt cornered.

"No, Your Majesty," he admitted. "I was... called in last minute. A favor." His jaw tensed faintly. "My sister is on your usual rotation."

"A favor," Dax repeated, and this time his smile edged toward sharp amusement. "A freelancer, then?"

’Of course he knows who I’m replacing. Of course, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Now this happens.’

Christopher hesitated only a second, hating the way the word felt on his tongue under the weight of those eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty. A freelancer."

Dax leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers drumming once more against the polished wood, thoughtful. "A freelancer with enough spine to interrupt a king mid-toast and accuse his wine of... insult."

His words carried no heat, no anger, but there was a glint in his gaze that made Christopher’s shoulders tighten.

"It didn’t seem wise to stay silent, Your Majesty," Christopher replied carefully, keeping his head low though his black eyes stayed sharp. "Not when I saw what I saw."

A soft laugh escaped Dax, low, rich, and dangerous in its amusement. "Not wise," he echoed, leaning forward just enough for the light to catch his signet ring. "Or not stupid. There’s a difference."

’Did he praise me or insult me? I hate nobles. Why did I accept to replace Mia? Why? I could be home with a drink...’

For a moment, silence stretched, thin as wire, while around them the music swelled and the wedding celebration carried on, oblivious.

’Please say something.’ Chris begged.

Then Dax tilted his head, the faintest smirk touching his lips. "When this is over, Malek," he said softly, "you will remain. Someone will find you."

Christopher blinked, caught off guard, but managed another bow. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

"Good." Dax’s violet gaze lingered on him a moment longer, unreadable, before he picked up another glass, a different one this time, and raised it slightly. "And, Malek?"

Christopher froze, waiting. ’What now?’ He groaned internally.

"Next time you decide to save a king," Dax murmured, his smile widening by a fraction, "try not to look so surprised when he notices that you are a dominant omega."

’Shit.’