"Caught," Dax said. "Not condemned."
That wiped some of the amusement from Nero's face, which was, in Dax's opinion, useful.
Because yes, he approved.
He approved of the fact that Nero had loved one person long enough for it to stop being impulse and become character. Ten years, in one form or another, was not a passing fixation. It was not court boredom, youthful vanity, or the kind of hunger that mistook possession for depth. It had survived age, timing, humiliation, distance, and enough reasons to die quietly three times over.
Dax respected that.
He respected, too, that Nero had not tried to replace the feeling with something easier. He had chosen the more difficult path and remained on it with all the stubborn patience Dax himself had never possessed.
That part, unfortunately, was Chris.
Dax had found out Chris was an omega and kidnapped him that same night.
There was no prettier word for it.
No useful lie to place over the shape of the memory.
