Shackled To The Enemy King

Alexander’s glare did nothing to unsettle David.

Men like him were not moved by anger, especially not from someone younger. He had stood in the middle of battlefields, watched brothers fall one by one, and continued forward without hesitation. A young man’s fury, no matter how intense, was insignificant in comparison.

"She’s going to start a family," David continued, his tone carrying that same quiet, immovable certainty. "She’ll raise his children properly; children who understand duty, who will serve this nation with honor. That will be her contribution. That will be her purpose... her atonement."

Atonement.

The word lingered, heavy and deliberate.

Alexander said nothing at first.

He knew men like David. Men who shaped truth to their convenience, who spoke with conviction not because they were right, but because they were used to being obeyed. Lies, half-truths, manipulation... it was all the same to them, as long as it bent others to their will.

And yet...

The words did not leave him untouched. Because beneath the certainty, beneath the control, something else surfaced in his mind...

That look in her eyes the last time he saw her. That quiet, restrained pain she had tried to hide.

It returned now, unbidden. And that... That was what unsettled him.

Had Roxana agreed to this? Had she truly chosen this path?

The thought carved through him with quiet precision, and for the first time, doubt slipped past his defenses. His mind went back to the unanswered calls, to the silence that greeted him every time he reached out.

Had she blocked him?

The possibility struck deeper than anything David had said.

"You expect me to believe she agreed to this?" Alexander asked at last, his voice lower now, controlled to the point of danger. "To abandon her work? To become... that?"

But even as he spoke, his thoughts were no longer entirely in the present.

They had already begun to drift back to another time. Another life.

Roxana...

Not in silk and shadow, not in a hall of power, but in a small inn at the edge of a quiet town, where the mornings smelled of bread and the nights carried secrets more valuable than gold.

She was the innkeeper’s daughter. And when he met her, he was a prince pretending not to be one.

He had thought himself clever back then, convinced that a simple change of clothes could erase who he was. But she had seen through him almost immediately, her sharp blue eyes missing nothing.

"You’re far too elegant for a farmer," she had said lightly when he questioned her. "You handle things like they matter. No farmer places a wooden tumbler that carefully."

He had laughed. Not because she was wrong, but because she was right in a way no one else had been.

At first, it was her perception that intrigued him. Then it was her mind. And slowly, without him realizing when it happened, it became everything about her.

The way her eyes lit up when she spoke. The way her lips curved when she thought. The quiet confidence in her decisions. Even the silences she kept.

She was far too intelligent for the life she lived, and yet she never seemed dissatisfied with it. There was a calm acceptance in her, as though she had already made peace with something the world did not understand.

And still, she chose to help him, even when he told her not to, and even when he warned her of the risks.

She would gather information, slipping through places unnoticed, returning not just with answers but with strategies, with insights that rivaled seasoned commanders.

And one calm night, when he was drunk, and she was by his side, they’d kissed.

"Your Highness," she said, her voice steady in the dim light, "allow me to be your informant... until I die."

She had never asked for anything. Not status, not protection and not even acknowledgment. Just that.

And he had let her. That was his greatest mistake.

Because while he had been bound by duty, by expectations, by a crown that dictated every choice he made, she had lived in a world far less forgiving.

He had married out of duty.

She had married the man her father chose.

And he had never thought to question it. Never thought to look deeper. Never thought to see what was right in front of him.

Her husband was jealous and suspicious. Possessive in the ugliest way. And in the end... That jealousy had killed her.

The realization had come too late. Far too late for him.

Only after she was gone did he understand what she had truly been to him. Only then did he realize that the smartest woman he had ever known... Had also been the only one he loved.

He had mourned her. He grieved her in silence, in rage, in a way that no victory or title could ever soothe.

But grief did nothing. Tears did nothing. They did not bring her back.

When his own end came, brutal, sudden, and inevitable, he expected nothing. And yet...

As the world blurred around him, as voices cried out and hands tried desperately to hold onto him, he had seen her.

Those same blue eyes... That same quiet, knowing smile...

Waiting.

Finally... somewhere they could stand as equals.

Finally... somewhere without distance, without roles, without everything that had kept them apart.

That was what he had believed in his final moments.

And now... He had found her again, in this life, in this world.

And still... There was a divide. Different, but just as real. Just as suffocating.

Alexander’s gaze hardened, something resolute settling beneath the storm of everything he had just relived.

No. He was not going to accept distance as fate. He was not going to stand aside while someone else decided her life for her.

He won’t lose her again, not when he had been given another chance.

He wanted to hear her laugh again, to argue with her, to listen to her thoughts, her strategies, the quiet brilliance she carried so effortlessly...

He wanted... Her.

And this time... he was not going to let anything come between them.

David scoffed again, dismissive as ever, though there was a faint impatience beneath it now. "What is there for her to agree to? She understands what matters."

That was the moment Alexander’s restraint came closest to snapping.

His fists tightened until the strain showed through the clean lines of his sleeves, the muscles in his arms coiling with a force that seemed barely contained. For a fleeting second, it looked as though he might simply push past everything in front of him and take what he came for.

But he didn’t move.

Not yet.

"Let me in, David," he said, each word measured, deliberate, his voice held steady through sheer will. "Let me speak to her."

For a brief moment, their eyes locked. David had expected anger and defiance.

What he had not expected... was this.

There was something in Alexander’s gaze that did not belong to youth or arrogance. It was not the impulsive fire of a man who had something to prove. He looked no longer like the boy he could make retreat with his head bowed.

For the first time, the corners of David’s lips faltered.

This was not the same man who had stood before him a decade ago, asking for his daughter’s hand with nothing but hope and stubborn pride.

Those eyes... They looked like they had seen war.

David cleared his throat, forcing the thought aside before it could take root. He would not allow himself to hesitate now, not over something as trivial as a look. The Hollister name had been built over generations—on discipline, sacrifice, and unwavering loyalty to the nation.

He would not see it diluted. Not by sentiment. Not by a man who built his empire on profit rather than service.

His ancestors had bled for this legacy. The idea that one of their own would cast it aside for a life driven by wealth alone was unthinkable.

Unacceptable.

Without another word, he turned to the security personnel, offering a quiet instruction that required no repetition. The guards straightened, their presence hardening into a clear, immovable barrier.

The message was unmistakable.

Alexander would not be allowed in.

Alexander smirked.

Fine!