Shackled To The Enemy King

Is he really talking about marriage?

The thought lingered in Roxana’s mind, fragile and disbelieving, as though even forming it too clearly might shatter whatever this moment was. It felt unreal—too sudden, too easily spoken, as if he had just placed something immense between them and expected her to accept it without question.

Until last night, she had been certain he no longer cared.

Certain that whatever had once existed between them had already been severed, quietly and completely.

And now...

Now he was here, in front of her, speaking of marriage as though nothing had ever broken.

Her chest tightened, not with warmth, but with something sharper, something that refused to be soothed so easily.

Because beneath the surreal haze, another thought rose, colder, and more grounded.

Why was he here?

Her gaze flickered over his face, searching, as if the answer might reveal itself if she looked hard enough. His presence, his touch, the way he spoke...it all felt too deliberate to be impulsive, too controlled to be coincidence.

He had tailored a tuxedo. He had planned to attend the gala with her. But...

What about his sister?

The memory surfaced uninvited, cutting through everything else.

That day.

Those words.

He had ended things with her so cleanly it had left no room to argue, no space to hold on. He had said she was a distraction. That his sister needed him more than Roxana ever did. That he didn’t have the luxury to choose anything else.

And then he had walked away.

Just like that.

Roxana’s fingers curled slightly against the sheets, her expression still, but her thoughts anything but.

So what had changed?

Had his sister finally reached a point where she no longer needed him? Had he simply returned now that his responsibilities had lessened, as if Roxana were something he could set aside and pick back up when it suited him?

The bitterness crept in quietly, settling beneath her ribs.

Or was this something else entirely?

Because if it was, if this were just convenience, just timing... Then what, exactly, was she to him now?

"Today’s Sunday," she said, her voice softer than intended, still catching between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

"Then tomorrow," he replied just as simply.

Her brows drew together, her lips parting as she searched his face. "Is this a proposal? Are you actually—"

He didn’t let her finish.

His lips brushed against her cheek, silencing the question before it could fully form, and then trailed lower, unhurried, along the line of her jaw, down to her neck. The moment his mouth found that sensitive place again, her breath hitched, her fingers tightening instinctively against the sheets beneath her.

Everything else melted away.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

His hand moved again, slipping over her waist, resting briefly against her abdomen in a touch that was both grounding and dangerously familiar. The warmth of his palm spread through her, slow and consuming, and when his touch deepened, as his finger reached between her legs, her breath broke into a soft, unguarded sound she couldn’t hold back.

The room seemed to close in around them, the quiet morning dissolving into something far more intimate, far more consuming. Roxana’s body responded to him as though it remembered every part of him, every touch, every pause, every unspoken rhythm that existed only between the two of them.

Her head tipped back slightly, her breathing unsteady as she let the moment take her, let him take her there without resistance.

And when the tension finally broke, she stilled, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath, her fingers still tangled in the sheets as though letting go might pull her back too quickly into reality.

Alexander watched her.

Then, slowly, he lifted his hand, his gaze never leaving her face as he brought his fingers to his lips in a quiet, unspoken claim.

And when she finally did, when the tension broke and left her breathless beneath him, he only watched her for a second, really watched her, as though memorizing the way she unraveled.

Then, almost absently, his finger brushed against his lower lip, his gaze still fixed on her.

"Delicious," he said, his deep voice sounding lazy and erotic at the same time.

That was enough.

Roxana didn’t hesitate.

She leaned forward, closing the distance he had refused to, her lips meeting his with a hunger that had been building from the moment she woke, something she’d been controlling for almost a decade. The kiss wasn’t gentle, wasn’t questioning—it was certain, deep, and unapologetic, her fingers curling into him as if to anchor herself there.

And this time, he didn’t hold back.

What followed wasn’t rushed, nor uncertain; it was familiar in a way that felt almost dangerous, as though time had folded in on itself and brought them back to a version of who they used to be.

They moved together with an ease that hadn’t faded, their bodies remembering what distance and silence had tried, and failed to erase. Roxana shifted over him, her movements instinctive, unrestrained, drawing quiet, uneven breaths from him as his hands tightened at her waist, grounding her even as he lost himself in the rhythm they created together.

It stretched longer than either of them expected, unbroken and consuming, until even the daylight had climbed higher, spilling brighter into the room as though it had been watching them all along.

By the time it ended, Roxana lay sprawled against his chest, her breath still uneven, her fingers idly tracing the faint marks she had left across his skin. There was a strange quiet between them now—not empty, but heavy with everything that had yet to be said.

"How is your sister doing?"

The question slipped out softly, but it landed harder than anything else had.

Alexander’s expression shifted.

Just slightly, but enough.

The image flashed in his mind before he could stop it. Catherine in the car, her breath breaking, her hands trembling as panic took hold. The way he had seen it—and still chosen to leave. The way he had walked away, telling himself she wasn’t alone, that she had people, that it was enough.

It hadn’t felt enough then. It didn’t feel enough now.

His jaw tightened, something darker flickering beneath his calm as he looked down at Roxana.

"You seem to care more about my sister than I do," he said, his voice quieter now, edged with something he didn’t quite name as he shifted, leaning over her, his hand bracing near her shoulder as he lowered himself closer, as though intending to kiss her again.

Roxana stopped him.

Her palm pressed against his chest firm enough.

"You broke up with me for her," she said.

The words were simple.

But they carried weight.

Alexander paused.

The movement stilled between them as the memory caught up to him. The things he had said. The way he had ended it...

His brows furrowed slightly.

Yeah... he had said that.

"You don’t get to do that," Roxana continued, her voice steady despite the faint tension in it. "You don’t get to throw me away, call it necessary, and then come back like you just paused something and expect me to still be here waiting."

Alexander exhaled slowly, the breath heavier than before.

"And how exactly did you manage to sign a marriage license in my name?" she added, her eyes narrowing now. "That’s fraud!"

He let out a quiet sigh, dragging a hand through his hair as though trying to ground himself.

"And you’re bringing this up now?" he asked, glancing at her. "Not before?"

Roxana’s face flushed instantly, the color rising before she could stop it.

"I want to fvck you," she shot back, turning away sharply, her back to him now, as if that would hide the heat in her expression. "So what? That doesn’t mean I’m marrying you. Don’t get ahead of yourself."

Silence settled again.

Alexander watched her for a moment—just her back, the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she refused to turn around. He smiled.

"I have something to tell you," he said.

Roxana almost turned.

Almost.

But she stopped herself at the last second, staying exactly where she was.

Still, she didn’t move away either, because, she wanted to hear it.