Shackled To The Enemy King

Alexander opened the nightstand and pulled out a box. A small Tiffany-blue box.

He had been carrying it with him for a decade.

For a moment, he simply held it, his thumb brushing over the edge as though grounding himself before what came next. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before, stripped of its usual ease.

"A week before we broke up..."

Roxana didn’t turn. Not immediately. She stayed where she was, as if she had no interest in what he was about to say, but her fingers betrayed her, clutching the edge of the shirt she wore, twisting the fabric unconsciously.

For someone who had just dismissed him so sharply, she hadn’t even bothered to button it, the loose collar slipping off her shoulder as she listened despite herself.

"I went to meet your father," Alexander continued, his gaze resting on her back, steady, patient. "With this."

There was a pause.

Then... there was a soft click. The unmistakable sound of a small box opening.

That was all it took.

Roxana turned.

Her eyes found it instantly, the pale blue against the dark of the room, and then what lay inside it.

Her breath caught.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, searching, almost disbelieving.

Alexander only nodded, a faint, almost self-conscious smile touching his lips. He had grown up surrounded by excess, by a kind of wealth that could have made this effortless. He could have bought something grander without thinking, something louder, something meant to impress.

But he hadn’t wanted that.

Not for her.

So he had worked. Saved. Piece by piece, quietly, stubbornly, choosing something with his own hands, something that belonged to him before it ever belonged to her. At the time, it had been twenty thousand dollars. He hadn’t thought beyond that. Didn’t know if it was enough. Didn’t know if it would still matter now.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind, whether he should replace it. Buy her something better. Something worthy of the life he could give her now. He did have more in savings now.

But before he could say anything, Roxana moved.

She crawled across the bed toward him, drawn without hesitation, as if the space between them had suddenly become unbearable. Her fingers reached for the box, slower now, almost cautious, as though touching it would make this moment real in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

And then... The ring.

Roxana did not notice the diamond first. That, perhaps, was what unsettled her.

It was the structure—the way the band rose with quiet intention, lifting the stone as though its place had been decided long before she ever saw it. A cathedral setting, she recognized, though there was nothing devotional about it. It felt deliberate. Certain.

Her thumb brushed along the side, and only then did she see them—a line of small diamonds embedded into the arms. Not scattered for brilliance, not begging for attention. Each one placed with restraint, precise and controlled.

No excess, no desperation to hold beauty in place. Just quiet confidence. Like something that didn’t need to prove its worth.

It irritated her—how much it suited him... And how perfectly he had figured her out, and what she loved.

From above, the ring was almost severe. A single diamond, clean and unembellished. But from the side, the details revealed themselves—subtle, intentional, impossible to ignore once seen.

Roxana exhaled slowly, her fingers still.

A ring that didn’t reveal everything at once.

Her lips curved faintly.

"Subtle," she murmured.

Then softer, she continued, "...dangerous."

How did he read her so perfectly and choose something that felt... inevitable?

What a dangerous man.

"Dangerous?" Alexander echoed, leaning forward slightly, reaching to take the ring from her hand—but Roxana reacted instantly, pulling it away and hiding it behind her back.

The movement was too quick, too forceful.

The already loose shirt slipped further, the fabric parting as her arms drew back, exposing her completely to him.

Alexander’s eyes flickered.

He tilted his head, a slow, knowing smirk forming, waiting—expecting her to flush, to scramble, to pull the fabric back into place.

She didn’t.

Instead, she met his gaze head-on, tilting her own head slightly, her brows lifting in quiet challenge.

A silent dare.

For a second, he just looked at her.

Then he let out a soft breath, shaking his head as a faint smile replaced the smirk.

"Dangerous..." he muttered under his breath.

Not the ring.

Her.

"You met my father?" Roxana asked, her voice steadier than her hands. Though she tried to hide it, the slight tremor in her fingers didn’t escape him as she held the box close, as though it might be taken from her if she loosened her grip.

Alexander nodded. "It didn’t go well."

Roxana exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping just a fraction. "What did he say?"

He shrugged, though his expression dimmed slightly at the memory. "Enough to hurt my pride."

He remembered every word. Every look. Every quiet dismissal.

But he didn’t say it.

He wouldn’t.

Roxana lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the box as she drew it closer to her chest. She didn’t need the details. She already knew. She knew her father, his expectations, his cold precision when it came to decisions like this.

And she knew Alexander.

Knew how much it would have taken for him to stand there and listen.

"Why did you involve your sister, then?" she asked softly. "Why lie to me like that?"

The question lingered heavier than the others.

Alexander exhaled, slower this time, as though the answer weighed more than he had expected.

"I was offended," he admitted. "But I also thought your father loved you."

He paused, searching for the right words, not to justify, but to explain.

"I wanted to leave you a way back," he continued quietly. "If that’s what you chose. I didn’t want to be the reason you lost your family. I didn’t want you to hate him... because of me."

The words settled between them.

And then... Roxana’s vision blurred.

"I resented your sister," she said, her voice breaking despite her attempt to steady it.

The confession came softer than anything she had said before.

"I hated her... for something she didn’t even do."

Her fingers trembled now, no longer hidden.

Alexander’s hands twitched at his sides, the instinct to reach for her almost immediate, but he held himself back, just for a moment.

"She’s the most mature person I know," he said gently. "She’ll understand."

And it was true.

Even when Roxana believed she resented Catherine... when it had mattered, she had still stood by her. Neither of them were the kind of people who held onto hatred without reason.

Silence stretched between them again.

Quieter this time.

He looked at her, really looked at her, and something in his chest tightened.

"I’m the coward," he murmured, so low it barely left his lips.

"No..." Roxana got closer to him and hugged him. "Let’s not talk about the past...Not today... I don’t want to ruin this. But we’re not done with that."

Alexander pulled her in, as if letting go wasn’t an option."Give the ring back," he said.

"What? Why?"

Roxana held on to the box for dear life.

"Not yet..." Alexander said, "Not until you’re sure."