Shackled To The Enemy King

Catherine, however, did not find the idea that her life could be in danger far-fetched. If anything, it felt expected. She had seen enough, lived enough, in both this life and the one before, to understand how the world responded to power, to breakthroughs, to anything that threatened to shift the balance.

People had been killed for far less, and that truth had never felt distant to her. It had always lingered somewhere at the edge of her awareness, quiet but undeniable.

It was part of the reason the idea of working within the Preston compound appealed to her more than she ever said aloud. To anyone else, it might have seemed like convenience, like privilege wrapped in luxury, but to her, it was something far more essential. It was security in its most controlled form, the kind that limited variables, that narrowed uncertainty, that allowed her to anticipate danger before it reached her. Within those walls, every entry could be monitored, every risk reduced to something manageable. It wasn’t just a place to work.

It was a place to survive.

Her gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, toward Maximilian, and something softened in her expression before she could stop it. There was something unspoken in that glance, something she hadn’t yet found the courage to name.

Because whether she admitted it or not, safety, real safety, had begun to take his shape in her mind.

And that thought unsettled her more than any external threat ever could.

Would it be fair to him, if she chose to stay here, drawn not just by the compound? Would it be right to anchor him with her simply because it made her feel protected? And yet, the truth lingered, quiet and persistent: wherever he was, she would feel safer than anywhere else. Maybe, even outside.

Maximilian, who had remained silent through most of the conversation, finally spoke, his voice calm but edged with something firmer, something that shifted the air around them.

"It’s not just a possibility," he said. "It’s a certainty."

The words settled differently, heavier than anything that had been said before. He didn’t offer them as a warning or a speculation, but as something already accounted for, already understood.

His fingers rested loosely against the table, but there was a subtle change in him, something almost imperceptible in the way he held himself—more attentive, more deliberate.

Protective, in a way that did not need to be announced.

"Breakthroughs like hers don’t just attract attention," he continued, his gaze steady on Catherine now. "They create enemies. And Dorian... wants all of it."

There was no fear in his voice, no attempt to dramatize what he was saying. Only clarity, sharp and unwavering, and beneath it, a quiet resolve that felt far more powerful than any outward display.

Catherine held his gaze, her breath catching just slightly, not because of the danger he spoke of, but because of the certainty with which he faced it. He wasn’t reacting to the risk.

He had already accepted it.

Already positioned himself against it.

Already, in ways he did not say aloud, placed himself between her and whatever might come.

And for a fleeting, dangerous moment, as she looked at him and felt the steadiness of that unspoken promise, her fear of fate, of history repeating itself, of loss she could not survive again, felt just a little less absolute.

William and Jonathan noticed it at the same time, though neither of them spoke immediately. There was something about Maximilian that did not quite fit into the neat understanding they had formed of him. He could pass, easily enough, as a history professor from a distinguished family, but that was only the surface.

Beneath it, there were layers that did not reveal themselves so readily, something sharper, more deliberate. He carried himself like a man who did not merely study history, but one who understood power, risk, and consequence in a far more personal way.

More importantly, he did not look like someone who stepped away from challenges. If anything, he seemed like someone who walked straight into them without hesitation. And that alone made them want to know more.

Catherine noticed the shift as well. The air between the men had changed, grown heavier, more focused, as though the conversation had turned toward something she didn’t quite want to step into.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t capable, if anything, she understood more than they gave her credit for, but for once, she didn’t want to be part of it. She didn’t want to weigh risks, calculate outcomes, or stand as someone who had to anticipate every possible threat.

For once, she wanted to remain a princess.

Not a queen.

For once, she wanted to be protected, rather than the one doing the protecting.

"Is Miranda not home?" she asked, her voice lightening deliberately as she broke away from the tension.

William turned toward her. "She went to visit her father."

Catherine nodded, then glanced at Maximilian, gesturing slightly. "Miranda’s father’s place is just next to ours, that way."

"You mentioned," Maximilian replied with a small smile, his tone easy, though his eyes lingered on her a second longer than necessary.

"I was planning to visit Daddy at the hospital later today," she added, almost as an afterthought, already shifting her attention away from the table.

William stopped her just as she began to rise. "Bitty bean," he said, his voice softening with familiarity, "won’t you talk to Sammy? She’s still..." He exhaled, the rest of the sentence weighing on him. "Her younger brother is getting married, and she’s still not taking things seriously."

Catherine let out a quiet breath, her expression tightening slightly. "She was engaged too, not long ago," she said, her tone carrying a quiet accusation.

Jonathan shifted, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced at William. It was an unspoken truth between them all—one that no one ever addressed directly, not even with their wives. Not even Bobby, which, in itself, said enough.

Catherine had always found that silence telling.

"Is he even alive?" she asked, her voice softer now, but far more piercing.

Sammy believed her father and uncles had something to do with her fiancé’s disappearance—believed they had taken him from her. Whether it was true or not, the damage had already been done. It had hollowed something out inside her, leaving her unwilling to trust love again, drifting instead from one distraction to another, slowly unraveling in ways no one seemed able to stop.

And Catherine noticed something else.

Her brothers weren’t stopping her. They weren’t redirecting the conversation. They were letting her speak about this, in front of Maximilian.

Which meant something... significant. Perhaps, in their minds, he was no longer an outsider.

William reached for his phone, scrolling in the distinctly unrefined way he always did, his index finger dragging across the screen before pecking out a message with the same single-finger determination. A moment later, he looked up.

"I’ve sent you the details," he said. "She’s still in bed. Talk to her."

Catherine’s phone buzzed almost immediately. She glanced down, seeing the email, the attachment already waiting.

She nodded.

"I will."

And with that, she rose.

But before she turned away completely, her gaze flickered, just briefly, toward Maximilian, a glance that lingered long enough to be felt rather than seen, carrying something unspoken between them that neither of them chose to name in that moment.

She turned to leave when she saw Caleb and stopped.

William’s second son was walking toward the patio, his presence cutting through the fragile calm that had just settled over the space. He was only a couple of years older than her, someone she had grown up with, someone who had once felt familiar enough to be easy around.

"Caleb," Catherine said, her expression softening into a smile out of habit more than anything else. "How are the wedding preparations going?"

He shrugged, his response delayed, his gaze settling on her with something that felt... off. The smile on his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes, and there was a tension in him that didn’t belong to a simple question about wedding plans.

"Going somewhere?" he asked instead.

Catherine didn’t dwell on it. Not yet.

"Billy asked me to talk to Sammy," she said, keeping her tone light.

Caleb let out a short, humorless scoff.

"Of course," he muttered, the words already carrying an edge.

Catherine’s brows drew together slightly.

"She’s messed up, but everyone here can only spare their care for you," he continued, his voice rising just enough to shift the atmosphere at the table, "and you... all you care about is yourself and how you want to rule over all of us."

The words landed harder than she expected.

"Caleb—" she started, but he didn’t stop.

"Catherine Preston, the glue of the family..." he went on, his tone turning openly mocking now, each word dipped in something bitter and sharp. "Catherine Preston, the genius... Catherine Preston, the one we all have to serve."

"Caleb!"

William’s voice cut through the air, sharp and warning, but Caleb only let out another scoff.

"Of course you’ll stop me," he said, turning slightly toward his father but not backing down. "No one can say anything against precious Catherine. The perfect one. The one who can do no wrong."

"What’s your problem?" Catherine asked, her voice no longer soft, the confusion in her eyes beginning to harden into something steadier.

"My God, you’re so—"

"Caleb, get out of your aunt’s face!"

This time it was Jonathan, his voice louder, more forceful, snapping the last thread of restraint that had been holding the moment together.

William was already on his feet.

The movement was sudden, decisive, his hand rising without hesitation as he stepped toward his son.

And Caleb... stepped forward, challenging him.

The shift was immediate.

What had been tension turned into something volatile, something ready to ignite.

Catherine moved before she could think, stepping directly between them, her presence the only barrier preventing something irreversible. Her heart was pounding now, not from fear alone but from the sheer speed at which everything had escalated.

Behind her, chairs scraped against the ground.

Maximilian had stood. Jonathan too stood, his attention locked on Caleb, every muscle in his body coiled with readiness.

The air tightened.

What had been a conversation only moments ago had turned into something dangerous, something one wrong move away from breaking entirely.