Shackled To The Enemy King

Maximilian fell silent, his thoughts folding inward, pulled into a place he rarely allowed himself to revisit.

He remembered, not as fragments. Not as something distant or blurred by time, but as something alive.

He had watched her die in his arms.

Not peacefully. Not gently. There had been nothing merciful about her death. Regret had clung to her like a second skin, raw and suffocating, and the pain...God, the pain had been carved into every breath she struggled to take.

He hadn’t been able to look at her fully. Not at the blood, not at the way her body trembled, not at how fragile she had become in those final moments.

Only her eyes. Those green eyes that were warm beyond measures...

Those eyes had held him captive.

Even when her voice failed her, even when her body could no longer keep up with the weight of her own suffering, her eyes had spoken.

They had said everything.

He remembered the way her fingers had trembled as she pressed them to his cheeks, smearing blood that ran thicker than the rainwater sliding down his face. He remembered how she had clutched the bracelet—this bracelet—and kissed it, her tears soaking into it as if she could leave something of herself behind.

And then... Those words. Those cruel and gruesome words... Unforgivable in how they had cut through him.

He had watched the light leave her eyes.

Watched it, helpless, frozen, unable to stop it, unable to change it, unable to do anything but exist in that moment as it tore him apart.

Maximilian’s jaw tightened.

Even now, just the thought of it made something inside him recoil. That had been the first memory that returned to him when everything came back. Not their laughter. Not their beginnings.

But her end.

That smile.

Those eyes.

The second, and last time, she had called his name.

And the pain that followed... a pain so consuming it had hollowed him out completely. He had never felt anything like it before. Not in war, not in loss, not in any battle he had survived.

And never again after.

No one deserved that.

No one deserved to watch the person they loved drown in regret while they stood there, powerless to pull them back.

He had wanted revenge.

For a fleeting, violent moment, he had wanted to tear Dorian apart with his bare hands. But he hadn’t been able to move. He hadn’t been able to think or even to stand.

All he could do was cry.

And then... he followed her. Because a world without her had felt like something he could not survive.

Maximilian exhaled slowly, forcing himself back into the present, away from the weight of that memory.

He shook his head.

"It couldn’t be you," he said, his voice quieter now, but firm. "Do you even know how something like this is done? The spells? The runes required to bind a curse like this?"

Magic demanded balance. A price. Always. And yet...

His gaze flickered briefly to the bracelet.

Was it possible?

Could regret... her regret that was so overwhelming, and so absolute in those final moments, have awakened something ancient? Something that latched onto the last thing she held, the last thing she poured herself into?

Or...

Had she given something up?

Something as vast as memory... in exchange for another chance?

For him?

The thought unsettled him more than he let on.

Catherine seemed to notice the shift in him, the way his thoughts had turned inward, heavier. She tightened her hold on his hand, grounding him without effort.

"Just be careful," she said softly. "I’m leaving it all to you."

There was no hesitation in her voice. No doubt. Only trust. And beneath that, there was something gentler. Something she wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.

She didn’t want to chase answers right now. Didn’t want to dig into curses or unravel the past piece by piece until it hurt again. Not when something warm and fragile had finally taken root in her chest.

She just wanted this. This quiet. This closeness...This strange, beautiful lightness she felt when she was with him.

Her research could wait. The past could wait. Everything else could wait.

For a little while longer, she wanted to exist in a world where it was just him and her, where she could drink wine, laugh without thinking, and let herself feel whatever this was without questioning it.

Maximilian leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

"As you wish."

Catherine looked up at him, her smile soft but unguarded now, reaching all the way to her eyes. Her heart fluttered in a way she didn’t try to suppress, didn’t try to understand.

She had already let everything else slip away.

Without realizing it, she leaned into him, resting lightly against his shoulder as they walked toward the car, her steps slower now, more relaxed.

She was content... And unaware... That Maximilian would take her words exactly as she said them.

And far beyond.

-----

At the hospital, James seemed almost too pleased to see them walk in together.

There was a certain lightness in his expression, a quiet satisfaction he didn’t bother to hide, as though something he had long been waiting for had finally settled into place. Catherine chose not to comment on it. Instead, she took her usual seat beside him, listening as he grumbled endlessly about the injustice of his new diet restrictions.

"They expect me to live like a monk," he scoffed, adjusting his blanket with unnecessary irritation. "No salt, no spice—and now no alcohol? What’s the point of recovery if I can’t even enjoy a drink?"

Catherine laughed, the sound easy and unrestrained, her eyes soft as she leaned slightly toward him. "You say that now, but you’ll complain even more if you fall sick again."

"That’s different," James muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

Maximilian stood a little to the side at first, watching them. Watching her.

And something about it... lingered.

He had expected something else. A complaint, perhaps. A careless remark. A flicker of that sharp-edged selfishness he had once associated with her. A mention of Caleb, or Joanna, or anything that would remind him of the girl she used to be.

But there was none of that.

Catherine was... gentle.

Attentive.

Careful, even, in the way she spoke—choosing her words not to agitate her father, not to burden him.

It was subtle.

But it was undeniable.

This wasn’t the Katerina he had known.

Or perhaps...

She had always had this within her, buried beneath youth and circumstance, waiting to emerge with time.

Age did that, he supposed. It carved away the unnecessary, softened the edges of selfishness, left behind something quieter... something more enduring.

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

"Catherine," he said softly, placing his hand against the small of her back, his touch natural, almost instinctive now. "Can you get me a coffee, please?"

His tone was light, but there was intention beneath it.