Shackled To The Enemy King

After lingering in each other’s embrace for a while longer than either of them cared to admit, they finally pulled apart, reluctantly and quietly, and returned to something simpler.

Dinner.

They ate at an unhurried pace, the earlier intensity melting into something softer, something almost domestic. The conversation drifted easily, touching on nothing in particular and yet everything at once, the kind of quiet exchange that didn’t need effort to sustain itself.

"You’re a great cook," Catherine said again as she took her final bite, her voice filled with genuine admiration that hadn’t faded even after repeating it for what felt like the fifth or sixth time.

She leaned back slightly, still holding her fork, her gaze lingering on him as if she were trying to memorize the moment.

It still felt a little unreal.

To be here—in her own home—eating something he had made for her, watching him move so comfortably through her space as though he had always belonged there.

And yet... Here he was.

Maximilian smiled faintly, watching her with quiet amusement, though there was something deeper beneath it. She looked... at ease. Relaxed in a way that wasn’t guarded or measured.

And for that expression alone, he knew he would do this again and again, without question.

"You dote on me," she said, her tone light but touched with something softer underneath.

"You make it easy," he replied.

The words came naturally, but they carried more weight than he let on. There was a quiet regret in him, one he didn’t voice, the time already lost, the moments he hadn’t been there for. If he could make up for even a fraction of it like this...

He would.

Catherine chuckled softly, shaking her head as she set her plate aside, choosing not to dig deeper into that tone. Tonight felt too gentle for heavy conversations.

She wanted

to ask him about his future, about his work, about what he planned to do next. Being a history professor seemed to suit him in a way she hadn’t expected, and yet, knowing who he truly was... he didn’t need it. Still... She held back, letting the moment remain light felt more important.

Instead, her curiosity took a different turn.

"When are you letting me into that other bedroom in your house?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "Your... hobby room?"

And then, as if struck by a sudden realization, her eyes widened just a little.

"Wait...Is that where you’re keeping my ring?"

It was the most immediate conclusion her mind could reach, and somehow, it made perfect sense to her.

Maximilian tilted his head, a slow, teasing smile forming on his lips. "Your ring?" he echoed. "Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves here, miss?"

Catherine narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed by the deflection. She knew it was there. Or at least, she was certain something was.

But a ring didn’t require an entire room.

"What else do you have in there?" she pressed.

His smile only deepened, mischief slipping easily into his expression. "It’s my lair," he said lightly. "Where I do evil things..."

He even lifted his fingers in a mock eerie gesture, wiggling them just enough to make it ridiculous.

"What evil things?" she shot back immediately, her curiosity only growing. "And where are you keeping the keys?"

She had looked, thoroughly, and found nothing.

Surely, he wasn’t carrying them around at all times... was he?

Maximilian’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "Yeah," he said, leaning back slightly. "Bobby pins didn’t work, did they?"

Catherine froze.

And then her face turned a deep, unmistakable red. "You knew?" she demanded, half mortified, half incredulous.

He lifted his brows, utterly unbothered. "I know everything."

She groaned softly, covering part of her face before dropping her hand again, still glaring at him. "Will you tell me what you’re hiding in there?"

Maximilian only looked at her, that same playful silence stretching just long enough to frustrate her further.

Catherine huffed and then, with exaggerated determination, pushed herself up and began making her way toward him in an overly dramatic crawl, as though she were about to launch an attack.

"Tell me," she insisted, closing the distance.

He’s so tight-lipped about it and it got her more curious.

And just as the moment tipped fully into playful chaos...

Her phone rang.

The sound cut sharply through the room.

Catherine paused, glancing back before reaching for it, her brows knitting slightly as she read the name on the screen.

Jonathan Vale.

Her expression shifted instantly.

"I’d forgotten about him entirely..." she muttered, more to herself than to Maximilian. Then, with a small frown, she added, "And... didn’t I block his number?"

"Who’s that?" Maximilian asked, his tone casual, though his attention had already sharpened.

"Jonathan Vale," Catherine replied, glancing at the still-ringing phone with visible irritation. She didn’t even want to touch it, as if answering him would somehow invite something unpleasant back into her space.

"Ah..." Maximilian leaned back slightly, his fingers interlocked as he rested them near his lips, his gaze steady on her. "Your first love..."

Catherine turned to look at him properly.

He was smiling. Calm. Composed.

But there was something beneath it... something darker, quieter. Not anger, not quite. But something that watched. Something that didn’t like what it was hearing.

Jealousy.

The realization flickered through her, and to her own surprise, it didn’t unsettle her. It warmed her.

But...

"He’s Ashley’s lover," she said immediately.

The correction came without hesitation, firm and clear. Because that mattered. Because she needed it to be understood by him.

She frowned slightly, as if the very idea offended her. "Not my love."

Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone before she lowered it, letting it continue ringing unanswered.

"I only have one love," she added, quieter now, but far more certain.

That... That made him move.

Maximilian’s hands lowered slowly, the teasing ease slipping from him as his gaze locked onto hers, sharp and intent. The blue of his eyes seemed to deepen, something almost electric flickering through them, a violet edge that didn’t quite belong to this lifetime.

"And who is that?" he asked.

The question was soft.

But it wasn’t light.

He wasn’t asking because he didn’t know. He was asking because he wanted to hear her say it.

Catherine held his gaze, her heart beginning to beat just a little faster, not from uncertainty, but from the weight of the moment. It felt... different. Saying it here, like this, with him looking at her as though the answer mattered more than anything else.

For a brief second, that same hesitation returned. The same invisible line she had been afraid to cross.

But this time... she didn’t stop.

She stepped closer instead, closing the distance between them until there was nothing left of it. Her hand lifted, resting lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her palm.

"You," she said.

Just one word, but there was nothing uncertain about it.

Her fingers curled slightly into his shirt as she looked up at him, softer now, but no less sure.

"It’s you."