Shackled To The Enemy King

Maximilian didn’t warn her. He simply leaned in, closing the small, fragile distance between them as though it had been testing his patience for far too long, and kissed her.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t uncertain. It was deliberate in a way that made her breath catch, slow enough for her to feel it, to realize it, and yet impossible to stop.

A soft sound escaped her, half a laugh, half something far more helpless, as his hand found her waist and drew her closer, guiding her onto his lap as if that was where she had always belonged. Catherine settled there easily, instinctively, her body folding into his without resistance, her arms slipping around his shoulders as her laughter softened into something quieter, warmer.

When she lifted her gaze to his, her eyes still held that brightness, but there was something else beneath it now, something softer, something that lingered.

"You have a very dangerous way of speaking, dear miss," he murmured, his voice low, threaded with something that brushed against her skin like heat. "You make my heart forget itself."

Her lips curved, a quiet, knowing amusement blooming as she leaned in just a little closer, close enough that her breath brushed his cheek. "Do I, good sir?" she asked. Her voice was light, but her fingers betrayed her.

She reached up, slow and unhurried, tracing the line of his forehead, following the bridge of his nose as though mapping him, learning him. There was no hesitation in her touch, but there was curiosity—gentle, deliberate.

When her finger reached his lips, he caught it. Not harsh enough to hurt, but just enough to catch her finger.

Her breath stilled.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Catherine didn’t pull away. Instead, she left her finger where it was, her gaze lifting to meet his, something quiet and searching settling in her expression as the world seemed to narrow to that single point of contact. The warmth of his mouth, the faint pressure... it sent a subtle, unsteady ripple through her chest.

Her eyes dropped, almost unconsciously, tracing the curve of his lips, then lower, lingering at his jaw, where the faint shadow of stubble softened the line of him. She had seen him clean-shaven every morning, neat and composed, but this... this small imperfection, felt strangely intimate.

When he finally released her, she didn’t speak. She simply leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his chin, the faint roughness brushing against her lips, grounding and unfamiliar all at once.

"He was the only one around me who seemed... grown," she said after a moment, her voice quieter now, less playful. "The others felt... distant. Immature."

The words lingered, but even as she said them, she knew it wasn’t the whole truth. It hadn’t been love. Not really. Something lighter. Something that had never rooted deep enough to matter.

Her arms tightened slightly around his shoulders, drawing herself closer without thinking.

"He’s nothing compared to you," she added softly.

And that, unlike everything else, was effortless. Certain.

Because whatever that had been... it had never felt like this. Never this consuming. Never this unsettling.

Her lips brushed his nose in a fleeting, almost absentminded kiss before she pulled back just enough to study him, her expression shifting again—lighter on the surface, but something else flickering beneath.

"And you..." she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "You had a girlfriend, didn’t you?" A small pause. Then, quieter, almost careless, but not quite, she asked, "How far did you go?"

The question slipped out softer than she intended, but the moment it existed between them, she felt a sharp and unwelcome sting deep inside.

Jealousy.

It rose before she could stop it, tightening somewhere deep in her chest, irrational and insistent. It shouldn’t matter. It was long before her. Before he even knew she existed.

And yet...

Maximilian saw it.

Not in her words, but in the way her fingers curled slightly against his shoulder, in the way her gaze held his just a fraction too steadily.

He had forgotten about that entirely. But she had remembered from that short interaction with his family.

He had a girlfriend, because everyone else did. He had tried kissing her and felt nothing much. He even wondered if he was not interested in girls at all.

Until... he found her again. And now... He knew why his heart and body rejected that other girl. His soul remembered to save himself for her... For his Catherine.

He exhaled slowly, something like amusement flickering beneath the faintest hint of tension. Of all the traps he had walked into, this one... this one had been set without intent, and yet it held him all the same.

"There are things," he said carefully, his voice gentler now, "that don’t deserve space between us."

His hand settled more firmly at her waist, grounding, steady.

"I haven’t been with anyone since I got my memories back," he added, his gaze unwavering. "And you... You buried yourself in your work."

There was a quiet finality to it that was not dismissive, but deliberate.

An offering. And a boundary.

Catherine studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable at first as her thoughts turned inward.

Two lives.

Too many histories. Too many things that didn’t belong to who they were now.

In this life, she had never given herself to anyone else.

In the last... neither of them had been untouched by others, by obligations, by choices that had never quite felt like their own.

Did it matter?

Her arms slipped more securely around him, her body softening as she leaned into him again, letting the tension ease and settle into something quieter.

"Only us matter," she said softly, more to herself than to him.

Everything else didn’t matter. Not like this did.

Her lips found his again, gentle but certain, as though sealing that decision in something warmer, something far more real.

They were here, together. And for now, that was enough.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. Catherine could feel it in the way his hand remained at her waist, not moving, yet not loosening either... as though he was waiting for something. Or holding himself back from it.

"Shall we go to bed?" she asked softly.

The words were innocent enough, but the way she said them made them anything but.

She leaned closer, close enough that her breath brushed against his skin, her voice dropping into something softer, almost conspiratorial. "And you can do what you did with your fingers the other day..."

Maximilian stilled just enough that she felt it. His grip at her waist tightened, his breathing shifted and his eyes darkened as they searched her face, as if trying to decide whether she understood what she was inviting.

Catherine did not pull back.

If anything, she leaned in further, her fingers curling slightly against his shoulder, her lips curving with a hint of mischief that didn’t quite hide the anticipation beneath it.

"And..." she added, softer still, her voice brushing against him like a secret, "maybe this time... I’ll try something too."

That did it.

His restraint snapped. He pulled her closer in one smooth motion, leaving no space between them as his lips found the curve of her neck.

Catherine let out a soft laugh, startled and breathless all at once, her head tilting instinctively to give him more room

And then... Her phone rang. The sound cut through the moment with brutal precision.

Catherine froze.

The screen lit up where it lay nearby.

Jonathan Vale.

Catherine groaned, the sound dragged straight from her chest as she leaned back just enough to look at it, her expression twisting with irritation. "Damn that man..."

Maximilian let out a quiet chuckle against her skin, though there was something else beneath it now—something sharper, more amused than annoyed. Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his head, his gaze flicking toward the phone before returning to her.

"Persistent," he murmured.

Before she could stop him, he reached for it.

The line clicked open.