Shackled To The Enemy King

The ballroom glittered beneath enormous crystal chandeliers that reflected thousands of tiny lights across polished marble floors. A string quartet played softly near the center while waiters drifted through the crowd carrying silver trays filled with champagne flutes and delicate hors d’oeuvres.

Nearly everyone who mattered in Meridon was there. The old money, the political dynasties, the industrial families whose names had shaped the country’s history for generations, and faces Catherine recognized from the Winthorp Legacy Dinner turned toward the entrance one after another.

Some smiled politely. Others whispered. Many simply observed. She felt every gaze settle on her before she had taken more than three steps inside.

Before she had the chance to understand why, Dorian appeared. He looked exactly as he always did.Dark charcoal pinstripes, immaculately tailored, not a single strand of black hair out of place, and his expression softened just enough to appear affectionate as he approached her.

"There you are."

His fingers intertwined with hers naturally, as though they had done this a thousand times before.

She smiled. Just enough.Nothing more. He guided her through the parted crowd. Only then did Catherine notice the raised platform at the far end of the ballroom.

Her heartbeat slowed.

No...

No...

Surely not.

Dorian led her up the steps without giving her an opportunity to ask. Only after she turned toward the audience did she understand.

The entire hall had been decorated in ivory and gold. Fresh white roses framed the stage. A towering arrangement of orchids stood behind them. Two champagne pyramids sparkled beneath the lights.

Across an enormous display screen appeared elegant golden lettering.

Celebrating the Engagement of Dorian Blackwood & Catherine Preston

The world seemed to stop. Catherine felt the blood drain from her face.

An engagement party. Without asking her. Without informing her family. Without seeking anyone’s blessing.

Her fingers curled almost imperceptibly. She wanted to laugh. Or scream.

Instead... She smiled... A perfectly measured smile of surprise, one suitable for a woman whose fiancé had simply arranged an elaborate surprise.

Applause erupted throughout the ballroom. She scanned the room almost instinctively. William Preston stood among the guests. His face remained perfectly expressionless.

No... Not expressionless. Displeased. Very displeased.

Around him stood nearly every Legacy Family representative she had met at Winthorp. Several offered polite applause. Several watched with open curiosity. Others clearly looked upon her as though she had finally accomplished what they had suspected all along.

Across the ballroom, Geoffrey Whitmore stood beside several members of the Whitmore family. Maximilian’s cousin. Their eyes met briefly. His gaze swept over her gown, the diamonds around her neck, Dorian’s hand resting comfortably against her waist.

His expression hardened. A social climber. That was exactly what he thought she was. Catherine looked away before the thought could linger. She couldn’t blame him.

From where everyone stood... That was precisely what it looked like. They’d remember that dance with Maximilian at Winthorp.

And now... she was here... at another man’s side.

Dorian stepped behind her, one hand settling possessively against the small of her back. The gesture earned approving smiles throughout the ballroom. She flinched.

"Catherine." His voice was low enough that only she could hear. "You look beautiful."

She turned toward him just as he leaned down. His lips brushed hers. Only briefly. Barely enough to qualify as a kiss.

When he pulled away, she tilted her head innocently before letting out the softest little laugh.

"Oh."

She reached into her evening clutch and produced a neatly folded tissue.

"I would’ve worn non-transfer lipstick if I’d known tonight was our engagement party."

Holding back every ounce of revulsion, she dabbed gently at the corner of his mouth.

"You don’t look very handsome wearing my lipstick."

For one long moment... Dorian simply looked at her.

His dark eyes searched her face as though trying to peel away every layer she had carefully built.

But Catherine only smiled, patiently, warmly and attentively. She even finished wiping away the faint crimson mark from his lips before lowering the tissue.

Around them, several older women smiled knowingly.

"They’re adorable."

"He clearly dotes on her."

"They suit each other."

Dorian’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. He liked hearing that.

Catherine nearly sighed in relief.

Good. That meant he probably wouldn’t attempt to kiss her again tonight.

A servant brought forward a velvet box. Dorian accepted it. Then, before everyone present, he opened it.

Nestled against black velvet lay a flawless diamond ring that caught every chandelier in the room.

"Catherine Preston." His voice carried effortlessly through the ballroom. "Just like you’ve wanted."

The liar.

"I hope everyone present will witness the beginning of the rest of our lives together."

He slid the ring onto her finger.

It felt heavier than that gold ring he gave her in her previous life... The signet ring that gave her empty power; heavier than iron, like another shackle.

Applause thundered around them. Champagne corks exploded somewhere behind the crowd. Crystal glasses were raised into the air.

Dorian lifted one himself before beginning to introduce her personally to every influential guest in attendance.

"My fiancée."

The word followed her from group to group. Each repetition tightened the knot inside her chest, as though he wanted the entire world to acknowledge that she belonged to him.

She endured every handshake, every congratulation, and every smile.

Then... She felt it.

Someone wasn’t congratulating her. Someone was simply watching.

Catherine turned her head.

In the far corner of the ballroom, half hidden beneath the dim amber lights of the private lounge, Fitzgerald Rathbourne sat alone with a glass of bourbon resting loosely in one hand.

His eyes never left her. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t drinking.

He was... observing, studying... waiting.

Catherine held his gaze for only a heartbeat before looking away. She needed to speak with him.

More importantly... She needed to know exactly how much Dorian knew.

Because none of this... None of this felt spontaneous.

William eventually found an opportunity to stand beside her while Dorian became occupied greeting another group of guests.

He didn’t bother smiling.

"He didn’t ask Dad." His voice was quiet, edged with restrained anger. His jaw tightened. "What kind of man announces an engagement without seeking the bride’s family’s blessing?"

Catherine looked at William, and for the first time that evening, she felt as though someone else in the room understood exactly how insulting this spectacle truly was.

William’s fingers tightened around the stem of his champagne flute until Catherine thought the crystal might shatter.

She knew that look.

He was seconds away from saying something he couldn’t take back.

She was already preparing to intervene when an elderly senator approached him with practiced ease.

"William Preston," the old man called warmly. "I’ve been looking for you. There’s someone I’d like you to meet."

William’s jaw remained clenched, but years of upbringing won over his temper. He glanced at Catherine one last time before allowing himself to be led away.

Only after he disappeared into the crowd did Catherine finally release the breath she’d been holding.

"A lady should rein in her hatred."

The familiar voice came quietly from behind her.

"It shows."

Catherine turned.

Fitzgerald Rathbourne stood beside one of the dessert tables, looking every bit the heir to the Rathbourne family.

The tailored midnight-blue suit fit him perfectly. His dark hair had been brushed neatly away from his forehead, revealing the sharp lines of his face, while his steel-grey eyes regarded her with that same unsettling curiosity they always seemed to carry.

In one hand he held a dessert plate. A slice of towering white cake rested upon it. He extended it toward her.

"Your engagement cake."

His smile appeared almost rehearsed. Polite. Measured.

Then Catherine looked at the cake, looked back at him, and slowly rolled her eyes.

The practiced smile disappeared. A genuine chuckle escaped him instead. It transformed his entire face.

His eyes narrowed with amusement, the corners crinkling naturally until, for a fleeting moment, he looked years younger... So young...

A flash of her son came to her mind. Her son... waddling toward her with whatever he picked up, offering her as a gift. He’d smile at her the same way.

"Have a bite," Fitzgerald said. "Sugar temporarily elevates mood."

Catherine wanted to hug him.

But she felt it... that glare.

Dorian.

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