Shackled To The Enemy King

Catherine did understand what it would look like...

But this was her son... Her son.

She ignored Dorian and stared at Fitzgerald. Despite herself, Catherine almost smiled. Almost. "No, thank you."

"It also prevents the cake from going to waste," Fitzgerald insisted.

She looked at the immaculate white frosting. Dorian was still staring. She took a step back. "That sounds like your problem."

"It is becoming yours."

She let out a weary sigh and turned. "I really don’t have the strength for you tonight."

His expression softened almost imperceptibly. "I know."

Catherine paused.

Just those two words from him... Nothing more.

Yet somehow... They carried an understanding that no one else in the ballroom seemed capable of offering.

Just hearing his voice, even now, eased something inside her. It reminded her, painfully, of another lifetime, when a single babble from her laughing child had been enough to chase every exhaustion from her heart.

For one reckless moment, Catherine wanted to ask whether he remembered anything... anything at all from their past... anything at all that would remind him who she was.

She wanted to hear him call her "Mother".

Instead, she simply turned away.

She needed air. She had endured enough pretending for one evening. She had barely taken two steps before another figure intercepted her path.

Dorian.

"Where are you going?"

His voice remained calm. Too calm. There was no anger in it. Only expectation, as though her movements naturally required his approval.

Catherine lifted her gaze and smiled with practiced sweetness. "The restroom."

"The orchestra is about to begin." His hand found the small of her back once again. "Our dance."

Not would you.

Not shall we.

Simply... a command.

Before she could refuse, he had already begun guiding her toward the center of the ballroom.

Around them, the musicians straightened. The conductor lifted his baton. Conversations gradually quieted as the guests instinctively turned toward the polished dance floor.

Across the room, William stopped mid-conversation. His eyes found his sister. He watched Dorian’s possessive hand resting against her waist. Watched Catherine walk beside him with that flawless smile.

His stomach twisted.

Every instinct screamed at him to march across the ballroom and pull her away. But all he could do... was stand there and watch another man lead his little sister onto the dance floor.

She chose this!

William took another step toward the dance floor. He didn’t care who was watching anymore.

If Dorian thought he could parade his little sister around like a trophy...

A hand landed firmly on his shoulder. "Don’t."

William turned. "Jon?"

Jonathan Preston stood behind him, dressed in a simple dark suit, his expression surprisingly calm.

"What are you doing here?"

"I’ve been here for a while."

William frowned. "I didn’t even notice."

"I know."

Jonathan’s eyes drifted toward the dance floor, where Catherine was already beginning the first movements of the waltz with Dorian.

"Listen to me carefully."

William folded his arms.

"Max planned for this."

William’s jaw tightened.

"What?"

"Not this engagement specifically." Jonathan shook his head. "But Dorian making a move. Max expected him to do something. Whatever game Dorian thinks he’s playing... Max already prepared for it."

William scoffed.

"And I’m supposed to stand here while everyone treats Catherine like she’s already his wife?"

"They’re treating all of us that way."

William’s voice lowered. "They look at us like we’re country bumpkins who accidentally made money."

Jonathan smiled faintly. "We are country bumpkins."

"You know what I mean. They think we don’t belong." William let out a slow breath. "They’re acting like I couldn’t buy one of those old castles they brag about."

Jonathan chuckled.

"They probably need more repairs than our barns. And don’t get me started on that pheasant-hunting nonsense."

"I wasn’t planning to."

William rubbed his forehead. "I swear, Jon... every person in this room wants us to know we’re beneath them."

"I know."

Jonathan squeezed his shoulder. "So, let them think that."

Before William could answer, another voice joined them.

"I agree."

Both Preston brothers turned. Fitzgerald Rathbourne stood a few steps away, a glass of bourbon resting loosely in one hand.

Neither brother looked pleased. Jonathan’s smile disappeared. William’s expression hardened immediately. Neither of them had forgotten whose side Fitzgerald was supposed to be on.

Fitzgerald noticed the hostility. He wasn’t surprised. "I heard part of your conversation," he said evenly. "If you’re considering making a scene..."

He paused.

"...I don’t recommend it."

William’s eyes narrowed. "Is that a warning?"

"No." Fitzgerald frowned slightly, realizing that hadn’t come out the way he’d intended. "I meant..." He searched for better words. "...Miss Preston appears to know what she’s doing."

He didn’t know what he was doing here. He just didn’t want Samantha’s family thinking of him like a villain.

Jonathan studied him silently.

Fitzgerald continued. "If she wanted to leave..." His eyes briefly shifted toward Catherine. "...I don’t think anyone here could stop her."

William blinked.

That... Oddly... Sounded like confidence in Catherine. Wasn’t he on Dorian’s side? Was he trying to fish for something to report to Doria?

"I don’t believe she would appreciate unnecessary complications," Fitzgerald added.

Jonathan tilted his head. This all seemed... like threats. "You seem awfully certain."

"I’ve met your sister."

The statement made both brothers stiffen. William’s jaw tightened.

Fitzgerald noticed the reaction, considered it for a brief moment, then added matter-of-factly,

"I learned not to underestimate her."

Silence settled between them. It wasn’t an insult. It wasn’t praise. It sounded more like someone reporting the outcome of an experiment.

Jonathan folded his arms. "I’ll pretend that wasn’t a threat."

"It wasn’t." Fitzgerald answered so quickly that Jonathan almost believed him. "I was merely correcting my previous assessment."

Again... Silence.

Fitzgerald looked between the two brothers. This wasn’t going as he intended.

After a brief pause, he continued. "I also wished to say..." He searched for the correct wording with visible concentration. "I respect your family."

William blinked. Jonathan merely stared.

Fitzgerald nodded slightly toward the ballroom. "The others have been discourteous."

His steel-grey eyes briefly swept across several of the old Meridon families gathered beneath the chandeliers before returning to William.

"I dislike discourteous people."

Jonathan couldn’t decide whether he’d just been complimented... or warned.

William looked equally uncertain.

There was something deeply unsettling about hearing the heir to the Rathbourne empire calmly announce that he respected them, as though he were informing them of tomorrow’s weather.

Jonathan finally spoke. "If that’s all..."

"It is."

Fitzgerald inclined his head once. "I hope your father recovers soon."

The words came out flat. Without waiting for thanks—or even expecting one—he turned and walked away.

William watched him disappear into the crowd. "...Was that supposed to be friendly?" he muttered.

Jonathan let out a slow breath. "I honestly have no idea."

Neither of them noticed Fitzgerald allowing himself the smallest smile as he reached the bar.

By his standards... That conversation had gone remarkably well.

-----

At the center of the ballroom, the orchestra began its first waltz.

Dorian extended his hand. Catherine placed hers in it. Applause echoed softly around them as they stepped onto the polished dance floor.

His hand settled firmly against the small of her back. Too firmly.

The first turn began. His grip tightened. She followed without hesitation.

Again.

Another turn.

His fingers pressed harder against her waist, steering rather than leading. Every movement felt less like dancing and more like being positioned, unlike their previous dance.

Displayed. Claimed. Since she was branded as his, he didn’t have to pretend to be tender anymore.

Around them, crystal chandeliers scattered warm light across the ballroom while couples smiled, whispered, and admired the pair gliding effortlessly across the floor.

"They’re beautiful together."

"A perfect match."

"He clearly adores her."

Each compliment scraped against Catherine’s nerves. She maintained her smile. Every muscle in her face hurt.

Dorian’s hand slid lower for the next figure. His fingers dug into her side as he guided her into a dramatic dip.

Pain shot through her ribs. She recovered without so much as a wince.

"You’re tense." His voice was barely audible.

"I’ve had a long few days."

"You’ll relax."

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It sounded like a promise... Or a command.

She smiled sweetly. "I’m trying."

The orchestra swelled.

Another spin.

Another forceful pull.

She nearly lost her footing when he redirected her more sharply than necessary. Only years of riding horses kept her balanced.

Inside, her patience frayed another thread.

Just end...

Please... just end...

At last, the music reached its final note.

Applause erupted.

Dorian bowed.

She curtsied.

The moment etiquette no longer required her presence, Catherine smiled politely.

"Excuse me."

Without waiting for permission, she turned and walked briskly toward the ladies’ restroom.

Only after the heavy door closed behind her did she brace both hands against the marble vanity.

Her shoulders trembled. She stared at her own reflection. And then she smirked.

"...I’ll destroy you, Dorian... Soon."

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