Shackled To The Enemy King

The cold night air hit Catherine’s face the moment Dorian led her out through the hotel’s private exit.

His hand never left the small of her back.

It no longer looked like an affectionate touch. His fingers dug just enough into her waist to remind her that he was no longer asking.

"I will not encourage you to become the subject of idle gossip," he said quietly as they descended the marble steps toward the waiting Maybach. His smile never left his face for the benefit of the photographers still lingering nearby. "You should know better than to make people talk."

Catherine forced herself to smile as another camera flashed.

"My queen should know how to behave."

His fingers tightened again. Pain shot through her side. She swallowed it without a sound.

She caught Jonathan’s eyes across the driveway. He had seen everything. She knew that look. The calm mask he wore in boardrooms and negotiations was gone. What remained was simply her brother.

And brothers were dangerous when someone hurt their sister.

As Dorian opened the rear door of the car, Catherine met Jonathan’s gaze for the briefest second.

She did not shake her head. She did not nod. She simply looked at him.

Jonathan understood. They had already discussed it.

If tonight crossed the line... draw Dorian away from the house, whatever it took.

The door closed. The Maybach began rolling away. Jonathan did not think.

He simply ran. "Catherine!"

The limousine had barely reached the gate when more than a dozen men stepped into his path as though they had emerged from the darkness itself.

Jonathan noticed the identical black suits, the discreet earpieces, and the holsters beneath tailored jackets. They were not ordinary bodyguards. They were professionals.

Jonathan stopped himself before instinct made him reach for the pistol hidden beneath his own coat.

Even if he drew first... There were too many. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

No... This wasn’t happening.

He pulled out his phone instead.

Bobby.

If anyone in Meridon could gather enough men to storm Dorian Blackwood’s estate, it was Bobby.

Prison? Jonathan didn’t care anymore. Neither would Bobby. If dragging Catherine out meant spending the rest of their lives behind bars...

Then so be it.

His thumb had barely touched Bobby’s contact when someone stopped beside him.

"So impulsive."

Jonathan’s shoulders tensed. He turned.

Fitzgerald Rathbourne stood there with one hand inside his pocket, watching the departing taillights disappear into the night.

Jonathan’s expression immediately hardened.

"What do you want?"

"I believe," Fitzgerald said after a moment’s consideration, "Catherine asked you to follow the plan."

Jonathan almost laughed. "You think I’m going to listen to you?"

"I think..." Fitzgerald replied, "...you’re about to ruin whatever she spent weeks preparing."

Jonathan’s grip tightened around his phone."You don’t know anything."

"I know enough." His voice remained infuriatingly calm. "If you storm Blackwood Manor tonight, she’ll lose."

Jonathan stared at him. "And if I do nothing?"

"She may still lose." Fitzgerald tilted his head slightly. "But she asked you to trust her."

Silence stretched between them.

Jonathan hated that those words sounded exactly like Catherine. Then Fitzgerald spoke again. "Your friend Hoover."

Jonathan frowned. "What about him?"

"Tell him to pull BioQuant’s funding. Immediately." Fitzgerald spoke as though discussing tomorrow’s weather. "In here, money moves men faster than bullets."

Jonathan knew it all already. That was already his plan. Not throggh Hoover, but in another way. But Fitzgerald’s plan would work too. It was rather unsettling how Fitzgerlald knew about his friend and how he would do anything for him.

But it definitely would draw Dorian out. A funding crisis meant emergency board meetings of bankers, lawyers, and other investors.

If enough money was suddenly threatened... Dorian would have to leave. He would have no choice.

Jonathan looked at Fitzgerald carefully. "You know an awful lot."

"I enjoy observing patterns." Jonathan narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you helping us?"

For the first time, Fitzgerald hesitated. Not because he was hiding something. Because he genuinely had to think about the answer.

Eventually he looked toward the road where the Maybach had disappeared. "He slapped my face tonight."

Jonathan frowned. "So?"

"I dislike humiliation."

The answer sounded simple. Logical. Almost childish. But Fitzgerald’s steel-grey eyes had hardened. "If keeping her away from me requires him to hurt her..."

A faint smile curved his lips. "...then he’ll have to try much harder."

He turned before Jonathan could ask another question. One snap of his fingers was all it took. His assistant appeared almost instantly from the shadows and fell into step behind him.

Jonathan watched them leave. "What is wrong with all the people my sister meets..." he muttered under his breath.

One was a ruthless billionaire. Another was a diagnosed psychopath. Neither of them behaved the way normal people should.

Yet... Catherine had never looked afraid of Fitzgerald. She had looked emotional, even protective, but never afraid.

Jonathan trusted Catherine’s instincts more than his own. He looked down at Bobby’s contact. Then cancelled the call.

Instead, he dialed Hoover.

Please answer... For Catherine’s sake... Please answer.

-----

Catherine did not say a word during the drive home.

Dorian sat beside her with his chin lowered, his eyes fixed ahead beneath dark lashes. There was something terrifying about the stillness in his posture. She had seen that look before. Usually, it was the face he wore before he decided someone had to die.

This time, she had the terrible feeling that someone was her.

At least, the last time he killed her, he had smiled first. He had dined with her, spoken gently, and lulled her into believing everything was normal as he poisoned her. This time, he did not even bother pretending. If anything, he looked as though he intended to make her suffer before he finally ended her life.

Yet when the car rolled through the gates of his estate, something unexpected happened.

He calmed down.

The anger that had simmered around him seemed to disappear, replaced by a composed silence that frightened Catherine far more. An enraged Dorian was predictable. A calm Dorian was calculating.

Her fingers tightened around the phone hanging from the pearl lanyard Alexander had given her. This night, she no longer wanted to keep her phone buried inside her clutch. She wanted it within reach at all times, as though holding it gave her one final connection to the people who could still save her.

The moment she stepped inside the mansion, her unease deepened. Security personnel stood at every entrance, while bodyguards patrolled the halls with practiced vigilance. The entire house felt less like a home and more like a fortress preparing for a siege.

"Well," Dorian said as he glanced toward the housekeeper, giving a subtle nod, "you won’t have to leave anywhere any longer."

Catherine’s stomach dropped.

He was going to keep her here.

If she disappeared, her family would come looking for her. They would never sit still while she was trapped inside this house, and Dorian knew that.

Then the horrifying realization struck her.

This engagement had never been about marriage.

It was a trap.

In her previous life, Dorian had ruled as a tyrant. This time, he needed legitimacy. He could not simply destroy the Preston family without consequence. He needed society to believe he was the victim first.

That was why he had publicly announced their engagement before making his move.

When he finally attacked the Prestons, everyone would believe they had opposed their daughter’s choice, threatened him, and forced him to defend himself. He would erase her family while keeping his spotless public image intact.

Please...

She silently begged her brothers to stay away from this house tonight.

She knew they wouldn’t. Alexander, Bobby, and Jon would never abandon her.

That certainty terrified her.

Keeping her breathing steady, Catherine turned toward the staircase. She had to reach her room, retrieve the backup phone she had hidden there, and warn her family before it was too late.

She barely took two steps before Dorian’s voice stopped her.

"What did he say to you?"

She slowly turned.

Dorian was watching her, his dark eyes unreadable as he stood between her and the stairs. His quiet presence filled the foyer until it became difficult to breathe. The fear she thought she had buried resurfaced all at once.

"Is this about Fitzgerald Rathbourne?" she asked carefully.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the servants exchanging uneasy glances before quietly disappearing down the hall, leaving the two of them alone.

Dorian did not answer.

Catherine pressed her lips together.

In her previous life, he had convinced himself she had betrayed him with Maximilian.

This time...

He believed she had betrayed him with their son.

"Isn’t he your friend?" she asked, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I was only being polite."

"Friend?"

Dorian took a slow step toward her.

"A monarch has no friends."

His hand reached for her.

Instinctively, Catherine tried to retreat, but one of his fingers hooked around the pearl lanyard hanging from her neck.

With a sharp tug, it snapped.

The string broke apart, and the baroque pearls scattered across the polished floor, bouncing in every direction before rolling beneath the furniture. Her phone slipped from the severed cord and struck the marble with a sickening crack.

Catherine knelt, trying to catch a pearl rolling away. Her eyes stung.

"That was a gift from my brother," she whispered.

"Then we’re even."

Dorian seized her chin.

His fingers dug painfully into her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

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