Shackled To The Enemy King

Fitzgerald couldn’t name the feeling rising inside his chest.

Hearing someone say, with such certainty, that he had a brother willing to lose everything for him...

He hadn’t known love like that could exist. Yet that wasn’t what made his eyes burn.

It was the warmth. That unfamiliar warmth surrounding him. The gentle arms around him. The slow, reassuring hand stroking his back.

A hug.

He searched his memories. Had anyone ever held him like this as a child?

No.

He had been born into wealth beyond imagination, but also into expectations just as enormous. Every day had been another lesson. Sit straight. Speak carefully. Think ahead. Never show weakness.

When he fell, he was told to stand back up. When he cried, he was told men did not cry.

He accepted it. That was simply how the Rathbournes lived.

Then... A memory surfaced.

A hamster.

The first living thing he had ever cared for that belonged only to him. When it died, he remembered carrying the little box to the garden himself. He had wanted nothing more than to sit beside his mother for a while.

Instead...

He had been told that Rathbourne men mourned in silence.

Pets died. People betrayed. If someone deceived you, you deceived them back. If someone struck you, you struck harder.

Every relationship was a bargain.

A smile earned another smile. A favor purchased another favor. An eye demanded another eye. Nothing came without a price.

That was life. Or... At least, that was the only life he had ever known.

Then what was this?

Catherine wasn’t asking him for anything. She wasn’t negotiating. She wasn’t trying to gain his loyalty.

She simply... Held him.

His chest tightened.

What was she receiving in exchange? Nothing.

Then... Why?

Why did that make him feel so... Weak?

No.

Not weak.

Safe.

The realization frightened him more than anything else had that day.

He abruptly leaned back, breaking the embrace before he could embarrass himself any further.

Catherine looked at him for a moment before quietly wiping the corner of her own eye. She smiled as though nothing unusual had happened.

"It’s okay," she said gently. "Seeing you cry doesn’t give me the ick."

Fitzgerald blinked. "The... what?"

"The ick." She waved a hand. "It’s when someone suddenly becomes unattractive because they do something that completely turns you off. Sammy taught me that one."

"Sammy?"

"My niece." She smiled. "Never mind."

Fitzgerald frowned. For reasons he still couldn’t explain, he found himself oddly bothered by that fact.

"So..." He cleared his throat. "Men aren’t allowed to cry?"

Catherine tilted her head thoughtfully. "No, they are." She smiled. "At least... with the people who truly love them."

He looked at her, still unconvinced. "You’ve lost me."

She laughed softly. "I don’t mean crying over every inconvenience." She leaned against the window, choosing her words carefully.

"When someone loses a parent... a child... someone they truly love..." Her smile softened. "Most women don’t think less of the man they love for crying. They’re usually grateful."

"Grateful?"

"They’re grateful he trusted them enough to let them see that part of him."

Fitzgerald remained silent.

The concept sounded... Impossible.

Depending on someone wasn’t weakness?

It was... Trust?

Before he could ask another question, Catherine glanced at the time. Her eyes lit up. "We have to go."

She turned back to him with a smile that was impossible to ignore. "I want to show you what my family is like."

Alexander’s message still sat on her phone.

[The King has awakened.]

Her heart skipped.

Maximilian was awake. He was finally awake.

Fitzgerald had every intention of declining. Then he remembered Samantha. He was rather curious to see the family that had somehow produced both Catherine... And that little menace that kept on ramming his heart.

"...Very well," he said.

A few minutes later, the helicopter lifted from the private airstrip, carrying them toward Stonehaven.

-----

Catherine buttoned her shirt all the way to her chin before stepping out of the helicopter.

She was entering the most important part of her plan, and the last thing she wanted was for her father or brothers to see the bruises Dorian had left on her neck.

Her brothers were rarely impulsive—except Bobby—but every Preston had a line that could never be crossed. If they saw the marks from Dorian squeezing her throat...

Dorian would never live long enough to see his pride, BioQuant, collapse on its own.

The moment she entered the hospital, Thomas Preston was already waiting.

"Daddy..." She threw her arms around him."I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m okay."

Thomas hugged her so tightly she could barely breathe. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. She felt the faint tremble in his arms and knew exactly what it meant.

He had believed he had lost her.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her next.

Bobby.

He held her just as tightly before finally letting go. His eyes drifted toward Fitzgerald, who had quietly followed her inside.

"He is with me now," Catherine said simply.

That was all the explanation the Prestons needed. Bobby nodded once before getting straight to business.

"Dorian’s already making his move against the ranch. William and Jonathan are handling it. Aunt Sophia and Aunt Victoria joined in too."

He handed Catherine his phone.

"You should see this."

On the screen, Sophia stood before a cluster of reporters outside a fashion event in Paris.

"...Large corporations believe they can escape accountability," she said calmly. "BioQuant’s response to the contaminated batch wasn’t protecting lives. Their first concern was protecting their reputation."

She looked directly into one of the cameras.

"They offered compensation afterward. But tell me... What compensation is enough if someone doesn’t survive?"

The interview ended.

Catherine smiled.

Sophia was a fashion designer, but her influence reached celebrities, politicians, and millions of followers. Once she spoke, others would join the conversation—some out of genuine concern, others simply because public opinion had shifted.

Either way... The damage had begun.

"It’s trending everywhere," Bobby said.

Catherine nodded.

Her family had already gone to war.

She looked across the corridor and spotted Samantha sitting alone on a bench.

"I’ll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Bobby called after her.

"Restroom!"

She hurried away before he could ask another question. Samantha glanced up.

Her eyes widened.

Fudgie...?

She blinked several times.

The tall man she’d seen earlier wasn’t beside her this time.

"I really am losing it," she muttered under her breath.

Catherine stopped in front of her. "You have concealer?"

Samantha blinked. "...What?"

"I need concealer."

Only then did Catherine slowly unbutton the top of her shirt.

The dark bruises around her neck came into view.

Samantha’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

"Aunt Cathy..."

Her voice cracked.

"He deserves to die."

Catherine looked at her reflection in the compact mirror as she carefully covered the bruises.

"He does."

Her voice remained calm.

"But first..."

A faint smile appeared.

"He’ll lose everything he built. His empire. His pride. Everything he values."

She snapped the compact shut.

"Only then...does he earn the right to die."

A few minutes later, she stood outside the ICU room. Her hand rested on the doorknob. It trembled, not from fear but from anticipation.

She turned toward her family.

"I’d like a little time alone."

James nodded first. One by one, the others quietly stepped away.

Alexander remained. He walked over and gently lifted her chin, studying the bruises hidden beneath the concealer.

"Tomorrow?" he asked quietly.

Catherine nodded.

"Tomorrow."

Alexander lowered his hand, though the anger in his eyes did not fade.

"He’s acting rather disrespectful in there."

Catherine blinked. "What happened?"

Alexander glanced toward the ICU, a faint smile forming on his face, concealing the rage. "Good thing no one here understands Latin."

A faint sigh escaped him. "I thought he’d have gotten used to it after becoming king."

"To what?"

"Being attended to."

He folded his arms.

"Even as the Prince, he never liked maids dressing him or lingering in his chambers. I assumed years on the throne would’ve changed that."

He shook his head. "Apparently not. The nurses can’t get near him. He’s barking orders at everyone, demanding they leave, as though they’re palace servants."

Catherine couldn’t help smiling. "He really is awake..."

This man... her man...

She realized there were still parts of him she had never known. This proud, stubborn king who still refused to let strangers fuss over him.

Alexander looked back at her. "I’ve never seen him like this before."

He paused for a moment before adding quietly, "Go. He’s waiting for someone."

Catherine’s smile softened.

Yes...He is.

Alexander turned and walked away.

The corridor gradually fell silent. Catherine drew in one slow, steady breath.

Then she opened the door.

Maximilian...I’m here.

The corridor disappeared behind her.

The moment the door clicked shut, the sounds of the hospital faded into silence.

Her fingers loosened around the handle.

She turned.

Maximilian sat propped against the hospital bed, a white bandage wrapped around his head. The pale hospital gown could not diminish the quiet authority that clung to him. Even after weeks in a coma, there was something unmistakably regal about the way he carried himself.

He looked exhausted.

His shoulders rested against the raised bed, his eyes half-lidded, as though sleep threatened to claim him again at any moment.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then the soft click of the closing door reached him.

Maximilian slowly lifted his gaze.

His tired eyes settled on the woman standing at the entrance.

"Katerina... mea amor..."

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