Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 80: The Vow Ribbon Incident

Catherine saw that dangerous smile, and for a fleeting second, it dragged her back to another lifetime.

Her lips parted before she realized she was biting them.

It wasn’t just memory. It was her body, too, that responded to him. For a moment, her thoughts felt scattered, dulled by a warmth that wasn’t rational.

Of course, Maximilian could do this.

If he had a goal, he would move mountains to reach it. She knew that better than anyone. He had been a king who won wars not just with strength, but with a mind that saw ten steps ahead of everyone else. Calculated. Patient. Relentless.

A terrifying enemy to have.

The only thing that should surprise her now was the scale of his power in this life. A mere history professor could not orchestrate something like this in a matter of hours.

"I told you she’d come to us," he said evenly. "She’s not easy to break. She won’t bend that quickly."

Catherine studied him... really studied him.

There was no hesitation in his voice. No softness. Not even a flicker of old affection when he spoke of the woman who had once been his wife... the one who had borne him a son.

Had they not loved each other?

Had their marriage decayed into something cold and political? Had he grown bored of her?

Questions rose one after another, pressing against her chest.

"Did she betray you?" Catherine asked quietly.

She had thought he was protecting Charlotte.

But now... there was nothing in his expression that resembled protection. If anything, there was distance. A coldness that made her wonder whether what she was seeing was real, or whether he was simply too skilled an actor for her to read through.

Her pulse quickened.

Am I walking straight into a trap?

Maximilian went still.

For a brief second, something shifted in his eyes. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking near his temple, as if he were forcing something down, something heavy and volatile that threatened to surface.

He blinked slowly, once... then again, as if weighing every word before allowing it to pass his lips.

"Katerina..." he said at last. "My vow ribbon was meant for you. Always."

His voice had softened, and for a moment he was no longer standing in this quiet living room. His eyes had gone distant, pulled back into a memory he had carried for years.

One of his greatest mistakes had begun that day... with a rumor he should never have allowed to spread.

He had planned it carefully. The ribbon had her name embroidered onto it in delicate thread, each stitch done by his own hand. He had imagined kneeling before her, dramatic and shameless, just to see her startled expression. He wanted to watch her pretend she did not care, her lips curling while she turned her face away.

But he should have known her.

She was never the type to sit and watch things unfold.

The moment he paused before Lady Charlotte—just for effect, just to heighten the anticipation—Katerina had moved.

She snatched the ribbon from his hand.

The crowd had burst into laughter, already used to their antics. She ran toward the lake, her laughter echoing across the water. He chased her, half irritated she had ruined his dramatic proposal, half amused by her boldness.

He caught her at the damp banks.

No... Actually, he tackled her like she were some unruly colt.

They fell and rolled together across the wet ground, mud staining their clothes. She was fourteen then. He was seventeen.

He landed above her.

And suddenly... the world had changed.

They froze there, breathing hard, staring into each other’s eyes. Over the past year, he had begun noticing the subtle changes in her... the softening of her figure, the way her dresses now framed her differently... beneath her neck.

He had no business staring. But he had.

And then... Time had seemed to stop.

He had leaned closer. Not to tease. Not to joke. He had wanted her. She was his. And he was hers.

But... She startled at the shift in his expression. The ribbon slipped from her hand. The wind carried it away.

By the time he scrambled toward the water, it had sunk beneath the reeds. He searched desperately, wading into the shallows, but it was gone.

When he returned, soaked and frustrated, she was sitting on the damp grass. All his effort had sunk into the water... and she sat there, laughing... her radiant and careless self, like she had not just destroyed something he had poured his heart into.

Her damp dress clung to her. Her neckline dipped far lower than propriety allowed. Mud streaked her skin, her hair, her clothes... and still she looked unfairly beautiful.

And he... her fiancé, her future husband... could do nothing.

Four more years. He had to wait four more years.

The thought burned through him like fire.

One day... he would make her pay for that laugh.

He wanted to ruin her. Take her until she pleaded under him, make her moan under him, scream his name in a way that would leave her breathless beneath him, her voice breaking with his name, her pride shattered in his hands, their body becoming one.

"One day... I’ll ruin you when you least expect it."

He had said it out of frustration.

She only laughed harder.

He wanted to catch her face in his hands then and there and wanted to silence that laughter with a kiss that would make her forget how to speak.

But the chaperones were already rushing toward them, scandalized and watchful.

Even engaged... they were never truly alone.

He could have explained everything in those four years. He had the time. But pride had sealed his mouth shut. Pride and that damn presumption that she was his.

He did not want to be the one who fell in first. He wanted to wait until she confessed.

And then... time had run out.

Now, standing before her in this life, he felt the weight of everything unsaid.

Catherine leaned back as if she had taken a physical blow to the stomach.

There had been rumors. No—not rumors. She had heard it herself. Maximilian had stood with his friends, laughing lightly, saying he would give the vow ribbon to Lady Charlotte because she was more lady-like, more graceful... not brash.

For a fourteen-year-old girl, it had been devastating.

She had smiled through it.

But she had gone home and cried.

And now he was telling her the ribbon had always been meant for her?

What was he doing?

An apology would have been one thing. Regret, even. But this—this sounded like he was rewriting history itself.

She was not going to believe him.

She had lived an entire lifetime hunted by his shadow, cornered by his decisions, crushed by the consequences of his crown.

But...

But...

She did not know what to believe anymore.

Her chest felt tight.

Without another word, she stood and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind her with more care than force. She just needed space. Silence. A moment where his eyes were not on her.

Outside, Maximilian exhaled slowly and dragged a hand through his hair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers pressing against his temple.

Had he pushed too far?

Had he shattered the fragile peace they had only just begun to build?

Inside the bedroom, Catherine sat beside the bassinet and stared at the baby. The soft rise and fall of the little chest steadied the air in the room, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside her.

She didn’t want to think.

She was tired of thinking.

But the questions would not stop.

If he had never loved Lady Charlotte, then why had he married her? Was there not a single suitable noblewoman in his own kingdom? Why choose Charlotte of all people?

Why choose her... and then let everything burn?

Catherine rose abruptly, unable to sit still any longer.

She had to ask him.

She took barely two steps toward the door when her phone vibrated.

The sudden buzz made her flinch.

She looked down.

A name blinked across the screen.

Dorian Blackwood.

Her breath caught.

Why was he calling her now?

She swallowed hard, staring at the vibrating phone as if it might explode in her hand.