Chapter 104: Loved Up

William knew this would happen and hence he kept it from his father. He had decided to break it to him, when Catherine was with him. Seeing her would make him believe.

“No, Dad.” William gripped his arm firmly. “Our Bean is okay. She spoke to you, remember? Did she sound different? Did she sound broken?”

James’s chest rose and fell, unsteady.

“Shall I call her?” William asked, already scrolling down.

“No…” James stopped him. “Let her rest.”

Slowly… slowly… he calmed.

The storm didn’t leave.

It just buried itself deeper.

“You go home,” James said at last, voice quiet, worn. “Miranda will be waiting.”

“Dad… do you want to sleep at our place tonight?” William asked, unease curling in his gut. Something felt wrong. His father looked… smaller. Frailer. The doctors had advised him to keep him from stress and nothing stresses their father more than letting him know Catherine had suffered.

“I’m fine,” James said, waving him off in that familiar, stubborn way. “Go.”

He turned and walked inside, each step slower than the last.

William stood there, watching his father’s back, something tight in his chest. He couldn’t ignore this feeling in his heart. He pulled out his phone and called his wife.

“Honey, I’m staying with Dad tonight,” he said.

“Is something wrong? Is he not feeling well?” Miranda asked worried.

“He found out about the Calhoun mess.”

Miranda let out a deep breath. “Take care of him. Call me if you need anything. Love you.”

“Love you.”

William hung up and looked toward the hallway where his father had disappeared.

For the first time in his life, the man who had always seemed unbreakable looked… breakable.

William’s throat tightened.

Please… Dad… stay strong for us.

—–

Catherine stirred awake to a familiar weight on her chest.

This man…

He was clutching her breasts like they were his prized possessions, while fast asleep.

She should have been annoyed. But she was too soft, too loved-up to even summon the energy.

She was still naked. He wore only his underwear; he must have woken in the night to check on the baby and slipped them on. She… had slept peacefully.

Her gaze dropped to his fingers resting against her. Heat crept up her neck. She still couldn’t believe what had happened last night.

That feeling…

Was that an orgasm?

No wonder men and women chased it even at the edge of ruin. It had been so…

Her thoughts tripped.

Wait.

If his fingers could do that… what could his…

She slapped both hands over her face and dissolved into a quiet, helpless giggle.

Scooting closer, she nestled against him. His arm shifted, sliding down to wrap around her waist instead, abandoning his earlier claim.

She eyed him suspiciously. Maybe… he was getting better at pretending to be asleep.

“It’ll snow tonight,” Maximilian murmured lazily.

Catherine’s eyes snapped open. “I knew you were awake, Moosemilian! You just wanted to grope me—”

She swatted at his cheek. He caught her wrist easily.

Chuckling, he turned her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her palm.

The chill slipping in through the window… his voice… the warmth of that kiss—

Memory unfurled.

—–

The garden in Elyndra had been silvered in moonlight, every hedge rimed with a rare winter frost. Their breaths had drifted between them in pale clouds. It was the winter ball—their first meeting in two years, after the vow ribbon incident.

Everything had changed. And yet… they were still too young, too in love, to notice.

They should have returned to the ballroom.

Neither of them did.

Their footsteps crunched softly along the gravel path, the night so quiet it felt like it belonged to them alone.

“You stepped on my foot,” Katerina murmured, fussing with her skirts.

Max huffed a quiet laugh. “You moved too close.”

“You pulled me closer.”

“That,” he said lazily, “is because you kept drifting away.”

She shot him a look. The smirk tugging at his mouth made her stomach twist—flutter or burn, she couldn’t tell.

They stopped at the stone balustrade overlooking the frozen lake, moonlight spilling across the ice in pale, trembling light. Katerina set her gloved hands on the cold stone, steadying herself.

Max stepped beside her, close enough that his warmth erased the winter.

“You wear gloves even indoors now?” he asked.

“It’s winter. And it’s a ball.”

“But,” he said softly, turning fully to her, “you didn’t wear them when we were children. You always wanted to feel everything.”

Her breath caught. “Feel what?” she asked, trying to control her racing heart.

Slowly, giving her time to pull away, he reached for her hand.

“Katerina,” he murmured, “may I?”

The question startled her more than the touch. He had never asked her anything before.

She nodded anyway.

He slid the glove from her fingers with careful, reverent gentleness. Cold air kissed her skin, and then his hand did, warm and steady, enclosing hers.

She tried to deflect. “You’re being dramatic. It’s just a hand.”

“No,” he said quietly, the words settling deep in her chest, “it’s your hand.”

Then he lifted it.

Slowly.

Her pulse thundered as he lowered his head and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

One soft kiss.

Barely there.

And yet the entire night seemed to split open around them.

“Your Highness…” she whispered, her voice betraying her.

His breath lingered warm against her skin. “Tell me you didn’t feel that.”

Of course, she had.

Her heart was a frantic drum, aching and bright, but she straightened, clinging to composure.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

His hand tightened around hers. “Then why are you shaking?”

She didn’t know who moved first.

Only that suddenly they were closer… her back brushing the balustrade, his body angled toward hers, their breaths mingling in the cold.

His other hand hovered near her cheek, not touching. Asking.

“Katerina…” he murmured, voice low and careful and wanting.

Her lips parted.

He leaned in… So close the warmth of his mouth ghosted hers.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

Almost.

Almost…

“Maximilian.”

The Queen’s voice cut through the night like a blade.

They broke apart instantly.

Katerina snatched back her hand. Max stepped in front of her on instinct, shielding her without thought.

His mother stood on the path—composed, but knowing. Her gaze flicked from his rumpled hair, to Katerina’s bare hand, to the glove forgotten on the balustrade.

“Katerina,” she said gently, “your father is looking for you.”

Katerina nodded, unable to speak, her heart still racing.

Max bent, brushed the frost from her glove, and returned it to her. His fingers lingered a second too long.

“Goodnight, Katerina,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” she breathed.

But the memory of his kiss still burned on her hand… bright as the moon over a frozen lake.

The warmth of his breath drew her back. Her lips curved.

“You take advantage of me far too often… I really should learn to protest,” she murmured.

Maximilian opened his eyes. Soft, warm… and with that infuriatingly playful smirk that made him look devastatingly handsome.

“Why protest,” he said lazily, “when you can return the favor?”

Catherine’s heart skipped. “Oh? Is that so?”

With the swift, mischievous precision of a cat’s paw, her hand darted forward—

“Not there.”

Maximilian caught her wrist in an instant, faster than she could blink, his grip firm as he protected his life force.

Catherine laughed, bright and breathless… But the sound died in her throat.

Her gaze had fallen to the bracelet.

“The bracelet…” she whispered.

The color drained from her face.

Maximilian followed her stare, and froze. His eyes widened in dawning horror.

“How…?” he breathed.

That was not just a bracelet.

That was the bracelet.

Alexandrite set in gold glimmered in her hand, where “The Soul Shackle” once was.

The soul-bond that had chained them together in this life… had… disappeared. And what was sitting on her wrist was the exact form of the promise bracelet he had given her… in their previous life.

Her fingers trembled. Her pulse stumbled.

“How…?”

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