Chapter 138: Breaking Softly

Catherine could now recall fragments of that time with unsettling clarity. That was all she thought about the entire day. Even when she was mindlessly laughing, she was searching her soul for any and all memories from that time.

They had already been at war for more than a decade by then. The kingdom was stretched to its limits: grain reserves had nearly run dry, and even the relentless taxes imposed on the people were no longer enough to sustain the military campaigns. What had once been a war of pride had slowly turned into a battle for survival.

And in the midst of it all… the court had turned against her.

Over the last five years, the hostility had grown steadily. Whispers followed her wherever she went. Some called her the cause of the war, a woman whose very existence had dragged two powerful kings into endless bloodshed. Others painted her as something far more dangerous, as a femme fatale who stood at the center of it all, silently puppeteering the conflict while maintaining the appearance of innocence.

When she gave birth to a son, a portion of the court had softened toward her.

But the rest only grew sharper in their judgment. More watchful and resentful.

At the heart of that opposition stood Edward, the father of Dorian’s first wife, and the patriarch of the most powerful military family in Velmont. Nearly half of the kingdom’s army answered to him, and in times of war, that made his authority almost equal to Dorian’s.

Yet Catherine had never once met him.

Dorian had always ensured that their paths never crossed, keeping a careful distance between them at all times. Back then, she had believed it was for her protection. She had trusted that he was shielding her from unnecessary hostility.

Now… she wasn’t certain. Perhaps he had been protecting her. Or perhaps he had been preventing something else entirely.

Around the time the talks about negotiations began to surface, the Velmont army secured a decisive victory, one that had only been possible because of her.

She had predicted Maximilian’s next move with precision.

The generals had resisted her strategy from the very beginning. Most of them were Edward’s men, and their disdain for her ran deep. To them, she was not only an outsider but a woman who had no place in matters of war.

But Dorian had overruled them. The strategy was carried out. And it worked.

They won.

Yet victory did not bring her acceptance. If anything, it made the generals more restless. The more her influence grew, the more threatened they felt by her presence.

Catherine was aware of all of this. And still… she had trusted Dorian.

She respected him enough to believe him when he said that the victory had crippled Maximilian’s forces, that the enemy was faltering, and that this was the perfect moment to initiate a ceasefire.

A chance for peace.

He had looked at her with unwavering confidence when he said she was the right person for the task.

That she was clever and capable, that she understood Maximilian better than anyone else. He had told her that Maximilian himself had suggested a private dinner as the setting for the negotiations, but that he trusted her to handle it. That she only needed to be confident.

And she had believed him.

Completely.

His faith in her had filled something deep within her—a quiet, aching need she had carried for far too long.

He had stood by her when the court turned against her, defended her when others whispered.

Chosen her, again and again.

That feeling of having someone firmly on her side… someone who would fight for her without hesitation… It was addictive.

She had wanted to hold onto it, and to prove that his trust in her was not misplaced.

And so, without hesitation, she had agreed.

Catherine pushed herself up onto her knees and reached for Maximilian, her fingers clutching at his shoulders, nails digging in as if she needed something solid to hold onto.

“Tell me…” she whispered, her lips trembling, her eyes already shining with unshed tears. “Dorian did not offer a dinner with me… did he?”

Her heart felt as though it were splintering apart with every passing second.

She already had a feeling. But she needed to hear it. She needed to confirm it, no matter how much it would hurt.

Maximilian’s jaw tightened as he looked at her. “Catherine…” he murmured softly.

He caught her wrists where they gripped him and gently pulled her hands away from his shoulders, pressing them instead against his chest, as though trying to anchor her there.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” he said quietly. “What you remember is enough. You don’t have to—”

Catherine stared at him.

Even now.

Even when he had every reason to expose Dorian, to paint himself in a better light, he was still holding back. He was still choosing his words carefully. He was still trying to protect her from the truth, to protect her heart, and to shield her from pain.

And somehow… that hurt even more.

Not just for herself, but for him.

How could he still choose kindness, even now?

“Why?” she demanded, her voice breaking as tears finally spilled over. “How long will you keep it all locked away?”

She leaned closer, her hands rising to cup his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Look at me,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “Tell me… tell me his exact words. I want to remember.”

Her thumb brushed against his cheek, almost pleading now. “I need to know.”

Maximilian swallowed. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he let out a slow breath, as if bracing himself.

“He offered you,” he said quietly, each word heavy, deliberate. His voice faltered, just for a moment, before he added, “for a night… in exchange for a ceasefire.”

His arm tightened around her waist, instinctively pulling her closer.

“When I questioned him,” he continued, his voice lowering further, “he added Port Hepgar to the offer.”

For a moment, Catherine simply stared at him. Then her strength gave way. Her knees weakened beneath her, and she sank back onto the bed with a hollow, breathless laugh that held no trace of humor.

Maximilian immediately caught her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders as he drew her into him.

She laughed again. Tears streamed freely down her face now, her shoulders trembling against his chest.

So that was it. That was what she had been worth to him.

A bargaining chip.

A convenient offering.

It hadn’t mattered that she had carried his child. That she had stood beside him through years of war. That she had given everything she had to secure his victories. Not even the fact that she was his queen had meant anything in the end.

She had only ever been something he possessed. Something valuable.

Something… expendable.

Maximilian held her without a word.

His arms tightened slightly around her, as though trying to hold her together as she quietly came apart.

And yet… This wasn’t even the worst thing Dorian had done to her.

“He needed a reason to depose me, didn’t he?” Catherine murmured, her voice distant now, as though she were piecing together something long buried.

It made sense.

Dorian had never been a man who shared what he considered his. If he had been willing to offer her… Then he must have already decided she was no longer his to keep.

A quiet, broken laugh escaped her lips.

“Catherine…” Maximilian’s voice was softer now, almost unsteady. “I’m here.”

But her laughter only continued, light and hollow and unbearably fragile.

Through the bond of the bracelet, he could feel it… feel the way her pain tore through her from the inside, sharp and relentless.

It unsettled him more than anger ever could.

“Joke’s on me…” Catherine whispered, the faintest smile trembling on her lips as tears continued to fall.

“I trusted the wrong man.”

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