Chapter 77: Morning Shenanigans

Catherine’s eyes snapped open just as his fingers tightened slightly.

Not pulling her closer.

Not moving closer himself.

Just… holding.

And squeezing.

Her brows drew together.

Is this a man thing?

She did not have much experience in this area. In her previous life, etiquette had dictated distance; King and Queen did not simply share a bed for comfort, much less sleep tangled together through the night.

But in this life…

She had been surrounded by women.

Talkative women.

Very talkative women.

Women who seemed to take it as their sacred duty to stuff her head with gossip she had never asked for… especially about their marriages.

A couple of them were married to her brothers.

Which made it worse.

She had explicitly told them, very clearly, that she did not want to know anything about her brothers’ private lives.

They had ignored her.

Completely.

“Your brother slaps my butt all the time,” one had complained.

“A back massage never ends as just a back massage,” another had sighed dramatically.

Catherine had suffered through it all with a blank face and a screaming soul.

And in between all that unnecessary information… There had been one oddly consistent topic.

Men.

And their… fascination. With breasts.

Apparently, it was universal.

One of the women had even quoted a “study,” insisting that men reaching for their partner’s breasts in their sleep helped them cope with stress and live longer.

“Completely non-sexual,” she had sworn.

Catherine had doubted the credibility of that study immediately. It sounded suspiciously like something written by men.

But still…

She was a neuroscientist.

Curiosity was practically built into her bones.

Slowly, carefully, she shifted her gaze toward Maximilian.

His breathing was even.

His face relaxed.

Asleep.

…Was he?

Or was he pretending?

Catherine decided to observe a little longer.

And that was when she noticed it.

He was sleeping at the very edge of the bed, facing her… while she had somehow rolled all the way over to his side in her sleep.

Her pillow lay abandoned on the other end. Her neck… was resting comfortably on his arm.

So… she had moved closer first. Long before he had reached for her.

Considering the size of the bed, that was… telling.

She decided not to think too much about it.

His breathing brushed against her face—warm, steady. And it had a scent. She had always assumed morning breath would be unpleasant after a whole night’s sleep, but his wasn’t.

It was warm.

Clean.

Faintly… comforting.

Before she realized what she was doing, she leaned a little closer to his lips.

Then stopped herself.

Her throat bobbed.

At that exact moment, his arm shifted in his sleep, and his hand slid to her waist, holding her there.

Her breath caught.

The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin silk of her slip and spread across her skin, slow and consuming.

It should have been uncomfortable. It should have made her move away.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she watched him.

The early dawn light filtered through the curtains, bathing his face in a soft blue glow.

She traced his features with her eyes. The sharp line of his brow. His deep-set eyes, framed by thick lashes. The straight bridge of his nose. The faint stubble shadowing his chin.

Before she knew it, her fingers lifted.

She touched his chin. Then gently rubbed her thumb over the rough stubble.

A small, involuntary smile curved her lips.

She liked the feeling.

The faint prickling against her fingertips sent a strange little thrill up her spine… all the way to her lips.

And then…

He smiled… while he was still asleep.

Catherine froze.

Her heart stumbled, and she was just about to move away when he murmured something, his voice thick with sleep.

She stilled and leaned closer, listening.

“Princeps… pro te.”

Princess… for you.

Her eyes burned instantly.

When they were young, he had made her cry often enough. And she had returned the favor without mercy. But whenever he found something delicious—anything at all—he would run straight to her.

Even if he had only one piece, he would break it in half and give her the better portion, his eyes shining as he held it out.

“Princeps… for you.” He’d say.

That expression on his face… The way he would look almost offended if she refused what he offered…

That memory had never left her. It was still vivid. Still warm. Still painfully dear.

“Maximilian…”

The name slipped from her lips in a whisper.

A name she had refused to speak aloud when he was awake. A name she had once believed would be carved beside hers on a shared tomb. A name she had written again and again in lonely moments, just to feel closer to him.

The name of the man she had loved more than anything.

“Mi Princeps…”

My Prince.

Before she realized it, she had moved closer again.

His arm was still beneath her neck. His hand was warm on her waist. Her forehead rested near his shoulder as his breath stirred her hair.

Safe.

Peaceful.

Held.

And slowly… gently…

Catherine drifted back to sleep.

When Catherine stirred again sometime later, it wasn’t the dawn light that woke her.

It was warmth.

A firm hand wrapped around her knee.

Her eyes flew open.

And the first thing she saw was him.

Bare skin, broad and sculpted, his chest lit by the soft gold of early morning light slipping through the curtains. The lines of muscle and shadow looked almost unreal—like a statue come to life.

Her gaze drifted downward without permission.

His abdomen. The steady rise and fall of his breathing.

And then…

What is that…? And that… thing… And what is happening to it now…? Is it… Oh… Oh?!

Her brain caught up. Finally.

Her knee was lifting in her sleep, and Maximilian had caught it mid-motion, holding it in place.

Saving himself. Saving her. Saving… both of them from a very unfortunate accident.

Catherine blinked.

Slowly.

Then realization struck again… harder.

Her slip had ridden up. Far up. And the thin straps had slid down her shoulders, leaving far more of her exposed than she would ever allow while awake.

She froze for one long, mortifying second.

“…This is awkward,” she muttered under her breath.

Quickly, she fixed herself, pulling the fabric back down, adjusting the straps, reclaiming some sense of dignity as she scooted a respectful distance away from him.

Maximilian, however, made no such effort.

He remained exactly as he was, lying there with his robe loosely parted, completely unbothered.

Watching her.

His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable… but his eyes very much awake.

And very much on her.

Her gaze, the traitor that it was, dropped for a brief second before snapping back up.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Something in her chest tightened.

And then… something else stirred. Unexpected. Uninvited.

But undeniably real.

Maybe Maximilian felt it too. Because he shifted closer. Not rushed. Not forceful.

Just… drawn to her.

And something shifted between them.

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