Chapter 91: Protective Instinct

As usual, Catherine slept through half of Maximilian’s lectures.

She had claimed the couch in the faculty office as if it were her rightful territory, curled on her side while he graded papers at his desk, red pen moving with ruthless precision.

Lately, exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. No matter how much she slept, it wasn’t enough. Her body felt heavier these days. Slower. As though something inside her was quietly draining her strength. It was why she wanted to get back to work sooner. She didn’t want to turn into a lazy bum.

When she stirred awake, blinking against the soft afternoon light, she realized Maximilian was no longer alone.

Someone else stood beside his desk.

“Sebastian,” she greeted, pushing herself upright with a lazy stretch. “How’s Bernice?”

He wasn’t in one of his elaborate disguises today; Just Sebastian. Bright-eyed. Relaxed. Radiating a kind of happiness that softened his usually sharp presence.

He looked… victorious.

Catherine felt warmth bloom in her chest at the sight.

In their previous life, after Bernice died, Sebastian had never smiled like that again. He had moved through the world like a weapon without a master—efficient, cold, mechanical.

He deserved this happiness.

But instead of responding immediately, Sebastian stared at her like a deer caught in headlights.

Then, instinctively… He took half a step back, as if preparing for impact.

Catherine narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to kill you for what you and Bernice decided to do,” she said calmly.

He visibly relaxed.

“However…” She tilted her head slightly, her tone turning silkily dangerous. “If you dare hurt my Bernice, I’ll personally remove your family jewels and feed them to Arcturus.”

She folded her arms. “That dog deserves premium protein.”

Sebastian exhaled slowly and raised both hands in surrender.

“That’s fair,” he admitted gravely.

Maximilian didn’t even look up from his papers, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“What about your fiancée?” Catherine asked, her expression turning serious again.

She trusted Sebastian’s character. Honor was etched into his bones. He would not make Bernice suffer intentionally.

But unfinished business had a way of poisoning new beginnings.

“I’ve arranged a dinner between both families tonight,” Sebastian replied. “I’ll apologize properly and end the engagement in front of everyone.”

Catherine nodded in approval.

“Good.”

As expected of him.

Sebastian hesitated.

Her brows drew together. “What?”

“It’s Bernice…” he began carefully, stepping closer before sitting at the edge of the couch near her. “She doesn’t seem… certain.”

Catherine tilted her head, puzzled.

Not certain? After everything?

“I’ll talk to her,” she said firmly.

Sebastian’s expression softened, gratitude flickering through his eyes.

“I’ll stand by her,” he said quietly. “No matter what.”

There was no bravado in it. No drama. Just conviction.

Catherine studied him for a long second, then nodded.

“And if your family raises objections about her background,” she added coolly, “tell them she’s my sister.”

Sebastian froze.

“Sister?”

It wasn’t a word to throw around lightly. Especially not in circles where bloodlines were currency.

Catherine shrugged lightly, as if she were offering something trivial. “That should count for something.”

He stared at her, momentarily speechless. Then he inclined his head. “I’ll remember that.”

A faint shadow crossed his face as he straightened.

“My grandfather will likely be relieved,” he said. “He’s been waiting for me to show interest in someone.”

“But your parents?” Catherine asked.

Sebastian gave a humorless smile.

“They’ll be… more difficult.”

He lowered his gaze slightly, already calculating the battle ahead.

Across the room, Maximilian finally looked up from his grading.

His eyes flickered briefly between them—measuring, assessing.

“Has Maximilian told you yet?” Sebastian leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Dorian Blackwood is a crazy bastard.”

Catherine’s gaze slid to Maximilian.

He immediately looked down, suddenly very invested in clicking the back of his fountain pen, as if it were a ballpoint.

Of course, it didn’t click.

Her eyes narrowed.

That liar. He tried to hide something from me. Again.

“What did he do?” she asked, her voice deceptively calm.

Maximilian’s head snapped up. He opened his mouth…

Catherine shot him a glare sharp enough to slice paper.

Don’t.

Maximilian bowed his head, lips pressed tight.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Ashley was beaten within an inch of her life last night. I found out it was Dorian.”

Catherine blinked.

For a second, she thought she had misheard.

“Why?” she asked slowly.

But even as the question left her lips, a terrible, dangerous suspicion curled through her chest.

Was it… because of her? Had he found out what Ashley did to her—and acted?

Her heart began to pound.

Not in fear. In recognition.

Because this… This wasn’t unfamiliar.

Memory rose like a tide she couldn’t stop.

The smell of wet earth… the sound of boots on gravel…

—

It was her first year as Queen, during the hunting festival, held in honor of the King of Velmont. Her husband. Katerina attended because she must. Not because she wished to.

She stood at the edge of the field, hands folded, spine straight, watching. Always watching. Learning Velmont like a foreign language, knowing she would speak it for the rest of her life.

Then she heard them.

Two young noblemen. Voices low, but not low enough.

“Maybe the rumors were true,” one said, his gaze dragging over her instead of meeting her eyes. “The Elyndrian princess wasn’t chaste when she arrived. Dravenholt found out first.”

The other snickered. “Look at her. Too pretty to be untouched. The king married her to stop a war, not for her virtue.”

Her stomach tightened.

Humiliation was familiar. She had swallowed worse.

Walk away, she told herself. You are The Queen.

But they continued.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she spread her legs again for someone important. Women like her always do.”

Something snapped.

She moved.

Gravel crunched beneath her boots as she strode toward them, skirts cutting sharp lines through the air.

“Say it again.”

They stared, not guilty. Just stunned.

A queen confronting them?

One scoffed. “Your Majesty, we meant no disrespect. We were only repeating what the court already—”

He never finished. Katerina felt a darkness pass from behind her.

A hand seized his collar and slammed him into a wooden post hard enough to shake the pavilion.

Gasps rippled across the field.

Dorian.

No crown. No guards. Just a man with murder in his eyes.

The second noble stumbled back as Dorian’s voice dropped.

“You speak about her again, and I will carve the words out of your mouth.”

“Y-Your Majesty, we didn’t know—”

“You knew,” Dorian said coldly. “You just thought no one would stop you.”

He released the first man, then shoved him again. Not for politics. Not for spectacle. Because he wanted him to feel it.

The field fell silent.

Katerina stood still.

Not because he defended her, but because, for once, no one laughed, no one whispered, and no one questioned her.

She had forgotten what it felt like not to fight alone.

The nobles dropped to their knees. “Sire, forgive us—”

Dorian grabbed one by the chin and forced his gaze to her.

“You apologize to your Queen.”

The man trembled. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. It will never happen again.”

She held his gaze until he broke. Then she turned away.

“Leave,” Dorian said.

They fled.

Silence clung to the field. Her hands were still clenched—not in fear, but in something she couldn’t name. Relief. Anger. Gratitude.

Dorian approached carefully.

“Katerina,” he said softly. Her name.

She swallowed. Her heart was pounding. “You didn’t need to, Your Majesty.”

“Perhaps not.” There was neither pride, nor triumph in his tone. “But I wanted to.”

And in his eyes… there was softness.

—

Catherine’s present vision blurred for half a second as the memory faded.

Her pulse was still racing.

Ashley was beaten. Dorian was involved.

Was it cruelty?

Or was it the same reckless, possessive instinct he had always carried?

Across the room, Maximilian was watching her carefully now. Too carefully, as if he could see the past flickering behind her eyes.

His fists clenched into balls as he felt her slipping away from him.

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