Shackled To The Enemy King

With her bloodshot eyes, Catherine remained on her knees. Yet she was no longer crying. Not anymore.

Alexander stood beside her, one hand resting gently on her shoulder, making sure she was still holding on, still coping somehow.

"We’re wrapping this up. The patient is not responding," one of the doctors said.

Catherine slowly rose to her feet.

She was no longer trembling.

Her eyes were focused.

Crying had not helped. Raising her voice had not helped. Pleading had not worked. Maximilian’s mother and sister had tried speaking to him. Even his dog’s frantic barking had done nothing.

None of it had worked.

"Can you check once more if the headphones are working?" she asked.

The purpose of the test had been simple: to determine whether external stimuli could still provoke a response from Maximilian. Familiar voices. Familiar sounds. If his brain remained active, even faintly, it should revisit the associated memories, causing activity in the hippocampus as those memories were accessed.

The doctors looked unimpressed.

They were among the top specialists in the country, and they did not appreciate having their diagnosis challenged. They had already proven, in their minds, why they stood at the pinnacle of their field.

Now they wanted to move on to the next patient—someone they could still save. Someone who still needed them to fight for them.

From their perspective, their reasoning was sound.

But for Catherine, Maximilian was her world.

And if there existed even the smallest possibility that these machines were wrong, she would repeat the tests again and again and again.

She would not accept that Maximilian was dead.

She was not going to give up on him.

Just as he had never given up on her.

"I’m trying it once more."

The doctors were visibly displeased. To them, this was nothing more than beating a dead horse.

However, the hospital director had personally instructed them to accommodate this "double doctorate" woman. The Prestons had promised millions in donations, and hospitals, no matter how prestigious, still required funding.

As much as they resented bureaucracy, and as much as they disliked being second-guessed by someone whose doctorate in neuroscience did not make her a neurosurgeon, money had a way of moving mountains.

Reluctantly, they agreed.

"Only five minutes, Miss Preston," one of them said stiffly. "We have other patients who need us."

Catherine turned and nodded.

Alexander watched her carefully, and something inside him eased.

She was no longer lost.

This was his sister again—Catherine Elizabeth Preston in all her elegance and grace. She was back.

"Thank you for your help so far, and thank you for understanding, Doctor," she said, offering a sincere smile and bowing her head. "I’m sorry for crossing the line earlier, but I’d like to try one more time."

The doctor’s stiff posture wavered slightly. He could see that she was no longer merely a grieving loved one lashing out in despair. There was something different in her eyes now—something sharp, focused, unwavering. For the first time, he could understand how someone so young could possess two doctorates.

"Please," he said, gesturing toward the microphone. "We checked. The headphones are working."

Catherine gave a curt smile and lowered herself into the chair. She did not have much strength left in her body, but once Catherine Elizabeth Preston made up her mind, nothing could stop her.

Leaning toward the microphone, she softly said, "Maximilian..."

Then she closed her eyes.

She was not a desperate woman clinging to false hope.

She refused to think of herself that way.

Maximilian was awake.

He was not brain dead.

And if he was awake, then he could hear her.

She believed that with every fiber of her being.

The machines began running once more, and the doctors instinctively leaned closer, their attention fixed on the monitors.

Catherine’s voice was smooth and gentle, soft as a whisper exchanged between lovers in the middle of the night, when the rest of the world had long fallen asleep.

Somewhere along the way, she forgot where she was. The hospital disappeared. His prognosis disappeared. The doctors, the machines, the fear—all of it faded away.

She was simply talking to him.

Talking to her Maximilian.

And this time, she spoke in Latin.

There was a reason for that.

Whenever they had discussed their past lives, they had always spoken of the pain, the betrayals, the misunderstandings, and the regrets. They had never spoken of their childhood. Never of the happiness they had once shared.

And Catherine had a feeling.

As Maximilian had driven that truck into the oncoming vehicle to save her, perhaps he had been thinking of that final moment in their past life—of holding her dying body in his arms as life slipped away from her.

What if he was trapped there?

It was not scientific.

Not in the slightest.

But she wore a magical bracelet that refused to let her move too far away from him.

After everything she had experienced, she was willing to believe in this too.

And this...

This was her best attempt.

"Your Katerina is here, Maximilian," she whispered.

Katerina...

The girl he loved first.

The girl he lost.

The girl he waited lifetimes for.

She needed to remind him why he was fighting.

She spoke of their past life. She spoke of the childhood they had shared, of the laughter that had once echoed through palace halls. She spoke of stolen afternoons and childish arguments, of moments long buried beneath centuries of pain.

Even the physicians who had spent the last hour arguing with her had fallen silent. They did not understand the language, yet something in the woman’s voice—the tenderness, the grief, the unwavering certainty—made interruption feel almost sacrilegious.

Alexander stood behind her like a silent wall, lending her his strength simply by being there. The longer she spoke, the more his own eyes stung

"You used to call me Cattula Rina, remember?" she said softly, a faint smile touching her lips. "It angered me so much. That was why I decided never to call you by your name. Ever."

She spoke about the day they had tried to sneak away and had been caught. She spoke about the afternoon by the lakeside, when he had rolled on top of her to get the vow ribbon and her heart had fluttered, and she understood for the first time, why.

She spoke about the bracelet he had given her and the kiss they shared in the bathtub, and how her heart had soared with happiness when she received it.

And as she continued speaking, the expressions on the doctors’ faces gradually changed.

Alexander, who knew nothing about neuroscience and even less about interpreting brain scans, looked up at the monitor.

There....

"This is... " the doctor muttered. "...impossible."