Chapter 200: His Love
"I tried to find out," Maximilian said, pulling her a little closer as they sat by the window. "But there are no records of those kingdoms by those names."
Catherine raised her brows, the answer only deepening her curiosity. "So... a parallel universe?" she asked, almost casually, though her mind was already moving ahead of the question.
It didn’t feel impossible.
She had seen artifacts—objects that carried echoes of that time, things too similar to be a coincidence. And then there was the bracelet. Proof, in its own quiet, unsettling way, that something beyond ordinary logic existed.
Her gaze dropped briefly to her wrist.
She still didn’t know how much power it held still or how much distance it was now allowing between her and Maximilian.
Strangely... she didn’t feel the need to know either.
"Do you think there’s another you and another me somewhere right now?" she continued, turning back to him. "In another version of this world? Or did we... cross over somehow?"
Maximilian considered it for a moment before giving a small, honest shake of his head. "I’m not sure."
Catherine clicked her tongue softly, a familiar hint of mischief returning. "How thoughtful," she said, pouring herself a glass of wine and taking a slow sip, clearly unimpressed.
He watched her quietly.
The way she leaned back, the way her eyes softened just slightly as she tasted it, the faint satisfaction in her expression—it made something in him ease. Investing in good wine had clearly been worth it.
"Do you think we’re together there?" she asked after a while, her tone lighter, but not entirely without weight.
"I hope so," Maximilian replied.
Catherine didn’t answer immediately. She took another sip, her gaze drifting toward the snowfall outside, thoughtful in a way that didn’t quite reach her expression.
"I don’t care either way," she said eventually.
There was no point worrying about something that might not even exist.
Maximilian, however, looked at her with quiet certainty. "I hope Catherine in every universe is happy," he said, his voice softer now, "and protected."
That was all he wanted.
In any world.
In every version of it.
Catherine stilled.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. He had done it again—spoken in a way that made everything else feel smaller, simpler, while what he felt remained impossibly large.
She looked at him, her lips curving into a small pout before she held out her hand toward him.
Maximilian blinked, caught off guard for a second. Then, after a brief pause, he reached for the wine and placed a glass in her hand instead.
"Is it okay for you to drink this much now?" he asked, as though that had been the question all along.
Catherine stared at the glass, then at him, her lips twitching.
"Who asked for wine?" she said, still holding her hand out expectantly.
"You don’t want it?" he asked, genuinely confused.
"No," she said, though she took the glass anyway. "Thanks. But that’s not what I was asking for."
Maximilian frowned slightly. "Then what were you asking for?"
Her expression shifted.
For a moment, something sharp flickered in her eyes. How could he not understand? Was he really going to pretend? Was he actually going to make her say it?
The thought irritated her far more than it should have.
For a split second, an impulse rose, wild and unreasonable, to throw the wine straight at his face.
The intensity of it surprised even her.
But just as quickly, it passed.
She exhaled, steadying herself, and then, without warning, tilted the glass and finished the wine in one swift gulp.
Maximilian watched, slightly taken aback.
And before he could say anything... Catherine stood up. Something had clicked in her mind. If he wasn’t going to give it to her...
She would find it herself.
Without another word, she turned and hurried up the stairs, her steps quick and purposeful.
Maximilian watched her go, the corners of his lips lifting slowly.
He slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, feeling the small, familiar weight resting there.
"Just wait a little longer... dear," he murmured under his breath.
Then he stood and followed after her, his pace unhurried but attentive.
She had already had a few glasses of wine—just enough to make her careless.
And the last thing he wanted...
Was for her to get hurt before he could give her what he had been waiting so long to place in her hand.
Maximilian watched as she turned the room upside down with single-minded determination, pulling his suitcase onto the bed and flipping through every neatly folded piece of clothing, as if the ring might be hidden between the layers. Drawers were opened and left half-hanging, cushions displaced, anything that could possibly conceal something small and precious thoroughly inspected.
She had clearly had just enough wine to lose restraint, but not enough to lose purpose.
He stepped closer and caught her gently by the waist when her movements grew a little unsteady, steadying her before she could stumble. There was a quiet fondness in his gaze as he watched her search so earnestly, so impatiently.
He was happy—more than he expected—to see how much she wanted it.
And yet, a part of him felt a small, familiar guilt for holding it back.
"Your Aunt Sophia will kill me if I just hand it over like this," he said, his tone light but not entirely untrue.
He wanted that moment—the surprise, the breath she would forget to take, the way her eyes would light up when she realized what was happening. And after seeing her family, after understanding the quiet expectations behind their warmth, he knew that anything less than something deliberate, something memorable, would not be enough.
Catherine, caught somewhere between tipsy defiance and soft exhaustion, scoffed.
"Whatever," she muttered, giving up all at once as she let herself fall back onto the bed.
She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her breathing slowly evening out as her restlessness settled.
The bedposts rose around her, draped with soft fabric, framing her view above. And there, painted across the ceiling—
She blinked.
"That’s... beautiful," she murmured.
The image came into focus slowly, like a memory surfacing through mist. An orchard. Sunlight filtering through branches. Trees heavy with fruit. A place that felt alive, warm, untouched.
Familiar.
"That’s the palace orchard in Elyndra," she said softly.
Her voice carried something quieter now, something distant. She could almost feel it—the grass under her feet, the laughter that once filled that space, the version of herself that had walked there without knowing what life would demand of her later.
Her sanctuary.
Her Shangri-La.
She rolled onto her side, turning her head to look at him, her expression asking the question before her lips could.
Maximilian met her gaze.
"I sketched it first," he said. "Then I had an artist bring it to life here." His eyes softened slightly. "If you look around, you’ll find more."
Catherine turned back onto her back, her eyes returning to the painting.
This time, her vision blurred.
Tears gathered quietly, slipping past before she could stop them.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice unsteady.
Maximilian moved onto the bed beside her and pulled her gently into his arm, letting her rest against him while she still stared upward, as if the answer might be written there.
"Doing what?" he asked softly.
She swallowed, her throat tightening before she could speak.
"Making me feel small... in front of your love."
The words came out fragile, almost reluctant, as though she hadn’t meant to say them aloud.
He smiled faintly and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.
She turned her head toward him, her eyes searching his face.
There was a quiet restraint in his expression, as if everything he felt was held carefully in place, not to overwhelm her, but simply because this was natural to him.
"I’m already late by a lifetime," he said.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t even said with regret.
Just truth.
A truth he had carried with him for far too long.
Catherine’s chest tightened.
"But this isn’t fair," she whispered. "I don’t give you anything."
Maximilian let out a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing lightly against her arm.
"There’s no place for fairness in love, Catherine."
He said it as if it were obvious, as if love had never been something measured or balanced in his mind.
"And who said you aren’t giving me anything?"
She looked at him for a long moment. She knew that he’d think of her love as the biggest gift. This man...
She leaned in and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.
When she pulled back, her voice was quieter, almost stubborn.
"It’s still not fair..."
And beneath that quiet protest, something else stirred.
A shadow she couldn’t quite ignore.
A name she didn’t speak.
Dorian.
The fear lingered, faint but real, threading through her happiness in a way she couldn’t completely shake.
As she lay there in his arms, surrounded by a dream he had built for her, she closed her eyes for a brief moment.
And in the silence of her heart, she prayed.
Please...God...
Don’t take this away from me.
Please... give me the chance to make him happy too.
