Shackled To The Enemy King Chapter 169: His Reply

Maximilian straightened slightly, as though settling into the weight of the mont rather than shrinking from it.

He had expected this question.

Any father worth his place would ask it.

Because at the heart of it, beneath age and ti and propriety, there was sothing far more dangerous to consider—the simple, undeniable truth that a man was capable of violence. And all it took was a mont. A lapse. A loss of control. That was all it would take to harm soone who trusted him.

But n like Jas Preston understood sothing deeper than that.

There were different kinds of violence.

There was the kind born from weakness—when a man lost control, lashed out, and called it instinct. That kind was unforgivable. That kind destroyed hos, broke trust, and left behind damage that could never truly be undone.

And then... There was the other kind. The kind that ca from control. From restraint. From knowing exactly what one was capable of... and choosing, every single day, to keep it leashed.

Until the mont it was needed.

"If the sa situation presents itself, Mr. Preston," Maximilian said, his voice steady, unwavering, "and Catherine is about to get hurt... I will do it again."

There was no hesitation.

No apology.

"I don’t care who it is or what their intent is," he continued, his gaze locked with Jas’s. "No one touches Catherine and walks free....even if it costs everything."

Silence followed.

But it wasn’t empty.

Jas felt it—the certainty in those words. Not recklessness. Not blind aggression.

Control.

A man who knew exactly what he was capable of... and exactly when he would use it.

A slow smile ford on Jas’s face, and before he realized it, he gave a small, approving nod.

If Maximilian had hesitated, if he had tried to soften it, justify it, or claim regret... this conversation would have gone very differently.

But he hadn’t.

And that mattered.

Because the man in front of him wasn’t one who lashed out for the sake of it. He wasn’t driven by impulse or ego.

He was the kind who held the line and crossed it only when it truly needed to be crossed.

Dangerous.

Yes.

But not in the way that destroyed.

In the way that protected.

And his daughter... his stubborn, precious daughter, would need nothing less.

"And," Maximilian continued, his tone easing just enough to soften the edges without losing its sincerity, "I understand that nine years can seem like a lot. And that we haven’t known each other for very long."

He didn’t try to argue it, nor did he attempt to brush it aside with easy reassurances. He let the truth sit between them, unguarded.

"But neither Catherine nor I feel that it is," he said, his voice steady. "She’s a smart woman. And... I believe you would agree—it doesn’t always take years to truly understand soone."

Jas said nothing.

He simply watched.

Listened.

asured.

His sons had already made their approval known in subtle, satisfied ways, and Jas could see why. There was sothing about this man—sothing composed, deliberate, and grounded. But that wasn’t enough. Not for Catherine. Not for the daughter he had raised, protected, and, in many ways, struggled to understand.

This was the man he was being asked to entrust her to.

He wanted more than confidence.

He wanted certainty.

Maximilian, for his part, did not rush to fill the silence. He understood it for what it was; not rejection, but scrutiny. This was not a conversation to be hurried through or won with clever words. And he knew better than to speak of things Jas could neither see nor believe—past lives, missed chances, the weight of mories that did not belong to this world.

So he spoke from sothing simpler.

Sothing truer.

"I’ve always wanted to marry," he said at last, quieter now, though no less resolute. "I’ve prepared for that future for a long ti... while leaving one place empty."

He paused, just briefly, as if giving that admission the space it deserved.

"The person I would spend it with."

His gaze softened, not with uncertainty, but with sothing far more intimate—recognition.

"That place stayed empty for years," he continued. "And when I t Catherine..." A faint breath escaped him, almost like a confession he hadn’t ant to say aloud. "We fit."

There was no grand flourish to it. No attempt to dress it up into sothing poetic.

Just truth.

"It felt like we had known each other before," he added, quieter now. "Not perfectly. Not without flaws. But... undeniably."

Because perfection had never been the point.

What mattered was that they chose each other. That they were willing to bend, to grow, to shape themselves not in opposition, but in harmony—until what they built together beca sothing whole.

"There’s room for both of us to grow," he said. "But our foundation is the sa. We understand each other. We work well together. And..." a small, unguarded smile touched his lips, "neither of us wants to spend ti apart."

The silence that followed was deeper this ti.

Heavier.

Jas held his gaze, not searching for eloquence, but for sothing far more difficult to fake—truth that did not waver under scrutiny.

And then... He laughed.

It ca suddenly, warm and full, cutting cleanly through the tension that had filled the room.

"Co here," he said, his voice lighter now, carrying sothing almost fond beneath it.

Maximilian blinked, just slightly caught off guard, before rising and stepping closer.

Jas reached out and pulled him into an embrace—awkward, constrained by the hospital bed, but firm all the sa. His hand ca up to pat Maximilian’s back, steady and approving.

"You have my blessing, son," he said. Simple, clear, and earned.

When he pulled back, there was no hesitation left in Jas’s expression, no lingering doubt clouding his judgnt. What remained was sothing steadier, sothing far more difficult to earn—trust, given not lightly, but given nonetheless.

"Take care of her," he said, his voice softer now, yet carrying a weight that settled deep. "And don’t make regret this."

Maximilian t his gaze without wavering, sothing resolute and unshakable settling into his features. "I won’t, sir."

And for the first ti... Jas believed it completely.

Silence lingered between them, but it was no longer tense. It had softened, shifted into sothing almost reflective, as though the gravity of what had just passed allowed space for sothing more personal to rise to the surface.

"After Mary passed away," Jas began, his voice quieter now, threaded with sothing old and worn, "Catherine changed."

He let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting slightly, as though he were no longer looking at Maximilian, but at sothing far behind him.

"Out of nowhere... it felt like I lost my wife and my daughter’s childish innocence on the sa day," he continued. "She stopped being a child. Just like that."

There was no bitterness in his tone.

Only regret.