Page 12 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

I hesitated on the threshold to the drawing room, afraid to enter and face whatever unknown might be waiting for me at the table.

The footmen had already opened the doors and announced my arrival, but even though it was too late to retreat, some unknown force held me captive, keeping me rooted just beyond the reach of the room.

I peered cautiously inside. Prince Castiel was already seated, papers spread before him—but he didn’t appear to be reading them.

Instead he sat unnaturally still, head tilted slightly in my direction…

as if he’d been waiting. I gave my head a sharp shake.

His Highness had no need to wait for anyone when the world moved according to his schedule, not the other way around.

“Are you well, Princess?” Halric’s tone held a trace of warning for keeping His Highness waiting.

His expression could almost be mistaken for concern, but in my current paranoia, I could only see suspicion for my strange, prolonged hesitation.

I emerged from my condemning stupor with a forced nod, a lie offered to both him and myself.

Yesterday’s strange encounter in the archive had stolen any vestiges of bravery I had left, and it felt nigh impossible to find with confusion clouding every thought over the prince’s peculiar.

I no longer knew how to read the prince—his behavior had shifted so subtly, so completely, it was as if we were playing a different game now. A different board. Different rules.

I took a steadying breath, whispering unconvincing reassurances that this was just another ordinary afternoon in my fiancé’s presence…

but it wasn’t, not when each interaction felt like a calculated move on an elaborate chessboard, each impossible to predict when we seemed to be playing by different rules than the first time, and I still had no idea what side he was playing for.

I straightened my posture and lifted my chin before stepping inside.

Prince Castiel rose at my entrance and offered a single glance before hastily looking away without fully meeting my eyes.

I frowned. That was unusual, but unfortunately his lack of acknowledgement didn’t excuse me from the required pleasantries.

I drew another breath and forced a smile as I settled in the seat across from him. “Good morning, Your Highness. I trust you slept well.” I barely contained the nervous tremor from my voice, outward composure I didn’t feel, yet desperately needed to reclaim.

His only response was cold silence, ending the conversation before it had even begun.

I had wondered how interactions between us would be after that charged back and forth in the archive where I couldn’t tell if he was testing me or toying with me.

I could still feel the contact when his thumb brushed the inside of my wrist as he handed me the book, as real as the memory of the hand that had once ended my life.

I hastily suppressed the thought, locking it away before it could unravel me further.

I forced myself to sip my tea, pretending I didn’t still feel the ghost of his touch or the quiet that had followed it.

Whatever that strange moment, he wasn’t acknowledging it now. Perhaps that was my answer in itself.

I nervously reached up to twist a loose strand of hair that had fallen from my chignon, an elegant style I had uncharacteristically asked Liora to spend extra time on this morning.

I couldn’t blame her for her confusion—I had never once given detailed instructions about my appearance, not when there had never been a reason to impress my indifferent betrothed or to stand out in a cutthroat court.

I still didn’t have an explanation for my faltering sense that had cared how I looked for our daily ritual of tea and silence, nor any rational defense for the ridiculous hope that he might notice.

One fleeting touch, and already I was behaving like a fool, which was undoubtedly a carefully played move in his game.

The man was dangerous.

He pointedly ignored me the remainder of the meal…

though I caught him watching me in stolen, fleeting glances when he thought I wouldn’t notice.

Each time, he hastily buried himself back in his papers, poring over them with an intensity that felt performative, an attempt to shield himself from whatever passed between us in the silence.

Disappointment wasn’t quite the right word to describe my complicated emotions, for it would imply I’d harbored expectations for the interaction, which I most certainly had not .

I reminded myself of this with every sip of tea and bite of pastry, yet the words rang hollow when my traitorous gaze repeatedly drifted towards him.

Each time it did, I notice details I hadn’t before.

Despite the cold edges of his hardened expression, something about him looked…

different today. His hair was more carefully styled, his uniform meticulously pressed, as if he too had taken unusual care with his appearance for the sole purpose of disarming me.

His scheme was working far too well, seducing me like a siren’s call I did everything in my power to resist. The minutes dragged, weighted with tension and mutual stubbornness, neither of us willing to be the first to shatter the fragile quiet.

Once or twice, his fingers paused over a page and his head inclined slightly in my direction, as if he might speak…

but the moment always passed with nothing more than a soft exhale.

Though no words were exchanged, the silence between us wasn’t empty, but taut, full of words unspoken, stretched thin between two people pretending not to feel it.

Several times words tempted my lips, but I suppressed them before they could emerge.

If silence was what he preferred, I would give him what he wanted.

As I reached for my final sip of tea, his voice cut through the silence—low, almost hesitant. “You should wear your hair like that more often.”

My fingers stilled on the porcelain cup, uncertain whether I’d heard him correctly. I waited for him to continue—hating the part of me that secretly hoped for a compliment—but he said nothing more. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.

It took me a moment to find the strength to lift my gaze, but he wasn’t looking at me. His expression, if I dared trust it, held the faintest trace of shyness as he studied his scone with great intent. Surely I imagined the emotion, but it unsettled me all the same.

I stood too quickly. He rose with me, as etiquette required. My hand brushed his as I passed him—the contact brief and unintentional, but the jolt it sent through me was anything but forgettable.

His gaze met mine for a single breath before flicking away. No words passed between us, but he took a half-step forward, as if to speak…only to stop himself. “Thank you for your time, Princess.”

It was the first time he’d ever thanked me for my company, another puzzling deviation. Though the response fit the script protocol demanded, I couldn’t shake the sense that it wasn’t what he’d meant to say.

The riddle consumed me so fully that I barely registered his movement towards the door, until he paused on the threshold, just as I had at the beginning of our meeting.

He stood there without turning, trapped in another prolonged silence.

From the tension in his posture, I sensed another unspoken battle, an inner wrestle between his desire to speak and inability to do so.

At last, he gave up the fight and departed without a backwards glance.

Time blurred as I stared after him before I finally managed to stir. With a silent curse, I yanked the elegant bun loose, letting it fall in golden waves around my face.

That prince . I found little solace in the onslaught of verbal attacks I hurled at him in my mind, nor in the scowl cracking my poise that he would never see. Several deep breaths steadied my escalating emotions enough to focus on how to move forward.

I couldn’t afford to fixate on Castiel’s unpredictable whims. Rather than waste any more time unraveling riddles that couldn’t be solved, I would focus on the mysteries within my control. If I wanted to progress my mission, I needed to adapt, and quickly.

I left to retrieve my secret journal from its hiding place and begin mapping the differences between this timeline and the original thread. I’d already lost too much time this week—no doubt, that had been Prince Castiel’s doing as well.

But my plans were thwarted prematurely. En route to my room, one of the king’s messengers stepped into my path. “His Majesty has summoned you.”

I froze, my blood turning to ice. Whatever composure I had managed to stitch together unraveled in an instant. “ The king? ” No amount of strength could have stilled the tremor in my barely audible voice.

Though I had done my best not to stray too far off course so soon, from the moment I’d woken up screaming my behavior in this timeline had been different—a seemingly insignificant change at first glance, but in Thorndale anything even slightly suspicious warranted a thorough investigation… as I was about to discover firsthand.

The messenger nodded, then turned to lead the way to the throne room, knowing I had no choice but to follow. It took every ounce of effort to force my feet forward.

With shaking fingers I twisted my hair back up as I walked, not into the elegant chignon of earlier but an unassuming bun; I would give the king no reason to think me anything but the quiet, dutiful woman who’d lived in his home for half a decade, waiting to marry his son and serve Thorndale.

Each reluctant step dragged as slow as I dared, a futile effort to buy time to think, but my thoughts twisted and tangled as if caught in a storm.