Page 23 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

But as valuable as this new information was, I received it with reservation, considering its source. My skepticism sharpened. How convenient he would happen to lead me into the one room supposedly beyond the king’s reach and then encourage conversation.

“This castle is laced with ancient magic,” Prince Castiel explained. “When it fades in certain wings, it’s too woven into the stones to repair. As you’re well aware, my father relies mostly on spies—but the enchantments are still strong enough to warrant caution.”

My head spun, both with these revelations and the fact he was voluntarily sharing them. Either he was correct in that our words could be safe here…or this was another trap lulling me into the illusion of security. I tried to ignore the reckless part of me that yearned to believe him.

And yet, despite my secret wish, I could see his hesitation, the tightening of his expression…as if he knew more, but wouldn’t tell, giving me reason to question the information he’d already disclosed.

Yet despite these reservations temptation to heed his unexpected invitation stirred, trying to sway me.

There were so many things I wanted to ask—so many unresolved mysteries, so many curiosities I ached to fit together.

But the risk was too high, especially when this could be another carefully laid snare.

“I can’t.” I offered no explanation, but the tension in my voice spoke of the fears I left unsaid.

Prince Castiel’s brow furrowed. “It must be exhausting to live constantly on edge, seeing suspicion and shadows in every corner.”

There was no hints of teasing in his tone. For once, he sounded…sincere, which was almost worse. I released a weary sigh. “It is.”

He mirrored my sigh, rubbing a gloved thumb along the edge of his palm. “I can’t fault you for your caution, not when I’ve done so little to earn your trust.” His gaze flicked to mine. “If certain topics are too difficult, even here…perhaps we could speak of other things.”

I frowned, unsettled. Why was he suddenly so eager to talk?

Of all the days for him to break his usual silence, why on a day when my emotions were already strung so tightly?

Each interaction felt like a riddle without a key, as if he opened a dictionary of responses each morning and chose one at random.

“Such as…” I prompted warily.

“Anything you’d like. While I’m tempted to try and persuade you to trust me, I understand trust is fragile and must be earned.”

I nearly scoffed but caught myself just in time, unwilling to show him that his words were affecting me. Trust , towards him? Across infinite timelines, I would never be so reckless. And yet…the words tugged at something small and locked away, like a memory I couldn’t quite reach.

While I managed to suppress my retort, I wasn’t quick enough to school my expression. For a heartbeat, a haunting shadow of sadness flickered across his face before he smoothed it away, slipping the mask back into place.

“However much I may wish to prove myself worthy of your trust, unfortunately my desire and willingness don’t mean I’m able to freely share everything I’d like to.” He gave a faint, self-deprecating smile. “Besides, there are other, more important things we could speak of.”

“Like what?” What could possibly matter more than the shroud of mysteries that created the uncrossable chasm between us?

To my surprise, his gaze softened. “I want to hear about your childhood.”

For a moment, I just stared at him in shock, wondering if I’d misheard.

At my prolonged silence, he shifted uneasily. “Is the idea really so displeasing to you? I know you hate me.”

I could think of no reason for him to speak so plainly except to test me, the wrong response of which would only condemn me. Naturally, I should loathe my murderer with every fiber of my being. And yet, some inexplicable part of me ached to deny his accusation.

I forced a thin smile. “I don’t hate you, Your Highness.”

He leaned in slightly, his nearness flooding the shrinking space between us with a charged lure I couldn’t seem to resist. I should have clung to caution and recoiled, but instead, I found myself fighting the urge to lean closer, to explore this strange new current between us that made me almost forget to breathe.

“Though you’ve spent years within Thorndale, its darkness hasn’t yet corrupted you.” He looked at me intently. “You know how to play the game with words, but your eyes tell a different story. You’re not a good liar, Bernice.”

The voice I had always known as hardened and ruthless cradled my name like something fragile, soothing rather than invoking terror. “You spoke my name.”

They weren’t the words I meant to speak, but they tumbled out before I could stop them, shaped by the storm inside me—a tangle of emotions without a cipher, impossible to decode except for the aching, inexplicable longing to hear him say my name once more.

His eyes widened slightly, as if only now realizing his slip. “You’re the one who rewrote that particular rule when you said mine first.”

It took a moment for me to recall that charged moment during our confrontation in the corridor when the tension between us had burned hot enough to scorch. I clenched my teeth, frustrated I’d lost a game I hadn’t even known we’d been playing.

His triumphant smirk only deepened my irritation at losing such a key battle. “Perhaps that’s a sign that, contrary to what you believe, you don’t hate me after all.”

Fury surged up, sharp and fierce. I forced myself to remember the night in the darkened corridor, his cruel taunting, the searing pain when he stabbed me, the blood pooling beneath me, my father’s tenuous hold on life that had lost its chance when I died.

I glared. “You speak as if I don’t have a reason to hate you.” No other emotion should have fit my murderer, and yet what churned between us now was anything but hatred.

He flinched, as if the words struck deeper than they should have. But he didn’t deny it. For a long moment, he was silent, lost in a quiet war I could almost see moving behind his eyes.

“If that is true,” he said at last, his gaze dark and aching, “then I don’t understand why you ever had reason to call me by name at all.”

I couldn’t answer; the script I had always relied on seemed to have deserted me, leaving me directionless. “Why is it so important to you?”

“Because I already miss hearing you say it.”

Against my better judgement, my heart fluttered, before I could silence it. Surely the formidable prince would never want such a thing from someone me. “Is that an order?”

His gaze softened. “Only if you need it to be, but I’d rather it be something you choose for yourself.”

I stubbornly lifted my chin, ready to disregard his wishes and instead offer him a lavish, cutting use of his full title…but the words caught, torn away by the storm breaking behind his dark eyes. For a breathless moment, I found myself lost in his gaze.

“Castiel.” The name shaped itself on my lips like it had always belonged there.

The effect was immediate—light broke through the constant overcast that constantly overshadowed his expression, illuminating his guarded features, a softness that thawed something in me I hadn’t realized had frozen.

“I suppose I don’t have the same privilege of asking you to stop calling me Princess ,” I managed airily.

He lowered his gaze. “It’s easier. Keeping things impersonal is…safer. But I don’t think I’m strong enough to keep resisting. Your name is beautiful, Bernice. It suits you.”

I stared at him, stunned. Was that…a compliment?

By the faint, unguarded flush that touched his cheeks I surmised that it was.

Out of habit, I sifted through his shy words, searching for the traps I was certain lay hidden…

though for once, some foolish, reckless part of me wondered if this was one snare I would gladly allow myself to become caught in.

He read the confusing emotions I would have given anything to conceal. “Sometimes words are exactly how they appear. You are beautiful and bewitching, Bernice.”

I had no response. Silence had always been the quiet chaperone between us—but this time, it seemed to unsettle him. He studied me, as if searching for something he was desperate to find, before exhaling softly. “I hoped that would at least earn the hint of a smile.”

I frowned, a rebellious flicker sparking within me, determined to spite him at every opportunity. “When have I ever smiled in your presence?”

“It’s…been a long time,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So long it feels almost like a dream.”

He spoke of something I was certain could never have happened, not when he was the last man I could imagine coaxing a smile from me.

Not for the first time, I worried that the time reversal that had spared me from death hadn’t simply pulled me back to an earlier point—but had dropped me into a fractured past whose memories didn’t quite align.

Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine a version of the prince who had ever given me reason to smile. Another puzzle I couldn’t solve.

Yet the way he looked at me now…

A quiet, strained sound escaped him. “You don’t know how hard this is. You’re going to be the death of me.” The words barely reached me, a broken confession slipping through the cracks in his careful mask.

What could he possibly mean by that? The only death that would result from this interaction would be my own—for once not because he took my life, but because of how his nearness made my heart beat right out of my chest.

Before I could speak, he lifted his hand almost absently. His thumb brushed lightly along my lower lip, feather-soft, as though testing the shape of a memory I couldn’t give him back.

Time seemed to lose all meaning in this captured stillness; he seemed content to linger indefinitely, as if hypnotized. The fear of being trapped with no way of escape receded as our gazes met, the only sound the softness of our breath. All at once, he leaned in, just a fraction.