Page 29 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

For an alarming moment I thought I was still dreaming. Surely I had to be; there was no possibility this could be real.

Only then did I realize I was trembling, murmuring his name as I clung to him, my past murderer. He didn’t wield a sword now, only his awkward, uncertain movements as he rubbed slow circles along my back, comfort that undid me more than any weapon ever could.

Unlike our last encounter, where we’d been trapped together behind magic and duty, this felt like a trap of a different kind—one I had willingly fallen into…

and I had no intention of escaping. For a rebellious moment, I allowed myself to stay in his arms, to savor the warmth of his chest and the steady beat of his heart.

Heaven help me, I liked being held by him.

Eventually sense stirred, urging me to move. I didn’t stir immediately, but when I finally forced myself to pull back, I immediately missed the warm security of his embrace. My fingers stayed curled in the fabric of his shirt, and no matter my silent orders to myself, I couldn’t seem to let go.

Tension lined his jaw as he stared at me, flicker of helpless longing in his eyes, as if he wanted to seize me and pull me back into his arm. For a faltering moment, I almost let him.

I drew a breath, finally calm enough to speak—though I didn’t move farther away. “What…happened?”

“You were screaming. Thrashing. I—” His voice broke, and his arms tightened around me, as though he feared I’d slip through them like smoke if he didn’t hold on.

Only then did I notice that he was also trembling, unguarded emotion warring in his eyes, as if his mask had been torn away to reveal the true prince behind the mask. This wasn’t the Castiel I had known, as if the man who’d brightened my dream had emerged to be by my side now.

His night shirt hung open at the collar, revealing a glimpse of the bare chest I had struggled not to think of when he’d been undressing just outside my hiding place.

Before I could stop myself, I reached out hypnotically and brushed the skin I had only dared to imagine, solid beneath my hands. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“You’re real,” I whispered. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” he murmured. “Despite what it may seem, I’ll always be here.”

I had no reason to trust him, and yet whether it was the lingering effect of the dream or the way his voice held something raw, I believed him.

He slowly rose and moved away. I should have welcomed the distance. Instead, it left me hollow, aching for something I couldn’t name, as if he had taken the warmth with him.

For a foolish moment, I nearly swallowed my pride and called out.

But before I could summon the words, he returned and draped a blanket around my trembling shoulders with a care that felt almost reverent—like he still needed to offer something, even if his touch might no longer be welcome.

The truth was far more dangerous: it wasn’t the blanket I needed, but him .

The blanket felt cool and impersonal around me, incomparable to the warm comfort Castiel had brought.

The silence that followed was fragile, almost as peaceful as the one captured in my dream when we’d stood side by side in golden light. Perhaps he felt it too, because when he spoke, his voice was hesitant. “What were you dreaming of?”

“You.” The confession escaped before I could even think to hold it back, but the memory of the tenderness of his arms around me made it impossible to even attempt to lie.

“ Me? ” The word was a broken thing in his mouth. He looked stricken. “It sounded like you were having a nightmare, like…you were in pain. Did I hurt you? Because if I did—” His voice broke. The agony in his eyes stole my breath.

I shook my head. “The king.”

His whole body went still before fury erupted across his face. He swore under his breath, the kind of curse that should have summoned guards from the farthest corners of the palace…but all remained quiet in this captured moment together.

Tense silence stretched between us again, and when he finally spoke, it seemed to be with great effort. “In your dream, did he… murder you?”

I gave the smallest nod, lowering my eyes from the intensity of his gaze.

Upon reflection, it was strange it had been His Majesty I’d dreamt about killing me when I had an actual memory of the prince’s murder to draw upon.

I subconsciously rubbed the scar from where Castiel had stabbed me; his pained gaze seemed to follow the movement, almost as if he knew it was there.

He reached for me instinctively, as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Bernice, I promise, I will never, ever —” But the vow broke before he could complete it. He seemed to wrestle with himself before releasing a sigh and slowly letting his hands fall away. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please, if nothing else…believe that.”

And for a moment, I did—in the whole cursed kingdom of Thorndale, this felt like the only safe place left.

His strange and unfinished wording echoed in my mind, inviting questions I’d never thought to ask about my death.

But now was not the time, not when the space between us held something too fragile to disturb.

I watched him retreat again—not with indifference, but reluctance, as if each step away was performed with duty more than his actual desire. A wall was built between us again, but this time it didn’t close all the way—there was a crack, through which I could still see him.

Beneath the layers of mistrust and secrets, I glimpsed a man who felt strangely familiar. I studied his profile softened by the dim light—not carved in distance and duty, but touched by something gentler, almost tender. How I wanted to believe that this version of him was real.

A sense of belonging filled the hush between us—not the silence of discomfort or strategy, but a quiet that felt…known, as if we had shared unscripted moments like this. Though no such memory existed, they were ones I could almost remember, as if my heart knew what my mind couldn’t confirm.

Even if I tried to shape tidy explanations with logic and suspicion, my feelings couldn’t lie, much as I wished they could. I truly must be going mad…but if this was madness, it was a strangely pleasant sensation.

But slowly, the spell of stillness began to fray and the reverence of the moment dimmed. Reality crept back in—I had been caught in the crown prince’s private chambers.

Though his reception so far had offered comfort rather than condemnation, I held no illusions about the danger of my situation. Despite his vow to protect me, it might not be a promise he could keep.

Before the weight of my doubt could fully settle, his voice cut through it, as if answering worries I hadn’t dared to speak aloud. “Rest assured no one will know of your presence here tonight.”

I frowned. “What reason do you have to keep it a secret?”

The corner of his lip quirked up. “I’m just relieved you’re speaking to me again.”

I raised my brow. “I don’t know what you mean; we’ve been interacting for days since the… incident .”

“No, that was the proper and aloof version of you meant for court,” he said. “I meant the real Bernice—the one with a fiery stubbornness that always leaves me wondering what you’ll say next.”

I felt momentarily disarmed, as if he’d slipped past the armor I’d so carefully wrapped around myself—the deflection and practiced detachment that had long been my only defense.

His words reached a place buried deep within me I’d long pretended didn’t exist—the secret thrill I felt from every clash of wit.

This was an even deeper, warmer sensation than our verbal battles, and I struggled between the logical need to ignore it and the unexpected longing to embrace it.

He looked away, as if afraid to hold my gaze too long. “I know our conversations have been…restricted of late, dictated by decorum. But it’s nice being able to really talk with you.”

It wasn’t quite an I miss you , but it stirred something dangerous in me that had no business stirring—for all my avoidance and anger, I had missed him, too.

The realization unlocked something inside me I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, like discovering a chink in my armor right before battle—exposing everything I thought I’d fortified, leaving me defenseless and vulnerable.

His next words only stripped them away further. “I have promised my secrecy, but you must give me something in exchange.”

My body tensed, every muscle bracing against the cost far too out of reach for me to pay. “What do you want?”

“For you to tell me why you were in my room. As my betrothed, you are likely the only one who can get away with it, but I still would like to know.”

The warmth vanished in an instant. I scrambled for some justification, but no words came.

In the end, they weren’t needed. With a slight tilt of his chin, he gestured towards the two journals he must have retrieved from my hiding place when he’d discovered me, now sitting neatly beside us.

Their presence alone was damning—no excuse I offered could explain them away.

My breath hitched as he reached forward and picked up his journal, but to my surprise, he left mine. I stared. “Aren’t you going to take mine as well?”

“I have no need to.”

A beat of alarm surged. “Does that mean you’ve already read it?” I frowned as he shook his head. “You can’t expect me to believe that.” Yet part of me did.

He studied me for a moment, then shrugged.

“Whether you do or not is your choice. In the end, I’ve already gotten what I wanted from it.

” His lips twitched with what might’ve been amusement—too faint to call a smile, but the knowing curve unsettled me more than fury would have.

“I can tell you’re curious. It’s not like you to not ask. ”