Page 34 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

“I’m fine.” A pointless lie considering the evidence smeared across my gown and also staining his tunic from when he’d held me.

His hand hovered just above the wound, as though afraid that even the brush of air might hurt me. His jaw clenched as he examined it in the dim light. “You need that wound cleaned, but this isn’t the place.” He scanned the corridor again. “I need to get you somewhere we won’t be found.”

I made to follow, but after a few faltering steps my knees buckled.

Strong arms swept beneath me in one fluid motion, one under my knees that had given out while the other wrapped gently around my back.

I let out a soft gasp, more from surprise than pain.

Time stilled as we stared at one another.

His firm and steadying hold anchored me like a lighthouse in the dark, a harbor I had already grown used to and never wanted to leave.

He was the first to sever his gaze. He cleared his throat. “We’ll take the back passageways. No one will see us. I’ll get you to the room we were trapped in before. It should be safe.”

He began to carry me down the corridor, his footsteps barely a whisper against stone.

I didn’t protest—the warmth of his arms, the steadiness pressed close—silenced any resistance.

Blood throbbed at my shoulder, quickly darkening his tunic where it soaked into him.

I closed my eyes and let my head rest against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding me.

He had once ended my life. Now he had defended me and was carrying me in his arms…and I didn’t want him to put me down. Time centered on only this moment, and all too soon we arrived at the hidden room.

The door shut with a soft click behind us, sealing the world out. For once the magic was a comfort rather than something to fear—a force that guarded us rather than trapping me with my enemy.

Castiel crossed the chamber and lowered me gently onto the dusty velvet-cushioned bench beside the long-dead hearth. The air was still and quiet, but the warmth from his presence filled every corner, lingering where it had pressed against mine. I found myself missing it the moment he stepped away.

He knelt before me, eyes steady. “I need to see how deep it is.” His voice was careful, as though afraid to shatter the fragile truce between us.

At my faint nod, he retrieved a small washbasin tucked behind a cabinet and filled it with water from a nearby pitcher. Then, with deliberate care, he drew the short dagger from his belt. I stiffened.

He froze, blade unmoving. “It’s only for the fabric,” he explained. “I would never—” The words caught in his throat. He dropped his gaze, jaw tense.

I hesitated, then offered a nod in tentative permission. He moved with quiet precision, his movements steady as he cut through the bloodstained sleeve of my gown, careful so the blade never touched my skin. Cold air hit the wound as he peeled the fabric away, exposing the angry gash.

I winced.

He mirrored the movement. “Sorry.” He set the knife aside and dipped a cloth into the water, wringing it out before pressing it gently to my skin. I hissed in pain. “I know it stings,” he murmured. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

It was the same promise he’d made just before he killed me. Yet now, those words held no terror, only a quiet offering of trust.

I studied him as he worked—the concentrated furrow of his brow, the slight tremble in his fingers, the silent remorse etched in every careful motion.

This was not the calculating prince I had once feared, nor the warrior who had brought down an assassin with terrifying grace.

This was a man who knelt before the one who had once been his victim, wiping away blood with silent care, as if trying to cleanse something more than just a wound.

I marveled at the gentleness in his touch, the softness in his expression, the way he winced whenever he accidentally caused me pain, as if it were his own.

And somehow…this hidden side of him felt familiar, as though it had always existed, just behind the mask—and he had only ever shown it to me, a secret between just the two of us that was ours to cherish.

“Why did you protect me?” I asked, voice no louder than a breath.

He stilled mid-motion. The silence stretched so long, I thought he might not answer. “I made a vow,” he said at last.

I studied his face. “Do you mean last night?”

He hesitated before shaking his head. “No, long before.”

The way agony flickered in his expression—the kind that couldn’t belong to a single night—left me unsettled. No matter how I tried to unravel it, this was a riddle that refused to make sense.

He dipped the cloth again, steadier now, and resumed cleaning the wound. When he finished, he tore a strip from the cloth and wrapped it around my shoulder with careful precision, his fingers grazing my skin like a prayer.

“You’re shaking,” I murmured.

He took trembling breath but didn’t look up. “You could’ve died. If I’d been a heartbeat later…”

His jaw clenched and he glared at the blood on my shoulder as if it had personally offended him. His hands hovering helplessly over the wound, unable to undo it.

“I loathe the color red. I never want to see it again, especially on you.” His fingers curled. “This shouldn’t have happened. What were you thinking, eavesdropping on the king? You, more than anyone, know how dangerous he is, and yet—” He gritted his teeth and didn’t finish.

I lowered my gaze. “I know it was reckless. But then I heard you say my name, heard you say you hated me, and I couldn’t help…” I trailed off, unable to finish, the words too raw.

He was silent a long moment before he exhaled slowly, a thread of regret in the sound. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”

He didn’t deny it, but when he reached to finish tying the bandage, his touch was unbearably gentle, far too tender for the emotion he claimed he felt towards me. He tied the last secure knot, a bit too tightly, yet somehow not tightly enough.

I watched his face, normally unreadable, now caught in a silent war, as if he were deliberating just how much of himself it was safe enough to reveal.

“Hate is a shield,” he said at last, his voice quieter. “But there’s more to truth than words.” As if to show me what he couldn’t say, his hand rose, his movements slow to give me every chance to pull away…but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

He cradled my cheek with aching tenderness, too sincere for even the most self-preserving lies to misinterpret.

His fingertips traced the line of my jaw, a tentative, feather-light touch that lingered like a question unspoken.

Heat bloomed beneath his touch, a slow, pleasant burn that spread like fire across my skin.

Instinctively, I leaned into his caress.

“Whatever this is, it doesn’t feel like any hatred I’ve ever experienced,” I whispered.

“Perhaps this is a new kind,” he said with a pained smile.

“The kind that watches from the shadows and rushes in to rescue you before it’s too late.

The kind that keeps dragging me back to you, no matter how hard I try to stay away.

” A deep emotion filled his eyes, a haunting longing I understood all too well, even if I didn’t understand why.

“What is this?” I asked.

“A sign that you’re still alive, with me.”

The meaning behind that single touch undid him, as if he’d finally reached the end of his composure—unraveling in small, splintering cracks. He looked away, as if ashamed of the emotion threatening to betray him…until his restraint shattered.

He pulled me into his arms in one motion—no hesitation or princely restraint, just raw, trembling need.

“I’m so glad I made it in time. I thought—” His voice fractured.

“I almost lost you. For a horrifying moment, I thought I’d be too late.

I would never have forgiven myself—I can’t bear to watch you die.

Not again.” He buried his face against my hair.

My heart lurched at the word. “…again?”

The single word fractured something in me.

Candlelight wavered, shadows bending in unfamiliar shapes as my vision blurred.

The world tilted, shifting around me. Though I remained in his arms, something within me felt as if I was tumbling backward through layers of memory not entirely my own, as if I were falling into a moment long buried… yet achingly familiar.

I saw a twisted vision I was certain had never haunted my dreams, or left even a trace in my waking moments. Yet something about it felt horrifyingly real.

The throne room, dark and cold. The echo of steel. Blood soaking the floor beneath me. The killing blow had already fallen, and I was dying.

Castiel had dropped to his knees, catching me before I collapsed. His arms wrapped around my lifeless body, too late to stop what had been set in motion.

“No,” he had cried, over and over. “No, please—don’t—don’t leave me?—”

He clutched me tightly, as if he could will the life back into my lungs. His tears fell onto my face, lips brushing my temple in frantic desperation.

“Not her, please not her,” he begged the king in a voice wrecked with grief. “Please, I’ll do anything, anything you ask. Just please don’t take her.”

But there had been no bringing me back, at least not…in…

Some truth shimmered at the edge of my mind, just out of reach.

I reached for it—but its wispy tendrils slipped through my fingers like mist, like a half-remembered dream fading the harder I tried to hold on.

A gasp tore from my lips as the world rushed back in.

Castiel’s steady arms still held me, a position he didn’t seem intent to relinquish.

At my soft cry, he stiffened. His concerned gaze searched mine, quiet and steady, as if he sensed something had shifted. I pressed a hand to my pounding heart, as though I could calm the strange ache rising there.

He didn’t demand an explanation. Instead, our fingers brushed, and a quiet warmth spread from the contact. He held my hand, as though he meant to anchor me through whatever storm still lingered in my mind.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he murmured.

My shoulder throbbed where the blade had cut, but I hardly noticed. “I’m truly fine.”

But he only held me tighter, as if the circle of his arms could protect me—not just from the king or the assassin, but from the darkness permeating the court and the shadow of death that loomed ever closer. His hands lifted, trembling slightly as they cupped my face.

His forehead touched mine, closeness which stole my breath.

His eyes found mine and held, as if afraid I might vanish if he blinked.

The silence between us heavy with everything unspoken.

For a breathless moment, we simply stared at each other.

Neither of us spoke; afraid to give voice to these dangerous feelings growing between us.

Slowly, my hands slid up to wrap my arms around his neck, the softest kind of surrender. A thousand emotions coursed through me. Longing. Confusion. Grief for a death I hadn’t yet lived, and the strange ache of wanting to trust the man before me.

I felt something in me give way—a quiet relinquishing of a battle I hadn’t realized I’d been fighting. And now that it was over, I could feel the weight of it in every breath. I was exhausted from resisting.

Part of me wanted to let go completely…even as I knew that no matter my desperation, there were still some battles I couldn’t afford to lose, even though in this fragile moment there was nothing I wanted more.