Page 36 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

“I’m so sorry.” The apology felt useless, yet I had nothing more to offer her.

Liora lifted her chin. “I’m fortunate to have received a warning, and a very mild one. I thought I was…lost. But the prince convinced his father to merely give me a lesson in obedience instead.”

I wondered what that moment of defiance had cost Castiel. I wished I could see him—ask him what he’d done to help Liora, assure myself he was safe. But for now I could only sit helplessly.

Liora quietly gathered up my laundry and departed, and I found myself with nothing to do but wait. I tried to focus on my mission and the shadows and mysteries filling the court that still needed unraveling.

Though the urge to investigate pressed against me relentlessly, now wasn’t the time to go poking through palace corridors.

The time to go poking around the palace was not after the king had tried to have me killed, especially when his failure to do so the first time would undoubtedly only lead to another attempt.

But even the threat of death wasn’t enough to distract me from my strange longing to see Castiel again. I’d feared it would be hours, time I would have once welcomed, but which now stretched before me like an eternity.

I had always told myself I wanted nothing more than distance from the prince who’d once ended my life, but now I found myself watching the door, each tick of time stretching thin. I told myself it was vigilance, but this lie wasn’t enough to dispel this new and frightening yearning.

Though Halric remained nearby, his presence lacked the comfort and security the prince had offered, comfort that went deeper than physical defense. Castiel’s arms had shielded more than just my body from the assassin’s blade, but protected something inside me I hadn’t even known was unraveling.

And no amount of logic could undo the fact that I missed it…far more than I wanted to admit.

When I was finally summoned, I expected another stiff routine—tea with court ladies, or a bland report on “recovery” to share with the king that could very well end with him finishing what Castiel’s rescue had prevented.

By the time we reached the great corridor overlooking the lower garden, a familiar figure stood waiting, half-shadowed beneath the archway.

His posture was composed, his hands clasped behind his back, as composed as ever.

But when he turned at my approach, his eyes found mine instantly.

Something unspoken passed between us, a heartbeat stretched too thin.

“Princess Bernice,” he said, his formal voice carefully measured. “If you’re able, I’d like to request your company for a walk through the gardens.”

“For court appearances?” I asked, though my heart already knew the answer.

A pause. “Among other things.” His voice was quiet, but the brush of his fingers at my elbow sent a warm shiver through me all the same. Anticipation that had no business accompanying any dutiful meeting with my betrothed stirred my chest before I could suppress it. A performance, then.

I had endured many such displays over the years—charades of unity, partnership, even affection—but this one felt different. The acts I’d once performed without question now seemed hollow, meaningless compared to the quiet captured moments we now shared as a secret between us.

The gardens had never looked so carefully composed. Soft sunlight filtered through the hanging wisteria, gilding each leaf and bloom in molten gold. Musicians played from the west terrace, and a few courtiers strolled the upper paths, pretending not to watch as Castiel offered me his arm.

I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow, too aware of the strength beneath the silk, of the way he instinctively adjusted his stride to match mine.

Together we crossed the ornate grounds—breathtaking in their elegance, but carefully crafted to conceal the darkness lurking just beneath the surface.

The royal gardens had never felt so suffocating.

Blossoms drooped, their fragrance thick and cloying.

Guards lined every path like statues, while courtiers pretended to admire the blooms as they tracked our every move, missing nothing.

Whispers curled behind fans, some edged with suspicion, others clouded with something almost like pity.

Everyone saw that I walked at Castiel’s side, my full skirts brushing against him, a shift from the careful distance that had defined our courtship for the past five years.

Curiously, none of the overheard whispers were about the assassination attempt. In the fleeting glimpse I caught while passing the corridor where it had taken place, everything had already been scrubbed clean, the corpse removed, the blood erased…as though it had never happened at all.

For all his silence, Castiel kept me close.

His hand hovered near mine—not touching, but close enough that I felt his warmth.

Try as I might, I couldn’t ignore how acutely aware I was of that space between us, how part of me ached to close it.

I found myself walking closer to him, finding safety in his nearness.

With each step, a growing truth gradually became a quiet ache I could no longer ignore: I didn’t want to perform anymore, not with him. I didn’t realize my grip on him had tightened until he draped his hand over mine. “Hold out a little longer,” he murmured.

The facade extended several winding paths more before we finally rounded a corner that took us beyond the view of the onlookers.

The laughter and rustle of silks faded behind us, swallowed by the hush of the grove of trees we passed beneath.

Relief settled over me to finally escape the court’s scrutiny, a familiar comfort in discarding the mask I’d worn for so long and slipping into a space where no one expected pretense.

Beside me, the stiffness in Castiel’s shoulders eased, as if the pressure weighing on him through the gardens had finally loosened its hold.

Silence settled back around us, our steps muffled by gravel as we strolled the path winding through the formal rose garden. I felt his gaze on me, guarded but searching.

“I assume this walk was the king’s idea,” I said carefully. “He does enjoy his performances.” Nothing like our presenting a unified front after he’d thoroughly erased all evidence of the attempted assassination against the crown prince’s betrothed.

“No, it was mine.” He was quiet for a few more steps before he finally continued.

“I wanted to speak with you. Forgive me for not being there when you first awoke. I had…necessary business to attend to.” There was hesitation behind the words, as if the duties he spoke of had cost him something. I searched his face curiously.

“And those responsibilities weren’t so pressing as the necessity to speak with me?”

“After yesterday, can you doubt?” Castiel’s gaze flicked to the bandage strategically concealed beneath the layers of silk, the only evidence to the attempt on my life. Pain filled his eyes, quiet and unspoken. “I needed…to see how you were.”

I offered a wry smile, a disguise for the secret thrill I felt at the effort he’d expended just to ask a simple question that could have come through a servant. “Well, I’m alive.”

He heaved a quiet sigh, soft with relief. “Not a moment goes by since yesterday that I’m not grateful for that fact. How is your wound?”

“It’s fine, thanks to you.” Oddly, it wasn’t an empty reassurance. The ache that had haunted me since the attack had dimmed, barely noticeable in his presence. It made no logical sense, and yet here with him, the pain felt far away.

He hesitated, then reached into his cloak pocket, withdrawing a small porcelain jar with a cork wedged into its mouth. His movements were shy, almost uncertain as he held it out to me.

I uncorked it gently, revealing a careful mixture of crushed herbs and dried petals. The scent told me what it was before I asked—a healing poultice, likely made with his own hands.

I glanced up at him, startled. He didn’t meet my eyes, the faint blush touching his cheeks speaking more than words ever could.

Warmth bloomed in my chest. “Thank you,” I said softly.

He cleared his throat. “There’s been no mention of the attack. If the king knows—and he surely does—he’s gone out of his way to suppress it.” His voice had slipped back into formality, but it felt like a shield, a way to steady himself against his fluster.

“For what reason?” I asked.

His jaw tightened. “Appearances. He’s good at…erasing unpleasant things.” By the tension along his brow, it looked like there was more he wanted to say, but caution held him back.

Normally I would have accepted this dictated silence, but the security I felt with him emboldened me. “So…is he…the one responsible?” I kept my voice as low as possible for him to still hear me.

He frowned. “At first glance. Yet something about…the event unsettled me; it was almost too sloppy, not how His Majesty usually does things, even if the assassin was someone close to the king. If not for the risk in keeping the culprit alive, I would have interrogated him. At least he’ll never threaten you again. ”

“Close to the king?” My voice rose, and we both shot a nervous glance towards the palace.

Castiel leaned close to my ear, his voice scarcely more than a breath. “Lord Ravenhurst.”

I inhaled sharply, recalling the masked man Castiel had warned me about at the masquerade…one of the king’s advisors.

“So it was the king?” I mouthed.

Castiel sighed and shook his head slightly. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t seem like his style.”

Much as I mistrusted the king, I had to agree. Despite my own frustration at the unknown the assassin had left in their wake, the risk had been too great.

It would have been too risky, but the death that had narrowly missed me left behind more questions than answers…questions whose truths should have been clear. The king remained my greatest threat, and though he was dangerous, it was the unseen enemy that terrified me more.