Page 5 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

W hat does one do after they’ve already lived their own death?

The question haunted me as I wandered the palace gardens, meticulously going over every piece of information I could recall about my first timeline for any clues that might help me navigate the surreal situation I now found myself in.

The afternoon light did little to illuminate the confusion clouding my thoughts as I wandered, the silence broken only by the soft crunch of gravel beneath my slippers and the occasional rustle of the breeze stirring the leaves.

I kept to the secluded paths, far from the more visible promenades favored by the courtiers, unsure of who I could trust. It would only take one whisper, one watchful spy in the king’s vast network in the shadows of the Thorndale court, to expose me, costing me this second chance before I could even begin to seize it.

I still couldn’t fully accept the fact that I had died and gone back in time two months earlier; it didn’t feel real.

The time I’d been allotted might have seemed a generous window at first glance, but with all the lingering mysteries surrounding my circumstances, I didn’t know if it would be enough.

The first timeline had undoubtedly been paved with small missteps that had eventually led to my demise, but I was certain many pivot points had passed unnoticed—moments I hadn’t realized were important, much less been what had ultimately led to my downfall.

The original plan I’d spent years calculating had ended in failure; I needed a new one if I hoped to survive.

I doubted I would get another chance to reverse time again should this timeline meet the same end.

Whatever magic had granted me this opportunity, I was convinced it would be the last, so I couldn’t afford to fail.

In the solitude of my private chambers that morning, I’d sketched a rough calendar of the original timeline, searching for any clue as to what path had ultimately led me to that dungeon corridor where I’d died—which clues had been significant, which were red herrings, which meetings had mattered, and conversations that had seemed meaningless at the time but now lingered in my memory like poison.

I committed it all to memory before I burned the parchment, watching it curl into ash, the secrets now safely tucked away in my mind far from any potential spy’s reach.

But there was only so much I could remember, and there were undoubtedly smaller details I’d either missed or deemed inconsequential the first time around.

I tried to suppress the panic threatening to rise; it would serve no purpose moving forward.

And yet, the worry clung like a shadow at the edge of my thoughts.

As my mind worked through the myriad of puzzles, I wandered the palace grounds, trying to ground myself in the present.

I took in every detail reminding me that I was alive—the golden warmth of the sun cutting through the branches overhead, dappling the path beneath my feet in scattered light; the scent of lilacs and fresh herbs lingering in the breeze; the soft murmur of fountains and birdsong echoing through the gardens.

Here, amidst the quiet bloom of roses and trimmed hedges, life pulsed on—vibrant, fleeting, precious.

And for now, at least, it was mine to protect.

Puzzling out this riddle of my return eclipsed me so completely that I didn’t register the passage of time until my accompanying guard interrupted my tumultuous thoughts. “Begging your pardon, Princess,” he said with a low bow, “But you have an appointment with His Highness, Crown Prince Castiel.”

My stomach dropped. I’d been so consumed with navigating the future that I’d neglected a duty in the present, a mistake that could potentially draw notice to myself I could ill afford; any unwanted attention had the potential to be deadly.

“Of course. I’ll meet with him straightaway.” The concession left my lips before the full realization of what I’d agreed to truly settled.

I was about to meet with my murderer.

Terror engulfed me. He was the last man on earth I wanted to face again, yet avoidance was impossible.

As his betrothed, I was expected to spend time with him daily.

I had dreaded those encounters before, but now they carried a new, unbearable tension, steeped in the knowledge that he had once stood over me with a blade.

Survival instinct rooted me in place. The guard shifted. “Forgive me, Princess, but His Highness can’t be kept waiting. It’s unlike you to be late, or forget such an important engagement. Has this morning’s… incident unsettled you so greatly?”

I tensed, instinctually studying each suspicious line the way one might attempt to interpret a complicated riddle, searching for hidden motives beneath the question. Something about his familiarity felt off, an inconsistency tugging at the back of my mind.

I recognized him as one of the guards who had answered my startled scream upon waking from the nightmare that hadn’t been a nightmare at all, but a memory.

At the time, I’d been too flustered to notice anything amiss, but now that the sunlight had dispelled most of the shadows from my thoughts and they weren’t quite so entangled in fear and confusion, I could think more clearly.

“You’re not one of my usual guards,” I said, trying to keep my voice light instead of suspicious.

His face remained unreadable, but I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes. “Forgive me, but you’re mistaken. I’ve been in your service for some time.”

No amount of persuasion would convince me that was true.

The guards originally assigned to me upon my arrival to Thorndale had been burly, intimidating men handpicked by the king—men who seemed to court danger and invite distrust. I’d done my best to avoid them whenever possible, though that had been difficult considering their assignment was to tail my every move…

and undoubtedly report it back to His Majesty.

Upon closer examination, I realized this man wasn’t one of the palace patrols I vaguely recognized—he was one of Prince Castiel’s personal guards, Halric, who had been a member of the crown prince’s trusted entourage for as long as I could remember.

The guards assigned directly to the Thorndale royal family were of the highest elite. How had Halric come to be in my service, and more importantly, when had the change taken place?

Mere hours into this new timeline, and already I’d found my first inconsistency. I had no idea what it meant, nor what implications it might have for my mission moving forward.

Questions swirled like a storm, but caution dictated that most of them remain forever unasked to avoid potential suspicion. Asking when such a change had occurred would expose a lack of attention to detail, an unforgivable flaw for a future queen.

Still, the uncertainty gnawed at me, as did the necessity of understanding every possible deviation. I weighed the risk before curiosity and my desperate need for information reigned victorious.

“I was certain you were one of His Highness’s personal guards,” I said carefully.

“I have been your guard for some time.” Halric repeated, his voice firmer now, as if trying to convince me to believe him…or perhaps issuing a quiet directive for me to play along with a version of reality I had no memory of, nor any safe means of verifying.

I knew arguing was pointless, yet the temptation lingered, stoked not by sense, but by the mounting anxiety over what this unexpected alteration might mean, especially with the memory of my own death still fresh, hovering like an executioner’s ax waiting to fall.

At my continued deliberation, Halric hesitated before stepping forward and lowering his voice. “It isn’t wise to ask such questions, Your Highness. I advise you to drop the matter.”

Though the warning was likely necessary, the generosity in giving it only left me more unsettled.

I was unaccustomed to kindness at court, especially from those in power.

Which made me fear this, too, was only an illusion…

or another carefully baited trap waiting to ensnare me, just as it had before.

I forced myself to temporarily put the matter to rest and obeyed the summons I’d been given with as much reluctance and dread as if I were ascending the steps to the gallows. Fitting, considering I was about to meet with death himself.

It took every ounce of strength to follow my guards.

As much as I dreaded the encounter, I couldn’t afford even the slightest disobedience or perceived rebellion.

The corridors seemed colder than I remembered, every footstep echoed too loudly, in rhythm with the frantic beating of my heart—each beat pounding more urgently the closer I came to the drawing room where I was to meet the man whose voice had been the last I heard, whose sword had taken my life.

I spent the short journey summoning every scrap of poise I possessed for the confrontation ahead. All too soon, we reached the small receiving room. My grip on my composure felt fragile as I took a steadying breath and nodded to the footman.

Part of me expected the doors to open into a dungeon.

Instead, I was met with the familiar setting of polished silver, artfully arranged sweets, and tea, as if this were any other afternoon.

I tried to control my tremor as I entered with the practiced royal grace expected of a princess.

The door closed behind me with a final, resounding thud , trapping me inside with the monster, with no where to run.

I might not be in a literal dungeon, but I was no less trapped by the ornately carved doors than I would be by the bars of prison.

No amount of preparation could prepare me to face the man who had stolen my life. He stood by the window with his back to me, hands clasped behind him, posture relaxed—the image of a man who ruled with absolute control, a portrait of ease that sharply contrasted the anxiety I struggled to contain.

But I knew better.