Page 6 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

At the sound of my entrance, he turned and our eyes met. Try as I might to remain in control, my body went rigid. He looked exactly as he had the night before—sharp, cold, composed, every line of his face a blade honed by years of rule and restraint.

My gaze dropped instinctively to his side, but the sword that had been a constant part of his wardrobe throughout our courtship was surprisingly gone.

Its absence didn’t rule out the possibility he carried a hidden weapon—something to fend off would-be assassins…

or, as I now knew, to eliminate meddlesome fiancées who didn’t know her place.

At my reaction something flickered in his expression—brief and unreadable. “Bernice.” No title, just my name, another change from the previous timeline. Before I could even process it, he corrected himself. “Princess. You’re late.”

I clenched my fists at my sides to still their shaking and forced a controlled curtsy. “My apologies for the delay, Your Highness.” I managed to conceal the fear choking my voice down to a faint tremor.

“A lack of punctuality is unlike you.” Excuses weren’t tolerated in Thorndale, but his tone suggested he expected an explanation all the same.

I struggled to force words past my dry throat. “I found myself…distracted. The beauty of the grounds invited reflection.”

He tilted his head. “On what?”

Dying . “On the nature of time.” I watched his reaction closely. While pondering my situation, I couldn’t shake the possibility that I wasn’t the only one who had gone back in time. If my killer also shared knowledge of the upcoming events, I would be in serious jeopardy.

He paused before a faint smirk toyed his lips. “An unusual subject for a princess.”

I didn’t return his amusement with my usual strained smile, in no mood to play our usual game. “I’ve always found time to be deceptive—it slips past unnoticed, until it’s too late to change anything.”

“Or until one stops trying.”

I stiffened. The words almost exactly mirrored what he’d told me just before he drove the sword through my heart. His expression remained impassive, giving nothing away, making me wonder if I was chasing shadows from a life that had already ended.

He seated himself at the table, but I didn’t immediately join him. He noticed my hesitation, and with a faint gesture he commanded me to sit. I shakily obeyed his silent order and settled across from him, spine straight despite the trembling inside me, my mask firmly in place.

Tension had always been one of the courses served during tea, but today it seemed to have been an ingredient folded into every dish.

What had once been guarded tedium now felt like navigating a death trap, every word potentially one that would seal my fate.

Moments into our seemingly endless meal and I was already counting down the minutes until I could make my escape.

“You seemed shaken this morning,” Prince Castiel observed as he poured a cup of tea from the silver set between us. “I was told you had a…disturbing dream.”

Of course word had reached the monarchy, but I was admittedly surprised it had reached him before his father. I accepted the cup with hands that, miraculously, remained steady. “The kind that lingers.”

“Should I be concerned?”

If anxiety hadn’t had its claws buried deep in me, I might have been tempted to snort. Concern was not an emotion Prince Castiel extended to anyone—certainly not to me.

I forced myself to meet his gaze. “You have far more important matters to concern yourself with. It was just a dream, but it made me realize that I’ve been far too trusting. I intend to be more discerning moving forward.”

His expression didn’t change. “An admirable trait for a future queen.”

If I survived long enough to wear the crown. Instinctively, I rubbed my hand over my heart, finding solace in each steady beat against my fingertips, a reassurance that I was here, that I was alive .

Silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring, yet one that was almost grounding in its familiarity.

Prince Castiel was a man of precise habits.

He always took his tea plain without cream or sugar, never partook of the sweets from our spread.

He methodically buttered a single scone, which he ate while spending our time together reviewing documents while I sat across from him, a decorative fixture in his day.

Once I’d found his blatant indifference infuriating, but over time I’d come to welcome the reprieve it offered from my usual need to perform.

I expected the same ritual today, but to my astonishment, instead of withdrawing into paperwork, he gave me his full attention.

For he briefest moment, he looked almost..

.shy, but the fleeting expression vanished almost immediately, replaced by a slight furrow of his brow that made me wonder if I’d imagined the emotion.

“You’re not going to eat?” The question sounded innocent on the surface, but in my paranoia it felt like a challenge.

I flinched, jostling the table along with my untouched plate of sandwiches and cakes. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite.”

I bit my lip and lifted the cup, subtly sniffing the tea for any trace of poison, though the test would only be able to detect certain toxins that had a distinctive scent or turned the liquid an unnatural color.

I tried to be discreet, but I could feel the weight of his unblinking gaze on me, tracking every move…making me fear that despite my best efforts, he was already at work uncovering my deception in this timeline.

“It’s not poisoned,” he said.

My hand jerked, sloshing tea over the rim. “Of course not. I was just—” No excuse came. My mind scrambled for something plausible, but found nothing. I silently cursed myself. Barely minutes into our first meeting in this timeline, and I had already given him reason to suspect me.

Left with no other option, I braced myself and took a cautious sip. I swirled the tea on my tongue. The tea tasted as it always did—rich, citrusy, bitter—but I detected no unusual flavor, nor did I feel any abnormal change in my body.

He continued watching me, my rigid posture doing little to escape his keen observation. “If it would ease your mind,” he said placidly, “I can switch cups.”

His calm offer did little to reassure me.

My mind spun through a series of mental gymnastics, trying to determine whether his cup had held the poison all along, and whether the switch had been his intention from the start.

I knew my unnatural behavior only made me appear more suspicious, but terror was not so easily cast aside.

I felt as cornered as I had the night before when faced with his raised sword and there was nowhere left to run. When I remained frozen, he let out a heavy sigh. “You can rest assured, Princess—underhanded tactics aren’t in my nature.”

Strangely, his directness was what finally put me at ease. It was too soon for him to kill me, and the first time he hadn’t concealed his sinister intent. I took another cautious sip, doing my best to project calm, though the tension knotting in my stomach made me feel I might be sick.

His expression betrayed neither frustration nor satisfaction, no hint of a trap successfully sprung, giving me reason to hope I was safe…for now.

I desperately sought a distraction to deflect from my unusual behavior, especially when he made no move to pore over his papers.

Instead, he buttered a second scone with slow, meticulous movements, as if waiting for me to fill the silence that had always been our customary guest during these routine teas.

I scrambled for a topic, but my thoughts stuttered when I noticed the guard accompanying him—the very man Halric had replaced, a brutish man who carried the air of someone who guarded not to protect, but for the chance to witness my demise.

“Have you swapped out our guards?” The question escaped before I could check its appropriateness. I immediately yearned to snatch it back.

He paused, teacup half-raised to his lips. He didn’t answer right away, and while his extended silences were nothing new—a habit of a man who chose every word with care—this one felt heavier than usual, calculated.

I braced myself for the same evasion Halric had offered, or a convenience I’d be expected to accept without question.

“I felt the guards would be best suited in their new positions—Halric serving you, and Garron putting his talents to use for me.” He gave the latter a subtle nod; the man swelled with visible pride.

The explanation only left me more perplexed.

I could think of no reason for Prince Castiel to so easily relinquish one of his most trusted men…

unless he meant to plant him as a means of gathering information.

He hadn’t taken such a precaution in the first timeline, so what accounted for the change?

Had the Bernice of this version already done something to provoke his suspicion?

I pursed my lips to suppress my frustration. I already had enough mysteries to unravel without adding another. This one appeared inconsequential at first glance, but it was still a deviation from the reality I knew…and any alteration was dangerous.

Until now, I had assumed both timelines shared the same past. If I was mistaken, it placed me at a severe disadvantage, especially when I had no way to access the memories from this timeline, leaving me to navigate in the dark.

I debated asking for clarification, but before I could voice the thought, he leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. “While I welcome curiosity and questions, not everyone values the trait with the same admiration.”

Startled by his words, I faltered—and in my clumsy nerves, I upended the sugar bowl. Glass scattered across the table, sugar spilling like arsenic. Prince Castiel reached for my hand, but I jerked away so sharply I nearly knocked over my teacup as well, unable to quite conceal my fear.

He went still. For the first time during our exchange, emotion flickered across his face—quiet and somber.

I found myself staring, drawn by this crack in his usually impassive mask.

Fascination stirred before I could stop it…

but the moment passed, and with it the last of my composure. I needed to get away.

“You’re rather on edge.” Prince Castiel made the observation off-handedly, but something in his assessing gaze felt almost knowing.

Panic bloomed. What if the magic responsible for reverting time hadn’t pulled me far enough back?

What if he’d already found reason to condemn me and was merely gathering the final threads of evidence before sealing my fate?

Or perhaps he had always possessed the necessary information, and in my naivety I had only thought I was in control the first time around, when in truth I’d always been playing right into his hands, only one mistake away from death.

It was too soon for him to notice a change, too soon to suspect. I drew a breath to steady myself. Focus . This wasn’t the first tricky conversation I’d been forced to navigate since our engagement, and if I had any hope of surviving, it wouldn’t be the last.

Though terror of what my betrothed was capable of had followed me from that night of blood and shadows, I had to remember his blade hadn’t struck without cause; he’d caught me in the act of treason.

If I navigated this version of events carefully, he would have no reason to claim my life a second time.

It might be a vain hope, but I clung to it nonetheless.

“I’m fine.” But my voice wavered, betraying the lie.

His serious expression tightened. “Whether or not you’re well is not for me to determine,” he said at last. “But your behavior today is markedly different from yesterday. It’s my duty to determine why .” His voice was measured and controlled, but beneath it lay a warning not to lie to him again.

You murdered me and I have gone back in time to see where I went wrong . While that wasn’t a truth I could share, it would be in my best interest to offer some measure of honesty—I was in no state to keep my growing web of falsehoods straight.

“Forgive me, my thoughts are still lingering on last night’s dream,” I admitted after a pause. “It was…rather unsettling.”

“It must have been quite memorable to so thoroughly capture your attention while with your fiancé,” he said. “Would it help if you shared it with me?”

His tone was searching as he took a slow sip of tea, his eyes never once leaving mine. I had to summon every ounce of court training not to squirm under the weight of his scrutiny.

I lifted my lips into the tight, well-practiced smile. “I would hate to burden you with such trivialities.”

He frowned. “It saddens me that despite the length of our courtship, you still don’t trust me.”

I cursed myself inwardly for that careless slip I knew better than to have made. “Not at all, Your Highness. You are a most devoted and generous fiancé.”

My stomach twisted, the words poison on my tongue. The blood-soaked details from last night rose unbidden, recollection that made it impossible to hold his gaze any longer.

Silence stretched, taut and unbearable. I sat stiffly, every nerve alert, bracing for his next words like a prisoner awaiting sentencing.

In this court of fear and intrigue, even death was not excuse enough to justify straying from routine or revealing unnecessary emotion; remaining guarded was the only defense I had left.

But it never came. After a moment, he rose. He took a slow, unhurried step towards the door. He paused with his hand on the handle. His back remained to me as he spoke. “Remember that some illusions are in place for your protection.”

Without awaiting a reply he departed; the door closed behind him, leaving me in the suffocating silence choking the room.

His words haunted me long after he left. Did he know I feared him? Had that been compassion in his voice…or manipulation? Did he truly mean to protect me now—or was this simply another tactic, designed to lure me closer before he struck again?

One thing I was certain of: I would not let him catch me unaware again. Whatever game he was playing, I would not lose a second time.