Page 17 of Revert
I needed control, answers, and I would find neither if I let myself be drawn into whatever new game he was playing. If I lost focus now, my mission wouldn’t stand a chance.
I would begin by refusing to let him dictate my movements. I started to return the book he had guided me to, but his hand suddenly reached out, catching my wrist…and my breath.
It was the first time he had ever touched me and I was unprepared for the warm steadiness of his fingers as they curled gently around mine, coaxing rather than commanding, nothing like the night they had stained my gown in blood.
I inhaled sharply as a jolt of warmth sparked beneath my skin, rising straight to the heart I mustn’t forget he had once stopped.
I yanked away. The book slipped from my grasp, falling between us with a softthudand a cloud of dust, blooming like smoke from a fire he had just kindled.
He slowly bent down to retrieve it, his movements deliberate. As he straightened, his eyes met mine. “Are you truly finished with this?” The pointed question pulsed with subtext, as if he was trying to guide me towards something he couldn’t speak of directly.
His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist as he handed the book back. A flicker passed between us—fleeting, but undeniable. It vanished so quickly it might’ve been imagined…except I knew it wasn’t, a thought that unsettled me more than his sword ever had.
My body reacted before reason could intervene and cast the moment in its proper light.This isn’t affection—it’s strategy. A calculated move in his endless game designed to disarm me, to soften me before the next strike.
A flash of the memory of what it felt like to die at his hands eclipsed his current gentleness. My hand remembered his grip in another context—when it had crushed, not steadied, pinning me for the killing blow. That memory overlapped this one, until I could think of nothing else.
He didn’t speak. Just stared down at the book still held between us, looking as though there was something he wanted to say, but couldn’t. He made no move to step back. And as I gazed into his face, I came to the startling realization that I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to…and that terrified me most of all.
CHAPTER 6
Ihesitated on the threshold to the drawing room, afraid to enter and face whatever unknown might be waiting for me at the table. The footmen had already opened the doors and announced my arrival, but even though it was too late to retreat, some unknown force held me captive, keeping me rooted just beyond the reach of the room.
I peered cautiously inside. Prince Castiel was already seated, papers spread before him—but he didn’t appear to be reading them. Instead he sat unnaturally still, head tilted slightly in my direction…as if he’d been waiting. I gave my head a sharp shake. His Highness had no need to wait for anyone when the world moved according to his schedule, not the other way around.
“Are you well, Princess?” Halric’s tone held a trace of warning for keeping His Highness waiting. His expression could almost be mistaken for concern, but in my current paranoia, I could only see suspicion for my strange, prolonged hesitation. I emerged from my condemning stupor with a forced nod, a lie offered to both him and myself.
Yesterday’s strange encounter in the archive had stolen any vestiges of bravery I had left, and it felt nigh impossible to find with confusion clouding every thought over the prince’speculiar. I no longer knew how to read the prince—his behavior had shifted so subtly, so completely, it was as if we were playing a different game now. A different board. Different rules.
I took a steadying breath, whispering unconvincing reassurances that this was just another ordinary afternoon in my fiancé’s presence…but it wasn’t, not when each interaction felt like a calculated move on an elaborate chessboard, each impossible to predict when we seemed to be playing by different rules than the first time, and I still had no idea what side he was playing for.
I straightened my posture and lifted my chin before stepping inside. Prince Castiel rose at my entrance and offered a single glance before hastily looking away without fully meeting my eyes. I frowned. That was unusual, but unfortunately his lack of acknowledgement didn’t excuse me from the required pleasantries.
I drew another breath and forced a smile as I settled in the seat across from him. “Good morning, Your Highness. I trust you slept well.” I barely contained the nervous tremor from my voice, outward composure I didn’t feel, yet desperately needed to reclaim.
His only response was cold silence, ending the conversation before it had even begun.
I had wondered how interactions between us would be after that charged back and forth in the archive where I couldn’t tell if he was testing me or toying with me. I could still feel the contact when his thumb brushed the inside of my wrist as he handed me the book, as real as the memory of the hand that had once ended my life.
I hastily suppressed the thought, locking it away before it could unravel me further. I forced myself to sip my tea, pretending I didn’t still feel the ghost of his touch or the quietthat had followed it. Whatever that strange moment, he wasn’t acknowledging it now. Perhaps that was my answer in itself.
I nervously reached up to twist a loose strand of hair that had fallen from my chignon, an elegant style I had uncharacteristically asked Liora to spend extra time on this morning. I couldn’t blame her for her confusion—I had never once given detailed instructions about my appearance, not when there had never been a reason to impress my indifferent betrothed or to stand out in a cutthroat court.
I still didn’t have an explanation for my faltering sense that had cared how I looked for our daily ritual of tea and silence, nor any rational defense for the ridiculous hope that he might notice. One fleeting touch, and already I was behaving like a fool, which was undoubtedly a carefully played move in his game.
The man was dangerous.
He pointedly ignored me the remainder of the meal…though I caught him watching me in stolen, fleeting glances when he thought I wouldn’t notice. Each time, he hastily buried himself back in his papers, poring over them with an intensity that felt performative, an attempt to shield himself from whatever passed between us in the silence.
Disappointmentwasn’t quite the right word to describe my complicated emotions, for it would imply I’d harbored expectations for the interaction, which I most certainly hadnot. I reminded myself of this with every sip of tea and bite of pastry, yet the words rang hollow when my traitorous gaze repeatedly drifted towards him.
Each time it did, I notice details I hadn’t before. Despite the cold edges of his hardened expression, something about him looked…different today. His hair was more carefully styled, his uniform meticulously pressed, as if he too had taken unusual care with his appearance for the sole purpose of disarming me.
His scheme was working far too well, seducing me like a siren’s call I did everything in my power to resist. The minutes dragged, weighted with tension and mutual stubbornness, neither of us willing to be the first to shatter the fragile quiet.
Once or twice, his fingers paused over a page and his head inclined slightly in my direction, as if he might speak…but the moment always passed with nothing more than a soft exhale. Though no words were exchanged, the silence between us wasn’t empty, but taut, full of words unspoken, stretched thin between two people pretending not to feel it. Several times words tempted my lips, but I suppressed them before they could emerge. If silence was what he preferred, I would give him what he wanted.
As I reached for my final sip of tea, his voice cut through the silence—low, almost hesitant. “You should wear your hair like that more often.”
