Page 36 of Revert
I glared at him, heartbeat quickening. “What are you playing at?”
He shifted, almost sheepishly, and lifted his hands in hesitant defense. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Bernice.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I swear I had no ill intentions,” he said in a rush. “I told you, this room is one of the only safe locations in the palace. I needed to bring you somewhere where we could finally converse away from the king’s eyes and ears.”
Not that we’d had much conversation. A hollow, disbelieving laugh escaped. “If that was your desire, you could have simplyordered me to accommodate. No need for this grand charade. Was this your idea of a cozy outing? Locking your fiancée in an enchanted closet?”
Sarcasm that had previously felt like banter now felt like a shield to my hurt I couldn’t escape, no matter how desperate.
A beat passed before his gaze dropped. “It’s difficult to talk when you seem determined to avoid me.” His voice was soft, almost penitent. “I only wanted…to spend time with you. Whether or not you believe me is your choice.”
My voice sharpened. “You forget: I have no reason to trust you.”
He didn’t argue, didn’t offer empty excuses, nor reach for hollow reassurances. That quiet restraint was almost more dangerous because it made me want to forgive him. This vulnerable desire momentarily distracted me, tangling with the echo of his touch and the memory of how close he’d leaned, how close we’d come to?—
I hastily shook the thought away.Enough. I needed to escape before I did or said anything I would fiercely regret. I extended my hand expectedly, meeting his gaze squarely. He hesitated before setting the key gently in my palm. The brief contact of his fingers against mine sent a jolt through me, the kind that left me burning and furious at myself in equal measure.
I couldn’t get away fast enough. I barely held myself together as I turned sharply, fleeing not only him, but everything he made me feel…emotions that, for a fleeting moment, he’d made me believe were real.
I strode to the door, shoved the key into the lock, and twisted. The lock gave a softclick; the enchantment trapping us shivered through the walls like an exhale in release. A cold gust of air rushed over me as I stepped into the corridor, a relief I hadn’t known I needed.
For a breath, I thought I heard him move behind me, as if to follow or say something…but no words came. Only silence stretched between us, heavy and raw.
I should have walked away without looking back, but the reckless, aching part of me I most despised couldn’t resist…and turned.
He stood in the doorway, one hand braced tightly against the frame, dark eyes fixed on me with a softness that made my chest tighten. No mask. No coldness. Just a quiet, unspoken ache that reached across the space between us.
“Bernice.” Just my name, nothing more, as if it was the only thing he still wanted to hold on to.
For a fleeting moment I almost whispered his back…before I swallowed the impulse hard. Without another word, I turned away, my breath tight and my steps sharp, something far more dangerous than fury twisting in my chest.
I didn’t look back again, but I felt his lingering gaze long after the distance swallowed me whole.
CHAPTER 11
That prince.
I didn’t stop walking until the corridor twisted into another, until the hush of the palace closed in on all sides and I was sure no one—especiallyhim—had followed. Only then did I pause, pressing my back to the cold stone, fingers gripping the folds of my skirt to steady my trembling hands.
I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on each shallow breath. Yet try as I might to distract myself, the moment rushed back, unbidden. The near-kiss. The softness in his voice when he said my name. The quiet regret in his eyes as he handed me the key. I pressed a fist hard to my chest, as if I could still each frantic pulse of my confused heart.
I should have been furious…and I was. Furious at his deception, that he’d cornered me, that he’d played whatever game this was, and most of all furious that I’d been foolish enough to feel anything but contempt for this man I knew I couldn’t trust.
And yet, underneath the anger coiled something far more dangerous: disappointment. Because part of me, as foolish andreckless as it was, had wanted it to be real—even just for a heartbeat.
I let out a shaky laugh, smothering the treacherous sound with the back of my hand. Stars above, what was wrong with me? I was here to survive, to scheme, and ultimately to win…not only for myself, but for my father and others depending on me. Not to want softness from the man who had once murdered me, nor to miss the warmth of his gaze the moment it was gone.
Yet as I pushed away from the wall and forced myself forward, each step taking me farther from the room that still pulsed with the tumultuous echo of almost, one thought lodged in my chest like a blade:what would have happened if I’d stayed?
That was one question I could never answer. I didn’t look back out of fear of what I might see, afraid it might change everything…and yet it already had.
Though I didn’t have the luxury of wondering, the uncertainty haunted me in the days that followed long after the moment passed, each one dragging behind it the weight of that interaction, echoing with questions I refused to ask. I buried the memory beneath strategy and silence, doing everything I could to forget the way his eyes had searched mine, the way something inside me had almost answered. But no matter how I tried, it clung to me like smoke—unseen, but inescapable.
From the moment the flicker of magic had released its hold, the room unlocked, and we slipped back into the polished corridors of the palace, frustration had knotted tight in my chest, a tangle of resentment impossible to dissipate, haunting me like an ever-present shadow that darkened every thought. Even as time passed, the uncomfortable sensation remained. I found myself pressing a hand to my ribs, as if that simple touch could ease the ache that memory stirred beneath—an ache that never seemed to fade.
To think that the entire encounter—the disarming moments, the glimpses of softness, the near-confessions, the tender way he had tucked his cloak around me, the charged brush of his fingers against my cheek—had all been controlled manipulations, staged with calculated care.
