Page 51 of Revert
He had once ended my life. Now he had defended me and was carrying me in his arms…and I didn’t want him to put me down. Time centered on only this moment, and all too soon we arrived at the hidden room.
The door shut with a soft click behind us, sealing the world out. For once the magic was a comfort rather than something to fear—a force that guarded us rather than trapping me with my enemy.
Castiel crossed the chamber and lowered me gently onto the dusty velvet-cushioned bench beside the long-dead hearth. The air was still and quiet, but the warmth from his presence filled every corner, lingering where it had pressed against mine. I found myself missing it the moment he stepped away.
He knelt before me, eyes steady. “I need to see how deep it is.” His voice was careful, as though afraid to shatter the fragile truce between us.
At my faint nod, he retrieved a small washbasin tucked behind a cabinet and filled it with water from a nearby pitcher. Then, with deliberate care, he drew the short dagger from his belt. I stiffened.
He froze, blade unmoving. “It’s only for the fabric,” he explained. “I would never—” The words caught in his throat. He dropped his gaze, jaw tense.
I hesitated, then offered a nod in tentative permission. He moved with quiet precision, his movements steady as he cut through the bloodstained sleeve of my gown, careful so the blade never touched my skin. Cold air hit the wound as he peeled the fabric away, exposing the angry gash.
I winced.
He mirrored the movement. “Sorry.” He set the knife aside and dipped a cloth into the water, wringing it out before pressing it gently to my skin. I hissed in pain. “I know it stings,” he murmured. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
It was the same promise he’d made just before he killed me. Yet now, those words held no terror, only a quiet offering of trust.
I studied him as he worked—the concentrated furrow of his brow, the slight tremble in his fingers, the silent remorse etched in every careful motion. This was not the calculating prince I had once feared, nor the warrior who had brought down an assassin with terrifying grace. This was a man who knelt before the one who had once been his victim, wiping away blood with silent care, as if trying to cleanse something more than just a wound.
I marveled at the gentleness in his touch, the softness in his expression, the way he winced whenever he accidentally caused me pain, as if it were his own. And somehow…this hidden side of him felt familiar, as though it had always existed, just behind the mask—and he had only ever shown it to me, a secret between just the two of us that was ours to cherish.
“Why did you protect me?” I asked, voice no louder than a breath.
He stilled mid-motion. The silence stretched so long, I thought he might not answer. “I made a vow,” he said at last.
I studied his face. “Do you mean last night?”
He hesitated before shaking his head. “No, long before.”
The way agony flickered in his expression—the kind that couldn’t belong to a single night—left me unsettled. No matter how I tried to unravel it, this was a riddle that refused to make sense.
He dipped the cloth again, steadier now, and resumed cleaning the wound. When he finished, he tore a strip from thecloth and wrapped it around my shoulder with careful precision, his fingers grazing my skin like a prayer.
“You’re shaking,” I murmured.
He took trembling breath but didn’t look up. “You could’ve died. If I’d been a heartbeat later…”
His jaw clenched and he glared at the blood on my shoulder as if it had personally offended him. His hands hovering helplessly over the wound, unable to undo it.
“I loathe the color red. I never want to see it again, especially on you.” His fingers curled. “This shouldn’t have happened. What were you thinking, eavesdropping on the king? You, more than anyone, know how dangerous he is, and yet—” He gritted his teeth and didn’t finish.
I lowered my gaze. “I know it was reckless. But then I heard you say my name, heard you say you hated me, and I couldn’t help…” I trailed off, unable to finish, the words too raw.
He was silent a long moment before he exhaled slowly, a thread of regret in the sound. “I wish you hadn’t heard that.”
He didn’t deny it, but when he reached to finish tying the bandage, his touch was unbearably gentle, far too tender for the emotion he claimed he felt towards me. He tied the last secure knot, a bit too tightly, yet somehow not tightly enough.
I watched his face, normally unreadable, now caught in a silent war, as if he were deliberating just how much of himself it was safe enough to reveal.
“Hate is a shield,” he said at last, his voice quieter. “But there’s more to truth than words.” As if to show me what he couldn’t say, his hand rose, his movements slow to give me every chance to pull away…but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
He cradled my cheek with aching tenderness, too sincere for even the most self-preserving lies to misinterpret. His fingertips traced the line of my jaw, a tentative, feather-light touch that lingered like a question unspoken. Heat bloomed beneath histouch, a slow, pleasant burn that spread like fire across my skin. Instinctively, I leaned into his caress.
“Whatever this is, it doesn’t feel like any hatred I’ve ever experienced,” I whispered.
“Perhaps this is a new kind,” he said with a pained smile. “The kind that watches from the shadows and rushes in to rescue you before it’s too late. The kind that keeps dragging me back to you, no matter how hard I try to stay away.” A deep emotion filled his eyes, a haunting longing I understood all too well, even if I didn’t understand why.
