Page 7 of Revert
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…incidentunsettled 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 hisfamiliarity 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, resoundingthud, 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.
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 throughoutour 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?”
