Reborn I Refuse To Save The Traitors (Margaery) novel Chapter 45

**TITLE: Whispers Shape Distant Tomorrows by Aren Cole Vale**
**Chapter 45**

“Thank goodness, a lifesaver!” Margaery exclaimed silently, her gaze darting toward the door, relief flooding through her.

With an air of effortless grace, Dashnell wheeled himself into the room, his demeanor as composed as ever. “Lord Bernard,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, “I understand your eagerness to tie the knot. Given our long-standing friendship, I’ll make my way to the palace this afternoon and request Father to bestow upon you the hand of Princess Valeria in marriage.”

Bernard felt a twitch in his brow, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “Prince Dashnell, your jealousy is quite palpable. Are you even going to pretend otherwise?” he retorted, his voice thick with sarcasm.

*Wait a minute, I have feelings for Margaery, and now Prince Dashnell wants to make me his brother-in-law?* Bernard’s thoughts spiraled, leaving him momentarily dazed.

*Princess Estelle has been pursuing me relentlessly for years. If she continues, I might as well barricade myself in my estate just to find some peace. And now, if Princess Valeria decides to join the fray, maybe I should just relocate to another country altogether,* he grumbled inwardly, frustration mounting.

Bernard could only stare in disbelief, his mind racing.

Dashnell chuckled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “You’re not exactly being discreet about your intentions with her, either.”

Bernard choked, momentarily at a loss for words, unable to formulate a witty comeback.

The tension between the two men was palpable, each locked in a silent battle of wills. Margaery, caught in the middle, felt her cheeks heat up and her heart race, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

She had never anticipated Dashnell would burst in like this, radiating an aura of possessiveness, as if he feared she might actually choose Bernard over him.

His words, while directed at Bernard, felt like a confession aimed squarely at her heart, each syllable echoing a deeper truth that resonated within her—*as if he were admitting his feelings right in front of everyone*.

*I like Dashnell too,* Margaery thought, her heart fluttering wildly.

*Does that mean we both have feelings for each other?* she pondered, her pulse quickening at the realization.

Dashnell’s gaze turned to her, watching her blush deepen, and he rolled his wheelchair closer, tilting his head in contemplation. A playful smile danced on his lips, his voice dropping to a low, inviting tone. “What’s this? Not even a word of thanks?”

Margaery’s heart raced so fiercely she feared it might explode. In a flurry, she grasped her coffee cup and stammered, “T-Thank you for your help today, Prince Dashnell.”

As the words escaped her lips, her cheeks flared even hotter, a vibrant crimson.

Bernard was just about to pour coffee for Dashnell when, in a swift motion, Dashnell reached over, snatched the cup from Margaery’s hand, and took a bold sip as if it were the most natural act in the world.

Margaery’s face turned a brilliant shade of red, her blush creeping down her neck.

That was the very cup she had just sipped from, her lipstick still adorning it.

Bernard’s hand trembled, coffee splattering everywhere as he stared at Dashnell, utterly flabbergasted. “Prince Dashnell, are you truly that thirsty?”

Dashnell set the cup down with an air of nonchalance. “If you had a beautiful lady in your arms for half an hour and still hadn’t tasted anything, you’d be thirstier than I am, Lord Bernard,” he quipped, his tone teasing.

With a playful flourish, he draped his arm around Margaery, flashing her a mock-pout. “Margaery, you nearly ripped my clothes off. My reputation is in tatters now. Don’t you think you owe me a favor?”

He had missed his opportunity with her before, but this time, he was resolute; nothing would go awry for her again.

His mind was a tempest of emotions, yet his gaze remained utterly captivating.

Margaery found herself enveloped in his embrace, his striking features mere inches from her own. The memory of how Dashnell’s shirt had hung loosely when she was fully awake flooded her with embarrassment. But since he was the one who held her heart, she summoned her courage and played along, asking, “And what exactly do you want me to do to make it up to you, Your Highness?”

Before she could finish her sentence, Dashnell leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss.

“Your Highness…” Margaery breathed, her words barely escaping her lips.

Her mind spun, overtaken by the thunderous rhythm of her heart. Her hands clutched the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, palms damp with nervous sweat.

His breath was fresh and sweet, mirroring the warmth of his kiss.

It was as if she were tasting a heart racing with love.

“That’s quite enough, Dashnell,” Bernard interjected, drumming his fingers on the table, his tone a mix of irritation and disbelief. “I invited you two for coffee, and now you’re making out right in front of me.”

Reluctantly, Dashnell released Margaery, a grin still playing on his lips. “Don’t worry, Lord Bernard. I’ll be sure to invite you to our wedding soon.”

With those words, he made it abundantly clear that Margaery was his, effectively crushing any flicker of hope Bernard might have harbored.

Bernard was left utterly speechless.

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