Page 14 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

M y breath came sharp and shallow as I hurried from the throne room, desperate to put as much distance as possible between me and the memories of the confrontation that clung to me like a shadow following in my wake.

Outwardly, I forced composure, acutely aware of the guards’ eyes trailing after me, the servants I passed, and the unseen watchers lurking just out of sight.

At the first opportunity, I slipped into an unused hall, pressing my back against the cold stone as I fought to still my trembling.

I squeezed my eyes shut, palm flattening over my chest as if I could somehow will my heart to slow its frantic beat beneath the scar.

All the while, my thoughts warred within me.

He watched his father threaten me like it was nothing…yet why had I noticed that unexpected warning look, that shift in his stance when the king warned me about my fate should I speak too freely?

I hadn’t realized how much I’d been searching for such a crack in his usual formidable indifference until I’d finally found one.

I had no reason to care that my betrothed in name only showed me any consideration—my last hopes for a love match had died the moment my life ended at the point of his blade.

And yet…I couldn’t explain my need to explore the protection he’d offered, the way it felt like he’d been shielding me from the shadows, just beyond the king’s notice.

Both my enemy…and my secret ally, though I still hesitated to trust him as such.

This uncertainty lingered with the king’s threats long after his departure.

Once, they would have shackled me, tethered my resolve in iron chains of fear.

Though they still haunted me, curling tight, they were nothing compared to the confusion knotting inside me—the contradiction that was Prince Castiel’s perplexing behavior.

One moment, he was the steady puppet at the king’s side, the perfect weapon shaped to His Majesty’s will—my enemy, my murderer.

And yet, I couldn’t so easily forget the strange cracks I’d glimpsed during the confrontation—a flicker of warning in his eyes, the smallest edge of worry, the hesitated breath when he should have delivered a cold, impassive command…

almost as if he was choosing to wear a mask, to wield terror as a shield to keep me at a distance rather than truly being indifferent to my welfare.

As soon as I gathered the scattered threads of my composure, I took a shaky breath and pushed off the wall.

My steps echoed as I exited the corridor.

Stone blurred past as I quickened my pace through the dim halls, torches flickering in their sconces as I searched for him—for once not running from my enemy, but actively hunting.

I found him exiting the war room, his profile sharp in the low light, cloak trailing like a shadow.

Formal, cold, every line of him carved in perfect control.

My trained eyes observed the tension stiffening his shoulders, testifying of an unseen pressure…

as if he, too, was being watched and hunted, just as I was.

“Your Highness.” My voice cut through the hush more sharply than I intended as I stepped into the dim hall, my pulse pounding in my ears.

He stilled, caught mid-turn, as if he had known I would follow. Slowly, he pivoted, his body rigid, his expression carved from stone, impassive as ever, as if we were nothing more than strangers meeting in the corridors of court.

His mouth tightened. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The clipped words weren’t a suggestion but a command, an attempt to end this conversation before it even began.

Once, I might have cowered and unquestioningly obeyed.

But though I couldn’t yet name the emotion I’d seen him wrestle with, something in me refused to be deterred from my purpose this time.

I stepped closer, fists clenched at my sides. “What game are you playing?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. With a subtle motion of his fingers, he signaled the guards to step just far enough away to grant us privacy, though still within reach to observe us as always.

For a heartbeat, something raw flickered in his eyes—a crack in the polished mask…and then it was gone, buried beneath familiar detachment. But I knew what I’d seen, however quickly it may have vanished.

“Must you keep playing such a dangerous game?” His voice was quiet, edged with steel, making it impossible to discern whether it was annoyance or concern that hardened his words.

“It hasn’t even been a quarter of an hour since His Majesty’s generous warning.

He was gracious enough to extend you one; don’t think you have infinite chances.

” His gaze sharpened, dark and unreadable as he took a step closer.

“Be careful, Princess. You don’t know what you’re going up against. Your duty is to play your role and prove that you have Thorndale’s best interests at heart as you prepare to take your place—not to see how far you can push the bounds. ”

I lifted my chin. “I won’t stop until I know whose side you are on.”

He exhaled slowly, and for a moment I thought he might finally offer me one of the elusive answers I’d been chasing. But then his lips curved faintly, cool and cutting in the expression I’d seen countless times over the past years.

“Is that even a question, Princess? There’s only one side to be on.”

According to the invisible mechanisms at work behind the scenes in the Thorndale court, that was true. And yet, I couldn’t forget the way he had stepped between me and the king’s guard—a shield of protection, a silent defiance against His Majesty’s will.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off, his gaze sharp, each word edged with quiet warning.

“You should be more careful what you ask. Not all questions earn answers…and sometimes the cost of the answer is higher than its worth .” And with that, he turned and walked away, his guards falling into place behind him, leaving me with more mysteries than when I’d begun.

I lingered in the corridor long after him long after he had departed, my thoughts circling as I pondered the unspoken meaning behind his words. Only when the cold from the stone walls permeated my clothes did I finally make my way back to my chambers, steps slow, mind heavy.

As soon as the footmen opened the door, Liora rushed to meet me, breathless. “We must hurry, my lady! The ball begins in an hour; there’s little time to prepare.”

With the terror of my interview with the king, I had completely forgotten that tonight the court hosted a masquerade. I would be expected to interact with diplomats, courtiers, and royals while keeping alert and conducting a secret mission of my own…all under the prince’s watchful eye.

I drew in a slow, steadying breath and gave Liora a small nod. “I’ll wear the crimson gown.”

My fingers trembled as Liora fastened the last hooks of the gown, the lacy fabric heavy against my skin.

The crimson gown . It should have been a symbol of elegance and power, a dress that accompanied me with a delightful swish as I moved gracefully across the dance floor with my future husband.

Instead, it wrapped around me like a noose, stealing my breath.

This was the color I’d worn the night I died—the shade that had splattered across the rough dungeon’s stone floors when Castiel’s blade found its mark.

I caught my reflection in the glass—a woman adorned for diplomacy, but all I could see was a victim prepared for slaughter.

The memory clung to the fabric, invisible but suffocating, and for a heartbeat, dread coiled tight around my heart.

I straightened with a defiant lift of my chin.

If the crimson had once marked the end of my story, tonight it would become the color of my resolve.

I would wear it like a banner to remind myself that I was still an opponent in this dangerous game.

As Liora tied a silver lace mask over my eyes, I held my head high.

The prince had warned me to play my role, and I would do just that…even if my role wasn’t the one he expected.

The masquerade was a masterpiece of shadow and splendor.

Gleaming chandeliers floated above like captured constellations, their pale light flickering across marble floors polished to a mirror sheen.

Dark velvet banners embroidered with the sigils of Thorndale’s ancient houses draped the towering columns, while masked courtiers swept through the hall in a whirl of silk, murmured pleasantries, and muted laughter.

The air was thick with candle smoke, perfume, and the undercurrent of secrets.

The dim lighting added to the tone of mystery, both making it easier for me to carry out my own espionage while challenging to find what I was looking for.

Mine was doubtless not the only secret exchange scheduled for tonight; all around me I heard hushed tones and words that could have been carefully arranged codes.

Masquerades were the only balls held in Thorndale.

Even without the masks concealing our identities, we all hid behind facades beneath the heavy scrutiny of watching eyes—masks of composure, of ease, of practiced charm.

Every word was measured, every glance a risk.

In a court like this, you never knew whose ear you bent…

or whose dagger you invited simply by catching the wrong eye or wording a greeting incorrectly.

Being the prince’s betrothed didn’t exempt me from this dark political game—if anything, it made me a more glittering target.