Page 15 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

I stood rigidly at Prince Castiel’s side, the ornamented fiancée who was more symbol of alliance than foreign princess.

Ever since my entrance, his gaze had skimmed over me once, pausing just a heartbeat too long on the crimson silk before sliding smoothly away.

For a fleeting second, I imagined a flicker of something in his eyes when they touched the crimson lace, and though his expression remained composed, his hand at his side tightened imperceptibly.

For a moment, the air between us felt tighter, heavier, though I told myself it was only my imagination.

My delicate silver mask cool against my skin, my smile a careful lie shaped to fit the demands of the night as I did my best to follow the courtly script expected of me. Every gaze seemed to press upon me—measuring, judging, waiting for me to make a mistake.

My hold on the prince’s arm was as light as I dared make it, fingers barely brushing the fabric as we made our rounds through the sea of vipers dressed in silk and false smiles. For once, his presence was a welcome shield, something solid to anchor me against the currents of court.

As his fiancée, I earned a measure of respect—but it was tentative and highly conditional, offered more out of duty than loyalty, as if each gesture was given as a test for the king’s current favor…and their uncertainty if I would last long enough to become queen.

History offered them plenty of reasons to doubt.

While Prince Castiel had only ever had one betrothed, the current king and the monarch before him had cycled through multiple potential consorts, discarding them like broken chess pieces when they outlived their usefulness; a royal title did not make one less expendable.

We had scarcely spoken since that charged moment following the king’s interrogation, nor had he offered me any explanation for the way his demeanor had shifted during the king’s interrogation.

To the outside observer, His Highness played his role as flawlessly as ever.

And yet, something seemed different tonight.

His touch tightened slightly, almost imperceptibly, when certain courtiers approached. A faint step closer, as if shielding me without ever appearing to do so. Though his silence remained unchanged, his watchfulness had sharpened, a taut thread between us.

I barely registered his nearness, because I was searching.

The music swelled, a tapestry of strings and harps threading through the air in fragile strands, as if the wrong breath might break them.

Laughter rippled along the circumference of the hall, but I barely heard it over the pounding of my own pulse.

My eyes flicked past jeweled masks, lingering briefly on figures at the edge of the crowd—a flicker of recognition, a half-turned glance—before moving on.

I was too focused on my own dangerous task to force small talk with my unwanted escort, too wary to risk a careless word that might delay what I had come here to do.

Somewhere in this hall, hidden in plain sight, a contact waited—a thread in the quiet, trembling web of resistance I was part of… and they would not linger forever.

A glimmer in the mirrored column caught my eye as we passed—a fleeting glimpse of a stranger I barely recognized.

Golden hair elegantly arranged, pale skin, a flash of green eyes behind the mask, a gown of crimson lace—a woman wrapped not in the poise of the spy I pretended to be, but in barely concealed duty and fear.

For beneath the shimmering facade, something darker stirred.

Keep your smile, watch for the signal, do not fail .

Prince Castiel unexpectedly leaned closer, his breath brushing my temple, warm against my skin. “You would do well to pay attention to your enemies, lest you miss what they might be plotting.”

His proximity and murmured words momentarily distracted me from my scattered search, snapping my thoughts from their duty.

For a heartbeat, the sudden nearness pulled me back to the strange intimacy we’d shared one more than once occasion lately—when the mask between us had slipped, just for a breath.

A tremor caught in my chest, but I forced myself to remain still.

“Warnings are less effective when spoken in riddles.” But the puzzle was nothing to my bewilderment that he saw fit to offer one at all.

“Vagueness offers some protection to those who might be listening.” He subtly motioned towards a man who had just departed with a lavish bow from a conversation my wandering thoughts had caused me to entirely miss.

His voice dropped to a nearly inaudible level, and his lips remained motionless as he spoke.

“Danger lurks in every corner of this court, but he in particular is one you would do well to avoid.”

I flicked him a sidelong glance, careful to keep my smile poised even though inside I was frustrated he’d caught me in a moment of distraction.

“How do you know who he is?” While I’d felt a vague, uneasy familiarity, the ostentatious riot of plumage feathers concealing his face made it impossible to ascertain his identity—at least for me.

“None of the guests’ identities are truly secret,” he said smoothly.

“Being the crown prince has its privileges.”

“It’s not privilege—it’s necessity.” His dark eyes held mine for a breath, something cool and cutting beneath the words.

“ It is my job to know every face, every voice, every presence so I can detect anything out of place. It would befit the future consort to do the same.” His gaze briefly flickered towards a guest standing a little ways off—a figure in a fox mask—before returning to the peacock-feathered man who had vanished into the crowd. “That is Lord Ravenhurst.”

I cycled through the catalog of names I’d memorized. “His Majesty’s fourth advisor.” While the title was prestigious, it was far enough down the hierarchy that I wouldn’t have marked him as more dangerous than the others orbiting the throne. “Is he truly one to be the most wary of?”

There were simply too many political maneuverings, too many shifting loyalties to track…especially when I was often in the company of the one who, arguably, was the most dangerous of all. I had long since adopted general distrust as my baseline and kept every interaction as superficial as I could.

“Those who covet what they do not have and will go to any length to achieve their ends are the ones who can be the most dangerous and who you should fear most.”

Prince Castiel’s unwavering gaze met mine, and for a moment, I felt we were no longer discussing the politics of the court, but the game of strategy I was fumbling to play, and stakes that for all my efforts I didn’t yet understand.

It struck me as strange that he would go out of his way to warn me at all.

Each interaction with him felt like stepping into a labyrinth without a map—a shifting pattern of distance, deflection, and the occasional inexplicable flicker of protection.

How could I best navigate this second chance if the pieces moved so differently this time?

He began to pull back, but on instinct I reached out, seizing hold of his lapel, holding him in place. “Issuing a warning feels out of character. You act as if you expect me to stumble into a trap.”

For a moment, his face remained carefully composed.

Then, so quickly I almost missed it, his mouth curved in something too fleeting and subtle to be called a smile.

“Astutely deserved, Princess,” he murmured, his voice like silk drawn over steel.

“Perhaps I’m trying to keep you from walking into one tonight. ”

His gaze flicked back towards the fox-masked figure across the room—a glimpse so small it might have been imagined—before his expression smoothed into polished calm.

“Be careful, Princess. Not every mask in this room belongs to the face you think.”

My heart pounded—not for the prince at my side, nor even for the whispers trailing in our wake from courtiers whose loyalties were impossible to discern, but for the clockwork of danger ticking steadily beneath the surface.

Somewhere in this chamber, a contact waited—a thread in the quiet, fragile web of resistance I was meant to meet… and they would not wait forever.

The token they’d sent me—a small symbol pressed into wax, its meaning hidden to everyone but us—seemed to burn a hole in the silk valise tied around my wrist, tucked carefully within the folds of my handkerchief.

It was the signal to meet with my contact to discuss a mission that, ever since I had been thrust back into this timeline, had been left at a strange, unsettling standstill.

I resisted the urge to pull it out and double check the meaning: an ornate X above a smaller V, surrounded by an arch of vines.

It seemed an innocent seal one might use on a letter if one’s initials were XV, but I knew it meant I was to meet my contact at five minutes past ten o’clock, at one of the doors that led outside.

Trying to look passive, I scanned the perimeter of the room again, noting each of the possible doors.

The rendezvous wouldn’t necessarily unfold here in the heart of the court under a thousand watching eyes, but opportunities like this were rare. With so many gathered in attendance and masks concealing identities, a brief exchange might slip unnoticed where a private meeting never could.

Espionage in Thorndale was a near-impossible art, yet somehow over the years I had managed, even if progress had been frustratingly slow.

Messages hidden in the margins of books exchanged between the palace archives and the queen’s solar.

Codes threaded into embroidery samples passed between the royal seamstresses.

Even subtle gestures during ceremonial processions, too minor to catch the wrong attention, but enough to pass a word along.

But tonight, it was imperative I meet them face-to-face.

According to what I remembered about the first timeline, they had summoned me on the fifteenth of Luminar—mere days after I’d first woken in my second chance at life.

And yet it wasn’t until two weeks in this new timeline that I finally received their signal.

No reason had been given for the delay, only the gnawing awareness that things were already deviating—shifting underfoot in ways that made this second chance feel increasingly precarious.

In a world where every movement had to be impeccably timed, the delay didn’t sit right with me.

Though the threads of fate had been shifting since the moment time had reversed, none of those changes should have been enough to account for this, especially when the source of my mission lay beyond the subtle ripples of court politics I’d inadvertently caused.

I was desperate to learn the reason…and what it meant for what was yet to come.

I scanned the crowd, searching, though the weight of the prince’s sharp, ever-watchful presence at my side made it almost impossible to focus.

He seemed to notice every subtle stray in my attention—the way my gaze drifted past his shoulder, past the layers of silk and smoke and shallow conversation.

It would be nearly impossible to slip away once I found them.

Several songs and too many strained conversations later, I jumped slightly as a deep chime rang out ten times.

My shoulders tensed and I forced myself to calmly peruse the doorways rather than frantically search through the dim light.

I had nearly given up when movement flickered at the edge of my vision.

There—near the terrace doors. A figure in a fox mask lingered just beyond the marble archway, half-shadowed by the heavy drapery, one gloved hand resting lightly on the rim of a gilded goblet. His pointer finger tapped twice, subtle yet precise.

My breath caught. This was my chance…if I could only manufacture a way to break free without rousing suspicion.

My heart pounded as my mind scrambled for an excuse to leave the prince’s side, but I felt the weight of his gaze, sharper than usual…

as if he knew my true purpose in coming to the masquerade tonight and was doing everything within his power to thwart me.

I shifted, fingers tightening slightly as I prepared to slip from his arm—a graceful step away, just enough to let the crowd swallow me for the moment I needed to accomplish my mission. But before I could move, his hand closed lightly over mine, eliciting a startled gasp that I quickly stifled.

“Careful,” he murmured, his lips barely moving. “You’re about to make a mistake.”

The words brushed my ear, sending a chill down my spine. His expression remained unchanged—a mask of polite detachment—but his grip was a quiet command. My skin prickled, and it took practiced effort to remember to keep smiling.

“I need some air.” My voice was barely a whisper, just enough for him to hear.

“I’ll accompany you,” Prince Castiel said smoothly.

Of all the times for him to be a gentleman. I bit back a curse and forced a smile. “I would hate to impose on His Highness and take you away from your guests.”

He watched me carefully, the corner of his mouth pulling down slightly.

“Have you already forgotten that I warned you about Lord Ravenhurst? If you hope to survive, you must be vigilant and remain aware of your surroundings.”

I discreetly glanced towards the man in question, the peacock plumage glistening almost sinisterly beneath the chandelier’s cold light as he watched us…

the very man he’d cautioned me to avoid.

Frustration surged. Though caution was imperative, my contact was slipping away…

while Prince Castiel remained an immovable wall between us.

I made to move anyway, but the prince’s firm grip on my arm held me in place. “Not yet. Wait.” Before I could summon a protest, he turned smoothly, drawing me deeper into the press of bodies.

His hand brushed against mine as we crossed the floor—a fleeting touch that should have meant nothing, yet it seared through my awareness, sharp as a warning…as if he somehow impossibly knew that tonight I wasn’t just his princess.

I was a spy. And the game I played might cost both of us everything.