Page 22 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

T ime seemed to slow, making me feel I was trapped in another timeline entirely.

The longer Prince Castiel and I remained trapped together, the more precarious my resolve became.

With each passing second the walls seemed to shrink further, making me even more aware of his proximity than I’d been before…

and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to escape.

I had already searched the perimeter of the room for any sign of the ward’s weakness and found nothing, but I found myself prowling the walls again, too anxious to be still.

Prince Castiel stood silently, though the tautness of his neck betrayed his own anxiety.

His lips moved slightly as his eyes scanned the room; though I couldn’t read his lips I guessed he was trying to recall anything he’d learned about Thorndale magic and ways of overcoming it.

Finally I gave up, releasing a defeated sigh that was almost a sob as I stopped my frantic search.

Minutes stretched thin, each one tightening the knot of tension inside me.

I was achingly aware of his every sound—the faint rustle of his cloak, the quiet shift of his boots against the floor, the measured cadence of his breath, much slower and more even than mine.

The air between us seemed to hum with unspoken thoughts, heavy and close.

I tried to focus on anything else, but the prince’s nearness lingered like a pull at the edge of my senses, impossible to ignore.

I was determined to endure it patiently, but the longer we waited, the more I became distracted by a strange sensation stirring at the edges of my mind—a flicker of another time and another place rose unbidden, like emerging from the remnants of a forgotten dream from long ago.

The vision was faded, the details blurred like a washed-out painting, but I caught flashes of color and form: a silence not weighted with suspicion or fear, but soft—a stolen moment of near-touch, of laughter muffled behind a hand, of breathless glances exchanged in the dark.

Most of all, the feel of our shoulders pressed against one another as we sat as closely as we dared…

a nearness that had brought not tension, but comfort.

“Things are so different between us now.” The strange words left me, soft as breath. I couldn’t explain what they meant, nor where they’d come from.

His head snapped up and his eyes found mine, sharp with surprise. “What do you mean?” His usual flat tone was edged with unfamiliar urgency, tinged with an emotion I hadn’t hear from him before: hope .

I reached for the fragile wisps of faded recollection, but they drifted beyond my grasp, lost once more in a fog of forgetfulness.

With a quick shake of my head, I tried to clear the haze.

While the image slipped away, the nostalgia tinged with longing lingered.

I wasn’t sure how to describe this to him, and felt a moment’s shyness at sharing.

“It’s nothing,” I murmured.

He didn’t press me, but his jaw tightened, like he was wrestling with some unspoken thought. For a heartbeat, something almost vulnerable flickered across his face, softening the sharp lines I’d come to expect…before he allowed his mask to slip back into place.

He retreated into that cold, carved stillness I’d come to expect. Silence settled between us once more, heavy with everything that had almost surfaced. The minutes bled together, slow and shapeless, melting into one another without distinction.

Eventually my knees wavered beneath me. Immediately his face softened, and he extended a hand. “You look tired. You should sit.”

I eyed it warily, determined to refuse…yet a quiet, treacherous part of me wavered.

I was tempted to accept it, to test whether I’d imagined the strange flicker the last time his fingers brushed mine at the ball.

But fear of what I might discover held me back and I stood still, caught in indecision.

His hand hovered a moment longer in silent question, but at my continued hesitation he let it drop. “You don’t have to accept my help, but we’ve been standing awhile. You should sit.”

I felt a flare of frustration that he had caught me in a moment of weakness. “You have no reason to be worried,” I said stiffly. “I’m fine.”

Stubbornness gave me the strength to resist several minutes more before I finally succumbed to the exhaustion causing my legs to ache.

I sank to the floor, folding my skirts carefully as I drew my knees to my chest. He hesitated a moment before sitting as well, leaving several polite inches between us—not as close as that strange image that had unbidden slipped into my mind, but still far too near for comfort.

Try as I might to ignore him, the prince seduced my rebellious gaze—first to his aggravatingly handsome profile, and then irresistibly deeper into the quiet struggle flickering beneath his otherwise impassive mask.

He shifted slightly, as if restless, casting brief, uncertain glances in my direction.

“Fidgeting is unbecoming for a prince. Is there something you want to say?” I finally asked, unable to bear his strange behavior a moment longer.

He started slightly and cleared his throat. “I thought…since we’re trapped here…we could…”

I waited for him to continue, but that seemed to be the extent of his conversation. “We could…?” I prompted.

He ran a hand through his hair, keeping his gaze determinedly fixed on the far wall. “There are many things we’ve been unable to discuss.”

My body tensed as all my recent, suspicious behavior rushed to the front of my mind—being caught in corridors I wasn’t supposed to wander, my secret meeting with a mysterious contact, the coded message he’d found in the conservatory.

His eyes flicked to my stiff posture and a faint crease pulled between his brows. “Why do you look so nervous?”

“Forgive me for not looking forward to an interrogation,” I said dryly. “I know intimidation is your primary hobby, but being questioned isn’t exactly something I look forward to. Though I must commend you for your efficiency in using our time while trapped for an interrogation.”

He blinked, appearing momentarily confused. His eyes widened. “No, I—that’s not my intention.”

Now it was my turn to be frown. “What else could you possibly want to discuss? Conversation is such a rare occurrence between us that I’m afraid I’m at a loss.”

He released a weary sigh, something tired in the sound. “So it is. But perhaps…now is the chance to remedy that.”

His delivery was awkward, the stumbling words too unpolished to be fully scripted, yet I could think of no reason he’d want to speak with me.

Nor did I have the option to decline his unexpected invitation; despite any disinclination I might feel for conversing with my enemy, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to gather information that might keep me alive.

“Forgive me for being surprised,” I murmured. “In the five years I’ve been here, you’ve never taken much interest in me before.”

For the first time, something in his polished calm wavered, as if my bluntness had slipped past his defenses. “We are to be married. I thought perhaps we should spend more time together. For...diplomatic optics.”

I lifted a skeptical brow. “And who exactly are we performing for, Your Highness? The walls?” Yet for all my sarcasm, I couldn’t shake the unsettling undercurrent, as if some forgotten corner of myself welcomed this rare moment of privacy.

The notion was ridiculous—spending any more time than necessary with the formidable prince was the last thing I wanted.

But as much as I risked him prying out damning information, he wasn’t the only one who needed answers.

There was still so much I didn’t know about him and about what had led him to that dungeon corridor; this would be the perfect opportunity to spy on him in return.

In the end, cold calculation eclipsed my reservations. Keep your enemies close . I inclined my head, albeit begrudgingly.

He frowned. “You don’t seem particularly thrilled with the idea. You can refuse; I would never force my company on you.”

“Can I?” My second sarcastic quip sharply emerged before I could check it. Not that I had any intention of refusing—doing so now would only make me appear suspicious. I smoothed my expression into something cool and practiced. “Anything to maintain appearances.”

At first glance his expression didn’t change, but upon closer examination the corners of his mouth turned down just a fraction, such a subtle change I might have missed it if I hadn’t been looking for it.

“You don’t need to pretend, not with me.

I simply thought, if there’s anything you need to tell me…

this seems the best place to do it. There’s a reason this room is abandoned.

Do you feel the magic pulsing through the air? ”

I tilted my head, straining to listen. Now that he mentioned it, I could detect faint tremors, invisible ripples I sensed more than saw or heard—a delicate thrum shimmering beneath the surface of the room.

“With the circumstances of Thorndale’s court being what they are, it’s often difficult if outright impossible to speak of certain matters.”

A delicate way to acknowledge the fact that the king had eyes and ears everywhere…a rather ironic reminder coming from his primary puppet.

“There’s a reason this room is abandoned,” he continued. “The magic here is weaker, meaning the enchantments that allow the king to have a pulse on the kingdom is fractured; he can’t reach us here.”

I blinked. “Are you suggesting that, in addition to spies, magic is used to monitor Thorndale?”

I had never imagined such a possibility. Magic was rare across nearly all the surrounding kingdoms, and I had always believed the crown’s control was maintained solely by the king pulling the strings of the marionettes loyal to his wicked bidding.