Page 27 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)

For a moment, I could only stare into the dark recess, fighting to remain upright as my knees threatened to give out.

I’d been so sure my chosen hiding place was secure, the one place Castiel would never think to look…

but I should have known he would eventually find it.

Every stone in this palace belonged to the royal family, every secret already theirs for the taking.

If Castiel had it…it would all be over. I had written each entry in code, but even if the prince couldn’t understand it, merely possessing hidden and coded documents was more than enough to condemn me.

Though admittedly, it likely wouldn’t take long for a man as intelligent as the prince to decipher it.

Then he would not only hold my secrets, but have evidence to deliver straight to the king, sealing my fate and robbing me of this stolen second chance.

How could I have been so careless?

Before I fully registered what I was doing, I was already moving.

Throwing on a dark cloak, I hurried to the door and pressed my ear against it, straining to listen.

The low murmur of the guards’ voices drifted through—too close for me to risk slipping past just yet.

I would have to wait for a chance to slip past them, even if it took all night.

I cracked the door open just a sliver, just enough to watch and wait.

An opportunity came sooner than I expected. A maid, arms straining under the weight of a heavy tray meant for another long-term guest, slipped on a damp patch of stone. A teacup flew from the tray, shattering against the floor with a sharp, echoing crash.

She froze in horror before dropping to her knees, setting the tray aside to gather the shards with trembling hands. Both guards stepped forward—one crouched to help her collect the tiny bits of china, while the other spoke to her in a hushed, reassuring voice.

It was now or never. Heart hammering, I drew a slow breath, then eased the door open and slipped into the corridor, hugging the wall as I tiptoed past—each step silent and deliberate.

The corridors were quiet at this hour, shrouded in flickering torchlight. My slippers made no sound on the worn stones as I slipped from shadow to shadow, heart hammering against my ribs.

I knew the route to his chambers. Everyone in the palace did, though few would dare approach uninvited. Even fewer would consider slipping in unnoticed, especially not the prince’s betrothed.

But dread drowned all caution. The journal contained everything—contact names, coded notes, half-translated sigils, personal reflections that could be twisted into confession, and worst of all: that I had gone back in time. I couldn’t let him have it.

I slowed as I neared his wing. Two guards stood at his door. I hovered at the end of the hall, breath shallow as I tried to figure out my next move. After some thought, I doubled back, slipping into a side corridor towards the old servants’ passages that wound behind the royal wing.

These upper corridors were meant for candle servants and message runners, a forgotten artery behind the beating heart of the palace.

It was a route I had traced in theory a dozen times, memorized from whispered maps and half-remembered floor plans.

Though I’d never explored it myself, a strange familiarity guided my hurried but cautious steps, as if I’d walked this route before.

My palms were damp as I moved through the narrow path, past laundry alcoves and storage niches, past the forgotten side stairs that led to the upper balcony overlooking Castiel’s study. I pressed myself flat to the cold stone, inching forward just enough to glimpse over the railing.

The chambers were dark, no sign of movement. Though the coast appeared clear, the sheer recklessness of what I was doing locked me in place. If I was caught…

With effort, I suppressed terror’s tendrils threatening to eclipse my resolve. Focus . I counted three measured breaths, then moved.

The balcony door’s lock was old and poorly fitted—no one expected anyone to come this way.

Especially not me. I slid a pin from the braid in my hair, fingers trembling but practiced from all my years of secret investigations, coaxing the latch loose.

My pulse pounded wildly as I slipped inside, every step a delicate balancing act between speed and silence.

Desperation fueled my urgency, yet I faltered at the threshold. Would the prince be waiting, sword drawn, eyes gone cold? Or would I find him as I last saw him—silent, gaze lowered, the apology he never voiced hanging in the space between us?

The moment I entered Castiel’s chambers, the hush swallowed me whole, as if the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for the trespasser to make her move.

The room stretched vast and still. Bookshelves lined the walls, marble fireplaces slumbered cold, heavy velvet curtains cloaked the windows, a quiet kingdom of shadows.

The faintest trace of ink and cedar lingered in the air, a scent that reminded me of him.

For a heartbeat, the familiar, almost comforting scent momentarily distracted me before purpose pushed it away.

I had a mission. If I didn’t find that journal before he or the guards discovered me, it would all be over.

Though I’d never set foot inside his chambers, my feet moved with certainty, drawing me forward through the dark, following an instinctual map I didn’t know I possessed. I went first to the writing desk, eyes sweeping over scattered papers, maps, an open book…but no journal.

I was momentarily distracted with the vase of my favorite daffodils, a sight even more unnerving because they were my favorites, something I had been certain I had never told him.

But I had more pressing matters than to question their peculiar presence.

My gaze darted to the shelves, the bedside stand, the edge of the hearth where his cloak hung. Still nothing.

Frustration mounted, curling hot beneath my skin, a companion to my already escalating panic that wound tighter with each shallow breath. Where was it?

Then, like a flicker from somewhere deep and hidden, a thought stirred. A familiar voice—as low and quiet as a secret—brushed the edge of my mind, as if dredged from a dream: If you ever need it, I hid it in the third panel by the hearth .

My breath caught. I was certain Castiel had never spoken those words to me in any of our stilted conversations.

And yet the echo was there, blurred at the edges, a ghost of something I wasn’t meant to recall.

I tried to grasp it to pull the elusive memory closer, but it slipped from my reach like mist, leaving only a splitting headache in its wake.

I winced, teeth gritting against the sudden flare of sharp pain, but forced myself to move. My gaze darted to the hearth, settling on the third panel. The cold stone from the floor seeped through my skirts as I knelt, fingers fumbling beneath the rug to find the notch.

With a faint click , the panel shifted inward. My breath quickened, pulse hammering in my ears as I peered inside. I half-expected to find nothing, but to my astonishment inside I discovered two leather-bound journals resting side by side, as if waiting for me.

For a moment, I could only stare in disbelief at my journal tucked inside the hidden cubby. Despite having found what I’d come for, confusion rendered me still. Somehow, I had found it as easily as if I’d already known its location. How had I known to look here?

One journal was mine. I recognized the worn strap, the faint scratch across the cover. The other—bound in dark blue leather with the faint embossed crest of the royal house—was his.

Instinct screamed for me to take mine and escape before someone discovered me, but my traitorous curiosity reached for the dark forbidden leather before my sense could stop me. The panel slid closed again over the empty space.

The journal was heavy, thick with secrets just waiting for me to discover them.

My hands trembled as I flipped it open, eyes darting over the tight, ciphered lines.

I shouldn’t have been able to read it, but the complex symbols seemed to unravel in my mind.

Meanings unfolded line by line like a language I’d always known but never learned, as if some part of me had always known the key.

But though I was able to decipher the words, I couldn’t even begin to interpret the meaning:

Entry 241. Noted deviation: second corridor encounter. Premature recollection of memory. Observed increase in variance. Hypothesis: strain accelerating.

Entry 244. Discrepancies consolidating. Monitor for increased variation.

I blinked hard, pulse thudding. What…does that mean?

My mind reeled, my whirling thoughts impossible to untangle as confusion clouded my mind.

I frantically grasped at the words, feeling the edge of understanding but unable to pull it fully into the light.

For a fleeting moment something inside me shuddered; wisps of comprehension teased my awareness, as if some buried part was waking. I reached for it…

The faintest sound at the door jolted me. Panic surged through me. My fingers fumbled for the latch on the hidden panel, but terror made me clumsy. Heart pounding, I abandoned that plan and scrambled away from the hearth, books clutched against my chest…just as the door handle began to turn.

My heart lurched against my ribs as I darted back, pressing into the narrow alcove between the window and the wardrobe, every breath jagged in my throat. My hand clamped over my mouth to muffle the sound.

The door opened and Castiel stepped inside.

The hush in the room thickened, every shadow holding its breath.

I flattened deeper into the corner, willing myself smaller, invisible, for my racing pulse to slow.

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that the man I was falling into more danger with every second wouldn’t notice the one shadow in his room that didn’t belong.