Page 38 of Revert (The Royal Chronicles #4)
I wasn’t sure where Castiel was leading me, only that I didn’t want to let go of his hand.
The destination felt secondary to the choice I had made to follow him, even if I didn’t yet know where it would lead.
The court wouldn’t follow us to this quiet place, though I was certain someone was still watching.
The clamor of the court grew more distant until it faded behind us, swallowed by the hush of the trees as we moved farther from the palace grounds. The path narrowed and twisted beneath our feet, weeds pushing through the cracked stone like time reclaiming its hold.
Blooming trees arched overhead, their branches laced in pale blossoms that swayed gently in the breeze, dappling the ground in shifting light. As we ventured deeper into the grove, the air shifted to something softer, scented with earth and a sweet fragrance that stirred something deep inside me.
I knew this path…or rather, something in me did. Each stone, each bend in the trail, stirred a feeling just out of reach—a ripple in still water, a whisper I couldn’t quite hear. Familiar, yet elusive, like chasing the edge of a dream upon waking.
The twisting path opened into a clearing awash in soft, slanting light.
My breath caught. At the end of the trail, ruins rose from the mossy earth like the bones of a forgotten chapel—sacred not in grandeur, but in stillness.
Vines coiled around the remains of ancient pillars, the carved stone worn smooth by wind and time.
The air grew cooler, filtered through a canopy of swaying branches, tinged with the scent of moss and damp stone.
Its arched frame was half-swallowed by ivy, weathered stone catching the light like shards of fractured ice.
Wild roses spilled across the eastern wall, blooming in colors too rich to be natural, their fragrant perfume scenting the air with sweetness and memory.
The silence here felt different, weighted with something unspoken, something lost.
“What is this place?” I asked, my voice quiet in the hush.
Castiel stood beside me in silence, his gaze sweeping the ruin with something deeper than recognition.
His hand tightened gently around mine, the only outward sign of the emotion he tried so hard to mask.
For a moment, he looked utterly unguarded—not a prince or weapon shaped by the crown, just a man returning to a place that had once meant something.
“You certainly know how to romance a woman,” I teased. “Silent teas, abandoned libraries, awkward picnics, enchanted closets…now ruins.” What might have once been a sarcastic quip sounded almost flirtatious, as if the familiarity of the place had beckoned the response.
His lips parted, then pressed into a line, as though his response had vanished before reaching the air. “It’s significant,” he said at last, voice low. “Because it was ours. Once.”
The words enfolded me as I turned back towards the ruin.
The longer I stood there, the more I felt a stirring just beneath the surface of thought.
Not quite memory, but something close to it—a tug in my chest that responded to the scent of blooming flowers, the sight of ivy-split stone, the hush of forgotten things.
For a fleeting moment, I imagined laughter echoing through the ruins…
my own. I could almost see the space whole again: sunlight filtered through crystal panes, our hands dusted with earth from a shared planting.
Not a memory I remembered, but one I felt , as if the pieces of it lived in my skin, waiting to be reassembled.
I stepped forward, releasing his hand without quite meaning to. My fingertips brushed a broken arch wrapped in flowering vine. Warmth pulsed through my palm—not from the sun, but from something older, familiar.
A tremor sparked behind my eyes, not a headache this time, but a shift .
My breath caught as a single image unfolded—Castiel absent of his usual seriousness, smiling .
Sleeves rolled to his elbows, soil on his hands, a half-finished trellis rising behind him.
Dirt smudging my cheek, dimpled from smiling. A crown of garden blossoms in my hair.
Rather than blurring, the details sharpened. And for the first time, the echo didn’t fade, but lingered . As if the hidden part of me that had locked it away was finally ready to bring it into the light.
I let the vision wash over me, admiring both its clarity as well as the warmth and security it invoked—a pocket of joy I hadn’t known could exist in Thorndale. Slowly, I turned back to Castiel to find him watching me intently.
“We came here before. Often.” For once it wasn’t a question, but a quiet certainty. One I still didn’t quite understand, but which I could no longer deny.
Something flickered in the depths of his eyes as he held my gaze—grief, hope, and something even more fragile. “Yes,” he said softly. “We did.”
I stood still, the breath of memory brushing against my skin. The space between us felt charged, threaded with the fragile gravity of something returning.
Castiel stepped closer, his movements slow and careful, as if afraid any sudden motion might shatter whatever fragile thing we’d begun to recover.
He lifted a hesitant hand and gently brushed a leaf from my hair.
But once it was gone he didn’t withdraw, as if the invisible wall that once held him back had crumbled alongside my own fear.
Instead, his touch lingered, just long enough for my breath to catch again.
“You always used to get leaves tangled in your hair,” he murmured.
“No matter how careful you tried to be. “It used to be a game to see how many I could collect. But for the promised prize, the effort was well worth it.” His gaze flickered briefly to my lips before hastily looking away, shadowed by a flicker of pained longing.
A quiet laugh escaped—too soft to be a memory, too natural not to be. “How like me, to craft a prize I’d secretly long for myself.”
He smiled faintly, the expression fleeting but real. His hand moved, not to withdraw, but to trace a strand of hair behind my ear; the backs of his fingers brushed my cheek, warm and steady. The simple gesture sent a ripple through me—part shiver, part surrender.
Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to, not when each exploratory gesture felt like its own kind of conversation, familiar and new all at once.
His hand dropped to his side, but he didn’t move away. The warmth between us remained, a tether I wasn’t ready to break. I wanted to follow it, to trace it back to every beginning we’d once had—until I knew each one intimately.
In that moment, time held still…but eventually, it moved again. He turned towards the deeper shadows behind the ruined walls. “There’s something I want to show you.”
He reached for my hand. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I laced my fingers in his once more, letting him lead me into the heart of the ruin towards whatever waited there, like a recollection ready to awaken.
The ground grew softer beneath our feet, patches of moss giving way to a worn path barely visible beneath the overgrowth, yet still well-tread, as if once walked dozens of times.
Each step felt familiar, like venturing deeper into a forgotten memory.
Ivy parted at Castiel’s touch as he guided me through a crumbling arch at the back of the ruin.
Sunlight slanted through the trees in dappled beams. Just beyond the shadows, the air shifted—quiet and gentle, almost expectant.
We stepped into a hidden clearing…and I stilled.
Golden daffodils swayed gently in the filtered light, their delicate faces lifted towards the sun.
Some were just beginning to bloom, others fully open, bright and unguarded against the earth.
They clustered at the base of a twisted birch tree, defiant against the ruin’s decay.
Tucked among the fallen stone, they flourished in secret. I hadn’t seen daffodils in any of the ornate flowerbeds of the courtyard in the palace grounds, as if every trace had been stripped away. But here they grew everywhere.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe, captivated by the soft yellow blooms swaying before me, their familiar perfume wrapping around me like the breath of summer.
They reminded me of home, of my father, of the warmth I thought I’d left behind.
And yet the ache they stirred had less to do with the past, and everything to do with the man standing quietly beside me.
“I wondered if daffodils grew anywhere on the palace grounds,” I murmured. “I’ve looked for them before, but they were hidden this entire time.”
“I learned long ago that the things I cherish most must be kept must be concealed.”
“There are so many.” Their presence felt almost too dreamlike to be real. I knelt to reverently trace a bloom, in awe of the resilient way they rose through the cracks of old stone. “It’s amazing how life can still emerge from the ruins.”
He reached towards one and caressed a petal between his fingers, his gaze almost wistful. The motion stirred the bloom gently, releasing its fragrance in a soft wave that reached me like an embrace.
“They don’t belong here,” he said softly. “The soil is too shallow, the seasons too harsh.” The corner of his mouth lifted upward with a touch of pride. “But I kept trying. Replanting, nursing them through frost. They always came back…even when I didn’t think they would.”
A flicker of warmth passed through me as I looked back at the blooms, touched by an echo of joy I couldn’t quite place. Silence bloomed between us, light and delicate, before I finally found my voice. “Daffodils are my favorite flower.”
“I know,” he said, quieter now. “You used to say they reminded you of sunlight on the coldest days.”