Hiding My Twin Heirs from the Ruthless Prince

CHAPTER 86

POV: Cordelia

I do not enter his court by accident. I've waited years for this.

Nothing about me moves by chance anymore.

The country is different from Astoria—brighter on the surface, sharper underneath. White stone towers instead of dark spires, banners stitched in gold instead of iron-threaded black. The palace hums with confidence, with a sense of permanence that pretends it has never known fear. I arrive as a guest of convenience, invited through a chain of introductions I curated carefully, wearing a name that carries intrigue without history.

Cordelia of nowhere important.

That alone makes them curious.

The first time I see Prince Sebastian, he is standing at the center of a crowded hall, laughing easily with a group of nobles who orbit him like planets. He is handsome in a way that is deliberate rather than effortless—polished boots, tailored coat, posture trained into him from birth. He looks like a man who has never been caged.

I feel the warmth stir, alert.

“Don’t stare,” a woman murmurs beside me.

I glance at her. She is older, sharp-eyed, dressed in the quiet luxury of someone who understands influence better than ornament. “Is he fragile?”

She huffs. “He’s married.”

“I didn’t ask,” I reply softly.

Her gaze flicks back to me, reassessing. “You’re bold.”

“I’m honest.”

She studies me a moment longer, then nods once, as if filing me away for later. “That’s Prince Sebastian. His father’s health is… delicate.”

Of course it is.

Opportunity always wears illness like a crown.

Sebastian’s eyes meet mine across the room without warning.

The moment stretches.

There is no flare of magic, no surge of power. Just recognition—the quiet kind, the kind that sinks hooks deep before anyone realizes what’s happening. His smile falters for a fraction of a second, then returns, slower now, more intentional.

I incline my head.

He excuses himself from his companions almost immediately.

“You must be Cordelia,” he says when he reaches me, voice warm, curious. “I’ve been told you have an unusual background.”

“I’ve been told you enjoy collecting unusual people,” I reply.

He laughs, genuinely surprised. “Fair.”

Up close, his eyes are darker than I expected. Observant. Hungry in a way that has nothing to do with food.

“And you are?” I ask.

“Married,” he says lightly, anticipating the question. “And still very pleased to meet you.”

I smile. “Honesty seems popular tonight.”

“Only when it’s safe.”

I hold his gaze. “Is it?”

Something shifts behind his eyes—interest sharpening into something else.

“Perhaps,” he says.

Evangeline appears before I can respond.

She moves with grace that has been practiced rather than inherited, every step measured, every expression carefully composed. She is beautiful in a restrained way, pale and composed, her eyes sharp with intelligence rather than warmth.

“This must be Cordelia,” she says, her smile flawless. “I’m Evangeline.”

I bow my head slightly. “Your Highness.”

Her gaze lingers on me a second too long. “I hear you’ve traveled extensively.”

“Yes,” I reply. “I don’t like staying where I’m not wanted.”

Sebastian clears his throat. “Cordelia was just telling me—”

“I’m sure,” Evangeline says smoothly. “You’ll forgive me if I steal my husband for a moment?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer.

Sebastian hesitates—just briefly—before allowing himself to be guided away. As they go, Evangeline glances back at me once, her eyes no longer polite.

They are wary.

Good.

The court invites me back quickly.

Dinners. Salons. Private gatherings where power trades hands in smiles and implication. I listen more than I speak. I let others talk themselves into revealing what they value. I let Sebastian find reasons to stand beside me, to ask my opinion, to seek my presence without acknowledging why.

“You see things differently,” he says one evening as we walk the colonnade overlooking the gardens.

“I’ve had to,” I reply.

He stops, turning to face me. “You don’t look like someone who has had to compromise much.”

I meet his gaze. “That’s because you’re seeing the result, not the process.”

He watches me closely. “You’re dangerous.”

I smile faintly. “Only to people who underestimate me.”

His breath hitches. Just a little.

Behind us, laughter drifts from the hall. The night smells of jasmine and polished stone. Everything is curated to feel safe, indulgent, untouched by consequence.

Sebastian steps closer. “You should be careful.”

“So should you,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because you’re looking at me like a man who wants something he shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, he says quietly, “You make me feel awake.”

The warmth hums—not wild, not consuming. Interested.

I tilt my head. “Awake is dangerous, Your Highness.”

“I’m starting to think danger suits me.”

Evangeline watches us from a distance after that.

She never confronts me. She never raises her voice. Her caution is surgical, her presence a reminder that she understands the game even if she doesn’t yet know my rules.

One afternoon, she corners me in a gallery lined with portraits of dead kings.

“You enjoy my husband’s attention,” she says calmly.

“I enjoy conversation,” I reply.

Her smile tightens. “You enjoy influence.”

“I enjoy possibility.”

She studies me, then nods once. “I would advise you to remember where you are.”

I glance at the portraits. “I always do.”

Her eyes flicker. “Sebastian is not free.”

“No one ever is,” I say softly. “Not really.”

She turns away without another word.

That night, alone in the guest chambers, I let the warmth rise just enough to feel it respond to my thoughts.

Sebastian’s face surfaces unbidden—his curiosity, his restraint fraying at the edges. Evangeline’s caution, sharpened by intelligence rather than jealousy. A king with failing health. A court that believes itself untouchable.

I press my palm against the window glass and watch the city lights shimmer below.

There is a path here.

I don’t yet know how far it goes, or how much it will cost. I only know that power recognizes proximity when it sees it. That ambition sings louder than fear ever did.

And that Prince Sebastian is already looking at me like I am a question he wants answered.

I lower my hand, the warmth coiling steady and obedient beneath my ribs.

Possibility, I think.

Yes.

That is exactly what I see.