Page 20 of Stolen Magic

As the night drew on, I continued to steel myself by repeatedly reinforcing this narrative:Remember why you are here, remember what they took from you.This mantra repeated in my mind, anchoring me whenever Prince Callan’s kindness threatened to sway me.

Each word and smile acted as a thread in the careful web of lies I’d spun, each interaction an evaluation dressed in celebration. Through it all, the king quietly observed from at the head of the table, his presence a constant shadow cast over the festivities. Though I carefully avoided looking in his direction, I could feel his gaze—watching, waiting.

As the night wore on and the guests slowly began to depart, the din of conversation faded to the soft clink of glassware and the murmurs of servants clearing plates. Prince Callan remained by my side, offering his arm, his smile, and his ever-watchful eyes.

In that final quiet moment, it struck me just how intricate this game truly was. Everyone was playing…and every player, including the prince, still held cards they hadn’t yet revealed.

The last raysof sunset had just begun to fade. I hoped with the evening’s blessed conclusion the tiring day would finally draw to a close, but rather than escorting me to my room so I could retire for the night, Prince Callan approached with a quiet offer. “You’ve been on display long enough. If you welcome a break from the eyes of the court, I’d like to show you a quieter place.”

He made the unexpected offer not with arrogance or command, but something softer, different from the rehearsed script I’d created for him in my mind. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised by his determination to play the part of a devoted fiancé in this masquerade of ours.

My emotions had long since begun to wear thin from the exhausting charade, but I nodded out of duty and because I was curious. I hadn’t realized how suffocating I’d found the court’s oppressive attention until I stepped into the stillness of the palace gardens where I finally felt like I could breathe again.

I followed him down a stone path framed by ivy-covered arches. The evening air was cool, laced with the sweet scent of night blossoms. A hush had settled over the grounds, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds settling in for the night.

Prince Callan walked beside me through the dusky garden, just far enough to avoid being overbearing, yet close enough that I could sense the warmth of his presence. I expected silence—or worse, more polished words steeped in royal rehearsal. But once again, he surprised me.

“You’ve handled yourself well today,” he said quietly. “I know the court can be…heavy.”

His sidelong glance held something close to admiration. I offered a tight smile, one that felt stiff on my lips. “I’ve had practice.”Practice at pretending.

He hesitated. “True. No amount of diligent preparation could have readied us for the arrangement we’ve spent our whole lives anticipating. Even if it was forged by our fathers, I want to assure you I will do my best to honor it.”

At the mention of the King of Eldoria any sentiment behind his words was lost on me. My hands curled into fists. I fought to still my shaking even as my heart seared with barely contained fury. I didn’t trust myself to speak even for the sake of the role I played, not without my hatred slipping through the cracks of my performance. I managed a faint nod that I hoped conveyed shy acceptance.

We followed a winding path that opened into a secluded alcove nestled between tall hedges and stone arches. Enchanted lanterns glowed faintly in the settling twilight, hovering amongst the branches like golden fireflies. Pale blossoms shimmered in the dust, swaying in the breeze as if whispering secrets to one another.

My breath caught. I recognized the magic filling the air, the complex spellwork behind the beauty filling the serene scene. I extended my senses, searching for any lingering traces of the raw power that might remain, but it had all been seamlessly woven into the enchantment, with nothing left behind for me to draw upon.

Wonder lit my expression before I could mask it, and Prince Callan beamed at my reaction. “Beautiful, isn’t it? This is my favorite place on the palace grounds. There’s something here I prepared especially for you.”

Magic tingled faintly along my skin as he led me deeper into the garden. At its center, a pool glimmered beneath the lantern light, ringed by flowerbeds bursting with pale, moon-kissed blooms.

“Snow blossoms,” I whispered reverently.

The flowers were native to my homeland, another favorite the princess must have shared with the prince in one of her letters. Panic momentarily flared as I wondered what other intimate details she had revealed; whatever information His Highness possessed about my disguise that I didn’t left more chances I could potentially slip up.

“I thought you might miss them,” he said softly. “I know how strange it must be, leaving everything familiar behind.”

Emotion clogged my throat as my gaze lingered on the blossoms, their pale azure petals cupped like chalices gathering the moonlight. Mother used to weave them into my braids during festival days.

The memory struck with aching clarity. I turned away, schooling my expression into something neutral, but my chest ached with the weight of it. Though the gesture was meant for the girl whose life I had borrowed, somehow it pierced through the shield I’d so carefully erected. I couldn’t afford for kindness to affect me…and yet it had.

“You’re…very thoughtful, Your Highness.” I spoke carefully, forcing back the emotion rising in my throat.

He smiled—not the polished, court-trained mask I’d seen him wear while interacting with the court, but something softer, more real. “Just Callan, please.”

I hesitated. It felt far too soon for such familiarity. A handful of letters and this only being our supposed second meeting did not make us close. “Prince Callan?—”

“Just Callan,” he repeated gently. “And…might I call you Gwendolyn?”

I sighed inwardly. “Just Gwen is fine.” I offered the name reluctantly. As uncomfortable as it made me, allowing this liberty was essential; refusing his request would only draw suspicion. Without the illusion of trust, I had no hope of obtaining the information I coveted.

“Gwen.” He spoke the nickname with the reverence as if I’d just offered a gift. By the endearing way the corner of his mouth lifted, he clearly liked the progress the intimate address signified. For a moment, I wondered what it would sound like to hear him speakmyname—Lysa.

The thought caused a twinge of regret that I would never find out, a dangerous desire I immediately suppressed. I couldn’t afford to fantasize about impossibilities, let alone crave intimacy from the man I intended to betray. Contrary to what he’d undoubtedly allowed himself to believe, there was no romance in my concession, nor even tenderness in the gesture.

The name I’d given him permission to use wasn’t mine; the familiarity it suggested belonged to someone else entirely who, unlike me, would have actually welcomed it.

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