Page 28 of Stolen Magic

Suspicion flickered in her eyes, but after a long moment, she rose and followed, an undeniable glint of curiosity in her expression.

We descended beyond the main halls into the older wing of the archives where the air grew colder and heavier with dust and time, past shelves so ancient even the historians rarely dared to disturb them. The door creaked open on a gust of musty air and I brushed cobwebs aside before gesturing for Gwen to enter. Inside a hidden archive waited—a sealed trove of forbidden histories, classified records, and accounts of Eldoria’s earliest dealings with magic.

She drew in a quiet breath—whether in awe or unease, I couldn’t tell.

“This section isn’t open to most,” I said, my voice low and conspiratorial. “My father would skin me alive if he knew I brought you here.”

The statement was mostly a jest—more to ease my own nerves than to reassure her—but she tensed. “He wouldn’t really…would he?”

The fact she even questioned me was evidence that her distrust extended beyond me to our kingdom’s monarch. I searched her shadowed face. A dark, unnamed emotion filled her eyes, the same I’d caught yesterday at the mention of my father. Something far darker and deeper than fear. Anger?

My chest tightened at the thought of his fury should we be discovered, but not enough to dissuade me. Past experience had taught me that, however harsh his punishments, there were limits to how far he’d go with his only heir.

“He wouldn’t.” Try as I might, I couldn’t completely suppress the waver in my voice. I didn’t want to lie to her, but I also didn’t want her to have any reason to be afraid of the unseen risk our marriage would subject her to.

She watched me closely. “Why are you defying his orders? He doesn’t strike me as a man who tolerates disobedience lightly.”

“Because…” I paused, for the true reason extended beyond my simply seeking her trust. “I want to assure you that you’re not an outsider, not to me.”

She didn’t respond, but something in her expression shifted. Conflict wavered in her eyes as she followed me deeper into the room. We were both silent as side by side we wandered the forgotten past. I tried to concentrate on the books, but I found my focus continually drifting to her, unable to stop myself—the reverent way she handled the volumes, the way her fingers lingered a fraction longer when she brushed certain spines, and the occasional glimmer of light that touched her otherwise impassive expression whenever she found something meaningful.

She suddenly stilled, the tips of her fingers tightening imperceptibly around a battered book wedged almost invisibly between two gilded chronicles.

I leaned closer. The book she now clutched bore no title or ornate embellishments, only a faded emblem embossed on the cracked leather. I vaguely recognized it as belonging to one of the “wild provinces” annexed in my grandfather’s reign, land long stripped of its magic for the kingdom’s “greater good,” not the kind of history I expected a princess to find interesting.

“It’s a dry account,” I said lightly, careful not to startle her. “Mostly trade records and...reclamation efforts.”

She nodded too quickly and tucked the book beneath her arm. If I hadn’t been watching so closely, I might have missed the flicker of something fierce and aching behind her composed façade.

“Does that part of our history interest you?”

She gave another small, cautious nod, her eyes lifting to assess my face as though anxious to know what I thought of her interest.

History had always been my best subject. I seized the opportunity to impress her. I found two sturdy crates and carefully brushed dust off one, motioning for her to sit as I laid the volumes I’d gathered and a lantern on the other as a makeshift table. As we thumbed through ancient treaties and dusty decrees, I filled the heavy silence with any knowledge that might help her mysterious search…or keep her from slipping further away.

“Much of Eldoria’s expansion wasn’t conquest,” I began. “At least, not at first. Some lands actually surrendered autonomy willingly, in exchange for protection.”

“Is the same true for magic?” Her voice was soft, but sharp enough to draw blood.

I glanced up. Her expression was unreadable, blandly curious—but I sensed a carefully masked urgency behind her barely restrained calm. “Some magic was...surrendered,” I admitted reluctantly. “Some we deemed necessary to take. There were fears about its instability and about potential rebellion should it fall into the wrong hands.”

“So that is your kingdom’s justification.”

I didn’t answer. I shifted, suddenly aware of the uncomfortable weight in my chest. “Things were different then,”I said, though the words felt hollow. “The crown believed it was necessary…to survive.”

“And what do you believe?” she asked, watching me intently.

The question landed hard. I stared at her, unsure how to answer.

From my earliest studies I’d been caught between the legacy of my ancestors—especially my father—and the quiet discomfort in my own conscience. Years of education had done little to bridge the gap to help me resolve this moral dilemma. Now that I stood on the cusp of inheriting the throne, I still didn’t know how I would reconcile the kingdom I was meant to uphold with the blood-stained past I could no longer ignore.

But if I were to answer as just myself—not as heir to a conquering line but simply asCallan—then I couldn’t deny the immorality filling Eldoria’s bloody history, not even through misguided allegiance. While I was forced to conceal this rebellious opinion from Father, I didn’t want to hide it fromher.

I drew a steadying breath, taking a chance. What I was about to say amounted to treason—a risk when Gwen was clearly harboring secrets of her own—yet I was determined to be transparent with her. “The history between our nations was written in blood and silence,” I said at last. “And no amount of justification can change that.”

Her eyes widened, as if my answer surprised her. She hastily lowered her gaze, but not before I caught the flash of something raw in her expression—grief. The vulnerability in her gaze stripped away the mask I’d worn far too long, leaving me exposed.

“History is more than a record of facts,” I said. “It’s also a chronicle of mistakes. It would be dishonorable to pretend those mistakes don’t exist out of blind loyalty to crown and country.” I hesitated, then added, “In truth, I don’t know why we stole your kingdom’s magic for ourselves…other than greed.”

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