Page 29 of Stolen Magic

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. For a single breath, we held each other’s gaze, allowing wordless understanding to pass between us—our first fleeting, fragile connection, the first true closeness I’d felt with her since that captured moment in the garden.

I wanted to stay in this moment, to explore it more deeply…but she suddenly stiffened, her focus shifting past me towards something beyond the shelves.

I followed her line of sight and frowned. Tucked near the rafters, just above the perimeter of the suppression wards, shimmered a faint ripple in the air. A pocket of residual magic clung to the old beams, likely overlooked for years. Even with my training, I could barely sense it…yet by the recognition flickering in her eyes, I knew she could see it too.

Just as quickly as she noticed it, she pretended she hadn’t. Her body angled slightly, subtly turning to shield it from view. I might have missed the shift if I hadn’t already been watching her so closely…but it was too late.

The old suspicions I'd tried so hard to bury stirred again, rising like smoke in my chest. Myrona hadn’t wielded active magic for years, with Eldoria finally stamping out the latent magic users and capturing the last hidden pockets of power a decade ago…at least, that’s what the records claimed. She shouldn’t have been sensitive enough to perceive such a faint trace…yet she clearly had.

I tried to dismiss my doubt as mere coincidence, but I couldn’t ignore the sharp flicker of recognition in her eyes, nor the way her focus flickered back towards the obscure spot. Without a doubt she could see it, and by the hungry look filling her eyes, she wanted to seize it.

The pieces I’d tried to ignore began to align, fitting together with uncomfortable precision—her pointed questions in our letters, finding her near the sealed vaults where our kingdom’spower was stored, the texts I’d caught her perusing, and the strange haze that clung to my memory of our first meeting—just misaligned enough to create the sense that something was…off.

Who was my fiancée really?The weight of the unanswered question pressed heavily between us, as thick and suffocating as the dust on the forgotten shelves. As much as I yearned to properly court her, I was no longer sure I could afford the luxury of trust.

If I wanted the truth, I’d have to keep my guard up and watch her more closely. In this, duty would have to come before even the hope of something as fragile as love.

CHAPTER 11

LYSANDRA

The door of the hidden archive groaned shut behind me—and with it, the composure I’d been struggling to maintain finally faltered. I walked briskly through the corridors, not caring if my footsteps echoed too loudly and drew unnecessary attention; royal decorum felt meaningless with the tumult churning inside me. I needed distance, space to think, tobreathe.

By the time I reached the upper halls, I’d schooled my expression into something calm and composed, but it did little to quiet my unrest. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, gilding the empty corridor in gold; I felt none of its warmth. For all the relief I should have felt in escaping the prince’s presence, our interaction still haunted me with questions and confusion.

He can’t be sincere.

That was the first clear thought that pierced the haze. Prince Callan had spoken words I never expected, let alone from the son of Eldoria’s king. He hadn’t just acknowledged the crown’s sins—he’d mourned them, almost condemned them…admissions I never believed someone of his bloodline capable of.

My instincts, honed by years of survival and betrayal, screamed it had been nothing but another calculated ploy. Perhaps he’d realized what the ledger we’d discovered meant to me and had craftily woven whatever words necessary to earn my trust—a diplomatic maneuver meant to disarm me.

And yet another smaller, more fragile part of me had believed him. The sincerity in his eyes, the weight behind his words, and the break in his voice when he spoke of his kingdom’s greed hadn’t sounded rehearsed but personal, as if the confession had cost him something. It was just another piece in the increasingly confounding puzzle. Only a few days into this charade, and I was already fraying from the strain of trying to decipher his true character and intentions.

Could he really not know the full extent of what his father had done, and not non-complacent in the king’s crimes?No, I couldn’t believe that. If I started thinking he was innocent it would unravel everything—my mission, my hatred, my entire reason for taking the princess’s place. I couldn’t soften simply because he gave a convincing show of humility.

Still, his haunting words lingered, carving out a space inside me I’d tried to keep hollow.You’re not an outsider, not to me. It should have been easy to dismiss his words as a clever ploy of charm, a princely tactic designed to win hearts and loyalty…but against every reason to doubt him, a reckless part of me believed he’d meant every word.

I swallowed my rising unease. I couldn’t afford to be swayed—not by kindness, nor by tenderness, and most of all not by someone who might still be part of the force that had destroyed everything I had ever loved.

I tightened my arms around my chest as I moved through the corridor, hating the warmth stirring inside me—the partthat kept questioning what I’d come here to do. I hadn’t come to be swayed by gentle smiles and meaningful glances, but to take everything from Eldoria and make them pay—to stop them once and for all from their destructive path of greed that had destroyed countless families like mine. I repeated the words like a spell, but they no longer offered the protection against my inner storm they once had.

I entered my chambers, sighing as I sank into the soft seat next to the bouquet of violets. Myst padded towards me, a strange look in her eyes, but before I could speak to her, there was a soft knock on the door and a girl slipped in. I nodded at Melodie, my new Eldorian handmaiden, and she curtsied politely.

“Can I get you anything, my lady?” she asked softly, her eyes demurely downcast.

“A glass of water, please,” I said absently, and she hurried to pour from the pitcher on my nightstand. Despite my distraction, I couldn’t help but notice her movements seemed clumsy and sluggish; at first I presumed it was mere nerves but soon I realized it was something more.

During the long years of poverty and survival, hatred for the kingdom that had taken everything from me had been my lifeline. I had never imagined I’d feel an ounce of sympathy for anyone from the land of my oppressors. Yet try as I might to ignore the stirrings of empathy they persisted in their onslaught against the armor I’d built around my heart.

I studied my handmaiden’s reflection in the mirror as she set the pitcher back down. Melodie was young and timid, assigned to me by the king upon my arrival.

Throughout my sojourn in the palace I had kept my distance—not because I blamed her for her monarch’s crimes, but because I didn’t trust anyone assigned to me by the court. Whether that suspicion came from self-preservation or the guiltof knowing I was the one worth suspecting, I used it as a shield protecting me against the pain that could come from getting close to anyone.

But even my hardened heart couldn’t ignore the girl’s pallor, growing steadily worse by the moment, her eyes glassy, her hands trembling as she struggled with the buttons of my gown. More than once, I caught her steadying herself against the vanity, thinking I wouldn’t notice.

I wrestled with my conscience longer than I should have before worry reigned victorious. “Go lie down,” I said at last, my concern causing the command to emerge more sharply than I intended.

She blinked at me, startled. “I’m fine, my lady, I?—”

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