Page 30 of Stolen Magic

“That wasn’t a suggestion.” I crossed the room before she could turn away. “You’re unwell. There’s no sense in working yourself into collapse.”

“I’m truly—” she began again, her voice raspy and her eyes wide with fear of failing at her new position, but she was already swaying, gripping the wardrobe for support. She lifted her chin in that stubborn Eldorian way that reminded me all too much of the people I’d taught myself to despise and stood taller in an effort to mask her trembling, but as a master of deceit myself I saw through the charade.

“No, you’re not.” I said, more gently this time. I extracted the gown she held from her hands and nudged her toward the door. “Go lie down. I don’t need a fainting girl on my conscience.”

She looked as though she wanted to argue, but her resistance finally faltered. “Thank you, my lady.” With an unsteady curtsy, she retreated into the adjoining chamber. I waited until I heard the quiet creak of her settling on the cot before I slipped from the room and made my way to the kitchens.

The scent of bread and roasted herbs met me as I descended the servant’s stairwell—comfortingly familiar in a way that mademy chest tighten. The kitchens bustled softly in the lull between breakfast and luncheon. I found a quiet corner and rummaged through the apothecary shelves until I located the dried leaves I needed: chamomile for calm, ginger for nausea, elderflower for fever, a pinch of thyme for strength. I moved with practiced ease as I measured them into the teapot.

The scent of the herbs rose up to meet me, invoking the memory of a different cup of tea that I had laced with something far more potent. The guilt, long buried under layers of resolve, bubbled up to the surface. My shaking hands gripped the edge of the counter until my knuckles ached.

Gwen had trusted me. And I had repaid that trust with lies. I had made myself believe my actions had been justified, a necessary price to pay for the greater good, but in the aroma of this honest brew and no deception my hands, the lie tasted bitter.

I blinked hard and swallowed the guilt down, forcing my hands to steady as I stirred. But I couldn’t completely escape the guilt prickling beneath my skin at the thought of the princess, along with the ever-present worry that never remained absent for long. I could only pray she was alright, that whatever damage I’d done hadn’t taken root beyond repair.

I was just reaching for the kettle when footsteps sounded behind me. The spoon clattered against the cup as I spun around to find Callan standing in the doorway, brow lifted not in reprimand but curiosity. Sunlight from the high windows gilded the edges of his dark hair, making him look less like the composed prince from court and more like the man I spent time with in the garden—the one who disarmed me with his smile like he’d stumbled upon something precious.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said lightly. “What are you doing in the kitchens?” He eyed the teapot curiously.

“I’m making tea,” I replied, more defensively than I meant, especially considering for once I was doing something decent rather than my usual schemes.

He tilted his head. “For yourself? Perhaps our cooks don’t know the Myronian techniques?”

“For Melodie, the handmaiden assigned to me. She’s ill.”

His brows rose in visible surprise. He studied me like I was a puzzle missing half its pieces. “So you came to brew it yourself? You could’ve summoned a healer, or sent a request to the apothecary.”

“It’s faster than waiting on a summons.” I tried to keep my tone even, but his scrutiny made me self-conscious. I focused on the steam rising from the pot, strangely embarrassed by this simple act of goodwill.

“Most in the court would have ignored something outside their responsibility entirely.”

“This is the most efficient way to ensure she receives the proper treatment in a timely manner,” I countered stiffly.

When I finally dared to look up, his expression had shifted—his gaze softer now, contemplative. The tea steeped quietly between us, its warm scent curling the air like something sacred. “You don’t have to pretend, you know,” he said after a moment. “Not with me.”

I glanced at him. “Pretend what?”

“That you’re not capable of compassion.”

The words caught me off guard, as if his understanding had pulled open a door I hadn’t meant to reveal.

The leaves swirled in the pot, tinting the water gold. The scent clung to my hands, reminiscent of the afternoons from my childhood I’d spent mixing herbs with Mother…and those I’d brewed into a draft that had robbed my only friend of her identity.

“Tea can be dangerous in the wrong hands.” The barely audible confession emerged from a buried part of me still weighed down by guilt.

I poured the steeped liquid into a porcelain cup, but the motion did little to calm the tremble in my hands. My breath caught when Callan stepped closer, his gaze pensive as it searched mine. I could feel the quiet tension in the air shift, more intimate now.

“You look sad. Are you remembering something painful?”

“Just mistakes and regrets.” My voice broke a little around the admission that despite the danger I couldn’t resist.

There was a long pause. “We all carry things we wish we could change, but the fact you’re touched by regret is not a weakness, but evidence you desire to grow and find the strength to overcome them.” He glanced at the cup I clutched with trembling fingers. “On your quest to better yourself, don’t forget the good traits that exist alongside your flaws, especially the kindness that already lives in you.”

I looked at him again, truly looked, and lost myself in the eyes of the man I was deceiving, yet who still managed to meet mine without judgment, but compassion and understanding beyond what I felt I deserved. The moment passed, but something warmer than the tea lingered between us—the fragile beginning of trust.

In this quiet corner of the kitchens, for a moment we lost ourselves in our own world, a place I never thought to inhabit with the enemy prince. The intimacy stirred in me feelings that should of been beautiful, but instead terrified me. I wanted nothing more than to tell him to leave, but I couldn’t make myself speak the words. There was something infuriatingly steady and comforting about his presence that had a way of softening the walls I’d built.

I did my best to ignore him as I worked, but my rapid pulse revealed I remained all too aware of him. At first he kept a respectful distance, but suddenly he stepped closer. I stilled, momentarily distracted by the warmth of his nearness pressing against my back to enfold me in an embrace I wasn’t supposed to want.

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