Page 40 of Stolen Magic

Not that my father ever made requests. I cursed under my breath and turned back to Gwen. She’d lowered herself to the edge of the mattress, body taut with tension.

“I’m reluctant to leave my fiancée while she’s unwell,” I said.

The page wisely said nothing, nor did I press the matter further—I knew better than to challenge the king’s command. Though I bore the title of prince, it was second to being one of father’s infinite pawns.

I sighed. “Very well. Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

The page bowed and took his leave, shutting the door behind him. I knelt beside her once more, searching her face for that openness she’d shown so briefly. My heart squeezed in concern at the shadows under her eyes and the damp sheen on her forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try to rest.”

She shook her head in protest. “No, you don’t understand—I need to find it now. There isn’t much time. Should you find out too soon…I’ll lose my chance forever.” Desperation penetrated her exhaustion, and I couldn’t shake the anxiety coiled beneath her delirious words.

“We have all the time in the world,” I said, reaching to soothe her. “I’ll help you after you’ve recovered, but right now you must rest. You fainted, Gwen.”

“I’m feeling better.” But her gaze wouldn’t meet mine. Once more she tried to stand, but I gently eased her back down.

“I’m still worried about you. Please, Gwen.”

She peered up at me with wide, almost disbelieving eyes. “You’re…worried aboutme?”

I nodded. The flicker at the corner of her lips was too faint to be called a smile, but it was a welcome shift from her previous coldness that seemed to resist my presence. I wanted more than anything to patiently coax it out, to do whatever it took to earn her trust, but there wasn’t time to do so now.

Father was waiting. Though obedience had been deeply ingrained in me since birth, I couldn’t seem to move from her side. “I don’t want to leave,” I said.

“You have to,” she murmured. “You can’t disobey him.” Though I couldn’t recall the memory clearly, the fear haunting her eyes at the mention of the king caused worry to tighten in my chest.

“I’ll return soon.” I reached for her hand, holding it gently. “Promise me you’ll rest.”

She nodded, but the motion felt hollow, given for my benefit rather than her own. I lingered, searching her face for anything that might explain my rising unease, but she’d already retreated behind her impenetrable walls.

I finally rose, and with one last glance back, I left the room. The palace corridors stretched long and quiet, my footsteps echoing too loudly in the hush of pre-dawn as I hurried towards the council chamber, still tangled in thoughts of Gwen—pale and shaken in her bed, not quite herself.

Despite my lingering concern for her, a deeper anxiety gnawed at me: the strange patches in my memory, the small but mounting inconsistencies I could no longer ignore. By the time I reached the council chamber, I had nearly convinced myself to set these rising doubts aside…but that resolve crumbled the instant I stepped through the door.

Father stood alone at the head of the long marble table, no councilors or scribes in sight, only a single iron-bound chest resting before him. I recognized it immediately.

“You’re late,” he said by way of preamble.

It took effort to maintain my flimsy composure. I bowed stiffly. “Forgive me. You summoned me.”

He didn’t look up as his fingers hypnotically traced the chest’s lock in slow, deliberate circles. “Why didn’t you report that she has been searching the archives? Or that she was discovered near the forbidden treasury?”

Horror seized my breath, rendering me still. “Pardon?”

“The princess,” he said, each syllable measured. “She’s been poking around places far beyond her rights. Researching buried histories, reading sealed documents, foolishly thinking herself subtle.”

My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard. “She was studying for her new role.”

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Spare me the romantic defenses, Callan. Why you insist on clinging to such sentimental notions is an embarrassment to the crown, especially when it causes you to fail to see sense: no woman reads through accounts of magical confiscation treaties out of ceremonial interest. Since you’ve apparently missed it, the containment wards on the magic vault have also been disturbed.”

I drew a sharp breath. I hadn’t known about that. Doubt flickered, unwelcome and traitorous, but I refused to allow it to take root. “What exactly are you accusing her of?”

“Accusing?” He pinned me with the full force of his dark, unyielding gaze. “I’m stating fact. She’s not merely curious—she’ssearchingfor something, and I want to know what.”

Unbidden, an image surfaced: her attempts to rise from her bed with a desperation that extended beyond her illness, her insistences that she needed to find something. Every instinct urged me to defend her, but Father could see through even the subtlest deflection.

At my stubborn silence, he arched a brow. “Still too sentimental to see reason? Then allow me to present additional evidence.” He gestured to the chest. “Do you know what this is?”

I did, but I would give anything not to.

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