Page 43 of Stolen Magic

I summoned a faint smile. “I just needed air.”

He didn’t seem convinced. Where he might once have accepted such a flimsy excuse, this time he only frowned—as if he now held the distrust I’d once harbored towards him and nowstruggled to continue. Callan studied me closely, his steady gaze drifting over my features with the kind of attention that felt both terrifying and devastatingly intimate.

His heavy gaze didn’t waver; I hadn’t realized how much I’d taken his tenderness for granted until it was absent. “An unusual place for a stroll. This corridor leads nowhere useful—unless you were planning to spar in the armory or scale the servant stairwell.”

I forced a laugh, the sound brittle in my throat. “I didn’t realize you were now monitoring my route through the palace. Are you spying on me, Your Highness?”

“Callan.” He took another step closer, the space between us tightening, beckoning me to bridge the last of the distance. “And I don’t need to. You’re the one who looks like she’s running from something…or towards it.” His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze dropped to my clenched fist I hadn’t quite tucked behind me, still curled around the stolen shimmer of power. “You’re shaking.” Compassion and doubt flickered across his face in conflict.

At my silent command my newfound powers seeped into the pouch I always wore beneath my collar. “Just lingering weakness. I’ll be fine.” I loosened my fingers with practiced care, letting my hand fall to my side as if I had simply been tensing with fatigue.

“After you collapsed, you said you were looking for something. Something important.” His tone wasn’t condemning, but I sensed the suspicion underlying every word, a question I wasn’t ready to answer.

“I did?” I forced a soft laugh. “I don’t remember. I was barely coherent. I think I might’ve been dreaming, or mixing up dreams and memories.”

But he didn’t look convinced. He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “What are you searching for, Gwen?”

The weight of his question struck harder than I’d prepared for. I shook my head, unable to trust my voice. His brows furrowed—not in suspicion this time, but in that cursed concern again, the kind that made me want to confess everything regardless of the consequences, to cast aside my disguise so that my lies no longer stood as an impenetrable obstacle between us.

Panic brushed against the edges of my composure at the thought that I’d fallen so far from my purpose that I could even consider giving myself up. “I’m not looking for anything. You’re imagining things.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Then why won’t you meet my eyes?”

My pulse thudded louder as with a wavering breath I slowly lifted my gaze to his. It was a mistake. He didn’t look angry, nor triumphant at having once more caught me doing something I shouldn’t. Just…sad.

His voice gentled. “You don’t have to keep lying to me, Gwen.”

The name that didn’t truly belong to me stung more than ever, made even more painful when he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek. The touch was careful, reverent. My breath hitched.

“I don’t know what you’re hiding,” he continued. “But I do know you’re hurting. I know what it’s like to carry something too heavy for anyone else to see and don’t want you to have to bear your burdens alone.”

My mask cracked, just a fracture, but it was enough. I finally looked up, and in his eyes I saw no accusation, only grace and patience I didn’t deserve. I should’ve feared it, but instead I found myself aching. I opened my mouth, but he pressed a soft fingertip against my lips, silencing the words I didn’t think I was strong enough to speak.

“You don’t need to explain anything, but when you’re ready, please let me carry some of it. After all, I’m to be your husband.”

Husband…my stomach fluttered at the thought of marrying him, a sharp contrast to the revulsion I’d once felt when imagining such a fate, back when he was a faceless symbol of the throne I despised…before I’d met him and discovered the true man behind the crown.

I tried reminding myself that his kindness could still be an act, but that refrain now felt like a performance given solely to myself, one that deep down I no longer believed. Callan’s goodness seemed too pure to be rehearsed—it felt real, and that made him the most dangerous complication of all. No matter how warm his smile or how gently he held me, I couldn’t let myself forget that he would be forever tied to the throne that had stolen everything from me. Whatever stirrings he awakened in my traitorous heart could never progress further, thanks to that irrevocable truth.

Memories of Mother’s lifeless eyes, the fire that had consumed my childhood home, and the Eldorian crest seared into the ashes still haunted me. But those haunting fragments were growing fainter, a distant shore receding gradually behind me as I drifted deeper into the vast, disorienting ocean that was Callan.

Hewas becoming my new anchor. Yet after casting the spell to blur his recollections of the true princess, the gentle moments we shared—the stolen glances, the warmth of his touch—now existed solely in my heart, no longer in his.

Once again, the dangerous daydreams stirred, unbidden—fantasies not of vengeance, but of using the precious scraps of magic I’d salvaged simply to make him smile, just as he did so easily for me. The more the thought took root, the more I realized how little I truly knew of him. With so many of ourinteractions shaped by duty and diplomacy, I had no idea who the man Callan was behind the title of crown prince.

Don’t seek to discover more about him, Myst warned in the back of my mind.It will only complicate the mission.

I knew she was right, yet the desire lingered. These secret wishes had begun writing a different story beneath the one I had so carefully plotted—a new script penned not in rage and desire for justice, but in quiet yearning. It was unfolding gradually—word by word, line by line—until I hadn’t noticed how far I’d already strayed.

He moved as if to escort me back to my room to rest, but suddenly I couldn’t bear to part from him, not yet. I needed to extend this reverent moment, explore it deeper in hopes of either putting a stop to it before it was too late…or savoring it until I knew every detail by heart.

He offered his arm, but instead of accepting it I seized hold of his sleeve, keeping him beside me. “Not yet,” I pleaded. “Stay with me a moment longer.”

His eyes widened in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected me to ask him to spend more time together than duty dictated. For a moment I feared I’d overstepped…but then his lips curved upward and something warm lit his gaze, soft and unguarded, causing fragile joy to blossom inside my chest. “You want to spend time withme?”

I nodded. “We could explore the gardens.” Not only would the setting make the perfect romantic backdrop—but now that I had successfully found a small reserve of power, my senses were sharper. I could feel the subtle tug of additional magic in that direction, hidden and waiting.

He didn’t immediately respond, staring into my eyes with a searching depth for something he was desperate to find, as though his heart was caught in a war between fear and hope, justas mine was. After a beat, he offered that disarming smile—the one that always made it a little harder to breathe.

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