Page 48 of Stolen Magic

I couldn’t very well explain that my current annoyance hadn’t been directed towards him, but at the invisible feline currently sprawled on the gazebo railing, seeming smugly proud of the rainstorm she’d summoned to interrupt us. While we huddled damply in the shelter, Myst made no effort to avoid the raindrops, lazily grooming herself as though she lay in a pool of sunshine. Whether she had created a magical shield to prevent the rain from reaching her or whether a physical substance like water wasn’t capable of affecting a magical being I wasn’t sure, but she looked far warmer and dryer than we were. I turned my back on her, adjusting the cloak as I met Callan’s anxious eyes.

I scrambled for a believable excuse. “It wasn’t unwelcome. I just…wasn’t expecting it.”

He still looked uncertain, so I offered what truth I could convey without words. I leaned a little closer, letting my arm press gently against his. My head found the curve of his shoulder—hesitant at first, but when he didn’t pull away I settled with growing certainty.

His breath caught but he didn’t move away. His body relaxed against mine, and after a moment’s pause, his arm wrapped around me, bringing me closer. I forgot about the dampness, the chill, Myst’s glare…I could only focus on Callan’s closeness. His hold offered protection with the same ease he offered his warmth and kindness—without expectation or demand, only quiet, steady care and I didn’t know how to accept it.

The cloak clung to us, its damp edges forgotten in the warmth we now shared. Callan’s arm remained around my shoulders, a tentative curve of protection, as if he feared holding too tightly might make me disappear. We didn’t speak, as if we both knew any word could break the fragile spell between us. We simply lost ourselves in this intimacy shared beneath the hush of rain, one I hadn’t earned but which I desperately wanted to keep.

Several content minutes passed in this manner, filled only by the soft patter of rain echoing on the gazebo roof and the slow rhythm of our shared breath, mingling together in an orchestra of intimacy. There were so many things I wanted to ask, truths I longed to uncover about him—not for the mission, but for myself. Yet I didn’t dare speak, fearing the questions he might ask in return, the lies I would be forced to tell when all I wanted was to strip myself of my disguise and let him see me.

I’d told myself from the beginning that winning his trust was just a tactic—one thread in a web spun from grief and fury. Eldoria had stolen everything: my family, my birthright, my magic. My vengeance had been a cold, unshakable certainty.

But there was nothing cold about the man beside me.

The hush between us lingered, suspended like the rain in the air as we watched the storm wash over the gardens beyond, filled only by the rhythm of rain and the distant groan of thunder. Eventually, his soothing voice broke the reverence that had settled around us. “Let me know if you get too cold,” he murmured. “You’re still recovering. I don’t want you to get sick again.”

Even if I was freezing, nothing would have compelled me to end this sacred moment with him…until a lowchuffbroke through the delicate silence. I resisted the urge to glare at the source.

My familiar watched me from her perch on the gazebo railing, her moonlit eyes narrowed with silent judgment. Her silver-tipped tail curled neatly around her paws, ears flicking with barely restrained disapproval. She glared unblinkingly at me, ears back, equal parts warning and accusation.

Her message echoed in my thoughts, quiet but firm:You’re losing sight of the mission. Sentiment breeds weakness. That is not the heart of a witch seeking justice.

But in this moment, I didn’tfeellike a witch—I felt like a girl tucked against someone who quieted the ache I’d carried since the day I lost my mother.

My gaze drifted to the mist swirling beyond the shelter’s edge and the shadows caught between the hanging vines, my thoughts lingering on what had nearly happened between us…as well as the shimmer of magic I’d seen clinging to Myst’s fur when she summoned the storm.

Though I’d always known she was enchanted, I’d underestimated the ancient power she possessed—power she had clearly gone to great lengths to keep hidden. Had she summoned the rain for the sake of protecting my revenge, or had there been another reason? I pressed a hand to my chest, the pendant Callan had given me suddenly heavier. My regretover our interrupted kiss unsettled me more than the storm…or Myst’s secrets.

Tension rippled through me. In response, Callan’s thumb brushed my shoulder through the cloak, a comforting gesture meant to soothe that sent my pulse skittering in a way it had no right to.

I needed to remember the role I was playing and the mission I couldn’t afford to abandon. But rather than pull away, instead I leaned in even closer, the motion small but deliberate, showing my acceptance of all that was transpiring between us.

I wasn’t sure how long we sat together, listening to the rhythm of the rain and the quiet hush of his breath beside mine, this moment suspended between two heartbeats—his steady and calm, mine stammering with confusion. The world had narrowed to this little shelter, and the aching quiet of wanting something I had no right to want.

No matter how long we sat together, he remained a steady presence beside me. His cloak draped around my shoulders, shielding me from the storm, as if I was someone he wanted to protect—not the princess he thought I was, butme. The thought broke something in my heart. How could I go on deceiving him and manipulating his affections with him holding me like this?

My hands curled into the folds of his cloak, aching with the weight of everything I couldn’t say. I basked in the fragile stillness between us until a sudden tingling pricked along my palm, sharp enough to draw my attention. I slowly unfurled my hand, heart stuttering when I saw the faint glimmer catch in the stormy overcast.

Horror gripped me. The glamour spell I’d crafted to conceal the cursed seal was beginning to fade, the rain washing away the makeup like paint from canvas, revealing what lay beneath. At first, the symbol appeared as only a faint shadow, like a smudge of ash beneath the skin. But with each fresh drop, itemerged more clearly—spiraling lines etched into flesh, ancient and pulsing with subtle, unmistakable power.

For one wild moment, I wondered if Myst had sabotaged me—intentionally summoning the storm to strip away my illusion. In a surge of panic, I tried to reclaim my fragile hold over the enchantment, but it slipped through my grasp like the rain itself.

“Gwen?” Callan’s voice broke through, soft with concern. “You’re trembling. Are you cold?”

Words lodged in my throat, rendering speech impossible. I curled my fingers into a fist and hastily tucked my hand beneath the cloak to hide it, but not before my movement drew Callan’s notice. Rather than confusion, his expression stilled with recognition. His eyes widened—not with suspicion, but something quieter, deeper.

Slowly, as if not to startle me, he reached out. “May I...?”

There was no point hiding it anymore, and I felt a wave of relief that I could finally show part of my true self to him. I extended my hand. His fingers hovered just above the mark, not quite touching. “I’ve seen this before,” he murmured. He carefully brushed his fingertips across the weblike strands, as if afraid his touch might erase it.

“How could you have seen it?” I asked.

He didn’t immediately answer. A hollow quiet formed between us, broken only by the steady storm as he studied the ancient sigil embedded into my skin.

“I first discovered it in a scroll hidden in the forbidden wing of the palace library during my magic studies,” he said at last. “It’s the symbol of a specific magical bloodline, whose last known descendant defied my father during his conquest of your kingdom ten years ago.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.Could he be speaking about Mother?

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