Page 56 of Stolen Magic

Something like warm milk and honey.

I slipped down to the kitchens, unnoticed in the lull between breakfast and luncheon. The hearth still glowed, embers crackling softly in the quiet. I moved quietly, collecting a small kettle, a jug of milk, and a jar of honey. I warmed the milk, thenstirred in a golden spoonful of honey until it shimmered like melted amber…just the way Mother used to make it on stormy nights, her arms wrapped around me as she whispered how sweet things could soothe even the deepest ache. I added just a pinch of chamomile—my favorite comforting herb—and inhaled the fragrant, calming steam.

My hands trembled as I poured it into a ceramic mug and carried it through the halls, each step heavier than the last. I found Callan in the small solar near the library—a quiet room I had come to know throughout our brief courtship as one of his sanctuaries where he often retreated when the weight of the court grew too great. I paused in the doorway, watching him before he noticed me.

He sat alone on the cushioned settee beside the hearth, shoulders hunched, one hand pressed against his brow as if nursing a headache. Even in the golden light from the flickering fire he looked weary, burdened by his recent confrontation I’d had no right to witness.

Still, when he looked up and saw me, his eyes softened. He straightened. “Gwen. You’re awake. I thought…” He trailed off, then offered a tired but genuine smile. “It’s good to see you.”

I held out the mug. “Warm milk with honey. My mother used to make it for me when the world felt too heavy.”

He blinked in surprise. Our fingers brushed as his closed around the mug; the warmth of that small touch enfolded my heart, likely the last we’d ever share.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

I swallowed the emotion rising in my throat and settled beside him, leaving a careful breath of space between us even though I wanted nothing more than to lean against him and feel his arms wrap around me once more. But distance was necessary now; it would make what I had to do just a little easier.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” I said. “But if you need someone, I’m here, just as you’ve always been for me.”

He took a slow sip of the drink I had prepared; its soothing warmth seemed to steady something inside him. His eyes drifted closed, as if savoring not just the taste but the comfort it carried. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s my comfort drink.” The last portion of myself I could give him before our time together ended.

His smile deepened, soft and grateful. “That makes it even better. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Neither did I.

There was so much I wanted to tell him—and even more I wanted to hear from him in return—but the words never came. Instead, we sat in silence, a precious moment of tender companionship unsullied by lies, the only part of myself I had left to offer.

Eventually, his hand found mine in the stillness, fingers twining with tentative care. Though I had many reasons to pull away, I allowed myself this final moment of selfishness and let it happen.

Because this was goodbye.

I etched every detail into memory—the soft curl of his hair near his temple, the worn tenderness of his smile, the way his thumb brushed gently across my knuckles. And though I didn’t deserve him, for a few fleeting breaths I allowed myself to imagine I did.

Time lost all meaning when spent with Callan, but eventually duty reclaimed him. He pressed a gentle kiss to my knuckles with a promise to see me again that evening—one I wouldn’t be able to keep, for the next time I looked into his eyes, I would use my precious magic to erase the rest of the courtship that had come to mean everything to me.

Dusk brushed the fields in hues of ruby and gold as I slipped through the palace gates and into the meadow beyond. The air was still crisp and damp from the recent storm, clinging to the hem of my silk disguise I would soon shed forever. Mist curled low across the grass, swathing the world in quiet. The only sounds were the soft honking of geese and the faint murmurs of the girl guiding them gently through the settling twilight.

The quiet padding of my cat’s paws was absent. When she had been unable to dissuade me from my purpose, Myst had vanished into the palace halls, perhaps to look for another source of the magic I was about to expend, or perhaps simply cutting ties with me just as I was about to do with those I cared about most.

Princess Gwendolyn, still dressed in the patched wool gown and apron of her servant’s attire, looked up at my approach. A curl fell loose across her cheek, which she brushed away with absent grace. “You look familiar,” she said. “Have we met before?” There was no accusation, only quiet curiosity.

I couldn’t answer. I searched her expression for any flicker of recognition, but my most recent memory spell had held—she was unaware of who she truly was, content with her life among the geese rather than chasing fragments of a life she didn’t realize had been stolen.

Magic curled in my palm, warm and ready. I should have spoken the incantation then, restored her memories and ended this falsehood. But though I knew it was the right thing my heart resisted, because the moment I restored the truth…it would truly be over.

For every wall I had tried to build, Callan had broken through, reaching for the heart I carefully guarded for so long. But with Gwen’s memory poised to return and my guilt pressing heavier with each passing breath, I knew I couldn't keep him. I cared for them both, and continuing this deceptive charade atthe cost of their happiness would make me no better than the throne I had hated for so long.

Gwen tilted her head, studying me, as if she could somehow glimpse these longings just before they slipped away. “You look like someone who’s about to say goodbye.”

My heart twisted. “I suppose I am.”

She said nothing more, but her expression softened, and something older than memory seemed to stir in her gaze. I reached into my pocket and curled my fingers around the spell I had prepared—a delicate thread of the last magic I’d gathered from the palace’s hidden wells, pulsing faintly in my palm.

The soft glow of magic in my hand drew her gaze. Her eyes widened with the same stunned wonder I remembered from the inn when I’d first revealed my powers to her and robbed her of her identity. That moment felt like a lifetime ago now, shaped by all that had transpired and how deeply I’d changed.

Awe seized her breath. “Is that?—?”

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