Page 59 of Stolen Magic

The story I had planned to share about how they only bloomed under moonlight and about how I’d planned the entire garden path around them in hopes the scenery would make her feel more at home faded before I could speak the words.

I swallowed a small ache, feeling as if I’d betrayed someone dear by sharing this intimate place with someone it wasn’t meant for. Though I had planted these flowers for her, they no longer felt like hers. Instead, they seemed to belong to another moment and person entirely…as if she wasn’t the one I’d truly intended them for after all.

Yet such a scenario didn’t make sense, compelling me to explore the vague details of my recollection more deeply. “Have we spent time here together before?”

Gwendolyn tilted her head. “No, I believe this is the first time.”

Was it?Logically I knew she was right, considering I couldn’t truly recall bringing her here before, and yet…

A flicker of something danced at the edge of my mind—a sliver of memory, or perhaps only imagination. A woman with dark hair leaning over those blossoms, her gaze fiery but her smile soft as her fingers reverently caressed each petal…and then it was gone. I blinked, disoriented, feeling as if I’d just awoken from a dream I didn’t know I’d had.

“Are you alright, Callan?” Gwendolyn’s gentle inquiry tugged me from the confusing storm of my thoughts.

I shook my head slightly in an effort to dispel the cloudy confusion. “Forgive me, I keep recalling moments between us even though we’ve only just begun our courtship. Are you certain this is our first outing here since your arrival?”

She looked momentarily surprised before a flicker of concern crossed her expression. “We’ve only had a handful of private interactions. We met briefly during the treaty negotiations, and then we exchanged letters until my arrival. Since I came to Eldoria, we’ve been kept busy with court functions aside from the few times we’ve been allowed to have breakfast on our own.”

The timeline made sense. And yet…some hollow space inside my chest throbbed as if something precious had once existed there and had now vanished, leaving a void.

Those letters returned to my mind—the early ones, stiff and diplomatic, that had gradually evolved into exchanges that had felt vibrant, full of wit, challenge, and a sharp intelligence I had found exhilarating, leaving me looking forward to each response. But now, sitting beside the woman who had supposedly written them, somehow the correspondent I had come to know didn’t quite align, as if the missives had been penned by an entirely different person.

She smiled again, warm and hopeful, and reached into the basket she’d brought along. “I packed something for you, one of my favorite treats. I heard you like sweets and thought it might lift your spirits.” She handed me a cloth-wrapped bundle. I unwrapped it slowly to find a small loaf of sweetbread, fragrant with lavender and citrus.

“I…do.” Yet the words felt off, as if I were reading from someone else’s script.

The scent in the air, delicate and nostalgic, teased a flicker of memory—a hand offering me something warm, not sweetbread, but a glass of warm milk flavored with golden honey. The image was soft, intimate—not outside in the sunlit gardens, but shared in a quiet room with rain beating softly on windowpanes…and it wasn’t with Gwendolyn.

Before I could seize hold upon the vision I lost it, as if it’d disappeared entirely, leaving me disoriented. I frowned and pressed my fingers against my aching head. “My apologies. It’s as if I’m forgetting something…or someone.”

I hated how absurd it sounded, yet despite the nonsensical sentiment, Gwendolyn went still. I looked out over the stream, watching the patterns cast by the dancing light.

“Have you ever felt like a part of you is missing?” I asked. “Not just forgotten, but…taken? As if you’re living in the middle of a story already half-finished, but the person who helped you write the beginning is just…gone?”

The silence stretched before Gwendolyn softly spoke. “Do you think it was someone you met before I arrived?”

“Perhaps.”

“And…was she important to you?” Her voice broke, as if she dreaded my answer.

“I think so.” At my uncertain words, something stirred—not in my mind but in my heart. Warm, aching, a feeling that didn’t belong to Gwendolyn, no matter how hard I wished it would.

Someone my heart remembered…even if my mind could not.

I spentthe entire afternoon with my fiancée as duty dictated. After the initial requirements following Gwendolyn’s arrival—the seemingly endless balls, state dinners, and meetings that had filled our days—today was a rare treat to simply enjoy each other and talk on the subjects that interested us as we prepared for a life together.

To my frustration, the joy and closeness I’d anticipated from such an opportunity were absent. Conversation flowed easily enough—pleasant topics, harmless anecdotes, shared plans for future feasts and festivities—standard small talk without any real depth. No matter how much I tried to ask thoughtful questions or offer genuine interest in getting to know her, progress felt…stilted, as if I was subconsciously blocking it. The more I pushed to find a connection, the more I felt I was standing in the wrong place, echoing steps I’d already taken with someone else.

The thought haunted me, tainting each small smile and polite exchange. Gwendolyn seemed to notice, but though a flicker of sadness crossed her face, she didn’t press or accuse, grace I didn’t deserve for my rude behavior. We eventually parted with promises to meet again for dinner, but though I had tasks waiting—meetings to attend, documents to review—my mind was too unsettled to focus on this intangible mystery, not with this persistent sense that something had been taken.

Ever since my fiancée’s arrival, our connection had felt…off. At first I’d assumed that it was natural—of course two people who only knew each other through exchanged letters would have some wrong assumptions about each other. Yet the more I triedto learn who Gwendolyn truly was, the more I had the sense of knowing…someone else.

I wandered the corridors longer than I intended, letting my feet guide me while my thoughts spun, trying to untangle the quiet dissonance that pulsed beneath the surface of my memory. It was like chasing a half-remembered melody, haunting in its familiarity, but always vanishing just as I reached for it before I could capture it.

My wandering brought me to the royal wing. The guards stationed outside Gwendolyn’s chambers nodded in greeting, assuming I’d come to visit her again. I nodded in return, but made no move for her door. Instead, something pulled me towards the nearby terrace, drawn by a faint humming drifting through the archway. I was certain I’d never heard the simple, soothing tune before, but somehow my heart knew it all the same.

My chest tightened as I stepped through the arch. A girl knelt beside a planter box, her sleeves rolled to the elbows, dark hair slipping loose from a bun that had long since given up trying to contain it, framing a profile so lovely my heart seized. Her head was bowed in focus as her fingers moved with steady care tending the herbs, touching each leaf with the gentleness of someone familiar with their properties and who had found comfort in tending things that could heal.

She hadn’t noticed me yet, but I found myself completely engrossed by her. There was a quiet grace in the way she moved, each gesture fluid and unhurried, as if she belonged more to the rhythm of the earth than the palace walls. A soft strand of hair slipped loose from her bun, and I watched as she absently tucked it behind her ear, her fingers delicate and sure. Something in her focused expression hinted at a quiet strength, the kind that came not from command but from enduring.

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