Page 15 of Stolen Magic

Even though it changed nothing, she deserved the truth. “I just need you out of the way…so I can step into your place and marry your fiancé. The Crown Prince of Eldoria and his father are monsters who will destroy you…so I will destroy them first.”

She was far too gentle a soul to survive the ruthless politics awaiting her at the Eldorian palace. The more I assured myself of this, the more resolve I found to press forward, despite thebetrayal I’d just committed. I could see in her eyes that she didn’t believe my accusations against her fiancé, her innocence not allowing her to think ill of anyone. I felt a duty to correct such naïveté.

My tone hardened, sharpened by years of buried resentment. “Eldoria stole everything from me…so I will do all within my power to take everything from them in return. That begins with becoming the princess and marrying the crown prince. As the future queen, I will have access to what I need to recover the lost magic and restore it to all those Eldoria has stolen from. It’s the only way to make them pay.”

I felt no fear in sharing these details; the spell I had cast would soon erase our conversation from her memory. But I needed to offer some apology and confession to give me the strength for what was to come, a plea for forgiveness she would never remember. Alleviating at least part of the guilt weighing my conscience was far preferable to betraying her without any explanation at all.

Princess Gwendolyn could no longer speak; she only stared at the clenched fists at my sides and the bitterness twisting my expression. I stood caught between the necessity of my mission and the growing ache of concern for her. The plan that had seemed so justified when plotted in the shadows now teetered beneath the weight of her pain.

At last, she slipped into unconsciousness—when the spell would begin reshaping her mind, erasing her identity as Princess Gwendolyn. My hand trembled as I brushed a strand of hair from her brow, clammy with fever. I pressed my fingers to her throat and found a faint pulse. The spell had worked, though not as I had intended…and I hated myself for it.

Myst leapt lightly onto the bed, her luminescent eyes fixed solemnly on the princess. “Will she be all right?” My voice came out weak, barely a whisper.

My cat placed a paw gently against the princess’s cheek, as though checking her condition. After a long pause, she gave a slow nod. Relief washed over me, warm and fleeting. I let it linger for a breath before burying it with the rest of my feelings. There was no room for emotion in what came next.

Though a storm raged within me, my hands were steady as I began the final step. I undressed the princess with care, treating each delicate garment as though it were spun glass. One by one, I removed the silks and jewels that marked her royal identity, claiming them for myself. Last came the pendant, the gift from her beloved fiancé that would confirm my identity as his betrothed. Its weight settled on my chest as I fastened it around my own neck.

All personal items that might betray my true identity were secured within a small, locked chest—documents, mementos, anything Lysa the handmaiden or Lysandra the witch might have once treasured. I left the wages I’d earned during my time in the princess’s service on the nightstand beside her, not wanting her to wake destitute. The pouch held enough to sustain her until my plan was complete.

Though I didn’t dare speak it aloud, I knew deep down I would try to make amends—once Eldoria was dealt with and my magic restored to its rightful place.

For the final touch, I placed the princess’s circlet—a simple band of gold—upon my head, a symbol of her royal status as well as the crown I was about to claim. I allowed myself a single breath to practice her smile, the tilt of her chin, the way she carried herself. Magic alone would only get me so far—the deception had to be perfect. Any slip or inconsistency could unravel everything.

I whispered a simple incantation, one of the few I dared use with my magic so depleted. The words tasted like poison on mytongue as a faint shimmer of power wrapped around me, subtly blurring my features to anyone who looked too closely.

It wasn’t much—just a touch of magical persuasion to reinforce the physical disguise—but it would suffice for now. Enough to fool our entourage, but too limited to maintain throughout my entire courtship. Later I would call upon the last of my reserves to cast a stronger spell to deceive the Eldorian prince.

By the time I completed the transfer, dawn had begun to lighten the sky, signifying our departure was near. I paused at the door and looked back at the sleeping princess. Drawn by instinct, I returned to her side, brushing a hand against her pasty skin. She was now thankfully warmer and her pulse had steadied. She would be alright…or at least that was what I firmly told myself.

Just in case, I placed a damp cloth on her forehead, crafting the illusion of a sudden illness. With her royal garments gone and her identity stripped away, the innkeeper would likely assume she was a servant we’d left behind—and I hoped would see to her safe return to our kingdom.

I’d penned a brief note, my first as acting princess, and left it on the nightstand with a few silver coins from Gwendolyn’s purse, desperately hoping the innkeeper was an honorable man who would take pity on the girl who’d forgotten who she was.

I had promised myself I wouldn’t look back, but at the threshold I paused. “Forgive me,” I whispered. Whether my apology was for the deceit, my theft of her memory and identity, or for the storm I was about to unleash I couldn’t be sure. I only knew I needed to say it.

Then I stepped into the corridor alongside Myst, closing the door behind me on Princess Gwendolyn and on the last remnants of Lysa the handmaiden. Each step was measured asI walked away, each breath a rehearsal for the role I would now play.

The morning air bit colder as I moved through the shadows towards the awaiting royal escort, unaware of the imposter now in their midst. I drew my cloak up to cover my dark hair, but no one showed even the slightest suspicion as I climbed alone into the carriage. I was no longer just a woman shaped by grief and vengeance: I had become Princess Gwendolyn, a role I would embody until I reclaimed what was rightfully mine.

The enemy court had no idea the chaos that was about to ensue now that I was about to infiltrated the castle.

CHAPTER 7

The flag bearing the royal insignia that had haunted my nightmares since the day my life shattered fluttered arrogantly above the stone and mortar of the highest tower of the distant palace. I shifted the curtain to peer out the carriage window, my eyes traveling up the formidable fortress to the spire topped by the golden flag, visible even in the paleness of dawn. Hatred seared through me, a fierce, burning tide that reaffirmed my purpose. Though I had spent an entire decade anticipating this moment, reservation prevented me from entering the heart of the kingdom that had stolen everything from me.

Inside the plush confines of the carriage lit only by the dim glow of a single lantern, my doubts surged to the forefront of my mind as the weight of my choices pressed heavily upon me. The doubts that had begun from the moment Princess Gwendolyn sipped the memory-altering potion had only intensified as the carriage carried me farther from the inn where I’d left her and closer to the life awaiting me as her imposter.

Princess Gwendolyn’s innocent trust, unguarded smiles, and naiveté to the cunning and cruelty that often lurked beneath the surface of the world haunted me with worry, her safety andwell-being in a land not her own a tether to my conscience that tightened with each mile we crossed. Only assurance that she would receive help from the innkeeper and my firm resolve for my mission kept me to my course—but now as I stared at the grim castle, even that determination felt shaky.

To distract myself from the guilt that had no place amid my plan, I’d immersed myself in my new role as Princess Gwendolyn after leaving her behind. With each village and checkpoint we passed, I greeted guards with a strained smile and acknowledged servants with a gracious nod, mimicking her gentle tone and thoughtful pauses I had spent my time in her service memorizing. Each successful impersonation left me feeling hollow rather than the victory I had anticipated.

In a desperate attempt to ease the anxiety threatening the defenses around my heart, I reminded myself that my actions would protect the princess from the dangers of the royal alliance with Eldoria, allowing her a chance at a life unburdened by the duties of her birthright.

As the countryside blurred past, I rehearsed every detail of the princess’s life, her engagement, and the information I’d gathered about the enemy court, arming myself with knowledge for the battles that inevitably lay ahead. This was more than a masquerade; it was a necessary deception, a dance on the edge of a knife that I would perform until the end—for revenge, for justice, and for a chance to restore what was once lost for myself and for my kingdom.

It had been difficult to examine the passing scenery detailing Eldoria’s landscape from the carriage window, but I observed enough to compare its vitality to our kingdom’s gradually dying land. Most notable was the tangible force that filled the air, as thick as the oppressive humidity.

Magic.

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