Page 16 of Stolen Magic

I closed my eyes to savor the sensation bathing my skin, one I hadn’t experienced for so long I’d almost forgotten what it felt like, similar to waking up from a dream. Ever since the seal had suppressed my powers I’d been living in a desert, but here I’d finally found an oasis.

I discovered hidden pockets everywhere I looked, lying just beyond my reach, each glisten beckoning me to extract them. The Eldorian guards who accompanied me didn’t seem to notice them, confirming my suspicion that while magic was in abundance in this land, only those who possessed the ability to wield it could actually see it.

As much as I relished in it, I couldn’t fully appreciate magic’s presence while my mind was occupied with anxiety for my upcoming meeting with the royal family and subsequent impersonation. I determined to seize the first opportunity to search for the beckoning power and gather it myself.

To distract myself from the castle that grew steadily closer with every hour, I opened my satchel and withdrew the prince’s letters that I’d secretly brought with me, poring over them for clues to understand and eventually defeat the person who had written them.

I buried my fingers in Myst’s warm fur as I read, each mention of hope in building a union between our countries or growing in his relationship with the princess causing me to scoff. I skimmed over those shallow sentiments to find the pertinent details that might help me in my quest: names, places, government policies—anything that might give me the clues I needed to bring down this empire.

The moment I’d been dreading arrived in late afternoon, only a day after my usurpation, though it already seemed I’d been playing this part for weeks. My heart surged with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation as the castle’s gothic structure loomed into view, its spires piercing the sky. The magicsaturating the air thickened the closer I drew, pulsing with a power that was both alluring and terrifying, as if the castle’s very stones were imbued with a formidable energy, a stark reminder of what I was up against.

I let my gaze wander over the high walls encircling the palace, its opulence a stark contrast to Princess Gwendolyn’s modest palace; I averted my gaze before I could again see the flag that had been burned into my memory. Inside awaited the secrets I had been desperately searching for. As desperate as I was to finally uncover them, I had to play this carefully, blending into the shadows of the court until the moment came to strike.

I subconsciously traced the hidden seal on my hand, the mark pulsing as if it too recognized the proximity of powerful magic. The source of all my hatred and suffering lay within those towering walls, the precipice of vengeance that my journey had led me to. Whatever transpired would either see the royal family paying for their crimes…or my own end. Either way, I was ready to do whatever it took to reclaim the power that was rightfully mine and avenge the suffering cruelly wrought by this family.

My heart hammered with a force that threatened to undo me. With great effort I managed to steady my emotions in preparation to step into a nest of vipers cloaked in silk and jewels. As I crossed the threshold into the grand hall I was immediately struck by the dozens of flags that draped the gilded walls, each bearing a falcon in mid-strike—the Eldorian insignia that had haunted my nightmares since childhood, fluttering en masse as if mocking my pain.

I froze, a swell of anger and panic assaulting me at the sight. The gilded throne room seemed to fade as I was momentarily transported to the past I would do anything to forget—the scorching heat of the flames, the acrid smoke choking my lungs, my world rendered to ash.

“Princess Gwendolyn?”

My false identity failed to immediately penetrate the haunting recollection, incapable of acting as an anchor amid the emotion surging like a tide. I faintly became aware of a warm sensation, the pouch of magic concealed beneath my dress radiating a heat that both comforted and reminded me of the power I held…unlike the princess this court thought I was. Slowly it penetrated my stormy tumult, bringing to mind my plan that would allow me finally lay my past to rest once and for all.

The surroundings gradually came back into focus…beginning with the sea of confused stares from the watching court. All my efforts of careful preparation and I’d tainted my first impression by allowing my emotions to temporarily overcome me.

For a moment, I was overwhelmed—by the biting whispers, the suffocating grandeur, and most of all the formidable presence of the royal family. I drew in a slow breath, dragging my thoughts away from painful memories and harsh judgment of my enemies, anchoring myself in the present through the senses that comprised the throne room.

Golden light poured through towering stained-glass windows, casting jewel-toned patterns across the polished marble floor. The walls were adorned in massive tapestries depicting Eldoria’s bloody victories, each thread gleaming beneath the chandeliers’ soft glow. I forced my gaze downward, tracing the intricate designs in the marble tiles beneath my feet—anything to ground myself and quiet the storm rising within me.

The room echoed with the soft clink of armor from the guards standing at attention, the muted murmurs of courtiers, and the distant hush of a harp playing its ceremonial melody. I focused on the music’s rhythm, letting the steady melody drown out the venomous whispers and the ghosts of my past.

The scent of lilies and roses hung heavy in the air, cloying and sweet, but beneath it I caught the crisp tang of pine from the carved wooden beams above—earthy and familiar, like the forests near my childhood home. I inhaled deeply, clinging to that scent like a lifeline.

My fingertips brushed the cool marble walls as I walked, their solid, unyielding surface grounding me further. The velvet carpet cushioned my steps, rich beneath my feet. I pressed my palm briefly against the stone, drawing strength from its firmness—a reminder of my strength and resolve, as well as the crucial role I had to play.

With effort, I calmed my inner storm enough to focus. I had come this far. I would see it through.

Lifting my chin, I stepped into the opulent heart of the throne room, gliding forward with the elegance I had practiced diligently. I approached the raised dais where the King and Crown Prince of Eldoria sat in silent judgment. The third throne that had once belonged to the late queen, was now occupied by a man I could not identify, but who watched me with an uncomfortable intensity. Seeing him on the queen’s throne reminded me that the prince was motherless like me, a commonality I refused to acknowledge.

I bowed my head in a façade of respect as I sought to steady myself before lifting my eyes once more to the men who had destroyed my life and my country. My gaze first met the king’s and my heart squeezed painfully, only sheer will suppressing the silent scream threatening to escape as I finally laid eyes on the person primarily responsible for my mother’s demise.

His face was etched with deep lines, each one a remnant of ruthless decisions, bloodshed, and cruelty that marred his reign. His sharp, calculating gaze swept over me with chilling precision. For a breath, I feared he saw past my guise to the truth; I resisted the instinct to hide my scarred hand behind myback, as though he could see the mark. It took great effort to suppress my shudder and maintain my composed poise—back straight, expression serene, a princess to the last.

I shifted my focus and finally met the gaze of the man whose life I intended to manipulate for the sake of my revenge. Crown Prince Callan initially appeared nothing like his father—his features were softer and his eyes unexpectedly warm, laced with a sincerity that both unsettled and intrigued me. Either the princess had been right that he was different than the king…or he was a far more skilled opponent, seeking to disarm his future wife with a convincing act of kindness.

I searched his face for any trace of the cruelty that marred the king’s expression…but found none. Instead, the prince regarded me with quiet curiosity and a surprising openness that momentarily disarmed me. Then, his expression shifted—but not in the way I had braced for. There was no smugness, no hidden malice lurking beneath a courtly mask of politeness—only a brow furrowed in concern.

Something in his expression made my breath catch. I hadn’t expected him to look at me with gentleness; it didn’t fit the role I had cast him in. It unsettled me more than open hostility would have…which had likely been his plan. A whisper of doubt coiled through me, unwelcome and persistent.

I hastily suppressed it before it could take root. I couldn’t afford to falter. I reminded myself of who he was—the son of a tyrant and murderer, heir to a kingdom built on stolen lives and bloodshed. Whatever warmth I thought I saw had to be an illusion; no matter how sincere he seemed, he was still the crown prince of Eldoria…and I was here to dismantle everything he stood to inherit.

“Princess Gwendolyn?”

This time I possessed enough presence of mind to notice his confusion that had been lost to me when gripped by mymemories. A curse burned my lips. In my distraction, I’d completely forgotten the most essential element of my plan—though Prince Callan had only met the princess once, my black hair and violet eyes made it apparent I was not the same golden hair, blue-eyed beauty he knew as his fiancée.

Beneath the scrutiny of the numerous onlookers, I clasped the pouch of magic hidden beneath my gown, fighting to conceal my tremor as I readied myself to cast the spell. With a discreet breath and the last of my precious magic reserves, I quietly murmured the incantation for the second memory spell I had prepared, designed to alter the prince’s recollection of his one brief meeting with the true Princess Gwendolyn by replacing her image with mine.

Thankfully, I only needed to tamper with one memory—my limited magic wouldn’t allow for more. Because my magic could only influence those present, I sent up a silent petition that I had correctly assumed that the prince and attending courtiers were the only ones the princess had met. The whispered enchantment was masked by the ambient murmur of the court and the faint melody drifting from the musicians. As the spell began to weave through the air, a sharp pain lanced up my arm from the cursed seal on my hand—a brutal reminder of the barrier that choked my power, forged by those whose memory I now dared to manipulate.

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