Page 18 of Stolen Magic

To hide my panic, I lowered into a practiced curtsy, every smooth movement imbued with grace despite my consuming storm. I dropped my gaze, both in a show of respect and to keep my hatred from showing. “It is an honor to finally stand before you, Your Majesty.”

His fingers drummed the gilded armrest of his throne and his eyes narrowed. “We are pleased to welcome you to Eldoria, Princess Gwendolyn. We trust that you left your family in good health?” The words were edged like a blade.

It took concentrated effort for me to keep my voice measured. “My parents send their greetings and wished me to convey their delight at the joining of our kingdoms.” I subconsciously leaned slightly towards the prince as I spoke of the upcoming wedding.

The corner of Prince Callan’s mouth lifted slightly as he glanced at me, but my focus remained on the king. His cold gaze lingered, if searching for weakness or hesitation. I offered him neither.

“We are glad to hear it,” he finally said. “You will find that Eldoria rewards loyalty and poise. I expect you will bring both into our halls.”

The words felt carefully chosen, laced with expectation and veiled threat. A test. I offered a shallow bow of my head. “Of course, Your Majesty. I intend to serve Eldoria with all the grace and devotion my station requires.”

The lie passed from my lips like silk—deceptively smooth, yet concealing the blade beneath. Inside, I still burned. He had no idea how narrowly he’d escaped standing before not a princess,nor even a witch…but rage and vengeance wrapped in borrowed skin.

CHAPTER 8

Ifelt a rush of relief when His Majesty dismissed us with a lazy wave of his hand and I was able to finally escape his formidable presence. The court’s scrutiny trailed behind us like a tapestry of intrigue and flattery I was glad to finally leave behind. Prince Callan seemed oblivious to it as he led me away, his attention fixed on me, as if determined to do everything in his power to make me feel welcome.

The gilded corridors were lavishly adorned, each surface ostentatiously boasting Eldoria’s excessive wealth—a stark contrast to the crumbling elegance of Princess Gwendolyn’s dilapidated palace. The ornate décor blended into a sea of glamor, gold, and jewel tones as we walked…until a familiar scent caught me off guard.

Violets.

I stopped short, breath catching. Their sweet perfume drifted from a vase perched on a nearby pedestal, tugging at a memory buried deep. Clusters of those delicate purple blooms had once filled our garden. Mother used to gather them, tucking them into vases to brighten our home.

Their nostalgic scent curled around me, as though it had traveled across a decade to find me—carrying with it the acheof happier days long since past. For a moment, I found myself swept back in time. I wanted to linger in the warmth of that memory and savor its enveloping tenderness…but the present pressed in.

I blinked, chasing away the wisps of emotion clinging like mist. I looked up and found Prince Callan watching me. A flush crept into my cheeks. His gaze wasn’t prying, only curious, but it felt too intimate—like he’d caught a glimpse of a private moment of vulnerability I hadn’t meant to reveal, especially not to him.

He said nothing in response to my inquiring look, simply bestowed one of the smiles already becoming commonplace between us and resumed his escort to a private sitting room, where he eased me into a settee and settled beside me, close but with enough distance to maintain protocol.

When he’d assured himself I was properly settled, he arranged for tea and refreshments. “I’ve asked them to bring chai, your favorite.”

He seemed proud to have remembered this obscure preference about his supposed fiancée. I bit my lip to suppress a sigh. In truth my favorite tea was chamomile—specifically a blend brewed from the herbs Mother had grown herself—a simple, homey flavor rather than the lavish ones found in the royal court.

The scent of cinnamon and cloves rose with the steam that tickled my cheeks with warmth, this time invoking recollection of all the times I’d served this tea to the princess. Despite my efforts to suppress it, worry wrenched my heart as I wondered what might have transpired since I’d abandoned her in the inn without knowledge of who she was.

This flavor was the last tea I wanted to drink when every sip would force me to remember each moment of her kindness that had no place in my hardened heart, but I couldn’t reject the prince’s gesture on my behalf. I pursed my lips and took a hastysip; it scalded my throat so that I scarcely tasted it, and the burn felt like a deserved punishment for my crimes.

We drank in strained silence. Prince Callan kept alternating between stealing furtive sidelong glances at me and scanning the room, as though searching for a conversation topic. I’d expected at least some of his polished performance to falter now that we were alone. I hadn’t been impersonating the princess for long, and already I felt the weight of the charade pressing down on me.

He broke the silence abruptly. “We’ve prepared a feast in your honor tonight, but if you’re weary and would prefer to rest, that can be arranged.” He stared at me anxiously, waiting for my answer.

In truth I wanted nothing more to accept the generous offer—but I’d witnessed Princess Gwendolyn’s tireless adherence to duty firsthand. Declining to attend would contradict the image I was meant to portray…not to mention appearing socially engaged would help preserve my cover. The king’s comment about loyalty and poise drifted through my mind; I knew his expectations were high and specific, and he would likely view absence from my welcome feast as a sign of disloyalty.

Still, part of me hesitated. It would be far easier to observe my fiancé and obtain information about his true character and the Eldorian court without an audience, nor was I ready to return to the king’s presence. Just the thought of it made my chest tighten and my breath shallow.

I didn’t realize I was shaking until Prince Callan laid his hand over mine, a touch so tender it felt like fire. I flinched before I could suppress the reaction. He pulled away immediately, expression apologetic. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—you just seemed distressed, so I thought…”

His voice trailed off as he lowered his gaze to his lap, another blush tinging his handsome profile. I silently cursed myself. Another slip, too soon after the last to go unnoticed.

But instead of suspicion, his expression only softened, appearing genuinely remorseful. “Forgive me, it’s undoubtedly too soon for such familiarity. You seemed nervous, and I wanted to help. I know this transition must be daunting. If there’s anything you need—or if it ever feels like too much—please don’t hesitate to let me know. Your comfort is my priority.”

I weighed each word, searching for the strategy beneath his kindness. But I could find nothing sharp in his tone, no calculated edge. His concern seemed sincere…which in itself felt like a strategy, a well-crafted veneer meant to disarm. Ithadto be. I reminded myself to stay guarded.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” I finally offered. “You’ve always shown me great consideration, beginning from our letters. I found our correspondence most engaging and have been hoping to resume our conversation where we left off.”

I studied his reaction carefully for any hint of the cunning man I was certain had hidden behind every carefully crafted word he penned. At the mention of our correspondence, I detected the first falter in his eager expression—his mouth turned down slightly, and I latched onto this change like a witch finding a rare ingredient, my first real evidence that he wasn’t what he seemed.

“Is there a reason you don’t wish to continue the topic we first addressed in our letters?” I asked. Spoken conversation left far less room to hide information than written words.

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