Page 22 of Stolen Magic

In that moment his gaze hadn’t been appraising or possessive—just a simple, sincere offer of friendship, one I could never accept.

In many ways, he had been exactly as I’d imagined from his letters—yet his warmth and accommodating nature were farmore convincing than my cynical expectation had prepared for, making me fleetingly wonder if it wasn’t an act at all.

I shook my head sharply. No crown prince of Eldoria could be untouched by the rot that built their empire, nor could a few gentle words ever make me forget what his family had stolen from me all those years ago.

“You’re thinking about him.”

I looked up sharply. Myst sat perched on the edge of the windowsill, tail flicking, her moon-silver eyes narrowed with accusation.

“I’m thinking about the mission,” I said flatly. This claim held some truth, but unfortunately I couldn’t conceal the deceitful parts from my familiar.

“You’re thinking abouthim,” she repeated, the accusation softer this time. “You’re wondering if his kindness means something…and whether tonight’s interaction could have been real.”

It wasn’t until she’d peered into my mind to examine the rebellious thoughts and unwanted feelings I didn’t dare analyze myself that I realized she was right. Horror eclipsed my previous confusion, making it impossible to continue hiding from my dangerous, sentimental hopes.

“Princes are trained to charm, to seduce loyalty,” I said. “His actions are nothing more than a strategy meant to disarm me.”

“Appears to be working,” Myst murmured with a sharp flick of her tail.

I ached to deny it, but whatever deceptions I wove for the Eldorian court, the magical connection I shared with my familiar allowed her to see through any façade I might attempt. Though I couldn’t change my faltering moment of wayward rebellion, the least I could offer was a single promise as I ran my fingertips over my seal. “I won’t let it.”

Her gaze held mine, feline and unblinking. “No matter how much you try to convince yourself, the truth remains that you let it work tonight.”

Her observation stripped me of any defense I might have offered. The rawness in my throat threatened to crack my voice as I repeated my vow. “I won’t let it.” Icouldn’t.

To steady my resolve, a memory surfaced, unbidden and sharp: a quiet night from my lost childhood. I sat beside Mother near the hearth as she lovingly wove strands of moonleaf into my hair—the same flower Prince Callan had shown me during our stroll in the garden. That tender moment and all the ones we might have shared had been stolen by Eldoria.

My grip tightened on the edge of the basin, knuckles whitening as I fought for breath.Remember what they took. I was here for vengeance, for justice for my stolen birthright, for the mother whose cold body I had discovered among the wreckage of our garden, and especially for the others who suffered after the magic had been depleted from our land.

Will.Fire.Purpose. Each word laid another brick in the walls around my heart that I was determined would stay in place this time. I turned a hard glare on the prince’s pendant. What I had briefly considered beautiful now felt like a mockery of my pain. I flipped it over so I wouldn’t have to look at it and clenched my fists, my fingertips scraping over the rough edges of my seal. A single sweet gesture did not earn forgiveness—nor would it ever soften the fury burning inside me.

I was a witch disguised as a princess, and my resolve would not waver.

That night,sleep proved elusive, my mind too occupied with fortifying my defenses for the days ahead. By morning, the resulting exhaustion seemed a small price to pay for the armor I had forged—not of steel or spellwork, but newfound determination for sharpened distance, crisp politeness, and a carefully rehearsed script designed to protect me from the prince’s charming façade.

I practiced my lines as I put the finishing touches on my wardrobe, avoiding my reflection in the mirror as I tied the wooden pendant around my neck. But my resolve faltered the moment I opened the door and nearly collided with Prince Callan, standing just outside, hands tucked behind his back and his characteristic blush coloring his cheeks. “Good morning, Gwen.”

I hadn’t expected to see him again so soon—and I was wholly unprepared for the bright, boyish smile that lit his face, disarming the determination I’d blazed from my room wielding.

I offered a practiced curtsy and a smile that felt strained beneath my fluster. “Good morning, Your Highness.”

“You can drop the formalities.” Even amid his nervous display his tone remained gentle.

I hesitated. “Very well…Callan.” I hated the way his name sounded without the title—the absence of it stripping away the much-needed buffer that reminded me of his place on the enemy throne.

His smile widened at my use of his name, and for the first time I noticed the dimple in his cheek—an unexpectedly adorable chink in the iron-clad image I’d long envisioned about the prince—cold, calculating, a reflection of his tyrant father.

The sight caught me off guard, muddling the script I’d so carefully prepared for our next encounter. Likely something about politics, or stolen magic, or perhaps even a bit of well-rehearsed flirtation meant to lower his guard. All of it vanished, leaving only the silence stretching awkwardly between us.

From the corner of my eye, I could feel Myst’s unblinking stare. If enchanted cats could smirk, she would be fully justified for mocking such a pitiful display. I cast her a helpless glance, but she merely tilted her head at a taunting angle, radiating feline judgment before deliberately turning her back and beginning to leisurely wash a paw.

If you can’t handle a single conversation, her silence seemed to say,then your plan has failed before it’s even begun.

I steeled myself and glanced at the prince. He stood awkwardly, staring at his feet, the tips of his ears red and his hands still hidden behind his back. The strange posture piqued my curiosity. “What are you holding?”

After a moment’s fidgeting, he peeked shyly up at me and revealed a bouquet of violets. My breath caught. For a heartbeat I couldn’t speak—caught in a spell spun by the familiar scent of the delicate purple blooms.

My movements were hypnotic as I accepted them. The petals brushed my cheeks as I bent to inhale their sweet fragrance, each breath stirring long-buried memories of a world that no longer existed. I lifted my gaze to him, hoping he would understand the unspoken question there.

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