Page 24 of Stolen Magic

Obligation. The word tasted bitter on my tongue, condemning. Whether he truly yearned for such a relationship, such a sentiment was impossible while I wove lies between every breath. Even if he was as kind and honorable as the façade he portrayed, we could never have a true relationship, considering I was not the princess he thought he was wooing.

“I want the same thing too,” I said. Another lie.

This seemed to be the answer he had been hoping for. He stared into my eyes, searching for something he seemed desperate to find. Reflected in his was a surprising flicker of vulnerability that mirrored my own. For a single, fragile moment, it felt as though the charade between us had vanished, leaving something real—raw and unguarded, shared between two people who had no business sharing anything at all.

He released a breath, as if relieved. “I’m so glad. With that in mind, I hoped we could spend more time together. I don’t want to wait until after we’re married to truly get to know you.”

I bit the inside of my lip to suppress a sigh. I couldn’t afford to waste time charming the prince—not when every moment risked exposing my deception. I didn’t know how long my ruse would hold, or how soon suspicion might creep in. Every second spent playing the princess was a second stolen from what truly mattered: reclaiming my lost magic. It wasan incredibly dangerous game of balance—moving cautiously to avoid suspicion, while in a frantic race against the clock as we approached the yet-unknown moment when my disguise would tumble apart.

I was certain my magic resided somewhere within the palace, sealed away, waiting for me. Though I couldn’t see it, I couldfeelit—subtle as the hush before a storm, as familiar as the scent of spring carried on a restless breeze. It stirred faintly through the corridors, brushing against my skin like a half-remembered touch, tugging at something deep inside me. The closer I drew to it, the more it shimmered at the edges of my senses, like a forgotten melody just out of reach.

It was maddening to be so close yet so powerless to seize it, but I couldn’t give up and abandon my role. Not yet. To keep suspicion at bay, I had to play the part of the devoted bride-to-be, smiling at the prince, dancing through court functions, and whispering soft endearments I barely understood after years of anger and loneliness. If I slipped even once, the entire charade could unravel. I was bound to this performance of courtship, no matter how it grated against every instinct urging me to escape.

Myst, ever attuned to the silent yearning I dared not voice, brushed against my leg and met my gaze with a knowing look. Without a sound, she slipped out of my chambers and away into the shadows, disappearing with the quiet confidence of one who had conducted this search many times before. She would do what I could not: follow the faint threads of my stolen magic through the forbidden corners of the palace, slipping through cracks and whispers where I could not venture without drawing questions. While I stayed behind, locked in a dance of lies and courtly smiles, Myst would hunt.

While the prince waited respectfully in my doorway, I stepped inside to fill the pitcher with water and set it on a low table next to the comfortable chair that was becomingmy favorite place to think. With a forced smile I accepted the prince’s offered arm, clutching the pendant he had given me as if it might somehow anchor me through the exhausting performance ahead. He guided me through the glittering corridors towards the private dining room for our breakfast.

This dining room was smaller than the grand halls but no less opulent, an intimate prison wrapped in gold. A round table set for two glittered beneath the soft golden light of a crystal chandelier. Prince Callan helped me into my chair with an awkward, earnest gallantry that scraped against my already fraying nerves. I sat stiffly, willing my heart to slow.

The meal arrived in courses—fresh fruits, sweet pastries, delicate cuts of meat—but like the night before I barely tasted a morsel. Every bite was an effort, every sip of tea a battle to control my trembling hands. We ate in blessed silence for a time before Prince Callan summoned enough courage to speak.

“I hope the gardens brought you some comfort last night.” Though his voice wavered—evidence of his own nerves—he spoke gently.

I forced another thin smile “They were...pleasant.” Even though the emotional turmoil and Myst’s unwelcome insights that resulted had been anything but; the falseness of the claim scraped against my throat.

He didn’t press me to expand upon my meager answer. He continued speaking easily from his place across the table, trying to draw me into conversation with gentle, open-ended questions with a patience that was beginning to overwhelm me—harmless topics meant to set me at ease, yet each one wore at the fragile shield I was desperately trying to hold in place.

I offered vague answers, forced smiles, and laughed when required…but my mind wandered, instead fixed on Myst and the magic hidden somewhere within the palace walls. I kept one ear trained on his conversation, the other attuned to the fainttremor of my stolen power that filled the air, searching every nook and cranny in the elegant surroundings for where it might be tucked away.

By the time the final plate was cleared, I’d grown exhausted from the effort of maintaining the illusion. Urgency pulsed through me like a second heartbeat, tempting me to abandon our shallow conversation when my magic was so close, merely a search away.

When I stumbled over an answer, offering a bland reply, my inattention grew too much for even his patience. “Gwen?”

The name yanked my attention back to him. I startled, realizing too late that once again I’d missed whatever question he’d just asked. I silently cursed, willing my frustration not to show on my face. Though I understood how imperative remaining in his good graces was for my mission, my lost magic’s pull on my attention was too seductive to entirely ignore.

“Forgive me, could you please repeat that?” I winced. No polite phrasing could hide the truth: I hadn’t been listening. I scrambled to recover the thread of the conversation I’d dropped minutes ago, but it was gone.

When my silence extended too long, an unfamiliar emotion flickered across his face—something sharper than the quiet warmth he’d exhibited before. He masked it quickly, but not before I saw it. To my surprise, I was filled with the last emotion I ever expected to feel towards an Eldorian royal: guilt.

“I’m sorry.” Layers of meaning filled the apology beyond simply ignoring him, evidence of my remorse for my cold reception of his continued kindness that despite my earnest efforts my conscience couldn’t fully suppress.

“It’s alright.” But though he’d accepted my apology, this time the words sounded hollow and halfhearted, offered out of habit rather than sincerity. His gaze lingered, studying me as if his perusal could uncover the real reason for my distraction.

“You seem tired. Did you not sleep well?”

Though his tone had gentled, I detected a quiet desperation beneath his concern, as if he hoped my inattention was the result of fatigue rather than disinterest. Gratefully I latched onto the excuse.

“I’m afraid I didn’t,” I replied smoothly, touching my temple as though a weary headache pulsed. “With all the sudden changes, it was a long night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I couldn’t sleep much either. My mind kept returning to yesterday—our reunion, the evening we spent together…and the future to come.”

He resumed speaking, picking up the thread of conversation I’d dropped during my lapse in attention. But something had shifted—his earlier ease had disappeared, his words polite but practiced, distant. His expression—once so soft and open, had grown careful and measured, guarded behind a princely façade, as if his heart was no longer in our interaction.

The contrast was jarring. I stared at him, momentarily stunned into forgetting the magic I sought. All this time, I had convinced myselfhehad been performing—matching my own falsehoods with a courtly charade of his own. Butthispolite stiffness felt like the act. If that was true…then all those earlier moments—his tender words, his thoughtful questions, the warm sincerity in his eyes—hadn’t been a performance at all, butreal.

The realization struck harder than anything I’d prepared for. Though I had stolen a crown and deceived an entire court, nothing had prepared me for the possibility that Prince Callan wasn’t playing the same game I was…which meant I was the only one wearing a mask.

My once ironclad resolve faltered beneath this unsettling possibility that shook me more than the weight of any of my crimes. I had built my entire plan on the assumption that my enemy was an equal participant in my deceit, a skilled opponentthat I looked forward to defeating. But if that foundation crumbled...so did the justification I had clung to like armor, making everything far more complicated than it already was.

---