Page 31 of Stolen Magic

He didn’t say anything, but lingered just behind me. His presence pulsed at my back as I laid out the ingredients for a new concoction: blue poppy seeds, crushed valerian root, and a trace of moon-berry rind. Despite the way my heart pounded, I laid out each ingredient with steady hands.

Callan’s arms folded across his chest as he curiously surveyed the ingredients. “That looks more advanced than a simple remedy for your handmaiden.”

“It’s a restorative blend,” I said. “I’ve noticed the maid who cleans my room suffers from asthma.” If I was going to take the time to heal my handmaiden, I might as well be thorough and create concoctions for my entire small staff.

He arched a brow. “And you possess the skill to brew something so advanced? I didn’t realize your knowledge of herbcraft ran so deep.”

I blinked at him, sharing in his surprise. “Nor did I realize you possessed enough knowledge of herbology to be able to tell the difference in skill level.”

His cheeks pinked but his steady gaze remained expectant for my response. I sighed. “I had a short apprenticeship to a skilled apothecary.”

I didn’t elaborate. The princess I was impersonating likely wasn’t connected to someone with such skills, and I wasn’t ready to speak of my mother, even if part of me ached to tell him about her.

The prince leaned against the edge of the counter, closer than my pounding heart could bear. “Impressive. You could rival our royal apothecaries.”

A strange thrill fluttered in my chest at the unexpected compliment, girlish and dangerous. I tried to focus on the methodical motion of grinding valerian root, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on each movement, attention that made my fingers falter. I couldn’t afford a mistake and risk subjecting another innocent victim to a fate similar to the princess’s; I could bear the weight of yet another crime on my black conscience.

“Has your opinion of me changed now that you’ve discovered my secret hobby?” The question emerged without subconscious thought, the secret part of me that valued his good opinion, despite everything.

He shook his head. “If anything, I find you more interesting.”

My hand jolted, nearly spilling too many poppy seeds into my concoction. I glanced sideways, expecting a teasing smirk, but he appeared sincere, watching me me like he’d never seen anyone more fascinating. It wasn’t the gaze of a prince bound by duty and politics, but something far more dangerous, considering his admiration was directed not at the princess I impersonated, but the villain masquerading as her.

I forced a laugh. “You think a princess dabbling in herbalism is interesting rather than peculiar?”

“I first noticed your intelligence during our correspondence,” he said, his tone too genuine to be pretending for the sake of contract. “Then again during our discussion in the library. This only confirms how capable you are, made more so because a princess has no need to learn this unique skillset to impress anyone, but for the sake of helping others. How can I not admire such dedication?”

The compliment touched me more deeply than I wanted to admit, such a contrast to the hardened image I often portrayed. He couldn’t have known how often I’d given remedies away in secret to villagers who couldn’t pay, a simple kindness that had been one of the only ways that made me ensure I hadn’t entirely lost myself. Somehow he had seen past the pain I hid behind to the person I’d buried beneath.

As much as I wanted to bask in his soft admiration and believe even for a moment I could deserve it, I turned back to the mortar. I couldn’t let him look at me like that—revenge was already difficult; tenderness would ruin me completely.

I returned to stirring the base of the mixture, trying to ignore my fingers still trembling from his nearness. “It only seems fair that I learn something about you in return. If you weren’t a prince, what would be your greatest aspirations?” I meant for the question to distract or possibly give me some insights I could use for my purposes, but I found myself annoyingly invested in his response.

He blinked, and for once seemed to struggle for an answer. “No one’s ever asked me that,” he said at last.

I glanced up. “And the curious inquiry from your fiancée doesn’t count?” The teasing quip emerged before I could stop it, far more familiar than I could allow. But the slip up was worth the risk when I was rewarded with a smile that penetrated the mask he wore in court, revealing something quieter and real.

His gaze drifted to the window, where early spring sunlight filtered through the ivy curling along the stone sill. “A cartographer. When I was a boy, I used to take scraps of parchment and sketch everything I could see from the palace windows—trees, mountains, rooflines. I used to dream of tracing the entire kingdom with ink and observation, or one day seeing the unknown that lay beyond what I knew.”

There was a softness to his voice, a faraway look in his eyes. The corner of his mouth lifted in a way that made my chest ache.

“That surprises me,” I admitted. “I assumed you’d have aspired to be a soldier or general, something noble and dutiful.” Not because those roles fit the image I was beginning to construct of Prince Callan, but rather the expectations I was certain his father aspired for him.

“I’ve had enough duty for one lifetime, with still more to come…though at least this arrangement no longer feels like one.”

My breath caught at the innocent flirtation. I busied myself with pouring hot water from the steaming kettle into the clay bowl, grateful for the distraction. I tried to ignore his proximity as he leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes still distant.

“Mapping the land makes me feel free, allowing me to discover the true Eldoria for myself beyond what my father taught me, allowing me to see my subjects I will one day rule as they really are so I better know how to help right the wrongs I inherit along with the crown.”

His tone carried a quiet defiance—a glimpse of the convictions he didn’t dare voice in the presence of his father’s dark reign. This hidden strength disarmed me, awakening quiet admiration for this man who longed to forge his own path rather than follow the one laid before him by blood and crown.

“It takes great strength to rise above the circumstances that shaped you. I know firsthand how difficult that is.” The words shared more of my heart than I meant to reveal. My admiration for him was growing—deeper than I could ever put into words.

Gratitude shone in his eyes. For a moment we sat in the hush between us, emotions too reverent to voice aloud. Eventually his voice gently pulled me away from the confusion tangling around my heart back to the present.

“I can’t convey how much your words mean to me. Thank you, Gwen.” He studied me with that same open sincerity. “What about you? Who do you want to be outside your own royal role?”

The truth almost slipped out:freedom. A life where Mother was alive, my magic was restored, and I didn’t carry the burden of vengeance, but instead lived free from hatred and a mask that hid my true self.

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