Page 35 of Stolen Magic

Princess Gwendolyn stepped back, seeming torn between confrontation and retreat, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Silence pressed between us, thick and suffocating as I awaited my judgment.

Behind me, the soft rustle of grass broke the heavy tension, the familiar whispering patter of paws.

Myst emerged from the nearby brush, her silver-tipped fur gleaming in the light, her voice low and urgent. “Someone’s coming.”

My heart lurched as I turned, but it was too late. There, at the edge of the meadow, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, stood Prince Callan. His gaze wasn’t fixed not on me…but on the princess.

She might not currently remember him…but ifherememberedher, then it would all be over.

CHAPTER 13

For a horrific moment time stood still as Prince Callan looked back and forth between us, his attention lingering on the goose girl who, unbeknownst to him, was the fiancée he had met once before.

Inexplicable panic seized me as I waited with bated breath for the spark of clarity in his gaze, for the moment he would say her name and realize that the girl who had first smiled at him across banquet tables and walked beside him through the palace gardens wasn’t the one he currently courted…but instead the one he had first been promised, causing his altered memory to unravel, just as Gwen’s had.

I felt sickened by the thought, feelings that extended beyond my initial purpose in infiltrating the palace. Somehow in only a few short days of quiet conversations, almost-smiles, and tender looks, my hunger for revenge had become tangled with something warmer and softer that I hadn’t meant to let bloom.

Despite my repeated reminders that my enemy’s kindness was nothing more than a weapon in disguise, seeing Prince Callan so close to the revelation of my deception filled me with fear for my plan for reasons that had nothing to do with my desires to reclaim my magic.

I didn’t want to be discovered, not like this. I should have only been afraid of losing my chance to reclaim my power and the stolen crown I was inching towards with every breath; only now did I realize that something unexpected and far more dangerous had taken root: the fear of losinghim.

At first the prince’s expression remained blank, almost confused. Slowly the dawn of familiarity settled across his furrowed expression—not recognition, but the flicker of it, like grasping at a half-remembered echo of a dream you can’t quite place, but know you’ve had before.

A shadow of uncertainty crossed his face as his gaze shifted to me; I could almost see him grappling with his forgotten memory. I fought to keep my expression composed, though my heart pounded so fiercely I was sure he could hear it.

I’d been so focused on him I hadn’t given any thought to the princess, standing frozen by the stream. Whatever cloud had once dulled her gaze had vanished the moment she noticed the prince, subtle but unmistakable, like a veil lifting.

The silence between us stretched, heavy with unspoken truths and the weight of too many fractured memories teetering on the brink of recognition. Her brow furrowed as the remaining remnants of the memory charm weakened, causing the fog engulfing her mind to thin just enough to recognize the man she’d been promised to.

The fading sunlight cast a soft sheen across the meadow, bathing Princess Gwendolyn in gold as she took an uncertain step forward, her eyes fixed on Prince Callan. “I know you,” she said, her voice quiet but sure, like someone trying to reach a suppressed memory. “Do you recognize me?”

Silence followed, taut and brittle, the pounding in my chest drowning out everything else. Every inch of me was frozen as I watched him, bracing for the moment recognition would destroy the fragile lie I’d constructed. I could feel the truth closing infrom both sides—his doubt, her rising clarity—the weight of everything I’d done tilting towards collapse beneath us. If either of them remembered too much, too soon…it would all be over.

Prince Callan hesitated before finally shaking his head. “Forgive me, but there are too many servants for me to remember them all.”

Strange, inexplicable relief surged through me deeper than a simple reprieve that allowed me to continue my plot—as weak as my magic had been when I’d cast the memory charm, for now it still held.

But his single denial wasn’t enough to dissuade Princess Gwendolyn. “Youdoknow me,” she declared, voice trembling but insistent. “Don’t you?”

Rather than another immediate denial, this time he hesitated. His brow furrowed as he studied her, too long and too intently for someone who claimed no familiarity. His head tilted slightly, gaze narrowing, as if something about her tugged at a memory just beneath the surface.

Princess Gwendolyn advanced another step. “I know it sounds strange, but even if I don’t quite remember everything, I know we share a connection. You gave me a pressed flower.”

Prince Callan’s brow furrowed. “A flower…”

My heart clenched as I noticed the subtle flicker in his expression, the beginnings of a memory that, thanks to my spell, should have been sealed away.

She nodded, eyes shining. “You said it reminded you of me. I don’t remember all the details from our conversation, only that you apologized…I think for the circumstances of our meeting, and that you hoped we could at least be friends.”

His eyes widened at this vague reference and my breath caught. I hadn’t heard the princess mention anything about a pressed flower, but I had a sinking feeling that it was an accuratedetail I hadn’t planned for, one which was now proving to be my undoing.

“It wasn’t just the flower,” she continued, more urgently. “You also gave me a pendant shaped like a heart.” Her hand lifted instinctively to her throat where it had once rested, but her fingers closed on empty air. She frowned. “It’s gone now, but I’m certain it was real.”

Without thinking, my hand flew to my own neck to the very pendant he’d givenherthat I now wore, as if the futile gesture could shield it.

Prince Callan’s gaze followed the motion. For a breath, the truth nearly reached him…but then, like a wavering flame snuffed by unseen wind, the recognition faded. Confusion once more dimmed whatever clarity had nearly emerged.

“I…I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I don’t know you. You must be mistaking me for someone else.” But his voice was no longer sure—uncertainty tainted his voice, a tremor of doubt, as if he didn’t quite believe his own claim.

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