Page 39 of Stolen Magic

“Of course not; I have no reason to be concerned,” she replied, too quickly. “It doesn’t matter; it was just a dream.” Despite her insistence, she looked like a storm barely holding itself together.

I didn’t press, but her words only deepened the puzzlement that had been persistently gnawing at me. Though her murmured distress in sleep had only offered a fragmented glimpse, it was enough to know her nightmare had involved her mother being in danger. Yet I didn’t have to review the royalgenealogy to know the queen of her kingdom was alive and well, with no rumors of remarriage or tragedy.

Perhaps she was more ill than I thought, trapped in the delirium from her nightmare. I rested the back of my hand against her forehead to check for a fever and drew a taut breath; she was burning up. Hastily dampening a cloth in the nearby wash basin, I began to sponge her clammy face. If she had been more coherent, I suspected her pride might have protested the gesture, but she didn’t resist my nursing, simply watching me with furrowed brows.

“Why are you so nice to me?” she asked suddenly.

I paused, caught off guard by the unexpected question, but before I could even attempt to respond, she interrupted me with sigh, heavier than the last.

“Regardless of the reason, each thoughtful gesture only reaffirms that I don’t deserve you.”

My heart ached. I knew that feeling all too well, having grown up with a father who had taught me that love was conditional, something to be earned through power or performance. Though I’d unfortunately been born with the expectation to uphold this mantle, that was the last thing I ever wanted my future wife to experience.

“Of course you do,” I insisted. “You’re my fiancée, and though I’m still getting to know you, I’ve long caught glimpses of your kind heart through letters and our brief visits.”

Instead of reassuring her, for some reason the words made her flinch. “A title alone doesn’t make me worthy.” Her voice was quiet now, almost a whisper. “Everything would be so much easier if this was a lie…but you seem too kind not to mean it. And no matter how much I don’t deserve it, Iwantit to be real.”

She reached up, her fingers weakly curling over mine where I still rested my hand against her cheek. At first I thought shemeant to push me away, but when I began to withdraw, she pressed into my touch, holding me there.

For a single breath, our gazes locked. Her expression, usually so carefully guarded, had opened just enough to let me glimpse a part of her she’d never yet shared—the smallest portion of her heart to finally let me in. In that wordless conversation something shifted between us—a deeper connection than any we’d experienced during our courtship, nourishing a fragile hope I’d kept hidden in my heart that I couldn’t help but protect, even against Father’s orders.

“I don’t deserve someone as kind and honorable as you.” Distress wrenched her voice. None of her usual fire filled her gaze, just quiet anguish.

In that moment I felt the first stirrings of affection…not romance but a simpler, more profound care for her well-being, the first foundation in an arrangement that had begun as a political contract. I yearned to build upon this—to become more than pawns or even allies, but friends…and eventually something more.

Now wasn’t the time to unravel whatever sadness had become entangled in the lingering tendrils from her nightmare. “You don’t need to do anything to deserve love,” I told her gently. “Right now, you should rest.”

I helped ease her back onto the pillows. She accepted my support, albeit reluctantly. She lay still for only a few seconds before she pushed upright again, her movements sharp, almost frantic.

“No, I need to find something.” Her voice trembled, feverish and unfocused.

“I can retrieve anything that you need,” I offered. “But you should stay in bed.”

She shook her head. “No, I have to be the one…” her voice trailed off, catching as her awareness caught up with her words.

“What are you looking for?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her expression remained unreadable, but her hands clenched the sheets. “Something I misplaced,” she said at last. “It’s important.”

I frowned. “If you don’t want me to leave, then I’ll send a servant?—”

“No.” Her tone sharpened. She winced, then repeated more softly, “No. Thank you for your concern, but I need to do it myself.”

Tension filled her posture, a restless urgency just beneath the surface. Her gaze shifted towards the shadowed corners of the room—as if tracking something invisible. She wasn’t searching for something lost—she seemed to be chasing something hidden, something I couldn’t see.

“What are you looking for, Gwen?” I asked quietly.

Her eyes darted to me. Panic and guilt flickered her face before vanishing behind her usual mask, the veil she’d finally begun to drop and that I’d hoped would be set aside permanently.

“Something that belongs to me,” she whispered.

Once more she attempted to stand, swaying slightly. Instinctively, I rose with her, ready to catch her. She hadn’t taken more than a step when a knock sounded at the door. I turned, bristling at the unwanted interruption.

The door creaked open and a page stepped into the dim light, bowing low. “Your Highness, the king requests your presence in the council chamber. Immediately.”

I clenched my jaw. “Now?”

The page hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to my fiancée’s pale and unsteady form. “Yes, Your Highness. He said it was order.”

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