Page 58 of Stolen Magic

Gwen took a step towards me, as though concerned what magic I was about to cast on her fiancé. “Lysa?”

Callan turned to me, puzzled. “Lysa?”

I swallowed, momentarily unable to speak as I stared into his dear face, wishing more than anything to keep what had formed between us.

“Yes,” I finally whispered. “My name is Lysa.” Though he wouldn’t remember it anymore than he remembered me, I was grateful to share this piece of my true identity with him at last.

“Lysa,” Callan said again, still not comprehending, but clearly sensing my distress as he drew close. My heart ached to hear him finally say my real name, pain that only grew when he slowly reached out to brush his fingers against my cheek, a gesture so gentle it nearly undid me completely. With a wavering breath, I whispered the incantation.

Magic flared—not with spectacle, but with quiet finality. A soft golden shimmer, like the last light before dusk, spiraled towards him. Callan stiffened as the spell took hold. His eyes glazed, unfocused, as the memory of all we’d built began to unravel—every look, every word, every step towards something real, slipping from his mind like a dream forgotten at dawn.

I watched through my tears as the warmth in his gaze dimmed. The recognition faded first, then the softness as confusion slowly took its place. He blinked, and when his eyes refocused, he looked at me like a stranger.

I bit back a sob. This was what I had chosen—to erase myself from his story so my friend could take her rightful place, so he would no longer be forced to carry the weight of my lies, so that I could become someone better than the girl who had once believed vengeance was the only path. I had come seeking magic. Instead, I had spent it all on something as fleeting as love…yet it was enough.

I turned to Gwen, who watched me with a mixture of confusion and sympathy mingling in her expression. “Take back your place,” I said hoarsely. “He won’t remember our courtship. Not anymore.”

She nodded slowly and stepped forward, tentative hope in her gaze as she studied his face, waiting in anticipation for the recognition that belonged to her alone.

At first there was only confusion as Callan stared at the princess, but gradually a soft smile caressed his lips. “Gwen.”

I hadn’t prepared myself for the pain that wrenched my heart upon hearing him speak the name I had borrowed, to see him look at her the way he had once looked at me, to watch him offer the smile that had once been mine.

I looked past them, eyes lifting towards the sun setting against the horizon, symbolic of my own ending; the sinking sun burned pale gold beyond the meadow, its light blurring through mist and tears. I didn’t know what came next, only that I needed to become someone who no longer allowed grief and bitterness to morph me into someone unrecognizable, who could fight for magic without stealing it, and who would choose to help rather than hurt others.

The ache in my chest threatened to break me as I turned away, stripped of disguise, of power, of love…but perhaps for the first time on the path to finally becoming whole. Though I knew I had done the right thing, it still hurt. But maybe that was part of the cost of all the hurt I’d caused—the penance for every lie, every selfish choice, every heart I’d broken.

After all, villains didn’t deserve happily ever afters…but maybe they could still earn a second chance.

CHAPTER 20

CALLAN

The late afternoon sun gilded the meadow in warm gold as Gwendolyn laughed beside me, her hand brushing mine as we walked along the narrow path skirting the stream. Her curls caught the late afternoon light like spun amber, and there was something genuinely endearing in the way she tilted her head as she spoke. Everything about this momentshouldhave felt right, but for reasons beyond my understanding, it didn’t.

I struggled to refocus my wandering thoughts on her story about a particularly persistent goose that had taken to following her around the palace grounds in the days since she’d arrived. I nodded in the right places, chuckled on cue, each reaction perfectly timed and polite.

The performance should have felt natural, the same careful script I’d learned over years of courtly etiquette, the sort of interaction expected between a prince and his intended. Perhaps some initial awkwardness was inevitable as Gwendolyn and Igot to know one another, but there was something else—a quiet dissonance beneath the moment, like a note slightly off-key.

Gwendolyn’s faltering voice distracted me from assembling this perplexing puzzle. She peered up at me, searching my expression with concern. “You’re quiet today,” she said after a pause, her tone gentle but probing. “Are the court meetings weighing on you?”

I blinked and forced a smile that felt insincere on my lips. “Not particularly.” I ran a frustrated hand through my hair, chased by a strange emptiness I couldn’t name. “I’m sorry, I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

Her hand brushed mine again, lingering this time. “Your role comes with a lot of expectation and responsibility, but you no longer need to face them alone.”

The closeness that should have accompanied such a tender moment didn’t come. Guilt weighed on me. She deserved my full attention and growing regard—she was everything a future queen ought to be, the embodiment of grace, gentleness, and kindness. For the past few weeks, I’d come to see more of her lovely nature in the way she treated servants and spoke to me with thoughtfulness rather than flirtatious wit. But for all her goodness, I couldn’t shake the sense that something vital was missing, as though this picture-perfect princess had been painted with the wrong colors—the outlines familiar, but not quiteours.

We continued in silence until my gaze caught on a cluster of white-blossomed shrubs blooming near the fountain, their delicate petals bright against the ornate greenery adorning the grounds. My steps slowed, some distant instinct tugging at me like a thread I couldn’t quite follow, a memory whose details I couldn’t quite recall.

I remembered the time I’d spent researching those flowers, the difficulty in finding them, the trouble I’d gone through totransplant them from her homeland into Eldorian soil. It was meant as a gift to commemorate our courtship, the challenge well worth the effort if it made my fiancée happy. For some reason I couldn’t name, I’d hesitated to bring her here until now, but had finally convinced myself that it was ridiculous to withhold a gift I’d prepared with such effort.

Gwendolyn followed my gaze and smiled in admiration as she gracefully bent to sniff one of the flowers. I waited in hopeful anticipation for recognition to light her eyes, but none came as she straightened and turned towards me. “They’re beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like them. What are they called?”

I hesitated. “Snow blossoms,” I said at last, trying to ignore the hollow feeling growing within me.

She nodded, serene but unaffected. “So beautiful. They suit this place.”

That was all. No spark of recognition, no light of remembrance for the gesture—or perhaps the memory had never been hers to begin with. I felt a childish twinge of disappointment that the connection I’d failed to materialize.

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