Page 12 of Stolen Magic (All That Glitters #2)

“He said it belonged to his mother.”

A cliché claim on His Highness’s part, yet one I gratefully seized for the opening it created.

Of all the information it was imperative I gather prior to our departure, that pertaining to the enemy kingdom’s crown prince was of the utmost priority if I was to figure out a strategy to better manipulate him.

I forced my lips upwards in what I hoped was a convincing show of pleasure. “How sweet. You must mean a lot to him for him to give you something so precious.”

I hoped my words would coax another smile from her, but she merely bit her lip and cast her gaze downwards. “Perhaps.”

I frowned at this strange response and scrambled for a way fix whatever mistake I’d inadvertently committed. “You doubt he cares for you?”

She sighed. “He seemed amiable enough, charming and polite. I’m sure he’s a man of honor.”

It took every ounce of my careful willpower to contain my snort of disbelief.

Eldoria as a nation was the furthest thing from honorable, most particularly their deplorable royal family.

Thankfully the tragedies I’d borne from my difficult life allowed me to maintain a rigid, emotionless expression lest I betray my hatred.

“Hasn’t your courtship assured you that His Highness cares for you as his future wife?”

This was the information I needed most—the more acquainted Prince Callan had become with the princess, the more difficult it would be to eventually impersonate her; a careful study of her behavior and my small arsenal of spells from my limited magic reserves could only get me so far.

She shook her head. “We’ve only met once.”

My fingers paused in arranging her hair, shock momentarily rendering me still.

I knew royal unions revolved around politics and treaties, but I hadn’t expected their foundation to be this shallow.

This was a good thing, I reminded myself; the less Prince Callan knew the true princess the better for my eventual usurpation.

Yet logic couldn’t dispel the flicker of empathy I experienced for a faltering moment at the thought of Princess Gwendolyn being forced to marry a man who was practically a stranger…though if my plans came to fruition, it was an arrangement she wouldn’t have to worry about for much longer.

Instead that unpleasant task would befall me.

As necessary as this reality was, the truth caused a swell of rising anxiety before I could quench it.

“Have you deciphered more about his character beyond his royal pleasantries?” I braced myself for the response I anticipated: cold, conceited, a monster.

She considered. “Sweet.”

Sweet? This time I couldn’t quite hold back my scoff of disbelief, which caused her eyebrows to rise in surprise. “Forgive me, your unexpected assessment startled me.” I internally winced, knowing my efforts for damage control were likely doing more harm than good.

To my relief she simply laughed, not seeming the least offended. “I understand the sentiment. I was admittedly surprised myself, considering the…difficult history between our kingdoms.”

That was putting it lightly. Undoubtedly his supposedly kind, honorable persona was merely the product of rigorous training, a mask for his true character—anyone could pretend to be someone they weren’t; with enough practice, one might convince themselves the lie was the truth. I more than anyone would know.

“Understandable,” I said carefully. “After all, Eldoria is responsible for taking the last of our magic.”

Her expression become solemn. “I try not to focus on that uncomfortable fact. That occurred a long time ago, not to mention it was done under his father’s command rather than his own.”

That made little difference to me; the son of a tyrant was simply a tyrant-in-training whose sins lay waiting in our dreaded future.

“I was admittedly anxious to meet him,” she continued.

“But he quickly put me at ease. I enjoyed our time together and am now less nervous about our union.” Yet her words didn’t dispel the worry marring her brow, a falter in the courage she repeatedly attempted to exert throughout the course of our time together.

Though the discussion sobered her, her resilience soon caused her to brighten. “Though we’ve only met once, we’ve exchanged several letters. He’s a lovely correspondent.”

As if a person’s true character could be gleaned from a few exchanged words.

The prince had undoubtedly gone to great lengths to craft the perfect phrases to manipulate her, offering all manner of charming platitudes to convince her he was something he wasn’t in order to win her romantic heart.

Though Princess Gwendolyn’s character was amiable, a single day in her company was enough to reveal that she was painfully naive.

The part of my conscience that hadn’t fully died gave an unpleasant twinge, reminding me that I was guilty of the same crime of manipulation. I gritted my teeth, hating the idea of bearing any similarity with the Eldorian prince I was convinced was actually a scoundrel.

I forced this uncomfortable thought aside and focused on my next mission: tracking down these letters so I could get a better feel for their relationship.

My role as the princess’s handmaiden provided very few chances to be alone, but I finally found an opportunity one evening towards the end of my first week in service.

I waited until the soft echo of her footsteps faded, signaling her departure to the evening’s extended dinner with the ambassador. Slipping quietly into her chambers, I approached the ornate wooden desk, bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the nearby window.

The desk was meticulously organized, allowing me to quickly locate the personal correspondence between Princess Gwendolyn and her fiancé, Crown Prince Callan of Eldoria. As her future impersonator, it was crucial I understand every facet of their relationship.

I flipped through the neatly stacked papers until I found a bundle tied with a silk ribbon, the seal of Eldoria pressed into the wax that held them together. A shudder of anticipation rippled through me as I carefully untied the ribbon and unfolded the topmost letter.

What first caught my attention were the bold and confident strokes of the prince’s elegant handwriting, a visual testament to his character.

I scanned the lines, looking for any useful glimpse into the prince’s mind.

The beginning passage immediately caught my eye, showcasing a snippet of his supposedly honor-bound nature:

Dearest Gwendolyn, as we stand on the precipice of uniting our realms, I pledge to uphold not only the duties that come with our union, but to honor and cherish the trust you place in me.

Let our forthcoming marriage be a testament to not only our kingdoms’ unity, but to our personal commitment to foster respect and understanding between us.

I scoffed at the polished words, like lines from a well-practiced play meant to convince an audience of his noble intentions, too perfect and rehearsed to be real. I hardened my resolve and read on, seeking more:

I eagerly anticipate the day we shall meet not as strangers but as allies and friends. I am dedicated to making our alliance one of strength and mutual respect, where you shall find a partner committed to your well-being and happiness.

Partnership and happiness—idealistic concepts that were often traded in royal marriages like currency in exchange for political gain.

His Highness expressing such sentiments that contradicted reality confirmed this was all a facade, a diplomatic veneer to smooth over the reality of a union formed out of necessity rather than affection.

I continued reading, but each letter was the same—portraying Prince Callan as an honorable and considerate man, emphasizing his role as protector and unifier…

yet though his words had undoubtedly reassured the princess, to my cynical eyes hardened by betrayal and loss, they read like strategic moves in a grander game of chess—he played the part of the devoted future husband a bit too perfectly.

When I finished reading, I gathered the letters and replaced them exactly as I had found them, leaving no trace of my intrusion.

I thought that would be the end of snooping through Princess Gwendolyn’s correspondence, but fate seemed to be on my side, for I received another opportunity only a few days after investigating the princess’s letters.

Prince Callan’s response to their latest exchange arrived on a brisk morning when Princess Gwendolyn was still in her bath, affording me a rare moment alone. I automatically placed it on her desk for when she would have time to read it…when a sudden idea made me pause.

My fingers toyed with the edges as I stared at the letter, tempting me to open it.

I hesitated only a moment before succumbing; Princess Gwendolyn would never know her fiancé had written her, the anxiety caused by the extended absence of his correspondence irrelevant with my determination for her marriage to the prince to never transpire.

The sight of Eldoria’s familiar emblem—a soaring eagle clutching arrows in its talons—sent a wave of revulsion through me as unbidden I recalled the image fluttering on a golden flag above my burning home.

I steeled myself as I carefully broke the seal—taking a small measure of satisfaction in destroying the waxen eagle—and unfolded the parchment.

Prince Callan’s handwriting moved neatly across the page, each line penned with a care that suggested the consideration he’d exerted for each weighted word.