Page 17 of Stolen Magic (All That Glitters #2)

Lifting my chin, I stepped into the opulent heart of the throne room, gliding forward with the elegance I had practiced diligently.

I approached the raised dais where the King and Crown Prince of Eldoria sat in silent judgment.

The third throne that had once belonged to the late queen, was now occupied by a man I could not identify, but who watched me with an uncomfortable intensity.

Seeing him on the queen’s throne reminded me that the prince was motherless like me, a commonality I refused to acknowledge.

I bowed my head in a facade of respect as I sought to steady myself before lifting my eyes once more to the men who had destroyed my life and my country.

My gaze first met the king’s and my heart squeezed painfully, only sheer will suppressing the silent scream threatening to escape as I finally laid eyes on the person primarily responsible for my mother’s demise.

His face was etched with deep lines, each one a remnant of ruthless decisions, bloodshed, and cruelty that marred his reign.

His sharp, calculating gaze swept over me with chilling precision.

For a breath, I feared he saw past my guise to the truth; I resisted the instinct to hide my scarred hand behind my back, as though he could see the mark.

It took great effort to suppress my shudder and maintain my composed poise—back straight, expression serene, a princess to the last.

I shifted my focus and finally met the gaze of the man whose life I intended to manipulate for the sake of my revenge.

Crown Prince Callan initially appeared nothing like his father—his features were softer and his eyes unexpectedly warm, laced with a sincerity that both unsettled and intrigued me.

Either the princess had been right that he was different than the king…

or he was a far more skilled opponent, seeking to disarm his future wife with a convincing act of kindness.

I searched his face for any trace of the cruelty that marred the king’s expression…

but found none. Instead, the prince regarded me with quiet curiosity and a surprising openness that momentarily disarmed me.

Then, his expression shifted—but not in the way I had braced for.

There was no smugness, no hidden malice lurking beneath a courtly mask of politeness—only a brow furrowed in concern.

Something in his expression made my breath catch. I hadn’t expected him to look at me with gentleness; it didn’t fit the role I had cast him in. It unsettled me more than open hostility would have…which had likely been his plan. A whisper of doubt coiled through me, unwelcome and persistent.

I hastily suppressed it before it could take root.

I couldn’t afford to falter. I reminded myself of who he was—the son of a tyrant and murderer, heir to a kingdom built on stolen lives and bloodshed.

Whatever warmth I thought I saw had to be an illusion; no matter how sincere he seemed, he was still the crown prince of Eldoria…

and I was here to dismantle everything he stood to inherit.

“Princess Gwendolyn?”

This time I possessed enough presence of mind to notice his confusion that had been lost to me when gripped by my memories.

A curse burned my lips. In my distraction, I’d completely forgotten the most essential element of my plan—though Prince Callan had only met the princess once, my black hair and violet eyes made it apparent I was not the same golden hair, blue-eyed beauty he knew as his fiancée.

Beneath the scrutiny of the numerous onlookers, I clasped the pouch of magic hidden beneath my gown, fighting to conceal my tremor as I readied myself to cast the spell.

With a discreet breath and the last of my precious magic reserves, I quietly murmured the incantation for the second memory spell I had prepared, designed to alter the prince’s recollection of his one brief meeting with the true Princess Gwendolyn by replacing her image with mine.

Thankfully, I only needed to tamper with one memory—my limited magic wouldn’t allow for more.

Because my magic could only influence those present, I sent up a silent petition that I had correctly assumed that the prince and attending courtiers were the only ones the princess had met.

The whispered enchantment was masked by the ambient murmur of the court and the faint melody drifting from the musicians.

As the spell began to weave through the air, a sharp pain lanced up my arm from the cursed seal on my hand—a brutal reminder of the barrier that choked my power, forged by those whose memory I now dared to manipulate.

Channeling even a thread of magic felt like scraping the bottom of my soul. The burning seal pulsed beneath my skin, its dark lines flaring with malevolent heat. I kept my hand hidden in the folds of my gown, the cool silk offering a faint reprieve from the searing pain.

With one final push, I broke through the resistance holding me back. My spell surged forward, threadbare but precise, embedding the false memory deep within Prince Callan’s mind— his first meeting not with the true princess, but the stranger who stood before him.

I felt my magic’s last vestiges deplete as the spell took hold, leaving behind a cold, aching hollowness where my magic had once thrived.

With no power left to shield or aid me aside from the dwindling traces of wild magic in my pouch, I would be on my own for whatever came, forced to solely rely on wit and deception until I could reclaim the magic I knew was hidden somewhere within the palace walls.

The aftermath struck swiftly. A wave of weakness swept over me and the edges of my vision blurred. The chandeliers overhead fractured into a cascade of glittering halos, casting the dais in a dizzying haze. My knees wavered, threatening to collapse.

My fingers groped the cool stone of a nearby pillar to steady myself. I drew a slow, deliberate breath and glanced around, praying the courtiers remained too absorbed in their displays of flattery and etiquette to notice my discomfort or faltering poise.

Unfortunately someone had.

A hand pressed against my back—steady, firm, and disarmingly gentle.

I flinched, startled not by the sudden touch, but by the comfort it offered.

Prince Callan stood beside me, close enough for me to see the faint crease between his brows, the subtle flush on his cheeks, and the brightness in his eyes, filled with unguarded concern.

“You’re rather pale. Are you alright?” He kept his voice pitched low. There was no formal flourish in his words, no courtly affectation—just worry, simple yet seemingly real.

His unexpected tenderness nearly unraveled me.

For a breath I found myself captured by the warmth of it before coming to my senses.

The touch I had momentarily found comforting turned to fire beneath my skin, and I had to fight the instinct to recoil—I couldn’t reject the affection of the man whose heart I intended to win… and eventually break.

This was the moment of truth. Despite the ache lingering around my cursed seal and the weight of exhaustion settling over me, I had to meet it with all the grace expected of the princess I was impersonating.

Gathering the last of my strength, I lifted my chin and met the prince’s gaze with a confidence I didn’t feel, burying my turmoil beneath a flawless facade of regal composure.

I masked my grimace with a practiced smile. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m quite well. The journey was simply more taxing than I thought.”

Even with my assurances he didn’t step away.

Our closeness brought his face into full view.

He was handsome, as one might expect of a prince—but not in the aloof, polished way of painted nobles.

There was surprising warmth in his features, a quiet strength in his jaw, and a softness in the way he looked at me—like someone precious, even while searching for something he desperately needed to find.

His puzzlement lingered for the briefest moment, his brow creased not with worry but with hesitation, as if his mind was struggling to grasp for a thread just beyond his reach.

For a fleeting moment I feared my powers had been too weak and the spell upon his mind hadn’t worked…

and then his expression shifted, subtle at first, then unmistakable as the enchantment took hold.

Recognition bloomed behind his eyes as the false memory rooted itself, erasing the uncertainty as his confusion faded, replaced by familiarity, confirmation the illusion had taken hold.

“You look just as I remembered,” he murmured.

The sincerity in his voice made my breath catch. I offered him a faint smile, masking the tremor behind my lips. “As do you, Your Highness.”

He smiled in return, visibly relieved, and finally stepped back—though not far, lingering close enough to steady me if I required his aid further.

The proximity unsettled me; I could still feel the echo of his touch at my back, grounding me in a way I couldn’t afford to acknowledge.

I might have won the first move in this dangerous game, but I hadn't expected to feel its cost so soon.

He extended his hand with a gentle smile, his tone formal but warm. “Welcome to Eldoria, Princess Gwendolyn. We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

His voice was smooth and inviting, touched with a hint of shyness that didn’t match the cold, calculated persona I had crafted for him from the subtext of his letters that I had long convinced myself were laced with manipulation.

“Thank you, Prince Callan,” I replied, my voice steady despite the churn of emotion beneath it. “It is an honor to be here. I look forward to our future together.”

Each word was a step down the path I’d chosen, each breath drawing me closer to either triumph or ruin.

I expected him to respond with the next line in the well-rehearsed script of royal protocol.

But instead, a blush engulfed his cheeks and he lowered his gaze, saying nothing.

A flicker of doubt pierced my certainty.

Words could be rehearsed, polished, performed… but a blush was much harder to fake.

The flags bearing Eldoria’s crest blurred into a sea of color as I clasped Prince Callan’s hand. In stark contrast with the war raging inside me, his touch was unexpectedly gentle just as it had been the first time, so different to the rigid grip I had braced myself to endure.

My gown whispered across the marble floor as he guided me deeper into the grand hall, his manner unfailingly courteous and attentive.

We wrestled with silence for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice tentative.

“I hope your journey was comfortable. Wait, you already told me it was long. I promise I was listening, I’m just…

a little nervous.” The words sounded strained, as if each one had to fight its way past his natural bashfulness.

“The journey was long, but bearable.” I allowed a measured smile to touch my lips, the kind I imagined Princess Gwendolyn might offer, poised somewhere between gratitude and grace.

Prince Callan nodded, visibly pleased—and undeniably relieved—by my response.

Then he turned, gesturing towards the opulent dais where his father sat, draped in a robe of gold-threaded velvet and flanked by guards and towering banners.

I hadn’t realized how much ease I’d unconsciously found in the prince’s unexpectedly soothing presence until it vanished beneath the weight of the king’s gaze .

My breath hitched. There he was—the monarch who had haunted my nightmares for a decade and been the object of my hatred for a decade.

The man whose crest had flown over the soldiers who had burned my village, whose orders had stolen my mother’s life, and carved a curse into my skin.

The heat of the memory surged through me like a rising tide of fire—fast, furious, and consuming.

My fingers twitched at my side, as if the dormant magic sealed within me stirred, yearning to be unleashed.

If I hadn’t already spent the last of it to rewrite his son’s memory, I might have done something reckless.

I could feel fury’s pull, the temptation to blaze through my power to let vengeance burn through my disguise.

But there were no spells left to cast, no power left to betray me. Only the quiet, hollow ache of depletion and the iron resolve I had forged from grief and ash. The merciful emptiness steadied me; for now, it would have to be enough.

My gaze shifted to the man who sat next to him, who wore no royal robe or emblem but clearly held some form of power.

A shock ran through me as I recognized a faint tugging sensation.

Whoever this man was, he had magic. I would have to watch my step very carefully if the king had a mage at his right hand.

To hide my panic, I lowered into a practiced curtsy, every smooth movement imbued with grace despite my consuming storm. I dropped my gaze, both in a show of respect and to keep my hatred from showing. “It is an honor to finally stand before you, Your Majesty.”

His fingers drummed the gilded armrest of his throne and his eyes narrowed. “We are pleased to welcome you to Eldoria, Princess Gwendolyn. We trust that you left your family in good health?” The words were edged like a blade.

It took concentrated effort for me to keep my voice measured. “My parents send their greetings and wished me to convey their delight at the joining of our kingdoms.” I subconsciously leaned slightly towards the prince as I spoke of the upcoming wedding.

The corner of Prince Callan’s mouth lifted slightly as he glanced at me, but my focus remained on the king. His cold gaze lingered, if searching for weakness or hesitation. I offered him neither.

“We are glad to hear it,” he finally said. “You will find that Eldoria rewards loyalty and poise. I expect you will bring both into our halls.”

The words felt carefully chosen, laced with expectation and veiled threat. A test. I offered a shallow bow of my head. “Of course, Your Majesty. I intend to serve Eldoria with all the grace and devotion my station requires.”

The lie passed from my lips like silk—deceptively smooth, yet concealing the blade beneath. Inside, I still burned. He had no idea how narrowly he’d escaped standing before not a princess, nor even a witch…but rage and vengeance wrapped in borrowed skin.