Page 19 of Stolen Magic (All That Glitters #2)
I left Myst sleeping in a patch of sunlight and followed the prince’s escort to the dining hall.
The grand doors swung open at our arrival, revealing a scene of opulence.
An extravagant meal had been laid out across a long banquet table—lavish dishes I’d only dreamed of in the days when hunger had gnawed at my ribs; even Princess Gwendolyn’s family could never have afforded such luxury.
Nobles and dignitaries from the court were also in attendance, draped in silks and jewels, their smiles polished and predatory.
But it was the figure at the head of the table who turned my blood cold.
The king of Eldoria.
Seated beneath an ornate banner bearing Eldoria’s crest, he watched the hall with quiet command.
Our eyes met just for a breath and something primal flared in my chest. I quickly focused my attention on the table, unable to look at the man who symbolized my past decade of suffering.
I was still too shaken from our last interaction to face him now.
“Are you all right?” Prince Callan asked softly, his voice a soft undertone beneath the clamor of the hall and the melodious music performed by a string quartet. I nodded quickly, masking my tremor beneath a polite smile.
He didn’t inquire further, but he kept his hand near the small of my back as he guided me forward to the high table and helped me with my chair.
“The chefs prepared a few traditional dishes from your homeland tonight. I thought it might help you feel more at ease.”
“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful.” The words tasted bitter. Regardless of the necessity of maintaining appearances, I hated offering even the smallest compliment to the royal family of Eldoria.
Prince Callan took his seat beside me and the king flicked a jewel-studded finger to signal for the first course to be served.
The food was exquisite—rich and artfully prepared, a symphony of flavors I had once dreamed about experiencing during poverty —but each bite turned to ash on my tongue.
Even when my favorite boysenberry tart appeared on my plate, a delicacy I hadn’t tasted in more than a decade, I couldn’t summon my appetite.
The prince, ever attentive, ensured every detail was to my liking—from the distance of my chair from the table for perfect comfort as I ate, to the selection of wine in my glass, even requesting second helpings of “Princess Gwendolyn’s” favorites that she must have mentioned in her letters.
His efforts should have been flattering, yet they left me uneasy; I couldn’t stop wondering whether each thoughtful gesture masked a strategy, an attempt to bring me under Eldorian control without a struggle.
Throughout the meal, he engaged me in light conversation, his questions careful and never too probing, skillfully crafted to draw out my opinions without seeming intrusive.
Despite his occasional moments of shyness, he navigated courtly conversation with ease…
which only stoked my suspicion that his blush, awkward pauses, and bashfulness were nothing more than a carefully honed performance.
At the meal’s conclusion, the prince began introducing me to key members of the court. His hand returned to rest lightly against my back, whether in reassurance or control I couldn’t say. Each exchange was a diplomatic performance, a dance of words and smiles.
I felt the tingle of magic before noticing the man I’d seen on the dais before, and turned to see him approaching. Prince Callan nodded respectfully but a little stiffly.
“This is Lord Velgrin, the head royal mage and my father’s advisor,” he told me.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” the man said in a low, resonant voice as he bowed over my hand.
Every instinct screamed at me to retreat before he discovered my secrets, but I forced myself to stand my ground, pretending I was unaware of the magical essence surrounding him.
After a long, scrutinizing glance he nodded and moved on.
I drew an involuntary breath of relief before turning to the next guest with a strained smile.
Playing the role of Princess Gwendolyn felt like wearing a second skin: tight, suffocating, and impossible to remove. Guilt twisted like a blade every time I was forced to respond to her name, growing more unbearable whenever I thought of my first friend whom I’d so recently betrayed.
Prince Callan remained a steady presence, the epitome of kindness and patience as he whispered names and important details before each introduction, explained customs, and ensured I was never left adrift in the sea of courtly etiquette.
Every act of kindness chipped away at the walls I’d built around my heart, forcing me to rebuild them over and over if I had any hope of fighting against the relentless forces of the tiring, confusing battle raging within.
I managed to suppress my emotions for most of the exhausting evening, but after he gently corrected me for confusing a duke with a baron for the second time, my emotionless mask faltered.
“If I survive this night without accidentally offending someone powerful enough to have me beheaded, you will have my lifelong gratitude.”
His startled laugh at my sarcastic mutter caught me off guard. I caught myself watching him, head tilted back, eyes bright with a genuine joy I seemed to have forgotten. How could he seem so authentic? It was disarming…yet for a fleeting moment, I wanted believe it was real.
As the night drew on, I continued to steel myself by repeatedly reinforcing this narrative: Remember why you are here, remember what they took from you. This mantra repeated in my mind, anchoring me whenever Prince Callan’s kindness threatened to sway me.
Each word and smile acted as a thread in the careful web of lies I’d spun, each interaction an evaluation dressed in celebration.
Through it all, the king quietly observed from at the head of the table, his presence a constant shadow cast over the festivities.
Though I carefully avoided looking in his direction, I could feel his gaze—watching, waiting.
As the night wore on and the guests slowly began to depart, the din of conversation faded to the soft clink of glassware and the murmurs of servants clearing plates. Prince Callan remained by my side, offering his arm, his smile, and his ever-watchful eyes.
In that final quiet moment, it struck me just how intricate this game truly was. Everyone was playing…and every player, including the prince, still held cards they hadn’t yet revealed.
The last rays of sunset had just begun to fade.
I hoped with the evening’s blessed conclusion the tiring day would finally draw to a close, but rather than escorting me to my room so I could retire for the night, Prince Callan approached with a quiet offer.
“You’ve been on display long enough. If you welcome a break from the eyes of the court, I’d like to show you a quieter place. ”
He made the unexpected offer not with arrogance or command, but something softer, different from the rehearsed script I’d created for him in my mind. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised by his determination to play the part of a devoted fiancé in this masquerade of ours.
My emotions had long since begun to wear thin from the exhausting charade, but I nodded out of duty and because I was curious.
I hadn’t realized how suffocating I’d found the court’s oppressive attention until I stepped into the stillness of the palace gardens where I finally felt like I could breathe again.
I followed him down a stone path framed by ivy-covered arches. The evening air was cool, laced with the sweet scent of night blossoms. A hush had settled over the grounds, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds settling in for the night.
Prince Callan walked beside me through the dusky garden, just far enough to avoid being overbearing, yet close enough that I could sense the warmth of his presence. I expected silence—or worse, more polished words steeped in royal rehearsal. But once again, he surprised me.
“You’ve handled yourself well today,” he said quietly. “I know the court can be…heavy.”
His sidelong glance held something close to admiration. I offered a tight smile, one that felt stiff on my lips. “I’ve had practice.” Practice at pretending .
He hesitated. “True. No amount of diligent preparation could have readied us for the arrangement we’ve spent our whole lives anticipating. Even if it was forged by our fathers, I want to assure you I will do my best to honor it.”
At the mention of the King of Eldoria any sentiment behind his words was lost on me.
My hands curled into fists. I fought to still my shaking even as my heart seared with barely contained fury.
I didn’t trust myself to speak even for the sake of the role I played, not without my hatred slipping through the cracks of my performance.
I managed a faint nod that I hoped conveyed shy acceptance.
We followed a winding path that opened into a secluded alcove nestled between tall hedges and stone arches.
Enchanted lanterns glowed faintly in the settling twilight, hovering amongst the branches like golden fireflies.
Pale blossoms shimmered in the dust, swaying in the breeze as if whispering secrets to one another.
My breath caught. I recognized the magic filling the air, the complex spellwork behind the beauty filling the serene scene.
I extended my senses, searching for any lingering traces of the raw power that might remain, but it had all been seamlessly woven into the enchantment, with nothing left behind for me to draw upon.
Wonder lit my expression before I could mask it, and Prince Callan beamed at my reaction. “Beautiful, isn’t it? This is my favorite place on the palace grounds. There’s something here I prepared especially for you.”