Page 25 of Stolen Magic (All That Glitters #2)

For some reason the words caused her to stiffen. Her gaze snapped to mine, eyes sharp and almost accusing. “That seems fitting with Eldoria’s history.”

I stared at her for a shocked moment. “What do you mean?” Though I asked in genuine curiosity, my voice taut with concern, which she apparently interpreted as simmering anger.

She straightened with a flash of her eyes. “It’s what you do—assimilate, strip lands of their magic and independence, erase every identity you conquer…including the woman who’s to be your wife.”

The words struck like a slap but she seemed to realize it too late. Her next sentence came in a rush, stumbling over itself in her efforts to repair any offense.

“Forgive me, that’s not what you meant. Of course you only want me to be comfortable in my new home.” But her posture remained tense, defensive…distrustful. She said nothing more, but the accusation lingered in her eyes before she could chase it away.

Something twisted painfully inside me. She didn’t trust me. Worse, she thought of me as a cruel enemy who cared nothing for her but only wanted a fitting queen. It was little wonder that she was guarded.

I drew in a slow breath and stepped closer, but not close for her to feel cornered. “You seem to look for the dagger hidden behind everything I say,” I murmured. “I’m beginning to wonder if you don't trust me.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

She didn't offer any denial or reassurance, simply lowered her gaze, pretending sudden fascination with a weathered ledger at her elbow.

I sighed, raking a hand through my hair.

“I tried not to notice. I didn’t want to believe my fiancée is so suspicious of me, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

” Despite my efforts to maintain my composure, my voice cracked slightly.

“If we're ever going to build any relationship before our wedding, we need to talk about it.”

Still she said nothing, and though I was tempted to press her, I dropped the topic.

I led her deeper into the archives, giving her space while pretending to browse, letting the silence stretch between us.

I hoped the quiet would feel less like confrontation and more like permission, a place she might feel safe enough to confide in me.

The silence only thickened, settling like fog between us, growing heavier with every passing moment.

I hated how much it hurt, how much I wanted her to trust me, a desire that had nothing to do with alliances or duty.

Despite all of Father’s warnings to harden my heart against feelings that had no place in politics, I was only human.

The atmosphere soon grew unbearable. As much as I longed to stay, my presence felt unwanted, even intrusive.

The last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

Whatever her claims about research, curiosity, or the hidden reasons for her distrust, her guarded body language indicated my assistance only hindered whatever the actual reason that had brought her to the royal archives.

Even after I dismissed myself my thoughts remained with her.

Instead of tending to the list of royal obligations awaiting me, I spent the better part of the morning pacing the corridor outside the library, battling the instincts carved into me since boyhood— protect the sanctity of Eldoria’s histories, guard its kingdom’s secrets… especially the ones rooted in blood .

My father’s haunting warning echoed in my mind, stern and unyielding…

but not nearly as loud as the quiet wariness behind her guarded smile that stood between us like a gate, an unwanted obstacle preventing me from my hope of becoming more than strangers bound in an alliance that I couldn’t find the key to.

If I hoped to earn her trust and forge a relationship deeper than our contract, I couldn’t demand it like a crown passed down through bloodlines—I had to be the first to give it freely, even if doing so went against everything I’d ever been taught.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I turned sharply and pushed open the massive oak doors of the archive; they groaned under the weight of time and hesitation.

She was still there, hunched over a long table beneath the stained-glass skylight, her head bowed over a crumbling tome.

The golden sunlight caught in her hair, giving her the appearance of something ethereal, almost untouchable.

She looked up at the sound of my approach, spine stiffening with that same guarded wariness that struck something in me, sharp and unrelenting, a barrier I wanted nothing more than to break down.

I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile and held up the key at my belt. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Suspicion flickered in her eyes, but after a long moment, she rose and followed, an undeniable glint of curiosity in her expression.

We descended beyond the main halls into the older wing of the archives where the air grew colder and heavier with dust and time, past shelves so ancient even the historians rarely dared to disturb them.

The door creaked open on a gust of musty air and I brushed cobwebs aside before gesturing for Gwen to enter.

Inside a hidden archive waited—a sealed trove of forbidden histories, classified records, and accounts of Eldoria’s earliest dealings with magic.

She drew in a quiet breath—whether in awe or unease, I couldn’t tell.

“This section isn’t open to most,” I said, my voice low and conspiratorial. “My father would skin me alive if he knew I brought you here.”

The statement was mostly a jest—more to ease my own nerves than to reassure her—but she tensed. “He wouldn’t really…would he?”

The fact she even questioned me was evidence that her distrust extended beyond me to our kingdom’s monarch. I searched her shadowed face. A dark, unnamed emotion filled her eyes, the same I’d caught yesterday at the mention of my father. Something far darker and deeper than fear. Anger?

My chest tightened at the thought of his fury should we be discovered, but not enough to dissuade me. Past experience had taught me that, however harsh his punishments, there were limits to how far he’d go with his only heir.

“He wouldn’t.” Try as I might, I couldn’t completely suppress the waver in my voice. I didn’t want to lie to her, but I also didn’t want her to have any reason to be afraid of the unseen risk our marriage would subject her to.

She watched me closely. “Why are you defying his orders? He doesn’t strike me as a man who tolerates disobedience lightly.”

“Because…” I paused, for the true reason extended beyond my simply seeking her trust. “I want to assure you that you’re not an outsider, not to me.”

She didn’t respond, but something in her expression shifted.

Conflict wavered in her eyes as she followed me deeper into the room.

We were both silent as side by side we wandered the forgotten past. I tried to concentrate on the books, but I found my focus continually drifting to her, unable to stop myself—the reverent way she handled the volumes, the way her fingers lingered a fraction longer when she brushed certain spines, and the occasional glimmer of light that touched her otherwise impassive expression whenever she found something meaningful.

She suddenly stilled, the tips of her fingers tightening imperceptibly around a battered book wedged almost invisibly between two gilded chronicles.

I leaned closer. The book she now clutched bore no title or ornate embellishments, only a faded emblem embossed on the cracked leather.

I vaguely recognized it as belonging to one of the “wild provinces” annexed in my grandfather’s reign, land long stripped of its magic for the kingdom’s “greater good,” not the kind of history I expected a princess to find interesting.

“It’s a dry account,” I said lightly, careful not to startle her. “Mostly trade records and...reclamation efforts.”

She nodded too quickly and tucked the book beneath her arm. If I hadn’t been watching so closely, I might have missed the flicker of something fierce and aching behind her composed facade.

“Does that part of our history interest you?”

She gave another small, cautious nod, her eyes lifting to assess my face as though anxious to know what I thought of her interest.

History had always been my best subject.

I seized the opportunity to impress her.

I found two sturdy crates and carefully brushed dust off one, motioning for her to sit as I laid the volumes I’d gathered and a lantern on the other as a makeshift table.

As we thumbed through ancient treaties and dusty decrees, I filled the heavy silence with any knowledge that might help her mysterious search… or keep her from slipping further away.

“Much of Eldoria’s expansion wasn’t conquest,” I began. “At least, not at first. Some lands actually surrendered autonomy willingly, in exchange for protection.”

“Is the same true for magic?” Her voice was soft, but sharp enough to draw blood.

I glanced up. Her expression was unreadable, blandly curious—but I sensed a carefully masked urgency behind her barely restrained calm.

“Some magic was...surrendered,” I admitted reluctantly.

“Some we deemed necessary to take. There were fears about its instability and about potential rebellion should it fall into the wrong hands.”

“So that is your kingdom’s justification.”

I didn’t answer. I shifted, suddenly aware of the uncomfortable weight in my chest. “Things were different then,” I said, though the words felt hollow. “The crown believed it was necessary…to survive.”

“And what do you believe?” she asked, watching me intently.

The question landed hard. I stared at her, unsure how to answer.

From my earliest studies I’d been caught between the legacy of my ancestors—especially my father—and the quiet discomfort in my own conscience.

Years of education had done little to bridge the gap to help me resolve this moral dilemma.

Now that I stood on the cusp of inheriting the throne, I still didn’t know how I would reconcile the kingdom I was meant to uphold with the blood-stained past I could no longer ignore.

But if I were to answer as just myself—not as heir to a conquering line but simply as Callan —then I couldn’t deny the immorality filling Eldoria’s bloody history, not even through misguided allegiance.

While I was forced to conceal this rebellious opinion from Father, I didn’t want to hide it from her .

I drew a steadying breath, taking a chance.

What I was about to say amounted to treason—a risk when Gwen was clearly harboring secrets of her own—yet I was determined to be transparent with her.

“The history between our nations was written in blood and silence,” I said at last. “And no amount of justification can change that.”

Her eyes widened, as if my answer surprised her. She hastily lowered her gaze, but not before I caught the flash of something raw in her expression— grief . The vulnerability in her gaze stripped away the mask I’d worn far too long, leaving me exposed.

“History is more than a record of facts,” I said.

“It’s also a chronicle of mistakes. It would be dishonorable to pretend those mistakes don’t exist out of blind loyalty to crown and country.

” I hesitated, then added, “In truth, I don’t know why we stole your kingdom’s magic for ourselves… other than greed.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. For a single breath, we held each other’s gaze, allowing wordless understanding to pass between us—our first fleeting, fragile connection, the first true closeness I’d felt with her since that captured moment in the garden.

I wanted to stay in this moment, to explore it more deeply…but she suddenly stiffened, her focus shifting past me towards something beyond the shelves.

I followed her line of sight and frowned.

Tucked near the rafters, just above the perimeter of the suppression wards, shimmered a faint ripple in the air.

A pocket of residual magic clung to the old beams, likely overlooked for years.

Even with my training, I could barely sense it…

yet by the recognition flickering in her eyes, I knew she could see it too.

Just as quickly as she noticed it, she pretended she hadn’t. Her body angled slightly, subtly turning to shield it from view. I might have missed the shift if I hadn’t already been watching her so closely…but it was too late.

The old suspicions I'd tried so hard to bury stirred again, rising like smoke in my chest. Myrona hadn’t wielded active magic for years, with Eldoria finally stamping out the latent magic users and capturing the last hidden pockets of power a decade ago…

at least, that’s what the records claimed.

She shouldn’t have been sensitive enough to perceive such a faint trace… yet she clearly had.

I tried to dismiss my doubt as mere coincidence, but I couldn’t ignore the sharp flicker of recognition in her eyes, nor the way her focus flickered back towards the obscure spot. Without a doubt she could see it, and by the hungry look filling her eyes, she wanted to seize it.

The pieces I’d tried to ignore began to align, fitting together with uncomfortable precision—her pointed questions in our letters, finding her near the sealed vaults where our kingdom’s power was stored, the texts I’d caught her perusing, and the strange haze that clung to my memory of our first meeting—just misaligned enough to create the sense that something was… off.

Who was my fiancée really? The weight of the unanswered question pressed heavily between us, as thick and suffocating as the dust on the forgotten shelves. As much as I yearned to properly court her, I was no longer sure I could afford the luxury of trust.

If I wanted the truth, I’d have to keep my guard up and watch her more closely. In this, duty would have to come before even the hope of something as fragile as love.