18. Dagmara

Dagmara pushed open the door to meet the Mad King. She had expected to enter a room on the opposite side. Instead, she emerged onto a balcony. The vast space, lined with silver rails, looked out to the kingdom beyond. On one side she could see the rolling plains and vineyards, and on the other was the calm sea, brilliantly blue. Purple flowers twisted up the columns and ran along the railings, with a few petals dusting the floor. She barely noticed the four guards posted around the balcony, two watching the horizon and two with their gaze set at the table in the center of the space. One of them was massive, easily a foot taller than everyone around him.

The table was small and round, already donned with place settings and a bouquet in the center. There were only two chairs at the table, and the king was seated at one. He rose from the chair before placing his hand on his chest.

“Princess Magdalena, it is an honor.” His voice was commanding, sending a chill down Dagmara’s spine, and his Ilusaurian accent was captivating.

King Claude Mirage.

She had thought out every possibility for this encounter, but somehow she had missed this one. The king of Ilusauri wasn’t a disgusting, scarred figure. He was stunning.

Only twenty-one years of age, the king was tall and slender with muscles in all the right places. He had a sharp jawline, and fierce, brown eyes. His skin was bronze and his hair was trimmed short. He was a picturesque version of a king, not resembling a monstrosity that had killed his parents at thirteen.

By the guardians, he was captivating.

She broke out of her stupor and curtsied clumsily. “Your Majesty.”

She expected him to examine every inch of her, taking in his prey, but his gaze remained on her face, unbothered. He gestured to the empty chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Immediately, one of the guards was moving from his post to pull out the chair, but Claude stopped him with a mere glance. Claude rounded the table and pulled the chair back to make room for Dagmara to sit.

If this was the man who had ordered Aleksy’s death, she didn’t want to have a casual lunch with him. Yet, she had no choice. This was all a game. She was only here to get close enough to Claude and find proof. For all she knew, she could find proof this evening.

She was an assassin, not an actress. However, she knew how to play a game of manipulation.

He, on the other hand, could be a great actor, presenting as kind until they were married and he had full access to Azurem. This would be a complicated dance.

Forcing a smile, Dagmara said, “Thank you.” She approached the chair, aware of the distance between them closing, before she sat down.

He pushed her chair in, and she was surprised by his strength. A sharp, sweet cologne flooded her senses, but the king didn’t remain near her long enough for her to truly take it in. He returned to his side of the table and took his seat, smoothing out the front of his shirt as he sat.

“Welcome to Ilusauri,” he announced. “I hope the journey wasn’t too arduous.”

“Not at all.” Dagmara folded her hands on her lap.

“To be honest, I’m surprised you agreed to my proposal,” Claude began. “I know we haven’t seen each other in over a decade.”

She eyed the guards over his shoulder before answering, “I acknowledge many of our trading routes were cut off when our kingdoms broke ties with one another, and there are medicines here we simply don’t have access to in Azurem. Marriage would repair all of that,” she said.

His face flashed with an emotion that was gone before Dagmara could detect what it was. His lips curled downward into a frown too ugly for his beautiful face. “I see you only agreed for political gain.”

“Why else did you propose this arrangement?”

“To protect one another.”

“That sounds political to me.”

The guard behind Claude shifted, and Dagmara sat up straighter.

“Don’t worry about them,” Claude said. “They’re here for our protection.”

Our protection or yours? Dagmara wanted to say. She held her tongue. That’s when she noticed there were three wine glasses on the table. Would someone be joining them?

“Let us save politics for another time. How have you been since the coronation?” Claude said. She couldn’t tell what she detected in his voice, but it put her on edge.

“I…” Dagmara’s voice ran dry. How would Magda answer this question? Rather, how would Magda answer this question in front of her future husband who may have ordered her family’s assassination?

“Forgive me, that was insensitive,” Claude said. “My deepest condolences to you and your mother. Did you find out who was behind the terrible attack?”

Her body froze. Flashes of Aleksy’s dead body flooded her mind, followed by the image of the assassin who escaped wearing Ilusaurian armor.

“No,” she managed to say.

“Nothing at all?”

Dagmara eyed him incredulously. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. They were murdered, and our kingdom will seek justice.”

Claude nodded before sitting back in his chair and motioning toward the door.

Dagmara could’ve sworn the side of his mouth twitched, almost as if he was repressing a smirk.

Moments later a servant approached the table with a pitcher in his grasp. The young man poured a sip of wine into the third glass on the table before drinking it himself. Then, he proceeded to pour the wine into both Claude and Dagmara’s glasses in turn.

She would not be able to slip anything into Claude’s drinks if the servants were required to taste them in front of the king. Any sleeping potions she had were useless here, and she wouldn’t be able to use a truth serum.

“Your Majesty,” the servant dipped his head before setting the pitcher down on the table, picking up the third glass, and leaving.

King Claude’s safety protocols were meticulous.

Another servant emerged, repeating the same process with two small plates of what looked to be like a bite-sized quiche. She was unsure. The plates were set down in front of them and immediately Dagmara searched for what she needed. Salt. It was the one thing that helped her dizziness, and she over-salted all of her food. But there was no salt on the table.

Claude reached forward to take the stem of his glass, but he didn’t drink yet. “As you see, I don’t take any chances when it comes to protection.” It was almost as if he was warning her not to try anything.

“Do you have salt?” Dagmara blurted out.

Claude’s expression shifted, his eyebrows twisting on his forehead. “Probably. Why?”

She let out a sigh. “Nevermind.”

Claude continued, “I understand you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. It is good to be cautious. I only want what is best for our kingdoms, and marriage would ensure that.”

Dagmara took the stem of her own wine glass. “I also want what is best for my kingdom’s people,” she said, her mind entirely on Teos and the medicine he needed.

He gave her a subtle smile before raising his glass. Then he drank a sip of the wine, his throat bobbing, and Dagmara watched him while she drank her own.

The wine was sweet and aromatic, with a hint of bitter aftertaste that left her wanting more. She had to stop herself before she let out an audible sigh of pleasure.

“Is there anything you’d like to know about me first?” Claude asked, setting his glass down.

She wanted to know if he killed Aleksy. She wanted to know if he felt any guilt. She wanted to know why he invaded Celestaire and—

One thing at a time.

“There are many things, Your Majesty, but I don’t think they are appropriate for our first meeting,” Dagmara said. “Perhaps you can tell me what you love about Ilusauri.”

And why the countryside seemed to be in a famine while the palace was overflowing with life.

Claude gripped his glass so tight she thought it would shatter. He shifted forward in his chair, his eyes now venomous. “I had hoped you weren’t so susceptible to rumors, Princess.”

“Which rumors are you referring to?”

He didn’t entirely answer her question as he said with a growl, “You really believe I killed my parents when I was only thirteen?”

It wasn’t a denial. Dagmara knew she was treading on thin ice and had to choose her next words very wisely. What would Magda say?

But she didn’t have time to respond. Claude was no longer paying attention to her. The moment Claude peered over her shoulder, her blood turned to ice. The mood shifted, and any bit of hospitality Claude was displaying had disappeared. His expression turned hostile, and his eyes began to twinkle with silver.

The two guards behind Claude took a step closer to the table. She thought at first they were threatening her, but they only had eyes for their king.

Whipping her head around, Dagmara followed Claude’s gaze. On the railing of the balcony, a blackbird had landed. The bird let out a single note, so piercing that it scraped against Dagmara’s temples. The yellow ring around its eyes seemed fixated on her.

In one sharp motion, Claude rose from the table and chucked his wine glass at the bird.

Dagmara ducked, escaping the cup by inches.

The bird took flight as the glass shattered against the railing, the wine splattering the terrace.

It all happened so fast.

Claude yelled something in Ilusaurian before flipping the table. He was strong, and the table went flying.

Shrieking, Dagmara fell from her chair and dropped to the ground, covering her face with her arms as silverware clattered to the ground around her. Both the pitcher and the wine glass coated her in red liquid. The bouquet of flowers knocked her in the head before joining the broken glassware on the terrace. She scrambled backward, away from Claude, feeling the shattered glass under her palms.

An iron grip clasped her bicep, and someone yanked her to her feet before she could register any pain. It wasn’t Claude grabbing her. It was one of his guards.

Another arm swooped around her middle, nearly lifting her off her feet and dragging her toward the exit.

She heard shouting, but they were speaking too fast for her to translate. Two guards ran to Claude, but before they even reached him, Claude merely glanced at them, and they crumpled to the ground like rag dolls.

Claude’s eyes were pure silver.

Dagmara didn’t know fear until Claude met her gaze.

She wasn’t Magda. She wasn’t royalty. He could get into her mind and project illusions or compel her. He was, after all, a Mind Guardian.

She squeezed her eyes shut just as the guard holding her rescued her from the room and slammed the door shut behind them. Another loud crack sounded out on the balcony, and Dagmara jerked upright, backing away until she crashed into someone.

“What happened this time?” Annette asked, grabbing Dagmara’s shoulders and turning her until she was face-to-face with the advisor. Annette’s question wasn’t directed at Dagmara, but rather at the guard that pulled her to safety.

“I couldn’t tell you, Madame,” the guard said. He had a boyish face and dark ringlets.

Annette picked the glass from Dagmara’s palm, her grip more painful than the glass itself, and switched to her native tongue. “What did she say to him?”

Dagmara struggled to interpret their words. Her body was still shaking. She normally wasn’t afraid. But there was something about him that frightened her. The unpredictability. The look in his eyes…

“His parents, Madame,” said the guard.

“She got him to speak about his parents in less than ten minutes?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“It wasn’t that,” Dagmara blurted out.

Annette’s eyes twinkled with curiosity, clearly not anticipating her to have understood their conversation in the foreign language.

Yanking her hand from Annette’s, Dagmara continued, “After he saw the blackbird he…changed.”

“Blackbird?” Annette echoed.

“Yes.” Dagmara turned to the guard, waiting for him to explain.

The guard’s mouth was slightly agape. “I…uh…”

“Speak, Pierre,” Annette snapped.

“There was no bird, Madame.”

“What?” Dagmara blurted out. “It landed on the railing.”

“I…” Pierre gave Dagmara an apologetic glance. “If you say there was a bird then it must be so, Princess. My apologies.”

Dagmara knew what she saw. One of the other guards had to have seen it.

Annette didn’t hide her suspicion. “Let us give His Majesty space. I’ll show you to your room now so you can clean yourself up. There will be water for your wound as well.”

Then the weight of Annette’s comment settled on her. There will be water for your wound…Annette was expecting Dagmara to heal the cut in her palm with Life Guardian magic. She couldn’t do that.

She began to follow Annette. They turned to the mirror-filled entrance, and proceeded to exit the royal wing.

“Aren’t I going to stay in the royal wing?” Dagmara asked, walking briskly to keep up with Annette.

“In the royal wing?” Annette laughed. “You’re a guest, only Ilusaurian royals stay there.”

“But…I’m marrying him.”

“Eventually,” Annette replied, with as much conviction as someone saying cats can fly. “But unless you are queen, you won’t be anywhere near His Majesty’s quarters, let alone in them.” She fired her a sideways glance.

This was going to be more complicated than Dagmara thought. If she wasn’t even allowed near Claude’s chamber or study, how would she snoop around?

Maybe she had to go through with the marriage. What other way could she gain private access to the mad king’s room? It had to be her room too. When they reached the chamber Dagmara would be staying in, she was utterly lost. Everything looked the same, and all the reflections caused her to get turned around. They had passed probably a dozen additional chambers full of mirrors, which didn’t make any sense. The castle appeared perfectly symmetrical on the outside, but inside it was a maze.

Annette entered first before gesturing to a large bedroom. All of Dagmara’s luggage was already inside, and Urszula jumped up from a chaise as soon as she saw the door open.

“Welcome,” Annette said, unenthused.

“What happened?” Urszula gasped, seeing the wine stains on Dagmara’s dress.

“She met the king,” Annette replied before exiting the room and slamming the door closed.

“Are you alright?” Urszula asked. She took Dagmara’s hand and examined the wound, still leaking crimson liquid. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She began pulling Dagmara toward the bathing chamber, but Dagmara jerked her hand back and said, “You don’t have to take care of me the way you did with Magda. I’m not a princess.”

Urszula frowned. “You don’t have the authority to fire me. Besides, maybe being treated like a princess will help you act as one. Don’t argue with me.”

Begrudgingly, Dagmara followed Urszula to the bathing chamber. “Do you speak this way to Magda?”

“Absolutely,” Urszula replied.

Dagmara didn’t want assistance. Yet, after the water was boiled and Dagmara stepped into the soapy bath, she immediately felt better. She scrubbed the wine from her skin, feeling the sting of her hand against the soap. She would have to hide the new injury on her palm and wear gloves until it healed on its own. The scar on her collarbone was still fresh from the night she had killed Sabien, another mark she had to hide.

When the water turned cold and her feet were pruney, she finally exited the bath. She sat at the vanity in a plush robe, wrapping her hand in a bandage while Urszula brushed through her hair.

Then Dagmara remembered, “Did they find anything when they searched our things?”

A smile appeared on Urszula’s face. “Nope.” She exited the room briefly, returning with a case. She propped it up on the vanity and opened it, revealing a box of makeup and cosmetics.

However, it wasn’t all makeup. It was everything Dagmara needed to make her potions.

Dagmara ran her hand against the box, feeling safer with the weapons in her grasp.

A plan was forming in her mind. Tonight, she was going to use the potions to find the proof she needed. Otherwise…the only other option was marrying the king and gaining free access to his chambers. She prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

By the guardians…her thoughts rang. Magda, where are you?

She only recently met the malevolent Claude Mirage, and she already knew why he was nicknamed the Mad King.