24. Dagmara

Dagmara could hardly breathe. She wasn’t certain anymore if it was because of her health, or if it was due to the fact that a ghost was standing in front of her. Shock rattled through her body upon seeing someone she had murdered come back from the dead.

Sabien Renaud.

The Ilusaurian captain stood before her, decorated in similar black attire as he had been dressed in the night at the tavern. The night she had killed him. His stature was still exquisite, and his gaze was just as captivating.

“Welcome home,” Dagmara managed, hoping her voice wasn’t as shaky as she thought it was. “The pleasure is mine. Excuse me—Martine,” Dagmara gestured to her guard, “the heat in your kingdom is getting to me, might we find some shade?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Martine said, clearing the distance between them and giving a courteous nod at both the king and the captain. “There is shade at lunch. Perhaps we’ll go over early?”

“Wonderful,” Claude said. “Sabien, join them, I’ll be over as soon as I finish cleaning up.”

Sabien nodded before clasping his hands behind his back and giving an enticing glance at Dagmara.

While Claude returned to the castle, Martine took Dagmara by the arm and began leading her to the luncheon, a few paces ahead of Sabien and out of earshot. “Princess, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Are you ill?”

“It’s the sun.” Wavering slightly, Dagmara fought to remain presentable. She had been standing too long. She simply had to sit, have salt, and then she would be able to confront Sabien.

The man rose from the dead. If the stab wound hadn’t killed him, the fall into the ravine would have. No one would have been able to survive the rapids below.

When they rounded the corner, a small, circular table came into view underneath a canopy. It was already set up for lunch, with plates and silverware, and a lilac bowl of fruit overflowing at the center. Martine led her to the table and Dagmara sat down, her heart rate no doubt at its peak.

“Thank you,” Dagmara said.

“Can I get you anything?” Martine asked.

“No,” Dagmara said, eyeing the fruit before her. “I’ll just—”

Sabien grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to touch the fruit. His grip was like iron, sending a shiver down her spine.

“You should wait for the king before touching anything,” he said, his voice low. He relinquished her like he would a child, and Dagmara didn’t even meet his gaze.

“Water, perhaps, Martine?” Sabien directed his question to the guard.

“Of course,” Martine replied.

Dagmara sat upright. “I’m fine, truly.”

Martine froze.

“The water.” Sabien commanded once more.

The Ilusaurian guard eventually listened to her superior, heading toward the castle to summon the servants. Dagmara could see them at the glass doors, but they were too far away. The other guards on the premises were yards away. She would be alone with Sabien until Martine returned.

Sabien casually pulled out the seat on her left, settling himself down at the table. She was unaware he had been invited to this lunch.

She could get out of this. Maybe he didn’t recognize her? If he did, this would all be over.

“Have you enjoyed the Ilusaurian castle so far?” Sabien asked, his voice mysterious.

“Yes,” Dagmara replied. She scoured her brain for anything to talk about that didn’t give herself away. So she said, “Your kingdom is much hotter than ours.” The weather? She scolded herself for being so stupid.

“I know,” said Sabien. “I was in Azurem once.”

Damn. Her weather comment gave him the intro he needed. What would Magda say if she was meeting this person for the first time? Magda was curious and unguarded, like there wasn’t anything in the world to fear. Dagmara could pretend to be like that.

“Oh really?” Dagmara mused. “What for?”

“The coronation.”

Dagmara studied him scrupulously. There was a way out of this. If he recognized her, she could simply brush it off and say that Magda was visiting the tavern for a short drink since she needed a break from royal life before the coronation. But then the fallacy of that plan came to her. If she made it seem like Princess Magda was at the tavern, Magda would be blamed for murdering her own citizens!

Sabien read her silence as surprise—or so she hoped. “Don’t worry, we didn’t meet there. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it to the coronation. I was tied up in personal affairs.”

Personal affairs? Dagmara had to get out of this conversation so she didn’t slip up. Maybe he didn’t recognize her. Maybe she was overreacting.

“Maybe it was better that way,” Dagmara offered. “The coronation wasn’t what we planned.”

“My deepest condolences,” Sabien said. There was something about his low, melodic voice that made her chest tighten. He was too close to her. If he shifted forward in his chair, he could touch her. One movement under the table and his leg could reach hers.

“Thank you,” she said. “Maybe one day you can return to Azurem when you aren’t caught up in personal affairs.”

There was a tug at his lip as though he suppressed a smirk. “Maybe after this marriage I will be welcomed in Azurem. I wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

“Nonsense. After the marriage and a new alliance, you would be welcome.”

“A welcomed distraction, perhaps.”

Like she had used him as a distraction at the tavern.

She met his gaze, holding steadfast as she said, “I guess only time will tell.”

They were playing a game of cat and mouse. Dagmara just had to find out if she was the cat or the mouse.

She let her eyes wander, attempting to ignore his stare. That’s when she noticed a row of purple plants dotting the cobblestone path. She nearly gasped. Was that leku? It was an herb used as a remedy for zowach. The herb that could save her brother’s life was simply sunbathing at the Ilusaurian palace?

She could feel her fingers begin to prickle with anger. One more reason to detest King Claude. His country was lacking resources, Azurem was lacking medicine, and he had the audacity to flaunt leku like it was a common flower. Teos needed that. All she had to do was snatch a handful and send it home where an apothecary could turn it into medicine. A handful wouldn’t be enough for Azurem to heal everyone, nor would it be enough to plant some of their own, but it would be enough for Teos.

“Do you like gardening, Princess?” The suave voice snapped her out of her thoughts but didn’t diminish the anger boiling in the pit of her stomach.

Dagmara cleared her throat before returning her attention to him. “Not really.”

Sabien leaned forward in his chair. “I saw you eyeing our leku. Are you into medicines…potions perhaps?”

Potions. He was testing her. “I was just admiring the view, Captain, nothing more.” She flashed a half-smile, hoping she was channeling Magda’s trained royal mannerisms somehow. Maybe she should sit up straighter?

“Well, in that case I’m also admiring the view.” He let his eyes scan her bodice and her lips before returning to her eyes.

Warmth flooded Dagmara’s entire body, and she felt her stomach curl. It took everything inside her not to let her mouth drop in shock. She was taken by his forwardness, but also taken by how quickly he transformed her emotions. He smirked, noticing the effect he had on her, which only made her heart rate increase. His face was beautiful enough, but that smile was deadly.

To her relief, she saw Martine returning to the table, but she wasn’t alone. King Claude, Madame Annette, and an entourage of servants and guards were approaching. Two guards flanked Claude on either side. They had to be his main guards, just as Martine belonged to Dagmara. The younger one was recognizable as the boy who had pulled her from the balcony yesterday. Pierre. The other was massive, towering half a foot above everyone in the clearing.

Sabien was immediately on his feet, returning completely to his professional demeanor. Dagmara struggled to follow suit, feeling her entire body threaten to drag her unconscious as she stood in formality.

“I hope I didn’t miss anything,” Claude said, his tone even as he reached the table. He, for one, cleaned up nicely.

Servants pulled out the chairs for both the king and his royal advisor while Martine took up a spot on the edge of the terrace. She was spread out evenly with the other guards.

A glass was set down in front of Dagmara, filled to the rim with ice water. Then, a small wooden bowl was placed down next to the silverware filled with pink rock salt. Startled, Dagmara rocked back in her seat.

“I noticed you found my kingdom’s salt lacking yesterday,” Claude said. “This is straight from the salt mines.”

“I can see that,” Dagmara replied with a tilt of her head.

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s just…” Dagmara noticed Annette’s fixated glare.

Claude leaned forward. “You may speak freely, Princess,” he growled.

“In Azurem, we usually shave it down to be more like a spice. To sprinkle on top.”

“To…sprinkle?” Claude’s eyebrows wavered, but he didn’t have time to elaborate.

A servant approached the table with a large pitcher and a spare tasting glass. “Wine for the table.” His nose was slightly crooked, and sweat beaded his brow.

“I don’t drink while on duty,” Sabien replied, flipping his glass down. He looked directly at the servant and said, “No wine today.”

“I am too old for mid-day wine,” Annette added, flipping her glass down as well.

“Never too old for that, Madame,” Dagmara said with a laugh.

Annette’s face insinuated that she was not amused.

The servant first poured a sip for himself in the tasting glass, struggling with the weight of the pitcher as he fumbled for a decent grip.

“Tell me, Princess, how is your mother?” Annette pried, loud enough for all to hear.

“She is well under the circumstances,” Dagmara replied.

“And how many years has it been since you and Claude have seen each other?” Annette pressed.

“Eleven,” Claude answered on Dagmara’s behalf, switching his attention to his advisor. “Don’t ask her a dozen questions.”

The servant drank his entire glass. Dagmara couldn’t help but notice Claude watching him diligently. This tasting must have been his idea.

“I’m not questioning her,” Annette responded, “I’m getting to know her. Shouldn’t you be doing the same?”

“I am,” said Claude.

“Actually,” Sabien mused, “I would also like to know more about the princess. Do you have any hobbies?”

Dagmara’s throat went dry. “I ride every morning,” she managed. At least Magda does. Magda always took her horse out to the waterfalls with Odie.

Sabien grinned. “Morning rides are my personal favorite.”

“Since when?” Claude glanced at his captain.

There was a clatter of silverware as the servant struggled for a grip on the pitcher. “Apologies, Princess,” he said under his breath, the sweat now running down his temple. He shifted his thumb and began pouring into her glass.

Casually, Sabien turned to address Claude. “I think we’re discussing two separate hobbies.”

The muscles in Claude’s neck tensed.

The servant reached over and poured Claude’s wine. The table was small enough that he didn’t have to walk around to the other side. There was something about the pitcher that was utterly familiar.

Annette spoke next, “Tell me about your royal education.”

Dagmara opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“Don’t make me regret inviting you both,” Claude snapped. He grabbed the stem of his wine just as the servant finished pouring. He raised it to Dagmara. “To getting to know each other, in time, without a thousand questions.”

Annette let out an audible scoff.

Dagmara raised her glass, giving Claude a smile, her thoughts elsewhere.

The servant turned away with the pitcher in hand, but something about that pitcher felt like home. And he shouldn’t have struggled with his grip that much.

Claude brought the wine to his lips.

It was the same trick she had used in the tavern to poison her victims.

“No!” Dagmara screamed. She dropped her own wine glass, spilling it down her gloved hand, as she lunged across the table. She whacked the goblet firmly out of Claude’s grip, and the contents splashed on the front of his shirt.

A collection of gasps broke out from the servants and guards around the table, Madame Annette’s being the loudest. Sabien was already on his feet, and Claude shoved his chair back and rose.

“What was that?” Claude’s voice boomed.

“It was poisoned.” The words escaped Dagmara’s lips before she had a chance to second-guess.

Was she sure? Did she see it correctly or was it all a slip of her imagination?

Claude’s expression darkened, his voice barely audible. “Poisoned?”

That’s when Dagmara felt the singe of pain. She looked down at her hand to see her glove coated in red wine and burning like hell. Wincing, she tore off her glove, throwing the fabric aside before wiping her hand on her skirt. She was familiar with the sting, but to anyone else who left it on a moment longer, it would easily leave scars.

Claude yelled what Dagmara could only assume was a curse word before tearing off his shirt, soaked in wine. Once it was off, everyone could see the inflamed skin on the center of his chest—the center of his very muscular chest.

Shouts rang across the terrace, and at one point Dagmara heard the word for ‘doctor’. There wasn’t time for all that. It just needed to be washed off.

Dagmara grabbed her glass of water and chucked it toward the king. The water splashed against his chest as the ice cubes bounced off in random directions.

Everyone went silent.

Claude froze, his expression indecipherable as his eyes flicked from Dagmara to the empty glass in her hand. His jaw ticked, anger flaring in his eyes. Beads of water ran down his chiseled body, over every divot in his abdomen. The water settled in the crevices between his taut muscles and low-rise pants.

She gave him an embarrassed grin.

In the silence, footsteps and panting were heard. The servant who had poured the wine was dashing up the terrace steps, the pitcher left behind on the ground, going for the escape. All of the guards had been too stunned by the outburst to grab him in time.

As if everyone jumped to action at once, the guards started making haste.

However, the guards didn’t overtake the servant before the earth rose from the ground. Directly in the servant’s path, the terrace split in a deafening crack, shooting upward to create a wall. The servant nearly collided with the wall, skidding to a halt and falling to the ground.

Dagmara gasped, stumbling back and catching herself against the table. She didn’t even feel the terrace vibrate. Who had Soul magic here?

As the servant scooted away from the wall, trying to find his escape, an ember of fire ignited at the base of his pants.

Fire magic?

The servant let out an ear piercing scream as the fire imploded, reaching up his pant leg.

“Who sent you?” Claude’s voice was louder than anything she had heard before. He started forward, silver magic dancing at his fingertips.

That’s when it clicked. None of this was real. It was all in the mind. Claude was projecting all of this with his mind? Dagmara didn’t even know that was possible.

“Who!?” Claude yelled, and the fire erupted, consuming the servant’s entire body.

Dagmara could only watch in sheer terror as the servant threw himself at the ground, screaming to put out the flames.

“Claude!” Annette screamed.

Sabien stepped forward and placed a hand in front of Claude. His Ilusaurian was too quick for Dagmara to pick up amid the chaos, but she heard something about taking the servant for questioning.

Everyone on the terrace was frozen, watching the servant scream and thrash on the ground.

“Your Majesty,” Sabien said.

With one wave of his hand, Claude dismissed the projections. In a blink of an eye, everything returned to normal. The terrace was untouched, no more wall of earth. The fire was gone. The servant’s clothes weren’t even burned.

It was all a mind game.

And it was terrifying.

Sabien was the first to move, charging toward the servant who was still squirming to put out the imaginary fire. A few guards followed, joining him to bring the servant to prison no doubt.

One servant mentioned something about grabbing the doctor, racing inside. Others crowded the table, asking if everyone was alright.

It was all a blur until Claude whirled toward Dagmara, a twinge of silver flecks remaining in his eyes as the magic disappeared. “How did you know?” he asked, his chest heaving.

Dagmara could hardly move. She felt her heart pounding against her ribcage, her hands shaking, and her knees about to give out. “I—”

Claude slammed both palms on the table, clattering the dishware. Pure muscle rippled up his arms and shoulders. He was the embodiment of a guardian.

And Dagmara was the last thing from a guardian.

“How?” he screamed, startling Dagmara so that she staggered away from him.

“That’s enough!” Annette yelled. She wrapped an arm around Dagmara, seeming to come to her aid for a surprise. Yet when Dagmara’s body was pressed against hers, she could feel her quivering as well.

Claude hung his head. “Get out.”

“What?” Dagmara’s meek voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I thought I could protect you, and I can’t. You have to hide. Somewhere safer than here.” He lifted his head and met her gaze. There was something vulnerable there, hidden behind the rage. Dagmara could almost see it before it entirely vanished as he repeated, “Leave the castle now!”