45. Dagmara

After the attack in Sailonne, Claude was unconscious the entire ride home. When they arrived back at the castle, he was quickly taken in by the royal nurses, making it impossible to ask him any questions. That evening, Dagmara washed away the battle, sitting in the tub until the water went cold. Every limb hurt, blood pooled in her feet making them a shade of purple, and she could feel her head pulsing. She would’ve fallen asleep had she not been preoccupied staring at her pruning fingers. She examined her palms as though they were foreign to her. How was any of this possible? How could she heal people and what did that mean?

Skimming her fingertips on the surface of the water, she tried to clear her head enough to think about the potential. Was it possible she had Life magic? She had watched Aleksy and Bogdan manipulate water time and time again. She had to find out, but her body was too exhausted. As she traced her hand against the surface of the water, nothing happened.

What was she doing? She should stick to what she knew. Her potions would bring her comfort. That was something she was decent at.

She exited the tub, put on a nightgown, and was combing through her wet hair when there was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” Dagmara called.

“Princess? It’s Claude.”

The voice instantly changed Dagmara’s mood. She dropped her comb on the nightstand and raced to the door. She threw it open to see Claude in the threshold.

He was alive. Her magic had healed him. He stood before her, dressed in a billowing white shirt that was tucked into loose trousers. The shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing his muscular forearms. His face was clear, and there was no more scar.

“Claude,” Dagmara said, breathless. She ignored Pierre and Martine that hovered in the hall behind him.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice quiet. His accent was still as gorgeous as the first day she had met him. “I know it’s late, but I had to see you.”

Dagmara nodded. “I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Thanks to you,” Claude replied before a laugh escaped his lips. “Again.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, glancing sideways at the guards before asking, “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yes,” Dagmara muttered, opening the door wider.

Claude stepped inside and closed the door behind him, purposefully leaving Martine and Pierre in the corridor.

Suddenly Dagmara felt like her dress was too thin, and the air was hard to breathe. She crossed to the bed and sat down, pulling her dress farther past her knees.

The king approached, but stopped a few paces away. He leaned against the post that held up the canopy, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I was nervous that I scared you away because of my…my appearance. I should apologize for lying to you and hiding the real me. I should have told you before.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Dagmara spoke. “I understand why you kept it from me. People keep secrets for a multitude of reasons.” I’m also lying to you. She wanted to add, but bit her tongue.

“You don’t see me as a monster?”

“I don’t think of you any differently.”

“Well,” Claude said, a lilt to his voice that almost sounded like a laugh, “this was far easier than I expected. I had this whole monologue prepared to save our marriage. Pierre said you saved me, when you could’ve let me die. You saved me from the poison on the terrace, you’re helping rebuild my kingdom, and you even saved me from myself in the forest the day we played Soulaye. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Dagmara inclined her head, gazing at the king. “Is it that hard to believe someone likes you?”

His gaze was chilling. “It’s hard to believe I’m more than what people say I am. A Mad King.”

Dagmara spoke, “We are not defined by our titles, our appearances, or our…” she paused, thinking of herself, “...or our illnesses. We are defined by the actions we take, and the difference we make in this world, no matter how small.” She waited for his response. Her words settled in the air as even she mulled over them. It was so easy to encourage someone else and not take the advice for herself. But, there was something about the way the words spilled out that had her questioning if she could someday accept herself, illness and all.

She was never going to be Magda, and she knew that. She was a daughter of an assassin, a girl with a condition the nurses couldn’t name, and she just wanted someone to love every part of her, not only the outside appearance.

She had taken Magda’s name, but Dagmara was the one who had accomplished everything up until now. The first day on the terrace with the poisoned wine…Magda would never have noticed the abnormal pitcher. That would have been the end of Magda’s life. Even with her health, Dagmara had been the one to save both her life and Claude’s. As a result, an alliance was formed, and trade was beginning again.

Whether Claude was involved with the assassinations or not, one truth was still clear: he was sending medicine to her kingdom, and Azurem was sending food to Ilusauri. They were helping thousands.

And maybe that was enough.

Claude’s chocolate eyes roamed every inch of her face, the small specs of silver catching the light, as a faint grin began to form.

“May I ask what happened?” she ventured, referencing the scar which was now invisible to her eyes.

Claude’s smile wavered. He cleared his throat as he took a seat on the bed beside her. The mattress shifted under his weight as he made himself comfortable. “It was the night my parents died,” he paused.

A pang of sympathy filled Dagmara’s chest.

“Mind Guardians can’t project illusions if they can’t see what everyone else is seeing. Luckily, I still have one eye,” Claude explained. Then his expression darkened. “I haven’t told this story to anyone.”

Dagmara reached forward and placed her hand on his.

Claude jerked back, but then he slowly shifted his palm and intertwined his fingers with hers. “For the first time in my life, I want to share my story with someone.”

“And I’m here to listen,” Dagmara replied. She needed to ask him what he knew about King Bogdan. He mentioned being in contact with the king regarding the planned assassins. She had to know the truth.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Claude countered.

Unease crept through Dagmara. She thought she could finally get him to open up. Discover the real him. Now he was shifting the attention back to her. Her mind flashed to the first night in the castle.

“I will use her to Ilusauri’s advantage, find out what she knows, and then I can get rid of her.”

Yanking her hand from his, Dagmara rose from the bed. “I’m tired,” she announced, hoping he would take the cue and leave.

There was a flash of disbelief on Claude’s face, but it was gone in an instant. The king rose from the bed. “What are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing,” Dagmara answered.

He took a step toward her. “You haven’t been honest with me about everything. There’s something you aren’t telling me, but I simply can’t figure it out.”

Tilting her head, Dagmara stuck her chin in the air. “You’re the one that still holds secrets about the night your parents died. I don’t think you’ve been completely honest with me.”

“I don’t want to be honest with you!” Claude said, his voice filling the room. “I don’t want to admit the way you make me…” his voice trailed off, fire blazing behind his eyes.

“What?” Dagmara urged.

Claude’s expression darkened. “You have invaded every single thought,” Claude stated. “I can’t see medicine without thinking of your dedication to your kingdom. I can’t walk by flowers without thinking how nothing could compare to your beauty. I can’t even look at any color resembling turquoise without wondering the exact shade of your favorite color. I had forgotten the sound of my own laughter until you reminded me how to laugh again. So now, I can’t even hear laughter without you crossing my mind.” He let out a deep sigh. “Since the moment you arrived, no matter how much it initially bothered me, you have spoken to me as though I am not the Mad King, but just a man. It’s as if this madness isn’t my only defining characteristic. Because of you, I am irrevocably doomed, but somehow…I relish this destruction.”

In one moment, he was a foot away from her, his expression indifferent. The next, his palms gripped both sides of her face and he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was powerful and all-consuming, threatening to make her knees buckle under the sheer intensity. A fire ignited inside her, and she wanted more. Desire coursed through her body, hotter than the first time she kissed him. Now, he was in control, and it was undeniably attractive. He slipped his tongue between her lips, searching her mouth, and she couldn’t help the moan that escaped her.

Then he yanked back, stumbling away and letting his eyes consume every ounce of her. His chest heaved as he panted, as though the kiss had left him breathless.

Her lips ached, her heart pounding against her chest. She wanted him. She wanted more.

“We agreed this would be purely political,” he said. His voice was low, almost guttural, sending shivers through Dagmara’s entire body. “Sailonne needs me to appoint another governor after Lionel’s death.” He smoothed out the front of his shirt. “Goodnight, Princess.” He turned to leave, but Dagmara wasn’t done with him. She lunged forward, grabbing him by the wrist and stopping him in his tracks. She wasn’t strong enough to pull him back to her. He willingly halted, curious.

She wanted to tell him she didn’t want to keep this purely political. She wanted all of him, the Mad King, the Guardian, both the good and the bad. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that. If he wanted it to be purely political, she could find a way to quell the intense emotions she held for him.

At least that’s what she told herself as she kissed him again.

There was no hesitation on his part. His arm wrapped around her lower back, pulling her body flush against him. Her chest pressed against his, only thin fabric separating them. His hand found the back of her neck, his fingers curling through her hair and tilting her head to kiss her deeper.

Her body burned with need, and she wanted to feel his skin against hers. She gripped the collar of his shirt, tugging at the fabric that blocked her from running her hands down his naked chest.

He obeyed her request.

Taking his hands off her for a brief moment, he gripped the bottom of his shirt and tugged it over his head, discarding it to the side.

She used the brief pause to catch her breath. She scanned his body, taking in every ounce of him. Every rigid line, every curve of muscle. By the guardians, he was everything she wanted and more. Yet, he was still hiding his face from her.

Before she could speak her mind, his lips were once again on hers. His hands roamed down her backside until he reached her thighs. He gripped her tightly and hoisted her in the air. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, their kiss unrelenting. He took a few steps toward the bed before guiding her down on her back. She scooted back on the bed, and he followed, climbing over her until he braced himself with his elbows on either side of her head. He let his body settle between her legs, and every part of him pressed against her. Heat flooded her core, and it took every ounce of her strength to break the kiss long enough to say, “I want to see the real you.”

He paused, his face inches from hers, and his eyes burning with desire. “I…don’t usually show people that.”

Her hands cupped his face. She felt an indent on the left side of his face, but she couldn’t see it. “You can’t scare me away, Claude,” she said.

He nodded, letting out a shaky breath. Then his face began to transform. The right side remained chiseled and perfect, while the left revealed a giant scar. His eye turned a shade of gray, the scar running directly through it from his eyebrow to his chin. The scar was a shade off from the rest of his skin, the surrounding area rough and marked from a healer’s attempt to fix it.

Dagmara ran her thumb against his cheek, somehow feeling more attraction to the man before her. She didn’t have words to express her emotions. Instead, she pulled him toward her, needing his lips on hers once more.

His hand traced the side of her body, following every curve. He reached the hem of her dress, and the moment his fingers touched her bare thigh, her breath hitched. He kissed her jaw, tracing all the way to her neck. His lips met the soft spot under her ear, and as his hand trailed higher, another gasp escaped her lips. A shiver raced down her spine, and she tightened her grip around him.

“You’re so beautiful, Magdalena,” Claude whispered through kisses.

Dagmara’s body froze. Ice course through her veins, and despite the burning in her core, she was thrown back to reality. What was she doing? Claude would never be hers and she knew that. It didn’t matter how much she was falling…none of it made a difference. He was betrothed to Magda.

Claude pulled back, touching her cheek to turn her face to his. “What’s wrong?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” Dagmara muttered. “I don’t think we should go too far tonight.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

Claude seemed unfazed. “That’s fine.”

Dagmara shifted underneath him, trying to escape, and he sat upright.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she lied.

He nodded, his scarred face full of concern.

This is not what she wanted. She wanted him and all of him. But she also wanted him to want her…the real her. She hated lying to him.

“I’m tired,” she tried to cover her tracks. “But…can you stay?”

The concern faded from his face. “I should really appoint a new governor…but I can stay until you fall asleep.”

She smiled. That was enough for her.

Climbing under the covers, Dagmara shifted to the side to make room for him. He slid in beside her, pulling the blanket up to their shoulders. He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her toward him until she was snuggled against his chest.

“Remember how I said if I wasn’t mad before that you would drive me insane?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Well you’ve driven me mad, for I’m falling madly in love with you.”

A smile formed on Dagmara’s face, her entire body settling in his embrace. She closed her eyes to fall asleep before answering in a whisper, “I suppose we’re both mad.”