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CHAPTER 1
Dagmara
Dagmara felt safer when her gloves were laced with poison.
The sun was setting over the cliffside town of Gorzhelm, casting a pink hue on the pastel-colored buildings. The town was bustling with villagers and foreigners, preparing for Princess Magdalena’s coronation the following morning.
Honing in on her target—innocent Greta—Dagmara passed underneath a flag with the royal sigil, brushed past a couple, and knocked into the barmaid.
Greta let out a squeal, stumbling back a few steps and dropping her keys.
“Oh, my apologies!” Dagmara said before Greta could utter a word. Swooping to pick up the keys, Dagmara placed them in Greta’s bare hands, giving her a firm grip.
“My fault.” Greta’s face was flushed as she accepted the keys. “Thank you.”
“Long live the guardians,” Dagmara added before sweeping into the flow of the crowd once more. She meticulously removed the gloves and slipped them into a nearby wastebasket. Rounding the corner, she eyed Greta, noticing her pace was already sluggish. It wouldn’t be long before one of the nice citizens of Gorzhelm ushered her to the doctor. By then, the trace of bilans would already be out of her system, and the doctor would simply advise her to rest.
Continuing with diligence, Dagmara proceeded to the tavern, tightening her cloak to shield herself from the chill.
The main square was flooded with citizens not only from Gorzhelm, but from all of Azurem. The central fountain held a spectacular waterworks display, in an attempt to mimic the water manipulation the Guardians of Azurem possessed. Children jumped near the edge, pretending they could harness the magic of the guardians. Tomorrow, Princess Magda would rise to become a guardian of Azurem, joining her father and brother as a Guardian of Life. Everyone was here to witness the day she received her magic.
Dagmara watched the children for a brief moment as they played with their pets in the square. Some were weak with bloodshot eyes, indicating that they might already be infected with the kingdom’s most deadly illness ravaging the countryside. It only affected children, so Dagmara was safe, but no one knew how exactly it spread in the first place.
“Long live the guardians.” A woman stepped in Dagmara’s path, extending a single poppy flower toward her.
“No, thank you,” Dagmara said gently. “Long live the guardians.”
She knew better than to accept handouts on the street, especially during the time of the coronation and when an infection was spreading. She checked her money pouch, single dagger, and potions pouch out of sheer habit as she picked up her pace. Her heart rate started to intensify, and her breath was shallow. She had been walking for too long. She hadn’t stopped to rest since she left the royal fortress. Urging herself to continue, hating the constant reminder of her imperfect health, Dagmara pushed her body despite her condition and reached the tavern.
The tavern was hot and smelled of sweat and alcohol. All around her people danced to the fiddle’s music, illegally gambled, or shared secrets after a long day working in the mines. The Azuremi crest hung in every corner of the room, softening the ambiance with pastel pinks and blues. Above the bar was a wolf carving, appropriate for the name of the tavern.
She noticed her victim almost immediately in the corner from his boisterous gestures. King Bogdan had described him well. Jacek’s beard was dripping with alcohol, making his graying hair glossy, and his shirt was half unbuttoned. He struggled to stay upright in his chair, slurring his words as he cheered on the gamblers.
Dagmara spotted an open seat at the bar and almost let out an audible sigh of relief. She wouldn’t be able to stand much longer. Slithering through the patrons, shoving aside the drunk miners, she almost made it to the barstool when she slammed into someone’s shoulder. He knocked her completely off balance and she stumbled to catch herself on the bar. As she turned around to face him, she noticed he also braced himself against the bar, his arms on either side of her.
Dagmara looked up…and up at him.
His eyes were a rich chocolate, and his black hair fell to the bottom of his ears. He was tall and broad, adorning a black vest with silver stitching and a black diamond crest. It was unfamiliar to her, but it must have signified some noble household. His skin was tanned, and his jawline was chiseled. His gaze was hypnotic. The way he stood demanded attention, almost as if he was a guardian himself.
By the guardians, he was the most attractive man in Azurem.
Her lower back was pressed against the bar, and he was nearly leaning over her with his hands braced on either side of her body. Dagmara could only stare as he parted his lips.
“Pardon me,” he said with a soft accent, remaining close to her.
All the warmth vanished from Dagmara’s body. He wasn’t Azuremi at all. He was Ilusaurian. What was someone from Ilusauri doing on Azuremi soil when the kingdoms cut ties over a decade ago? What was the Mad King of Ilusauri scheming now?
Dagmara’s skin prickled. She had never met someone from that monstrous kingdom. She was very young when the kingdoms broke ties, and hadn’t understood all the politics surrounding the split.
She didn’t have time to think about that. Someone let him across the border, so he had to have permission to be here. Maybe King Bogdan invited representatives from each kingdom to the coronation? Maybe he was here on business? It didn’t concern her why the dreamy man was here at all.
“You’re excused,” Dagmara replied curtly. With a small nod, she shoved his arm out of the way and stole the barstool, trying desperately to ignore the inviting raise of his eyebrows. As soon as she sat, her heart settled, and the dizzying nausea dissipated. Her breathing slowed, and she let out a sigh of relief.
The man’s gaze lingered as he passed by, reaching the other end of the bar. He leaned his elbows against the wood, and muscles rippled at every inch of his body. A smirk crossed his face, and he glanced in her direction.
She snapped her head away with a shake, clearing her mind. She was here for one reason only.
“On the house for the prettiest girl in town,” the barkeep said, his voice raspy. He was barely as tall as the bar, and his skin was lined with wrinkles. He set down a jug intended for beer, but instead held Kvas. She was here often enough for him to know she didn’t drink. At least not at the Wilk Tavern. Whenever she was here, she was on business.
