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She was up late, mixing her potions that lay hidden in her makeup kit. A headache lingered at her temples, and a pain radiated through her upper back and shoulders, but nothing she couldn’t handle. As she made her concoction, mist began rising from the vial, and she instantly capped it. She couldn’t risk putting herself to sleep.
She crossed to the table and the teapot that rested there. She had called for tea earlier that evening, and it arrived moments prior. She hastily opened the top and dropped the vial in. Before the steam rose, mixed with the sleeping solution, she closed the lid.
Crossing to the door, she channeled her inner princess. She opened it to see Martine on guard, as suspected.
“This tea tastes funny, and it smells odd,” Dagmara said. “What are you people giving me?”
Martine’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Smell it yourself.” Dagmara held out the pot.
Martine took the teapot. The guard’s expression was laced with suspicion, but she fell for the trap anyway. She inhaled the steam rising from the pot before closing the lid. “It smells…” her voice trailed off.
Dagmara caught the teapot before it shattered on the ground. Martine slumped against the wall before lowering into a sleep.
Dagmara returned the teapot to her room before taking off down the corridor. Rounding the corner, she attempted to retrace the steps she had taken with Madame Annette. She passed a neighboring hallway and froze.
There was a figure that disappeared into another room. There wasn’t enough time to examine the figure, but the dark attire…the dark hair…the broad shoulders and tall stature…it was the Ilusaurian captain, Sabien, who she had killed.
Her heart lurched in her chest. Was her mind playing tricks on her? It was as if she was seeing ghosts. Fear fluttered in her chest, and she suppressed it before continuing down the hall. Turning the corner, she faced a dead end.
Inching closer, Dagmara ran her palm against the stone, but her hand traced thin air. While it appeared she was touching a stone wall, she wasn’t touching anything at all. Gasping, Dagmara jerked her hand back.
Was this an illusion? She knew the Guardian of the Mind could conjure illusions, but why would they need a fake wall?
The answer hit her immediately. To keep her in. She was a prisoner here. The Mad King put up a false wall to prevent her from snooping, but she wouldn’t fall for it.
Taking a deep breath, she walked straight through the wall. The corridor continued on the other side, and Dagmara smiled to herself. The only way to beat Claude was to be smarter than him.
A few guards were walking the hall, and she made an inconspicuous cross to turn at the next corridor. Passing some windows, lit with the moonlight and stars, she knew she had to be near the front foyer.
Then she heard voices. Frozen in her tracks, she began to follow them. The grand entrance was before her, and she peered around the corner.
Claude was charging down the staircase with two guards on either side of him. One was the large guard from the balcony and the other looked young and inexperienced, with a bow strapped to his back. She recognized him as Pierre, the guard who had saved her on the balcony earlier that day.
Madame Annette tried to keep up with the three of them on the stairs.
“Can’t you clear it in the morning?” she asked.
“No, what if the hounds wake up?” Claude asked, not even hesitating to glance over his shoulder.
Dagmara had to lean closer. She was on the second floor, and the group was below her.
“You really think someone in Nouchenne is an assassin?”
Claude stopped. He whirled to face his advisor, the sword at his belt making an arc around his body. “I’m not taking chances with Magdalena here.”
Annette was the first to admit, “I don’t like her.”
“You don’t like a lot of people.”
“Her mannerisms and language do not reflect that of royalty. I don’t think she’s a princess.”
The king paused, and Dagmara couldn’t breathe. She inched closer, trying to see their expressions without getting caught. It was hard to translate every word they were saying and follow the pace of their conversation.
Claude lifted his hand, waving away his guards. They obeyed, creating distance and moving out of earshot. Luckily, for Dagmara, she was directly above the king and his advisor, and she could hear nearly everything.
“Her father and brother just died, how do you want her to act?” Claude asked, his voice coarse.
