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By the time they reached the top of the hill and the steeple at the center of the city, Dagmara could feel her heart pounding in her chest and sweat collecting on her lower back. She was grateful Lionel hadn’t asked her any questions so that she could save her energy and breath rather than trying to speak.

Inside the manor was a large staircase that caused Dagmara to slow her pace.

Claude caught her eye, curiosity edging his expression. She flashed him an uneasy smile and forced herself up the stairs. They reached the second floor hallway, passing an open door with a large desk—most likely Lionel’s study. Soon they rounded out of the hallway and into the main room at the end of the corridor, and a bright parlor came into view.

Lionel’s tea parlor was extravagant, with giant windows to overlook the city square. The steeple was directly across from them, the bell glistening in the sunlight. Martine stood near the table, Sacha by the entrance, and Pierre was making small talk with one of Lionel’s servants.

Dagmara only had to find the perfect moment to slip away.

The conversation that proceeded was remarkably boring. Dagmara was forced to feign interest the entire time, but luckily, Lionel and Claude seemed to tumble into a variety of conversations about the province that Dagmara had no input on. Anytime she was involved in discussions with King Bogdan, it was about assassinations she was responsible for or conspiracy theories surrounding the castle. She found that exceptionally more exciting than taxes.

She didn’t envy Magda. Certainly as a guardian, the silky skin, perfect health, and magical prowess were perks, but if she never had to discuss taxes another day in her life, Dagmara would be content. It must’ve been nice for Guardian Sora, the Celesta guardian. She was a Spirit Guardian, and didn’t have a single political responsibility, for political duties were taken care of by the tower. Besides, the guardians didn’t have much to guard for the last few centuries—according to the legend of the First Prince.

The First Prince will rise.

The haunting sentence carved into the cavern in Nouchenne caused Dagmara to shudder. Brushing aside the memory, she returned to the conversation at hand. Dagmara didn’t know how she would be able to sit through these conversations for the rest of her life.

That’s when she remembered—she was simply a placeholder. She was an imposter. She didn’t have to think about the rest of her life. What would happen if Claude wasn’t responsible for the murders? That meant, they would really go through with this marriage. What would happen when Magda returned from Flaustra and took Dagmara’s place?

Dagmara was so convinced that Claude was the monster, that the wedding would be annulled, and that Ilusauri and Azurem would go to war with one another. She had never thought about the opposing possibility.

When the conversation turned to shipyards, Dagmara decided she had remained present for long enough. It was time to search the manor and find out if Lionel had anything to do with the aliases of the assassins.

“Pardon me, I must use the powder room,” Dagmara said during a lull in the conversation.

“Down the hall, third door on your left,” Lionel said with a smile.

She rose from the table and went straight to the hallway. As she rounded the corner, she immediately sensed Martine trailing her.

Glancing over her shoulder, trying not to sound suspicious, Dagmara said, “I don’t need assistance in the powder room.”

“I plan to wait in the hall. I don’t know who is around here.”

Trying to rack her brain for a decent excuse to get rid of Martine, she returned her attention to the hallway in front of her and slammed against someone. Looking up, she met the gaze of the Ilusaurian Captain.

“Hello, Princess,” he said. “I’ll take it from here, Martine, remain by the king.”

“Yes, Captain,” Martine replied without any objection and retraced her steps.

“This is familiar,” Sabien said, his voice melodic.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Dagmara. She bumped him on the shoulder as she passed, continuing out of the parlor and heading toward the powder room. When she reached the powder room, it was unlocked. Before entering, she eyed the door at the end of the hall, the woodwork more intricate than the other doors surrounding her. It was slightly ajar, revealing the desk inside. There had to be something in there. How could she get rid of Sabien?

Sabien spoke behind her, “I’m referring to how close we were in the library, when your chest was against mine right before we—”

Dagmara whirled around and lunged for the captain. She clamped her hand over his mouth, stopping him mid sentence. “Shh! What is wrong with you?”

She couldn’t see Claude and Lionel from their position in the hall, but their faded voices alerted her that they might be able to hear them.

She felt Sabien smile behind her palm, and he reached to grip her hip.

A sudden warmth surged through her body. She batted his hand away before grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him into the powder room.

She closed the door behind them before glaring at him. “No one can know about what happened in the library.”

“No one?” Sabien mused. “Or Claude?”

“No one includes Claude,” Dagmara snapped. “Did you tell him?”