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Slipping on a thin nightgown, she stared at herself in the mirror, seeing dark circles under her eyes.

Her fingers traced the scar on her collarbone from the night Sabien slashed her. It was a reminder of her role as an assassin for King Bogdan. She wished she had asked him or Aleksy for the truth. Why was she assassinating Azuremi citizens if the people who killed them were Ilusaurian? Why was her mom hired in the first place, forcing Dagmara and Teos to move into the royal fortress? If only she could ask. But the only people who knew the truth were all dead.

Grief threatened to knock her over, so she exited the washroom to return to bed. As she was climbing under the covers, she heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Dagmara said.

The door opened, and Urszula entered with a full tray. “Hello, Princess,” she said, and Dagmara was surprised to see Martine enter behind her.

“Martine, I wasn’t expecting you,” Dagmara said.

“I have a special delivery from the king,” Martine replied.

Urszula wiggled her eyebrows as she set the breakfast tray in front of Dagmara. “A special delivery,” she echoed, her voice melodic. Urszula then made herself scarce as Martine approached.

“He heard you were homesick and wanted to give you a gift,” Martine said. She extended a book toward Dagmara.

“Who told him I was homesick?”

Martine raised an eyebrow. “You missed lunch and dinner yesterday. If I told him you weren’t feeling well he would have summoned doctors. As a guardian, I’m sure you wouldn’t have liked that.”

Ever since Nouchenne, Martine had become suspicious of Dagmara’s identity. It was true, the hounds didn’t stir in Dagmara’s presence, only when Claude had arrived. Dagmara didn’t know why Martine hadn’t asked her blatantly about it, but she continued to make statements that showcased her suspicion.

“You’re right,” Dagmara replied. “Thank you.”

Accepting the book from Martine, she read the cover.

The Chronicles of Time.

It was the book he claimed was his favorite the night of the engagement ball.

“And this,” Martine pointed to a covered bowl on the breakfast tray.

Curious, Dagmara lifted the lid and revealed a pile of salt, perfectly shaven.

Salt. The one thing that helped her feel less light-headed when standing.

A smile creased on Dagmara’s face. She suppressed a laugh before holding the book tightly to her chest.

“Can I pass along to the king that you are pleased?” asked Martine.

“Very pleased.”

Martine clasped her hands in front of her. “Are you certain you’re not avoiding His Majesty?”

Heat flooded through Dagmara’s chest as she remembered the kiss with the king. She knew her face was bright red, and she tried to hide her expression.

“I am not avoiding him,” said Dagmara. “I just need to rest this week. I’m sure you understand.”

“I see.” Martine nodded. She turned to exit, but stopped a few paces from the door. “If I may speak freely, Princess.” She glanced over her shoulder.

Hesitantly, Dagmara muttered, “Of course.”

“I do not ask what I don’t want to know, for I am not allowed to keep secrets from my king,” she said. “Despite his reputation, the king is an honest man and deserves honesty in return.”

Dagmara swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Royals send placeholders all the time when they anticipate a dangerous situation. However, I saw the way you looked at each other in the forest. I don’t believe you are a danger to his life, but you could hurt him nevertheless, and yourself in the process.”