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“With your wealth of knowledge about the fortress, your wealth of coin, and…” he paused to let his fingers skim the hem of Dagmara’s cloak, “…the expensive fabric of your cloak, I suspect you have a very prestigious place there.”

Dagmara yanked the fabric away from him, scooting sideways on the stool.

Sabien grinned. “So, if you work at the royal fortress, what are you doing here the night before the coronation, Dagger?”

“Dagmara,” she corrected.

“I like my nickname better. You wouldn’t happen to be seeking one final night of freedom before your big day, would you?”

Dagmara’s face paled. Did he think she was Princess Magdalena?

A glass shattered behind the bar, and Andrzej let out a slew of curse words.

“Let me help,” Dagmara stated, rising from the barstool. Disregarding Sabien’s questions, she shoved by two drunk men to round the bar.

“Ah, milady, I couldn’t ask that of you,” Andrzej said, already sweeping up the glass, the front of his shirt drenched in beer.

“You said your barmaid didn’t show, let me at least help until the rush dies down,” she said.

Andrzej looked up at her like a lost puppy. “Would you?” he reached out and patted her cheek. “You’re a doll.”

“You stay here, I’ll deliver another round to the tables in the back,” Dagmara announced. Everything was going according to plan. She dropped down behind the bar, finding the pitcher she had hidden there a few nights prior. It was a special pitcher, with a secret compartment for the poison. With a shift of the thumb, the poison would be able to flow out alongside the alcohol. Shift it back, and only the alcohol would dispense. After dropping a pinch of smierc from her potions belt into the pitcher’s poison compartment, Dagmara rose from behind the bar with the pitcher in hand.

She was keenly aware that the Ilusaurian was still watching her. His gaze made the muscles in her stomach tense.

“Can’t take your eyes off me, huh?” she called over her shoulder as she filled the pitcher from the keg.

“Is that a problem, Dagger?” he replied.

She swirled on her heel to face him. “It’s Dagmara.”

“I heard you the first two times.”

“So it’s not your hearing, it’s your memory that sucks.”

He smirked. “I have a perfect memory of the moment I had you trapped against the bar. Unless…you’d like to remind me of that too?”

Forcing herself to ignore the butterflies that churned in her stomach, she made a straight line to Jacek. It would be a problem if Sabien continued to watch her. She was supposed to remain discreet.

Reaching Jacek’s table, she channeled her best acting. “One more round for the table?” She flashed the five men a cute smile. They all shouted something incoherent before slamming their jugs down. Meticulously, she poured the four mugs first, then with a little shift of her thumb, she poured the last jug for Jacek. The poison blended perfectly with the alcohol. They were all too drunk to notice the slight hole beside the spout.

“Long live the guardians!” she exclaimed. As she went back to the bar to get another round of alcohol— without poison—for the next table, she still sensed Sabien’s presence. She had to get rid of him. She wouldn’t let an Ilusaurian ruin this.

She proceeded to the next table, weaving through the customers, and began to fill their drinks. She saw a woman on her right, lounging against a wealthy noble.

Dagmara grabbed her by the hand and leaned in. “Don’t tell anyone, but I heard there’s an Ilusaurian at the bar.”

The woman’s eyes widened as she covered her mouth with a gloved hand. “No!” she exclaimed.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Dagmara repeated before returning to the bar once more. Her heart began to accelerate, not from nerves, but from her health. Her mission was almost over. She could push through. She wouldn’t let her condition define her.

Timing was key. Timing was everything.

But the noise and heat intensified. Darkness started to crowd her peripheral vision, threatening to pull her unconscious.

Then someone took the pitcher from her hands. “Why, you’re as pale as snow!” Andrzej’s raspy voice scraped against her temples. “Go get some air.”

“Thank you,” Dagmara let out. She swerved through the remaining patrons and burst out the back door. A nearby crate caught her as she fell to a seated position. The chill from the night air flooded her body, preventing her from overheating any more. The world returned to normal.