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But she didn’t have time to respond. Claude was no longer paying attention to her. The moment Claude peered over her shoulder, her blood turned to ice. The mood shifted, and any bit of hospitality Claude was displaying had disappeared. His expression turned hostile, and his eyes began to twinkle with silver.

The two guards behind Claude took a step closer to the table. She thought at first they were threatening her, but they only had eyes for their king.

Whipping her head around, Dagmara followed Claude’s gaze. On the railing of the balcony, a blackbird had landed. The bird let out a single note, so piercing that it scraped against Dagmara’s temples. The yellow ring around its eyes seemed fixated on her.

In one sharp motion, Claude rose from the table and chucked his wine glass at the bird.

Dagmara ducked, escaping the cup by inches.

The bird took flight as the glass shattered against the railing, the wine splattering the terrace.

It all happened so fast.

Claude yelled something in Ilusaurian before flipping the table. He was strong, and the table went flying.

Shrieking, Dagmara fell from her chair and dropped to the ground, covering her face with her arms as silverware clattered to the ground around her. Both the pitcher and the wine glass coated her in red liquid. The bouquet of flowers knocked her in the head before joining the broken glassware on the terrace. She scrambled backward, away from Claude, feeling the shattered glass under her palms.

An iron grip clasped her bicep, and someone yanked her to her feet before she could register any pain. It wasn’t Claude grabbing her. It was one of his guards.

Another arm swooped around her middle, nearly lifting her off her feet and dragging her toward the exit.

She heard shouting, but they were speaking too fast for her to translate. Two guards ran to Claude, but before they even reached him, Claude merely glanced at them, and they crumpled to the ground like rag dolls.

Claude’s eyes were pure silver.

Dagmara didn’t know fear until Claude met her gaze.

She wasn’t Magda. She wasn’t royalty. He could get into her mind and project illusions or compel her. He was, after all, a Mind Guardian.

She squeezed her eyes shut just as the guard holding her rescued her from the room and slammed the door shut behind them. Another loud crack sounded out on the balcony, and Dagmara jerked upright, backing away until she crashed into someone.

“What happened this time?” Annette asked, grabbing Dagmara’s shoulders and turning her until she was face-to-face with the advisor. Annette’s question wasn’t directed at Dagmara, but rather at the guard that pulled her to safety.

“I couldn’t tell you, Madame,” the guard said. He had a boyish face and dark ringlets.

Annette picked the glass from Dagmara’s palm, her grip more painful than the glass itself, and switched to her native tongue. “What did she say to him?”

Dagmara struggled to interpret their words. Her body was still shaking. She normally wasn’t afraid. But there was something about him that frightened her. The unpredictability. The look in his eyes…

“His parents, Madame,” said the guard.

“She got him to speak about his parents in less than ten minutes?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“It wasn’t that,” Dagmara blurted out.

Annette’s eyes twinkled with curiosity, clearly not anticipating her to have understood their conversation in the foreign language.

Yanking her hand from Annette’s, Dagmara continued, “After he saw the blackbird he…changed.”

“Blackbird?” Annette echoed.

“Yes.” Dagmara turned to the guard, waiting for him to explain.

The guard’s mouth was slightly agape. “I…uh…”

“Speak, Pierre,” Annette snapped.