Page 39 of The Mad King and the False Queen

“And the king? What is he like?”

Martine’s solid expression faltered slightly, but it was impossible to tell whether it was just from a bump in the road. “He is our guardian,” she responded without any inflection in her voice.

Dagmara was about to press for more when the window caught her gaze. They were passing by what looked to be a field, but it was brittle and gray. Only portions of the vegetation were visible and still seemed to have a coating of dust on them. It was almost as if a fire had torn through the town, but left everything standing. It made no sense.

Another field came into view, and the grass was yellow and brown. Gaunt cows were scattered across the landscape, but there were no other animals in sight.

Then the carriage passed by a row of homes. Children played with the mud in the street, and those old enough to take on heavy labor struggled to repair holes in their houses.

That’s when a series of shouts broke out. The overlap of the screams made it indecipherable. Dagmara couldn’t translate quickly enough.

Then a rock smacked against the glass window. A gasp escaped Dagmara’s lips as she scooted back in surprise.

Martine slid the curtain shut, covering Dagmara’s view of the outside. “I think it is best to leave this closed until we get to the castle.” Her voice was surprisingly calm.

All Dagmara could do was nod.

After a long, silent ride, the carriage pulled underneath a metal gate with the royal crest of Ilusauri: a black diamond stamped with a silver, iron-clad bear.

The carriage jolted to a halt.

“We’re here,” said Martine.

Dagmara nodded. She adjusted her clothing and flipped her braid to the front of her shoulders. Then she rolled her shoulders back and held her chin in the air, attempting to embrace as much of Magda’s persona as possible.

When she stepped out of the carriage, Dagmara stood in front of a towering castle, both elegant and menacing due to its sheer size. Its outer walls were built of light-colored stones, and vines snaked along them, displaying silver and purple flowers. The rectangular, three-story building was marked with symmetrical wings on each side of the main entrance; its square windows were perfectly spaced out. Directly above the front door was a balcony overlooking a front garden and a fountain.

Dagmara turned behind her to admire the garden. Between the castle and the gated entrance, were beds of pastel roses, in colors that Dagmara had never seen before. They were in perfect bloom, despite the overcast and brisk weather. The fountain in the center appeared magical, as if the water sparkled like diamonds in the sun, although there was no sun peeking through the clouds today. To Dagmara’s right, she noted that the castle stood on the outskirts of a purple field of lilacs, stretching as far as the eye could see.

If this was how the Mad King lived, no wonder his subjects hated him. They were dying in ash-ridden villages and their crops had turned to blight.

“This way,” said Martine. She led Dagmara through a checkpoint of four guards and through the front gates. The Ilusaurian castle was drastically different from what she was used to. Instead of the calming pastel colors that decorated her home, black and silver spanned the entirety of the room, making it appear smaller. There were reflective panels along the wall that weren’t quite mirrors, but blurred where the room started and ended.

Then, a woman nearly fifty years old began to descend the staircase, flanked by four guards. Her black hair was swept up into a tight bun and fastened with a metallic headband. Long pieces of whimsical, silver fabric draped from her wrists and connected to the back of her shoulders, giving the illusion that she was floating down the staircase.

Dagmara knew Claude had killed his parents eight years ago, so this couldn’t be his mother. She racked her brain with all the knowledge she had studied for this exact moment.

“Your Highness,” the woman said, giving a subtle nod of her head, then she started to speak in Ilusauri, her words too fast for Dagmara to piece together.

Dagmara stared blankly, her mind reeling. This was why she had studied on the entire trip. She thought she was ready. She knew Ilusauri well enough to hold a conversation, so why was her mind drawing a blank now?

The woman’s lips thinned. “I thought they taught princesses to speak foreign languages,” she said, now speaking Dagmara’s native language. “I guess the education in Azurem is lacking. Lucky for you, His Majesty speaks seven languages.”

Embarrassment raced through Dagmara, but she didn’t have a chance to respond.

The woman repeated her introduction in Azuremi, “I’m Madame Annette Beaumont, advisor to both the King and Captain of the royal guard.”

Was she referring to Sabien? They still didn’t know that he was dead? Or had he already been replaced?

Annette continued, “I have worked here for over thirty years and anything you should need will be run by me.”

“Magdelena Krol,” Dagmara said, giving a soft curtsy and growing uneasy. If Annette truly worked at the castle for thirty years, she had to have worked with Claude’s parents whom he murdered.

“I know,” Annette replied with no humor in her voice. She then acknowledged Urszula. “Her baggage?”

“It is in the carriage out front, milady.”

“Wonderful.” She made a gesture, and the four guards surrounding her began to exit, no doubt heading toward the carriage. Annette continued, “His Majesty has summoned you upon arrival. I will escort you to see him now. Alone, I might add.” Annette fired a razor sharp glare at Urszula.

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