Page 6 of The Mad King and the False Queen

She yanked the dagger out of his stomach, and a rush of crimson blood oozed from the wound. She hiked up her dress and kicked him with all her might. He went toppling back over the edge of the bridge.

She didn’t look over the edge. She knew he wouldn’t survive the rapids in the rushing river at the bottom of the ravine.

“I’m sorry,” Dagmara said under her breath. She wiped the blood on her dress before sheathing her dagger once more. She had never killed anyone but her targets before. The blood from the wound on her shoulder began to trickle down her arm.

She brushed aside the guilt that coursed through her veins. He was a nobody from Ilusauri…it didn’t matter.

She hoped that was true as she fled into the shadows, returning to the fortress. She hardly made it to the front gate before darkness flooded her vision, and she fell unconscious.

CHAPTER 3

Dagmara

Dagmara jolted awake in the infirmary. Her breathing was rapid, and blood pulsed at her temples.

“It’s alright,” the nurse attempted to calm her. “You’re safe.”

Dagmara took her time examining the room, ensuring her own safety, before settling on the cot. Now that she was out of danger, she could feel the pain burning from the slice across her collarbone. A headache pounded at her skull, and the light was far too bright.

The nurse had stripped Dagmara’s cloak and removed her corset, leaving her upper body in a thin chemise. She had withdrawn her one arm from the sleeve, letting the top of the chemise hang from one shoulder to under her other armpit, so it would be easier to wrap the wound. The white fabric was stained a dark crimson.

Nausea erupted in Dagmara’s stomach at the sight of the slash across her shoulder, and she turned away.

The nurse was nearly finished cleaning the cut. “It isn’t too deep, milady, but it will leave a scar,” the nurse stated.

When the nurse poured cleansing alcohol onto the wound, Dagmara winced and clutched the edge of the cot. Dagmara cursed under her breath, trying to steady her voice. She didn’t know the nurse’s name, and only uttered, “Thank you.”

“There, not too bad,” the nurse said, setting down the rag and alcohol next to a bowl of clean water. She picked up a bandage. “Let me wrap it before attending to your eye.”

The curtain to the private area flew open, sending a rush of air inside. At the sight of the prince, Dagmara instantly grabbed the top of her chemise, pulling it higher on her chest to cover the gash. She shot upright, moving too quickly, and grimaced as stars danced in her vision.

“Your Highness!” The nurse curtsied low to the ground.

Dagmara’s mouth remained shut.

The prince’s silver hair was tousled on his head, and his oversized white shirt revealed the top of his chest. His eyes were illuminated, and shadows were cast on his sharp jawline. He was young, barely three years older than Dagmara.

“Rise,” Prince Aleksy said to the nurse before giving his attention to Dagmara. “What happened?”

When the prince’s eyes were on Dagmara, it was like nothing else existed. His full attention was on her and only her.

“What are you doing here?” Dagmara answered his question with another.

“The knights informed me they took you to the infirmary. They said you were unconscious.”

“They informed you?”

“They always inform me of your return.”

“They don’t inform your father.”

“Because he never asked them to. I did.”

Dagmara’s face paled. That was new information.

“So?” Aleksy prompted.

“It was nothing,” Dagmara replied, her words slow and drawn out, her chin lowering slightly.

---