Queen of Hearts Complete Collection: Queen of Hearts; Blood of Wonderland; War of the Cards. Colleen Oakes
Spade, but it was no use. She knew Charles, and she knew that he couldn’t be controlled, bottled, or taught. His mind worked in a different way—short flashes of brilliance followed by dark plunges into his macabre imaginary world.
“Did you take away all his sewing needles?”
“Yes, Your Highness. We only let him use the small needles now, which have actually led to the production of some very detailed, elaborate work.”
Dinah looked over at Charles, who was gleefully slashing apple-green taffeta into thin ribbons with his long fingernails. She climbed up the stairs and kissed him on the side of the head. His dirty hair, ever matted and wild, always smelled a bit like her mother.
“I have to go now, but I’ll be back in a few days,” she told him.
Charles whipped his head around to stare at animals on the ceiling and began singing. “Days and nights, the king sings. Tusks and musks and wooble fire. He sings with a black tongue, fire in his lungs, his lungs.”
“Where did the seahorse go?” Dinah asked.
Charles opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and stroked it slowly. “Down, down, down the rabbit hole!” he crowed.
Dinah shut her eyes.
“Not to worry, Your Highness. We’ll find it,” Lucy promised, before she returned to sorting buttons.
Charles was still singing when Dinah walked out of the atrium, her heart compressing with each step. The song, so lovely and mad, followed her down the marble hallways as she walked back to her chambers.
Lying in front of her door was an elaborately folded invitation—her summons to the Royal Croquet Game. It had already been opened, the seal of the king broken. With a sigh, she untied the seven pink ribbons that held the card in place. Something was leaking through the envelope—ink? Dinah pulled the card out and tilted the elaborate calligraphy into the light.
Your presence for the Royal Croquet Game is requested.
The Princess of Wonderland will play in the final game against her opponents, the Duchess of Wonderland and the King of Hearts.
Dinah felt the air whoosh out of her lungs. She had never played against her father before, ever. She was always set against a lady of the court—someone she could easily beat—and the king was always paired with Xavier Juflee, the Knave of Hearts.
The black liquid dripped again, this time landing on her shoe. Dinah turned the envelope upside down with a shake. The head of a white mouse, severed at the neck, fell out of the envelope and bounced on the floor. Dinah leaped back with a shriek. Shaking, she turned the invitation over, but there was nothing on it. Kneeling, she touched the mouse head with the end of a trembling finger. A new feeling shot through her, and she felt her senses heighten as she stared at the tiny lips of the mouse, pulled back in a macabre smile. Dinah was both fascinated and afraid, devastated that there was even more reason to dread tomorrow.
Dinah spooned plum pudding over her flat fig biscuits as Harris hopped back and forth in front of her, wine dashing out from his large goblet. “You are going to be late, late, late for the Royal Croquet Game. We cannot be late, Your Highness.” Harris shuffled around the table, his long checkered robe flapping after him.
“I would rather get run over by Hornhooves than play croquet with Vittiore today,” grumbled Dinah, draining a glass of juice. The mouse head still weighed heavily on her mind, and she couldn’t shake the image of it bouncing across the stone floor.
“That may be the case, Princess, but you still must go. It is the precursor to All Tea’s Day, and it is expected of the royal family to not only be in attendance, but also to play after all the townspeople have finished their games. This tradition goes back hundreds and hundreds of years …”
Dinah gave a groan and interrupted Harris’s rambling. “Starting with the seventh King of Hearts, Doylan the Great, the Royal Croquet Game has established the game’s rules and etiquette. It has made the Royal Family of Hearts synonymous with croquet, forever entwined in its grand traditions and all it stands for,” Dinah said, and smiled coyly. “You give me the same speech every year. I remember. Contrary to what you believe, I listen to you. Now, may I please read in peace?”
One of her history texts, The Great Crane, sat open in front of her, a large silver book with worn pages. It was a rare book, and a fascinating fictional history of the Yurkei religion. Harris flung wide the doors to the courtyard, letting a swirl of pink snow into the room.
“Please close that. I’m freezing,” mumbled Dinah.
The old man ignored her. “Croquet!” he boomed. “The very name conjures a vision of Wonderland excellence, aristocracy, and grace.”
Dinah let out a sigh, gently shut her book, and balanced her face on the palms of her hands.
“The Royal Croquet Game sets the tone of the next year’s fashion, manners, teas, and style. It is an opportunity for the Royal Family of Hearts to show their unity, their athletic prowess …”
Dinah’s head jerked up with her laugh, a smudge of plum pudding across her upper lip. “Athletic prowess? Harris, we are hitting balls with sticks. Unity? My father hates me, and Vittiore—”
“Is a lovely, innocent girl,” finished Harris.
Dinah shot him a nasty look. “Is a venomous wench snake,” she replied. “The very sight of her makes me ill. She may be my sister by my father’s unfaithful blood, but she is not my sibling. Only Charles is my true sibling. Who, may I remind you, is never invited to the Royal Croquet Game!”
Harris adjusted his spectacles. “Dinah, you know very well why Charles is never invited.”
“Because he’s an embarrassment to my father?”
“Because he cannot be controlled, and the Line of Hearts must appear strong and unbroken. The history of the Royal Croquet Game is filled with political pandering and glorious grandeur, and it’s no place for someone who is mad.”
Dinah brought her knife down through the biscuits on the table.
“He may be mad, but he is my brother. And he’s the son of the king. If he wasn’t mad, he would be the rightful heir of Wonderland and every Card would bow before him.”
Harris reached down and wiped Dinah’s lip with his white handkerchief, a tiny heart embroidered on the corner. “That is certainly true, Princess. No one grieves the loss of the prince’s mind more than I do. I was there when he was born, as I was with you. I held his red, squirming body in my hands, wrapped him up in fur, and blessed him in the name of the Wonderland gods. I love Charles, but even I know that he cannot be included in royal events. He makes the crown look weak, and it draws attention to the fractures in your family.”
Dinah stabbed her plate angrily. “When I am queen, Charles will not be hidden away in some grand atrium, throwing hats out of windows. He will join me where I go, mad or not.”
Harris pulled the chair out from under her, and Dinah jumped to her feet. “That is my greatest wish, Princess. Now, it is time to get dressed! We are late! Emily, bring her croquet gowns!”
There were few things as awful, Dinah mused, as being strapped into a corset as if she were being bound to her own torso. She stood, arms outstretched, as Emily dressed her. Emily was grunting as Dinah’s strong ribs and square hips shrank gradually into a curvy, maidenly form, made perfect by thick ribbons.
As the pressure slowly increased, Dinah studied herself in a long, heart-shaped mirror. Shiny