Queen of Hearts Complete Collection: Queen of Hearts; Blood of Wonderland; War of the Cards. Colleen Oakes
Please stand for your king.”
The crowd rose to its feet. The king had the final stroke. He unclasped the four-Card brooches that fastened his cloak and flung it toward Wardley. Wardley scooped it off the field and strode quickly back to his place on the border, but not before he shot Dinah a sympathetic look. The king’s ball rolled easily through the last wicket and struck the final stake. All eyes turned to her, including her father’s. His face was a distorted tangle of pride and fear, like a bear in a cage. He belonged on a battlefield, not a croquet lawn. Or a throne.
Dinah raised her eyes to take in this macbre scene only to catch Wardley staring at her, his face a mix of admiration and fear. Their eyes met, and he gave Dinah a small, secret smile that warmed her heart. Dinah raised her mallet. There was an intake of breath, and she looked at the crowd, their anxious faces yearning for their king’s victory. They feared him without knowing him, worshipped him without any proof of his divinity. She understood at once what it took to be a leader—one had to be willing to be a figurehead without any trace of intimacy. One had to be the projection of even the lowest born’s hopes and fears. She understood. This crowd needed her father to win.
She brought the flamingo’s beak down hard against her red ball. It sailed across the yard and bounced off the edge of the peg. The crowd erupted into glorious cheering. The king raised his mallet above his head in a sign of victory.
Vittiore rushed to him, her dress floating across the short green grass. “Father! Congratulations.”
He swept her up in a warm embrace. Dinah dropped her mallet on the lawn and walked off the green. Harris followed behind her, his head hung in mutual disappointment. Harris had long ago learned to read Dinah’s moods and knew when to reprimand … and when to stay silent. Dinah walked through the palace quickly, making her way through the twisty stone halls to her bedchamber. She pulled off her gray wool gown, reeking of sour sweat, and fell onto her down mattress. A surge of self-pity washed over her, and she turned her face into the pillow. A soft hand, withered and thin-skinned with time, trailed through her hair. She felt Harris sit beside her.
“I know you missed that shot on purpose. And someday you will be a better ruler than your father because of it. A leader’s pride should never come before the good of his people—something your father has never realized. The crowds only cheer for him because they fear him, not because they love him.”
Dinah stayed silent.
“I’ll let you rest until the feast tonight,” Harris murmured, leaning over to give her a kiss on her head. She would have fallen asleep angry had it not been for the memory of Wardley’s honeyed smile, the passionate look on his face as he had gazed at her. Instead, his beauty carried her softly into a place of silence, where her hungry fears lay waiting.
Dinah dreamed she was floating through a black ink, weightless, without the confines of her body. Tiny sparks of white light pulsated on the sides of her vision. They circled and danced while she wavered between consciousness and slumber. Dinah was aware of something malevolent slowly swimming through the black mist toward her. It was just out of reach, but it was fearful and hungry. Dinah realized with a start that she was actually hanging upside down, her hair undulating in the bright stars.
The inky sky throbbed and turned into a silver liquid. Dinah spun in the air, clawing to upright herself. Clocks and various pieces of furniture drifted past, buoyed on an invisible river. The black gave a second shudder, and she was now floating in a mirror. The murderous pursuer was close—she could feel it now. It was almost on top of her. Icy-cold fingernails clutched at her stomach and breasts. Struggling, Dinah righted herself, rising up over her feet until the tip of her nose brushed the soft mirror. It parted like water. There was no one behind her. Her own arms clutched at her body. Her black eyes opened wide as she looked at her own reflection. She was the darkness.
Dinah lurched out of bed with a start. She was drenched with sweat, her arms flailing in the cold night air. Emily stood up from the rocking chair near the bed.
“Everything all right, Princess?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, Emily. What time is it?”
Emily put down her knitting. “We should probably dress for the feast. Anything in mind, Your Highness?”
Dinah stared out the window at the shifting Wonderland stars, her mind lingering on the dream. “Something light. Absolutely no wool.”
Dinah usually disliked feasts. After the endless and mind-numbing pageantry that was the seating of the lords and ladies, the highborn Cards, the squires, and the advisers, she and the rest of the royal family were finally seated behind the King’s Table, which was no ordinary piece of stone. The ends of the thick obsidian table curled at the tips, its razor-sharp points the source of more than a few bloodied limbs. The King of Hearts was seated on a raised platform near the middle of the table, his crown resting beside his enormous goblet. His blond mustache was already stained with cherry wine, giving him the look of a crazed cannibal. Dinah sat at his left, Vittiore on his right, looking luminous as always in a form-fitting gown the color of ripe blueberries. Her bright-blue eyes radiated out from her petite face, striking dead the heart of every man in Wonderland. Nary a Card could walk by her without being entranced by her ethereal presence.
The king sat back in his chair and gave a loud burp. “More wine!” he demanded.
Cheshire leaned over her father, hovering as always. He was whispering in her father’s ear, aiding as the king’s eyes darted around the room, taking in friends, foes, and fools. The squires poured more wine into his massive goblet, and he downed it greedily with one hand, the other hand always resting on his Heartsword. Her father saw enemies in many places, in every house, in every distant and seemingly absurd lineage leading to the throne. Yurkei assassins were everywhere, he believed, each one trying to steal his crown. Emily had spilled to Dinah that rumors abounded about her father’s paranoia. That he slept with his Heartsword. That six guards stood watch while he slept. That he truly trusted only Cheshire.
Dinah pushed the oily emu breast around her plate, covering it with seeds and sprouts. She wasn’t hungry in the least, and by her count she would have to sit here for another four hours, a frozen smile plastered across her face. Vittiore gave a tinkling laugh at something her father said, and Dinah leaned over to give her a reprimanding look. Cheshire rewarded Vittiore with a pointed smile from above her father’s head. Dinah fought the urge to fling her plate at him as bile filled her throat. She could remember being very young—before her mother died—and seeing Cheshire for the first time. With black hair and eyebrows, Cheshire had been young but just as devious looking. His hand had rested on the king’s shoulder, had squeezed hard as Dinah approached them both, toddling on little legs. She looked up into the king’s face with happy anticipation and saw nothing but simmering anger. He scared her. Wasn’t this her father? The man who loved her mother? His blue eyes ran over her, searching for something he did not find. His mouth contorted first with confusion and then disgust. He pushed her back roughly.
“Remove her from my sight. Don’t bring her around anymore,” he said to Harris, and two Cards gently pulled her away from him. Dinah gave a scream and kicked the first one in the shin. The second Heart Card grabbed for her, and she twisted away from him too.
Crying, she screamed for her father into empty air as Harris wrapped his arms around her waist to restrain her. “Father! Father!”
The King of Hearts walked past her without a second look, his black cloak brushing over her face as he passed her, beyond her. Cheshire followed behind him, his head bowed. Dinah was short enough to see the satisfied smile stretched across his long face. Even as a young child, she suspected that somehow this clever sliver of a man had turned her father’s mind against her. His child, the one he was supposed to love but never did. She smiled up at Cheshire,