Copyright

Originally published as Queen of Hearts:

Volume One: The Crown in 2014 by Spark Press

This edition published in the USA by HarperCollins Publishers Inc. in 2016

This edition published in Great Britain in 2016 by

HarperCollins Children’s Books, a division of

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd,

1 London Bridge Street,

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright © 2016 by Colleen Oakes

Colleen Oakes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Typography by Jenna Stempel

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins

Source ISBN: 9780008175399

Ebook Edition © April 2016 ISBN: 9780008175405

Version: 2016-04-05

“How do you like the Queen?” said the Cat in a low voice.

“Not at all,” said Alice: “she’s so extremely—” Just then she noticed that the Queen was close behind her, listening: so she went on,“—likely to win, that it’s hardly worth while finishing the game.”

— Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Read on for an excerpt from: Blood of Wonderland

About the Publisher

One

“Oh, my future queen, you’re late!” Harris hopped from one foot to the other, his plump face soaked with a cold sweat. He pulled off his thick-rimmed glasses and wiped them on his white checkered ascot. “Dinah! Walk faster, Your Highness! We are late, late, late!” He looked down at his pocket watch with an exaggerated sigh.

Dinah, Princess of Wonderland and future Queen of Hearts, rolled her eyes.

“Harris, I’m walking as swiftly as I can.”

“With all due respect, my dear, we have a very important summons from the King of Hearts. Your father wishes to see you. You know he is not a patient man.”

Dinah continued to shuffle down the Hallway of the Golden Birds feeling quite like one of the ridiculous bronze fowl perched on the golden pedestals that surrounded her.

A little bird ran across her path, and Dinah stomped near its feet, sending it shrieking into the air.

“My child!” thundered Harris. “Control your emotions! I beg of you—do not let your father see that behavior or you will be sleeping in the Black Towers.”

“I doubt it,” snipped Dinah glumly. “I wish that would happen, because then I would get to see inside them.”

Harris gave Dinah a disappointed look. “Never wish yourself inside the Black Towers,” he said gravely. “You have no idea the evil that lurks there.”

Dinah considered slowing her pace just to annoy him but took pity on her guardian and tutor, the man who had raised her from childhood. Harris had once been a dashing Card, or so Dinah had heard, but now he was somewhat walrus-like, a portly man with white hair and a dozen varieties of checkered outfits. Without a doubt, he loved Dinah deeply—something she lacked in other areas of her life. Dinah raised her voice, its sharp tone bouncing off the ornate halls of Wonderland Palace.

“Why should I have to go to the Great Hall? I never get to say anything, and Father won’t even talk to me.” Or look at me, she thought.

Harris patted her roughly on the head. “You shouldn’t say such things about the King of Hearts.”

Annoyed, the Princess of Wonderland turned her head as she walked past a bright, open balcony, breathing in the fresh air that filtered in between red panes of glass.

Her black eyes could make out the various landmarks of Wonderland spread out like the threading of a distorted quilt—the horizon that would soon be hers to govern and rule. Dinah allowed herself a deep breath of pleasure as her eyes hungrily ate up everything in sight. To the north stretched endless fields of wildflowers, and eventually, the Ninth Sea, though she had never seen it. Beyond that, she knew from her studies, were the dreaded Caves of Mourning and the Todren, home to mermaids and sea monsters, of children’s tales and nightmares. To the east, beyond the plains, she could vaguely make out the topless Yurkei Mountains that lay past the Twisted Wood, where adventurers went to die at the hands of the brutal Yurkei Mountain tribes. To the south lay the Darklands, a place of untold horrors.

Closer to her was Wonderland proper: small towns, roads, windmills, and rivers that sat just beyond the iron palace gates. This was her country—the heart of Wonderland, as far as the eye could see. Dinah raised her arms as if to embrace it all.

Harris snapped his watch open. “Stop dillydallying, child! You do not want the king to be even angrier than he already is.”

Dinah gave her body a final shake in the sun and sullenly sped her pace, her feet tripping on the hem of the ornate and ridiculous dress she had been forced to wear. The high, stiff collar of the dress was lined with hard gemstones that bled down her chest in a wild pattern that made her neck itch.

Dinah hated this dress. Dinah hated all dresses.

Her ebony hair was twisted up in an insufferably tight bun, one that exaggerated Dinah’s already-large black eyes. Upon her head sat the princess crown—a thin string of red ruby hearts outlined in gold spikes. Even though it was thin, it was still heavy. It glittered in the sunlight, and it was the only thing Dinah was wearing today that she liked. On her feet twinkled a pair of molded white slippers, inlaid with tiny white diamonds. Before her mother, Queen Davianna, died, she had taken up the lady’s hobby of slipper making. Dinah hated the way the petite stones cut into her toes and heels.

Dinah and Harris approached the Great Hall. Two vast ivory doors loomed terrifyingly before her, elaborately carved with the history of Wonderland. Wicked trees, dead Yurkei warriors, and the four symbols of the Cards danced on the wood. She stopped walking and closed her eyes.

Perhaps, she thought, perhaps if I wish really hard, I could be anywhere but here.

Two Heart Cards, both handsome men, sharp and crisp in their red-and-white uniforms, opened the doors for them as they approached.

Dinah felt her knees begin to shake and she froze. Not now, oh gods, not now.

She felt Harris’s hand on her shoulder, and she was grateful for the calming effect it bestowed. He bent down and looked the princess directly in the face. “Dinah, my child, the king has called you here for a very special reason. He is your father, and he rules over this kingdom. Try to remember that. Everything the king does is for Wonderland.”

Dinah’s heart was hammering wildly in her chest. Something was wrong, she could sense it.

Harris licked his wrinkled finger and wiped something from her face. “Dinah, look at me. Everything will be fine. I’ll be waiting for you out here.”

Dinah was seized by a sudden panic. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “No. I want you to come in with me.”

“I am not allowed in the Great Hall for this … just for today. The king desires your full attention.”

Harris had never been excluded from an event in the Great Hall. As her guardian, he was welcome even to observe the King’s Council. But not today.

“No!” Dinah flung her arms around Harris. “Please come. I don’t know what’s going on, please, just come with me.”

Harris detached Dinah from his thick waist. “Dinah! Do not forget who you are. You are the Princess of Wonderland. Would you like to embarrass the king?”

Dinah shook her head. “No.”

“Then go in there and greet him in the respectful way.” He gave her a generous smile. “It will be all right, child. Trust me. Now put on your brave face. Let me see it.”

Dinah scowled.

“No, that’s not it. Show me brave Dinah. Dinah the fearless, the future Queen of Wonderland, the future Queen of Hearts.”

Dinah took a deep breath and steeled her black eyes. She stood up taller and sucked in her belly.

“There, that looks a little bit better.” Harris patted her head happily, but Dinah was sure that she spotted tears in his weathered eyes. “It’s time. We are very late, my dear. I’ll be out here.”

With that, he pushed her gently into the hall. The ivory doors slammed shut behind her, the sound bouncing around the vast room. Voluminous red banners billowed from floor to ceiling, a black heart stitched across each center: the blazon of the king. Dinah’s white slippers echoed loudly against the marble floors, and she felt thousands of eyes watching her, judging her. She held her crowned head as highly and regally as she could. The entire court watched her walk up the aisle, lords and ladies of noble birth, their bright fashion a blot of color on the otherwise black-and-white marble room. Dinah walked swiftly toward the thrones, but the front of the Great Hall still seemed to be miles away.

The different factions of Cards all nodded their heads as Dinah passed, some saying “Princess” under their breath. She heard a faint snicker and an insulting whisper from a Diamond Card. “Discard.”

She held her head high and straight, as Harris had told her to do. Someday this will be my Great Hall, she told herself. All these Cards will bow before me when I rule beside my father.

All the Cards were in attendance today, a rare sight. There were four divisions of the men called Cards, each serving their purpose to the kingdom. Heart Cards, handsome and skilled men uniformed in red and white, protected the royal family and the palace. Club Cards, dressed in gray, were in charge of administering justice: they punished criminals and murderers and organized Execution Day. Their most important function was running the Black Towers. Diamond Cards, clad in vibrant purple cloaks, protected and managed the treasury and sought to increase the king’s resources. And then there were the Spades. Spades were the warriors, those in charge of fighting and pillaging. The Spades scared Dinah; cloaked in black, they were hard, grizzled men with dangerous pasts. They were viewed as untrustworthy, brutal, and bloodthirsty. If criminals were reformed and pledged their fealty, they were allowed to join the Spades; that is, if they didn’t die in the Black Towers first.

The Spades were universally loathed and feared across Wonderland. Her father held a firm hand over them, but he was the first king to overpower them with his iron fist. He had executed their strongest leaders and subdued their wildness. The Spades simmered quietly, like a burning ember that could ignite and spread over the entire city. All the Cards, though, no matter how frightening, were the source of much lore and many legends. When Dinah was a child, she loved to lie in her raised bed at night and list the Cards in her favorite order: Hearts first, since they protected her, then the Diamonds, then the Clubs, and finally the Spades.

“DINAH!” A loud voice bellowed from the king’s throne, and Dinah felt a tiny trickle of sweat roll down the side of her forehead. She had been lost in thought, standing midaisle. Dinah bowed her head. “Get up here. Now.”

She walked quickly to the platform, up a set of wide stone steps. Atop the platform sat two massive chairs. They were carved from gold, each in the shape of a large heart. From the top of the thrones, tiny hearts rose upward, growing smaller and sharper the higher they reached. The tops ballooned out and opened into a flurry of sculpted hearts, as if they were taking flight. They reminded Dinah of birds. The pair of heart thrones was a part of Wonderland history: for it was said that once you sat in the king’s throne, magic funneled down through the open hearts and made you wise.

Looking at her father, she knew that wasn’t true.

One of the thrones sat empty, a lone red rose always upon it. Davianna, her mother, had died when Dinah was a small girl. The second throne was commandeered by her father. The King of Hearts stood before her now, a giant man full of fury and righteousness and an insatiable lust for food and women. As his blue eyes lingered angrily on Dinah’s face, she saw him the same way his people did: he was the kind of king who would sooner ride into battle on his Hornhoov than rule from behind the council table. He was a man of action, a brutal and brave man whose rage was legendary. The people of Wonderland respected the king, but only because he represented a force to be reckoned with … and feared. What mattered to the townspeople was that he kept them safe from the Yurkei, and that was worth everything. Dinah didn’t believe he was a great king, but even she knew better than to ever speak those words. As she looked upon the king’s hard face, she remembered the time she had mentioned this to Harris, who had given her a hard shake.

“Don’t ever say that about the King of Hearts!” he had cried. “Do you wish to be beheaded?”

“No,” she cried hysterically, “I only want him to notice me!”

Harris had held her close that day, stroking her hair. “He will never be the father you deserve,” he whispered. He brought Dinah her favorite tart and then they watched the sunset from the croquet green, a rare treat.

“If he wasn’t king,” Dinah sniffled, “maybe he would love me.”

“Oh, child,” replied Harris, “that is not to be. Your father is a brutish man and unsure of his place in his child’s life, even when your mother was still alive. Queen Davianna was all he had, the only thing he ever desired more than the rush of battle and the smell of fresh blood on his Heartsword. Their relationship had a terrible end, and I fear somehow he blames you.”

Dinah thought of this now in the Great Hall as she knelt awkwardly before the thrones. The king’s adviser and head of the council, a Diamond Card named Cheshire, bent and whispered soft words in his ear. Dinah’s stomach gave a lurch at the sight of him. She did not trust Cheshire. The king growled back at him and then gave a sigh and rose to greet her.

“Dinah, my daughter, my eldest child. I see you are wearing your mother’s shoes.” Dinah felt a flush rise in her cheeks. He noticed! she thought. The king cleared his throat. “Look up at me.”

She yanked her head up too quickly, and the crown slipped sideways off her head and landed with a clang on the marble. She saw a frown cross his face.

“Don’t be so eager,” he hissed quietly. “You look ridiculous with that wanting face.”

Dinah felt her lower lip quiver. She clamped her teeth down on it, drawing sweet red blood that she sucked into her mouth. He knelt and picked up the crown, such a diminutive thing in his large hand. He placed it back on her head with a strained smile. The crowd gave a courteous laugh, unaware of his seething anger. The king stood, his long red cloak framing his massive, bull-like figure.

“My daughter, councillors, lords and ladies of the court, Cards, and citizens, it is time for your king to tell you a great truth.” He looked down at Dinah. “Sit,” he said to her and her alone.

Dinah tried to kneel like a lady should, but she ended up plopping on the floor with a hard breath. She stared up at him, intimidated by his powerful tone. She looked around. There was not a face in the room that was not held in rapt attention by his booming voice.

“Fourteen years ago, we were embroiled in a devastating war with the Yurkei tribe. Mundoo and his warriors were raiding the outer villages of Wonderland, killing and murdering innocent citizens. As the king, I could not let that evil abide. As you might remember, I took my best Hearts and Spades through the Twisted Wood and up to the hills, where we smashed the barbaric tribe and sent Mundoo screaming back into his mountains. It was a great day for Wonderland, a great day for the safety of my people.”

The crowd clapped and cheered until the king looked down solemnly, and then they grew suddenly silent. He was able to command a room by his moods alone, Dinah noted—something to remember when she was queen one day.

“We lost many brave Cards that day. I hope that what I confess today will bring them some sort of honor.”

An uncomfortable feeling was churning its way through Dinah’s stomach as she sat at the base of the thrones. Her heart was clutching itself, giving singular, hard thumps that made loud noises when they met her chest. The king continued on.

“War is bloody and brutal, a thing that can rip through the very heart of men. War can make a man question everything he believes in, every truth that he holds dear. Wonderland has never seen war, so allow me to confess that war can make a man … lonely.”

The crowd nodded along sympathetically, and in the corner a woman burst into tears. Dinah imagined shaking her until she was quiet. The king had them in his grasp. His dark blue eyes, deep like the sea, blazed with pride.

“As our laws dictate, one might ask for forgiveness for a mistake made during a time of war. I had been away from my dear wife, Davianna, for too long. Gods rest her heart.”

The entire crowd, including Dinah, made the sign of a heart over its chest.

“She was the love of my life, and when I left for war, I never imagined it would take so long to return to her. And to my eternal shame …” The crowd waited with bated breath as those in the Great Hall stood still. “Gods forgive me, I strayed outside of my marriage vows.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the room; Dinah gasped as well.

“It was a late night, after the battle, and I had drunk a large bottle of tart wine. Outside my tent, I met a woman from a local village at the base of the mountains. She was kind and generous, and she reminded me so much of my Davianna. My judgment was impaired, and I was grief-stricken for my lost men. We shared that night together, and in the morning I awoke to instant, blinding regret. How could I have betrayed my beloved Davianna? What kind of king was I?” There was a pause.

“That night I found a nearby cliff and prepared to throw myself over.”

There was another sharp gasp, and murmurs erupted in the Great Hall. Two women fainted and had to be carried out by Heart Cards. The king gave a sly smile toward his adviser Cheshire, whose rich purple cloak draped over his thin shoulders. Cheshire gave him a quick wink. Only Dinah was close enough to see the exchange.

“As I stood on the edge of the precipice, looking at the changing stars one last time, I swore that I heard a woman singing over the breeze. Something sang me into a deep and dreamless sleep. The next morning, when I rolled over, I was a different man. My will to live had returned. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had met this common and low-born woman for a purpose. I immediately returned to the village to find her, but she had disappeared. I looked everywhere, and I would have kept looking if Mundoo and a small army of his riders hadn’t raided our camp that very afternoon. It was chaos. Arrows were flying everywhere, but the maiden was nowhere to be seen. We fought and won, though so many more Cards were lost. Fourteen long years have passed, and there hasn’t been a single day when I haven’t thought about that woman and wondered what became of her.”

The king stomped down the steps, passing Dinah without a single glance. “My loyal subjects, I tell you the truth: a fortnight ago, a mad, raving beggar came to the palace. He had come to sell something priceless and refused to leave until I spoke with him. It was late, and I was furious at being woken. I met him in this very hall, though it was empty and silent as a tomb. Imagine if you will, a king in his royal pajamas meeting a beggar carrying a very large sack. I commanded him to open the sack immediately or a Heart Card would be glad to take his head. Truly terrified, he unrolled the sack … and out came a tiny girl.”

The crowd sat forward, titillated, including Dinah. Her heart felt like it would explode in her chest.

“She was starving, a pitifully lovely creature, but when she stood and faced me, I saw greatness. I saw—” He paused again for dramatic effect.

“My lost daughter, Vittiore.”

Two

The Great Hall erupted in a cacophony of sounds, though Dinah sat stunned and speechless. The king’s subjects were screaming and shouting, their tears and applause all dissolving into a wave of happy noise. The king stood still as the crowd rocked and swayed before him. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.

“There could be no mistake that this girl was mine. She had my golden hair, my blue eyes, and the gentle demeanor of her mother, who sadly met her untimely death at the hands of the Yurkei tribes. Since Vittiore has arrived at the palace, I have done nothing but watch and study her, to see if she is truly mine. She has been inspected and interrogated. Though I believed it in my heart, I did not dare to hope it true—until I spoke with her and saw my own reflection in her eyes. Make no mistake: this is my second daughter, who will join her half sister, Princess Dinah, as the Duchess of Wonderland. I will declare it openly, and let no man say otherwise, for he would call the king false and would spend the rest of his life in the Black Towers!”

The King of Hearts let his eyes linger on Dinah, kneeling before him, her body frozen in shock.

“With that, it is my joy and a father’s greatest pleasure to introduce to you the Duchess Vittiore.”

From behind the king’s throne, a small, luminous girl stepped forth. She was young—perhaps fifteen at the most—but already radiant as the sun. Golden curls the color of honey cascaded to her waist, and her bright blue eyes shimmered with happiness and curiosity, her face perfectly unblemished—a picture of innocence. On top of the nest of curls rested a low crown made of sapphire bluebirds, no doubt crafted recently by the palace jewelers. Her long white-and-blue dress brushed the floor, as if she were a maiden on her wedding day.

“Darling,” said the king gently. The crowd gasped at her beauty, and one lady-in-waiting fell to her knees with emotion. The king gestured for Vittiore to stand before Dinah. A jealous fury rose in the princess, black and strange. Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the steps. Her father’s booming speech continued.

“Many of you have wondered what you are doing here today. There are no wars to fight, no great matters at hand. It is because I wanted my kingdom to know that Wonderland has a new duchess, and the joyous ceremonies to celebrate her arrival may begin!”

The hall erupted with a deafening cheer and the ground beneath them gave a shudder with the stomping of feet. The sound rose up like a wave, crashing over Dinah, drowning her. She tried to stand, but her body lurched forward so violently that she slipped down two of the marble stairs, her knees and chest hitting the hard stone with a loud crack. Her face flamed red as the entire kingdom watched her—the dark, clumsy princess—who now appeared as a stout donkey next to Vittiore’s shining mare. The king gave a chuckle, but there was maliciousness in his eyes as he grasped Dinah roughly by the arm, yanking her to her feet.

“Of course, she will join my two other children, Princess Dinah, my oldest, the future Queen of Hearts, and Charles, her younger brother, the pride of my heart.”

Lies, thought Dinah, willing the hot tears flooding her eyes to stay put. He speaks lies.

“It is my prayer and my command that this kingdom will embrace my daughter as their new Duchess of Wonderland. If I so much as hear any whispers of the word ‘bastard,’ those men or women will lose their heads to my Heartsword.”

With a labored breath, Dinah twisted her arm out of her father’s grasp. She could feel the attention of the crowd focus on her, thousands of mouths hungry for gossip watching her every move. Her black eyes shining like simmering coals, she stared down at Vittiore. The waif with the blond hair took a timid step toward Dinah. Dinah watched her warily, unsure what to do. She felt like screaming and hurling something at her, but she didn’t dare. The girl reached out her petite hand.

“My sister,” she whispered with a hint of pleading. The crowd inhaled. Dinah met the girl’s blue eyes with a furious scowl, and raised her head to the King of Hearts.

“Thank you, Father. I shall welcome her gladly into our … family.” She choked on her last word. She grabbed the girl’s warm hand in her cold one and gave a hard squeeze. The hall erupted in music and cheers as everyone bowed before the two girls and their father. The king saw that the moment he had been waiting for had arrived.

“I invite you all to join us for a celebratory dinner feast in the Dining Hall!” he announced.

The crowd quickly began dispersing, hungry for the piles of tarts and steaming meat that no doubt awaited it. Dinah took a step backward toward the stairs, happy to be released, fearful that her father would see her cry.

“Not you,” growled the king, pulling her back, his hand clasped tightly around her arm. Dinah let out a whimper.

“What was that?” he hissed. “Why aren’t you happy to meet your new sister?”

Dinah spun around to face him. The tears that she had been holding spilled out over her nose and chin. “What about my mother? I thought … I thought … ,” she whispered.

The king’s face lit up with fury and, muttering angrily, he dragged her away from the eyes of the crowd, back behind the thrones, so large they concealed both of them. He grabbed her chin in his hands and held it close, the scent of wine washing over her face from his hot breath. “I never want you to mention your mother again, not in front of Vittiore. Davianna’s name will not be spoken in these halls.”

Dinah gave a sharp cry. The king’s face was growing red.

“STOP IT! STOP CRYING! You need to be glad today, you ungrateful wretch! You have a sister. Be happy.”

He was shaking her violently now, and she felt her knees begin to buckle. Suddenly, a long, thin hand curled over the king’s shoulder.

“Your Majesty, allow me to deal with her. Princess Dinah has no doubt had an emotional day. I’m sure this is quite a shock for her.”

Cheshire, the king’s adviser, slithered into view. His face was long and flexible, as if he had no underlying bone structure. He had thick black hair and black eyes. His pale lips were almost the same shade as his skin; but you never saw them, for they were always curled back in a smile, baring his enormous white teeth. Even when Cheshire was smiling and friendly, he looked dangerous. Lean and sinewy, he towered over the king, radiating malice. He was dressed as he always was, in a plum-colored velvet vest and breeches over black boots. A white sash with each Card symbol draped from his left shoulder to the floor, denoting his authority over all the Cards. There was no one above Cheshire but the king. A brilliant purple cloak poured over his hard shoulders.

Dinah stared up at Cheshire with confusion. He was never her ally; rather, he was a man who constantly whispered twisted secrets in her father’s ear. The rumors of his extracurricular activities ran rampant in the castle. Some said he spent time in a secret laboratory in the Black Towers, making new species of birds and concocting poisons. Some said he could change forms and wandered the castle all night disguised as a house cat. Dinah had always passed that off as commoner silliness, but now she wasn’t so sure. There was a compelling strangeness about him, something that drew her toward his silky promises. Still, she hated him and always had. She blamed him for her father’s hatred of her.

Cheshire’s voice was gentle as he released the king’s fingers from Dinah’s shoulders. “I’ll take her back to her quarters. Perhaps Princess Dinah isn’t feeling up to a feast today.”

The king walked away from her without a second glance and curled his arm protectively around Vittiore, who had stood silently through the exchange. She stared back at Dinah with empty eyes.

“Yes, Cheshire. That sounds good. Take her away. Get her out of my sight.”

The King of Hearts emerged from behind the thrones and began introducing Vittiore to his many lords and ladies clustered at the base of the stairs. Dinah felt hollowed out, a bowl scraped bare, and so she allowed her father’s devious adviser to lead her down a few stairs behind the thrones and out a secret door usually used for the king to take his privy leave. They walked halfway down the stone hallway when Cheshire stopped. Turning toward her with a dangerous smile, he pulled back an elaborate wall tapestry near the privy. Dust showered down on them both, but once it cleared, it revealed a door the same shade as the stone around it. Cheshire held a finger to his lips and with an outstretched hand pushed the door open to reveal a passageway carved into the castle walls.

Dinah was too upset to be impressed, although normally she would have been fascinated. There were many secret ways through Wonderland Palace, and she loved discovering them one at a time. Mostly her days were filled with mind-numbing croquet, etiquette, history, and dancing lessons, but once in a while she was able to slip away from Harris’s watchful eye and explore the palace with Wardley.

With a frown, she granted Cheshire a raised whisper as she wiped a stray tear away from her eye. “Where does it go?” asked Dinah.

He was silent.

“Where does it go?” she asked again, annoyed.

He simply nodded his head in the direction of the tunnel. Dinah ducked under the door, her heart hammering equally with dread and curiosity. After a few swift turns down mud-caked stairs, they ended up in a damp stone passage lit by glowing pink lanterns. The twists seemed endless. Cheshire talked quietly as they walked, the high lilt of his voice echoing off the walls.

“I’m sure this was hard for you today, Your Highness. Not only are you getting a younger and much more beautiful sister in your sixteenth year of life, but you heard a clear tale of your father’s infidelity to your dear mother, gods rest her heart. An intelligent girl like you can’t be surprised. Your father’s desires for other women are well-known.” Cheshire paused, stroking his long chin. “He did not deserve Davianna.”

“Don’t speak of my mother to me, not now. And she’s not my sister,” snapped Dinah. “She’s a bastard child.”

Cheshire’s thin fingers wrapped around her elbow, and she found herself yanked backward, face-to-face with him, their noses inches from touching. His lips curled back in anger, revealing his hungry white teeth.

“Listen to me, Dinah,” he hissed. “You must never let the King of Hearts hear you say that. Things are going to change for you, child, and you had better be made of stronger stuff than the whiny brat you are now. You may be almost of age to be queen, but you are hardly ready.”

Dinah twisted her body back from his. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” she replied, her voice wavering. “And I don’t care. That girl is not my sister, and you are not Harris. You know nothing about me. Where is he? Where is Harris?”

“Harris is not here, not that he would be of much use to you outside of tutoring and picking out your gowns in the morning. He does not know about this passage. No one does. Just you and me. There might come a time when it will be of use to you, I am sure. There are many curious things in Wonderland Palace and the Black Towers.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You had best learn everything you do not already know, Princess. Up until now you have been a spoiled girl who spends her days playing in the stables or making doe eyes at Wardley Ghane. Wonderland is a much darker and more twisted place than you imagine.”

Something inside Dinah broke. She could take no more of his ridiculous cryptic warnings or his venomous smile. It occurred to her that he was probably here on an errand from the king, to scare her into accepting Vittiore.

“Why are you talking to me?” she snapped. “You don’t know anything about me! Leave me be! Please!”

Spinning quickly away from Cheshire, she plunged into the dark tunnel ahead, not looking where she was running, not caring. She was sprinting now, her breathing heavy, her footsteps echoing through the darkness. She turned once and then again, spinning deeper and deeper into the depths of the tunnel, until all she could smell was earth and cold. Cheshire disappeared into the darkness behind her, his calls for her fading quietly into the black. She sprinted beneath the depths of the palace as fast as her jeweled feet could carry her. She turned right, then left, then slipped through a vertical slit in the wall. The dancing pink flames of the lanterns dimmed gradually as the tunnel deepened.

Dinah wasn’t thinking—only running, running as fast as she could. She kept seeing her father’s proud gaze at Vittiore and the devastated expression on Harris’s face as he let her walk into the Great Hall. The tunnel narrowed, and through her tears Dinah could see the stone walls closing in on her. Close to hysterics, Dinah knelt on the cold floor and let the tears wash out, a pouring sob that was deafeningly loud in the tight space. Weeping and pounding on the stone, she let out a loud scream of anger.

How dare he? How dare he be unfaithful to my mother? How dare he bring me in front of the court only to shame me? Why does he hate me so much?

In her mind, she saw Vittiore. Vittiore, her new sister, the bastard of her father’s loins, the proof that he didn’t love her mother as he claimed so publicly. Vittiore, with her long blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes. Dinah raked long furrows into the damp earth. She vowed to herself that she would never befriend Vittiore. She would not speak to her unless forced, and she would not see her perfectly formed face if she could avoid it. It would never be. Speaking to Vittiore would be a betrayal of her mother. Her mother …

Great heaving sobs escaped her lips, and she was grateful, for once, to have no servants nearby. Here, it was just her and the dirt. She gradually calmed, the darkness like a heavy blanket draped across her wide shoulders. Dinah wiped her eyes and looked around. All was silent. She decided to wander farther. The tunnel grew colder as it went deeper—the air blowing around her had a bitter bite to it. Thick black roots, twisting like snakes, grew overhead. They reminded her of witch’s bones, and more than once, she swore she could see them moving and reaching toward her when she looked away. This was a place of dark things.

Dinah stopped a minute to catch her breath. A single lantern lit a passageway in front of her, the flame sputtering in the darkness. She walked through the opening, and in a few steps she came to a round patch of dirt framed by three archways. Each led into a tunnel, and standing in the middle of the circle, Dinah couldn’t remember out of which one she had just come. They all looked the same, each lit by a single pink torch. There were symbols etched into the keystone above each opening: a heart, a tree, and one that she didn’t recognize—a triangle with a wavy bottom. The sea? She peered at it again. It must be a mountain, she thought. The Yurkei Mountains.

Dinah ran her fingers over the symbols. They were thinly raised up from the stone, almost invisible to the naked eye. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the thought of her father discovering her decomposed body when she couldn’t find her way back brought Dinah a surprising rush of joy. She furrowed her brow and stared back at the carvings. After a moment, she bent down and peered into the heart tunnel.

Yes—she could see her footprints in the dirt. She let out a sigh of relief. That was the way she had come. It made sense after all; she was the Princess of Hearts. Letting her curiosity lead her, Dinah ventured into the archway that featured the tree symbol. It was even more crooked than the way she had come, and the tunnel kept shrinking until Dinah had to crouch to fit into it, her head brushing the dirty ceiling. It compressed again, and she found herself crawling. The tunnel wound down in a seemingly never-ending curve. White moss began creeping across the walls, and all sounds of palace life ceased overhead. Then, when Dinah felt she couldn’t possibly crawl any farther, it opened up into a dusty stone wall, held in place by bolts as thick as her arm. A dead end.

Dinah stood and wrapped her arms around herself, attempting to halt the shivers that shook her shoulders. How long had she been in these tunnels? Time had somehow become irrelevant. Hours? Days? Cold air wafted around her, twisting down from above and shifting the dirt under her feet. She raised her hands above her head and felt fresh air kiss her fingertips. Dinah’s eyes followed the bolts upward until they rested on a faintly outlined circle far above her head, its dusty handle barely visible.

A door. Her eyes widened. These aren’t bolts, they’re a ladder! Dinah climbed six bolts before her feet caught on her dress and she tumbled violently to the tunnel floor, scraping her knees and palms.

On her next attempt, she left her dress and shoes behind. Grunting and sweating with the effort and wearing only a slip, Dinah pulled herself to the topmost bolt and pushed against the door. Dust showered her as the door creaked with resistance. Using all her strength, Dinah bent her head and pushed with her shoulders, praying that her feet would not slide from the bolts. Once she did that, the door easily opened, mud and grass raining down on her from above and coating her eyelashes.

With strenuous effort, Dinah heaved herself out through the hole. She sneezed a few times and looked around in fascination as she lay on the ground, feeling her ribs contract. Above her, the Wonderland stars twinkled and, if you watched closely, inched through the sky ever so slightly. Constellations in Wonderland were never constant, and Dinah loved seeing the changing patterns from night to night—circles, spirals, lines, clusters—the stars never formed the same arrangement twice. And here they were, her stars, so bright they lit up all Wonderland. Never had she been so glad to feel the cool breeze on her skin. She only now realized that she had been afraid in the tunnels. Her rage had made her blind. Crisp night air caressed her body. The night breeze dried her tears and cleared her mind.

Once her breathing returned to normal, Dinah stood up and took in her surroundings. She was outside the palace gates, maybe half a mile from the perfect circle of imposing ornamental iron walls that surrounded her home. The infamous iron walls were made of thousands of sharp iron hearts, twisting together in a dance of beauty and defense that warned intruders to stay away. She was facing east now, and if she squinted, she could see the outline of the Twisted Wood, many, many miles away from Wonderland Palace.

She looked down at her toes and wiggled them in the wildflowers blooming around her feet. Somewhere nearby, just inside the gates, the great Julla Tree creaked in the wind, and then a high-pitched wail rippled through the air, alive and intense all at once. It seemed to be laughing at her. Dinah faced the castle and willed herself not to fear what lay unseen in the open fields behind her. She began walking slowly away from the tunnel.

She had never been beyond the gates of Wonderland Palace, and she gazed upon her palace now, an outsider looking in. It rose out of the fields of red flowers like a beacon of blinding hope. Its golden spires twisted and pierced the sky, the turrets and raised rose gardens adding beauty to its numerous walls, white bridges connecting one tower to the next. Dinah knew that below the turrets, stretching out from the Royal Apartments, was the Croquet Lawn—an endless expanse of green turf, perfect for picnics, croquet, or ostrich riding. Parallel to the Croquet Lawn on the other side of the castle was the Checkered Courtyard. This was where the Spades and Heart Cards lined up for training, and where traitors were executed, their blood spilling across a long, white marble block.

From where she stood, she could barely see anything except the gates and the towering heights of the Royal Apartments. She spied her own bedroom balcony and waved, thinking for a moment that maybe Harris could see her. But he could not. No one knew where she was, and she certainly couldn’t tell them about her secret tunnel to the outside. Perhaps, she thought, Cheshire didn’t know about the tree tunnel that led to the outside. It was hers alone. There had been no other footprints inside that tunnel, and dust didn’t form overnight. There must be another tunnel down there, she thought, one that led to the Royal Apartments. That’s where Cheshire had been taking her.

With a smile, Dinah took in the view of the palace one last time. Her castle was a beauty, a fierce and formidable fortress, lovely and dangerous all at once. One day, Dinah thought, this will all be mine.

I will be the Queen of Wonderland. I will be the queen, and Vittiore will only be the duchess. The thought was enough.

Her knees gave a shake as she stared up at the castle, and Dinah realized that she was exhausted. Her bedchamber seemed very appealing, and the low moan that rose from the Twisted Wood sent shivers down her spine. Dinah took a few steps back to the tunnel entrance, only this time she couldn’t find the opening. She knew it had been near some herb plants and a thick, gnarled bush, but it was gone.

Dinah grew more and more aggravated as she paced the area, scuffling dirt and wildflowers aside until she resorted to searching with her fingers through the low grass, illuminated only by the light of the stars. Finally, her fingers found an unnatural groove in the grass and she gave a tug. Nothing happened. Using all the strength left inside her, Dinah heaved. The door didn’t move. A trace of fear flashed in Dinah’s brain. She pulled again. Her fingernails cracked and broke as the door shuddered and snapped back into place. It wouldn’t budge. It was locked. Dinah stared at the door. The wind died down just for a moment, but it was enough. She heard a faint sigh followed by a ragged breath. A torch flared between the door cracks—a tiny sliver of light escaped. Someone was down there. Someone had locked her out. Her breath caught in her lungs. Someone was waiting for her. The Twisted Wood gave another loud moan, the sound carrying for hundreds of miles. Dinah backed away from the door slowly and ran as fast as she could toward the palace gates.

Six months had passed since that dark night, and Rinton and Thatch, Heart Cards in the king’s service, would—when bribed over wine—tell the tale about that evening. The evening when Dinah, the future Queen of Hearts, was found outside the palace walls, dressed only in a lady’s slip. She had no recollection of how she got there, no answers for how she escaped through the palace gates without being seen. She was in shock, shivering and deeply afraid. It was the night, they recalled, that the king had introduced the lovely Vittiore, and pondered whether it was a coincidence that it was the same night that Dinah, Princess of Wonderland, proved to be a little mad—just like her brother.

Three

Winter in Wonderland was Dinah’s favorite time of year, aside from her father’s yearly departure for the Western Slope. Pink snowflakes circled down from a gloomy gray sky as Dinah walked quietly across the snow-covered courtyard. Her fur boots left behind huge footprints as the wind blew tiny swirls of the rosy snow around her ankles. Dinah blew out a breath of cold air and watched it freeze in front of her and fall to the ground with a soft tinkle. A seventeen-year-old shouldn’t find such simple things amusing, she told herself, but then she did it again with joy.

Two Heart Cards bowed low as she walked past them, but she saw the mocking smiles that played across their faces. She didn’t care—not today. Her black wool cape snapped in the wind as it billowed out behind her. The scent of horses entered her nostrils, and she began to hum happily.

The circular Wonderland stables lay between the iron walls and the palace, on the southwest side, housing every kind of steed imaginable. Despite the stable being immaculately clean, you could smell the manure and wood shavings upon approach. Out from a large, reinforced, center hub stall circled more stalls with spokelike channels between them. Horse after horse slept, ate, and trained in the labyrinthine maze of stalls, indoor riding rings, and tack rooms filled with weaponry and gear. It was designed to keep horses from escaping, and the maze provided a deterrent to those who would attempt to steal any of its pampered inhabitants. Dinah sniffed the frosty air again as she made her way through the maze of stalls. Men, hay, and horses—her favorite smells, because they reminded her of him. At the core of the wheel, there was a palpable change in the air. This stall was unlike all the others, with three-foot-thick wooden doors towering over Dinah’s head.

She looked up with a shudder as she passed and saw the three Hornhooves staring at her, their apple-sized eyes filled with a thirst for death. She kept her head down and stepped as quietly as she dared. The Hornhooves scared her; they scared everyone. More creatures from hellish depths than horses, Hornhooves stood head and shoulders above the other steeds, the height of two horses combined, with leg muscles thicker than a man’s head. Their deadly hooves were covered with hundreds of spiked bones, each one unbreakable: instruments of a painful death for anyone who stood in their way. They were the king’s pride and joy, especially Morte. Morte—the bringer of death.

It was Morte who stared down at Dinah now as she passed, steam hot enough to burn skin hissing out of his nostrils. Generous muscles danced under his shimmering black hide—so black it was almost blue. He was larger than the other two white Hornhooves and was rumored to be a particularly bloodthirsty beast—relentless and crueler than most of his kind. The Yurkei tribe had tamed them for generations, and they were bred to be fearless soldiers—the ultimate war horse, virtually unstoppable and very rare. Many a man had died under their hooves, either torn to pieces on their spiked hooves or crushed by their awesome weight. The beasts were so massive that Dinah’s spread hand could be swallowed by one of Morte’s cavernous black nostrils.

Morte walked to the end of his stall as she moved past, his heavy hooves shaking the ground beneath him. The Hornhooves made Dinah nervous, and she walked faster toward the stables’ outside rim, where the lame and the weak horses were kept, still useful for plowing or load bearing. She clicked her tongue and waited for Speckle to come to the edge of his stall.

As a child, Dinah had named him—her black-and-white spotted gelding—Speckle, for he reminded her of a speckle of rain upon her window. He was a kind and gentle horse. Rarely did he do more than trot happily, eat heartily, and bestow sloppy kisses across Dinah’s hand. He gave a joyful whinny upon her approach, and she produced an apple from under her cloak. Speckle snatched it up with a happy neigh, his soft horse lips dancing over her hand.

“Do you think I came just to see you?” she whispered to Speckle, scratching his ear. “Sweet horse.” She gave him a friendly pat and headed deeper into the outer ring. Poor Speckle, she thought, he is definitely not the reason I visit the stables this day and every day. An unsteady blush blotched its way up her pale cheeks. Wardley now spent most of his time training the horses and the Cards; therefore, Dinah was spending more and more time with the horses as well.

Wardley Ghane was training to be the next Knave of Hearts—a fancy title for the commander of the Heart Cards, but to Dinah, he was so much more than that. Tall, with long brown curls that brushed the top of his bold eyebrows, Wardley Ghane was as devastatingly handsome as he was skilled. He rode his ebony saddle as if he had been born atop a horse, and he could pull a blade from his belt with the greatest of ease. He was a fearsome warrior, a proud bearer of the king’s coat of arms, and a deft Card who could navigate the politics and pitfalls that would inevitably come with ruling over the Heart Cards at such a young age. He was being trained by Xavier Juflee, the current Knave of Hearts, who was widely known as the best swordsman in all Wonderland.

Wardley was the king’s favorite of all his young Cards, and maybe someday, Dinah hoped, something much more. She longed to make Wardley her husband, which would make him the King of Hearts beside her. The line of succession decreed that when a king and a queen ruled on the throne, they ruled until death, or until they gave up their throne. If a king or queen died while ruling—as Davianna had—then the firstborn child of that union, upon his or her eighteenth year, would rule beside the widowed parent until the child married. At that time, the older king or queen would give up the throne, and the newly married rulers would take the throne together. Gazing at Wardley’s face, Dinah longed for the day when her father would step down to her husband. Much to Dinah’s surprise, it seemed the day she turned sixteen, Wardley began to make her heart clench in want with each lazy smile, each friendly hug. She looked at him and wanted more of him—she wanted all of him. The change in her demeanor generally bewildered him, so she tried to keep her fawning to a minimum when they were together; but at night she lay in her bed, imagining his lips on hers, the weight of his body pressed against her. His name was always on the tip of her lips, her desire for him unbridled. She loved him and, in a way, always had. He waited for her now, munching on a handful of berries in the shadow of the palace, already mounted on his dazzling white steed when Dinah emerged from the stalls.

He deftly adjusted his cloak and armor, as he was already suited up for his training with the Cards. On the breast of his white uniform sat a red square with a black heart upon it, the king’s blazon. Corning, his blindingly white horse, gave a slight buck as Dinah’s black cloak leaped in the winter wind.

“Whooaa there.” Wardley tugged his red reins before smiling down at Dinah. “He sees you almost every day, and yet that black cloak always makes him jumpy.” He reached down and patted Dinah’s braid. “You look nice today!”

She felt a heat rush through her body, warming her to the tips of her toes.

“What are you doing out here on this freezing morning?”

Dinah gave a shrug. “It’s not that cold. You’ve never been a winter person. I like winter. Here, I brought you warm tarts.”

Dinah removed the steaming pastries from the folds of her cloak. The raspberry jam had already leaked through the cheesecloth, and its scent filled the yard.

Wardley licked his lips. “Oh, Dinah, you are too good. This is just what I needed. You’re incredible, you know that?” He took the pastry from her hand and shoved it eagerly into his mouth in one terribly messy bite. Powdered sugar dusted his top lip. Dinah smiled shyly as she circled a pink heart in the snow with her boot. Seeing Wardley was sometimes the only happy part of her entire day.

“My father came to see me this morning.”

“And he was horrible to you, as always?” As Wardley spoke, puffs of tart flew out of his mouth and floated down onto Corning. Dinah gave Wardley an amused smile.

“Must you always eat as if you were starving?” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it up to him.

He wiped his mouth and smiled. “Sorry. If you must know, I am always starving.”

“You know my father—he would have to speak to me to be horrible. He came in, had some angry words with Harris, and stormed out, but not before he threw my tray of food on the floor.”

Wardley stopped eating and narrowed his eyes. “And then you gave the tarts to me?”

Dinah smiled, her white teeth gleaming against the pink snow. “No. Those are fresh from the kitchen. I threw away the food—well, rather, Emily did.”

That was the short version of the story. Really, Dinah cowered in a corner while her father shouted at Harris all the things that Dinah was doing wrong and the depth of his disappointment in her. She wasn’t pretty, she was stupid, she wasn’t a lady, she wasted her time daydreaming and exploring the castle, she was horrible at croquet, she was unfit to rule … As the king struck Harris with his huge open hand, Dinah withered onto the floor. When the king turned on her, she covered her face and spun away. Her father left with a disgusted sneer. His rages came more and more frequently now, it seemed. When she was a child, he had always been cold and distant, but begrudgingly polite. Now, he openly hated her in front of her servants. The King of Hearts was still cordial in public, but his seething loathing was like a black undercurrent, sucking the color out of every party and public gathering of the royal family. Dinah avoided him at all costs, and even Harris and Emily had learned to stay far away from the King of Hearts and his fiery temper.

Back in the stables, Dinah sat down on an overturned bucket with a huff. “I hate him. He’s terrible.”

Wardley dismounted his horse with one smooth kick of his leg and wrapped his free arm around Dinah, the other holding fast to his practice sword. “I know your father isn’t a great father all the time.”

“Or ever,” replied Dinah sullenly. “He’s not the way a father is supposed to be. He’s not anything like your father.”

Wardley gave an understanding smile. Unlike Dinah, he adored his gentle father. “I know. But the king must love you; I’m sure he does … in his own horrible way. Ruling Wonderland isn’t for the fainthearted, and the crown weighs heavy, you know that. You are his daughter, his only viable heir, and someday he will see you for the …” He seemed at a loss for words. He patted her cheek lightly, and Dinah stopped breathing. “For the fierce woman that you will become. The Queen of Hearts. A good and just queen, and a doting sister. I see you growing stronger each day, and someday he will see that.”

“Someday,” she grumbled, “is not today.”

Wardley raised his hand, brushing the side of Dinah’s cheeks. “You …” His voice caught in his throat. “Will be an amazing queen one day.”

His touch was like fire on her skin, and she felt her pulse, along with every inch of her, raise to meet his fingers. Her breathing labored as he gently stroked her cheek. She looked up at him expectantly and when their eyes met, Wardley blushed and looked away. He leaped back from her as if she was dangerous, clumsily drawing his sword.

“Then you should tell your father how you feel. Today! I command it.”

It took a moment for Dinah to breathe again, but she did, grabbing a broom handle leaning against the stable door and shaking off her black cloak. She took a fighting stance and swung her broomstick at Wardley. He parried and moved to the side.

“I will! I’ll tell him, ‘Father! You are getting slow and mean in your old age. You are no longer the warrior you once were. Give me my kingdom already, you beast! Then I will defeat the Yurkei, once and for all!’”

Their swords rang together, wood on steel, through the stables and out into the yard. It was a complicated and perfected dance, one they had done thousands of times before. Wardley spun and easily deflected her downswing as Dinah caught him lightly on the hip with the side of the broom handle.

“Ow! That was hard!” He laughed.

He was distracted momentarily, and Dinah swung hard for his head. Wardley ducked and easily lopped off the top of her broom handle with his sword.

“You always go for the head. Always with these ill-planned swings,” he lectured. “It leaves you open. Wait for the right opportunity, and then go for the strike. Don’t go for it the minute you have any opening. You’re too impulsive. Xavier has been working with me on identifying my weaknesses, and that, my friend, is yours. It will be the last thing you do in a battle.”

Dinah smiled and brushed a string of black hair out of her eyes. “I’ll never be in battle. Croquet is the closest I’ll come to that, I imagine.”

“A queen should know how to defend herself,” Wardley answered, picking up the broom piece from the stable floor. “Even if all you do is listen to complaints and grow fat eating warm tarts on your throne. The King of Hearts is a seasoned warrior. He might not be a great father, but I know him as a commander. He is every bit the unyielding man Wonderlanders say he is. You shouldn’t be so hard on him. You should hope to be like him in that matter.”

“I’m hard on him?” Dinah flung her broken stick away. “I’m hard on him? He looks at me only with disgust and contempt. He treats Harris awfully, and gods know what women he has up in the mistresses’ chamber every night … .”

Wardley pushed his sword into the dirt and grabbed Dinah’s arm. It gave a passionate tremor under his calloused skin. “Dinah, be quiet.” He gave her a gentle shake. “You could be put in the Black Towers for saying such things. I know you haven’t had the best time without your mother, but this obvious hatred for your father could get you or, even worse, me killed.” He gave her a naughty grin, followed by a wink.

The thought stopped the argument rising in Dinah’s throat. She would never do anything to hurt Wardley. Never. Wardley had been her constant companion and playmate ever since she could toddle around the castle on chubby legs. When they were younger, Harris and Emily left her frequently with Wardley’s mother, a lady of the court, and the two children would scamper off chasing birds and pudgy hedgehogs that roamed the palace grounds. Wardley taught her how to wield a sword, how to ride Speckle, how to pee outside, and how to eat a tart without her hands. To a child, Wonderland Palace was truly full of marvel, and exploring its secrets together had brought Dinah more joy than any other part of her childhood. Wardley was hers and hers alone, something her father could never take from her. Not that it mattered much. The King of Hearts doted on Wardley and encouraged his fine abilities. He tolerated their friendship and almost encouraged it by his lack of anger toward Dinah when Wardley was around. If only she could be near him always …

Dinah turned that last wish in her heart as she scowled at him. “I’m leaving,” she snapped. “I don’t need to be told what to do by a boy with sugar powder all over his face.”

Wardley grinned. “Dinah, c’mon …”

“NO.”

She pulled her cloak over her pale-gray dress lined with red hearts and tucked her long black braid back into the hood. “That’s the last tart you will ever get from me. Who are you to lecture the Princess of Wonderland? No one, a lowly stable boy.”

Wardley pushed his hair back from his forehead and gave her a knowing smile. “All right, but I’ll still be hungry tomorrow.”

“Good-bye.”

“Dinah, wait!”

Her heart throbbed in her chest as she turned back to him. He leaned against the side of Corning, his face close to hers, whispering, “You can’t say anything like that about your father again, unless we are outside the palace or in our box in the Heart Chapel, do you understand? I’m serious.”

Dinah saw a rare glimpse of fear in his chocolate-brown eyes. She gave a sigh. “I won’t. I won’t say anything to get you in trouble, I promise.”

“Good.” Wardley gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “I enjoy having my head.” He pulled Corning over by his red reins and mounted up. “Will you come see me again tomorrow, after training?”

“Perhaps. If I have time. I probably won’t. Tomorrow is the Royal Croquet Game.”

“Ah yes, your favorite day of the year.”

Dinah grimaced. She hated the Royal Croquet Game. “Perhaps I can find a way to hit Vittiore with my mallet.”

“Go easy on her. I think your father scares her. She seems terrified all the time.”

“He should scare her. She’s a bastard child, unworthy of a minute of his time. I hope she dies of wheezing fever.”

Wardley looked off into the distance, focused on something Dinah couldn’t see. “You don’t mean that. So, you’ll visit me tomorrow, maybe after croquet? Or I’ll see you at the game.”

Of course, of course, her heart sang, I will see you every day! She gave a shrug.

“Good. Before I forget, I have something for Charles. Can you give this to him?” He handed Dinah a tiny wooden seahorse. He had whittled it himself; there was truly nothing Wardley couldn’t master.

She turned it over in her hand, admiring his craftsmanship. “He’ll love it.”

Wardley wheeled Corning around and out into the winter air. “See you tomorrow!” he declared. She smiled and waved as he joined the ranks of Heart Cards, marching in silent formation toward the courtyard, their steps echoing in harsh, single notes. Xavier Juflee patted him hard on the back as they galloped to the front of the line.

Dinah tiptoed out of the stable area, back into the circular labyrinth. As she rounded the endless curves and switchbacks of stalls, she allowed a smile to play across her face. One year ago, in the bright Wonderland sun, Wardley had given Dinah her first kiss, a light brush of his lips over her top one. They had been under the Julla Tree, a massive red skeleton with silky mulberry leaves and buzzing black fruit that opened and closed every hour. As children, they had climbed the Julla Tree hundreds of times, to play Tribes and Cards or to spy on the ladies’ bathing quarters. Now, they escaped to the leafy shelter to have a minute of stillness with each other—Wardley from his endless training, and Dinah from her lessons and, sometimes, her father.

It had been summer then, and Dinah was sixteen years old. The lunch trumpets had sounded from the Royal Apartments, and Dinah had reluctantly dropped the fruit she had been snacking on and slipped down the tree. Her ankle twisted at the bottom, and she fell, cutting her leg open on the tree’s thorny roots—fat fingers that twisted up from the ground to protect the tree. Wardley followed her and gently wiped the blood from her leg with his hand.

“Are you okay?” he’d asked, holding her leg in his large hand. Dinah gave him a brave smile, though she felt like sobbing. She didn’t want Wardley to see her cry, even though he had several times—like when Vittiore had a costume ball thrown in her honor, when Harris began teaching Vittiore in the evenings instead of Dinah, or when her father had forgotten to send her tea on All Tea’s Day.

Wardley wiped his hand on the Julla Tree’s fuzzy trunk, looked deeply into her black eyes, and kissed her. His lips were cool and soft, and his mouth tasted like lemons. Dinah leaned in, but he had pulled back, resting his hands on her flaming cheeks, his eyes filled with curiosity as he took in her face. He was trying to understand something; she could see it in his eyes. Dinah gasped, purely out of shock at the sudden heat rushing through her veins, and Wardley gave an easy shrug. “Just wanted to see what it felt like.” He swung himself back into the Julla Tree with a laugh, and Dinah walked, dazed and giddy, toward the castle.

A year had passed since then, and Dinah could still feel the touch of his lips upon hers as she wound her way out of the stables. Layers of pink snow dusted the swirling gold spires of Wonderland Palace, and the entire kingdom seemed to hold its breath with a still glow. A large group of Spade Cards was lounging near the red-glass doors that led into the palace. Dinah pulled her cloak over her head, hoping to hide her face, but her lips gave an uncertain jerk as she moved closer to them. They stood with an exaggerated ease, snickers escaping their blackened mouths.

“Your HIGH-ness.” They gave slight bows.

As she passed, she heard one of them murmuring under his breath: “The king’s daughter, disgrace to the throne. Looks nothing like her mother.”

“Recard,” whispered another.

Dinah’s heart was flapping wildly now. An uncontrollable rage started at her fingertips and worked its way into her chest. She stumbled, and the tiny wooden seahorse that Wardley had given her dropped from her hand. It rolled to a rest against the steel-tipped boot of a Spade.

“Aye, what’s this?” He bent down and picked it up, the figure minuscule against his large hand. “A toy? Aren’t yeh a bit old for toys, Princess?”

“It’s a seahorse, and it’s mine. Please give it back.” Dinah raised her eyes to meet his, hoping her trembling lip wouldn’t betray the shame she felt. “Please.”

The Spade gave Dinah a hard look. “Come and get it, Yer Highness.”

His eyes were a mottled gold, she noted with surprise. It was such a stark color against his black-on-black uniform, his long gray hair, and the black symbol of a spade tattooed underneath his right eye. The other Spades remained motionless, half-bowed, as Dinah took a timid step toward him. She started to extend her left hand for the seahorse and then thought better of it. I am the Princess of Wonderland, she told herself. Remember what Harris says. Someday I will be queen.

“No.”

The Spades jerked their heads up with curiosity.

“I am the Princess of Wonderland, and you will put it in my hand.”

The gold-eyed Spade gave a deep hoot. “Aye, indeed you are, although the other princess has the look of one. If it were up to me, pretty Lady Vittiore would be the one getting the crown.”

Rising anger burned her spine. With a swift movement, Dinah reached up and struck the Spade, hard across his face. One of her pearl rings left a thin trail of blood across his left cheek. He lunged at her, only to catch himself, his fist inches from her face. Dinah reveled in his shock.

“The Lady Vittiore is not a princess, she is only a duchess. Now, you will put the toy in my hand.”

The Spade gave her an amused smile. “No problem, Princess.” He reached out.

“No. My other hand.”

He looked down with a grimace at her other arm, tucked firmly within her cloak. She made no move to pull it out for him. The other Spades watched in shock as he tried in vain to get the seahorse into her hand without groping her, an action surely punishable by death. Dinah watched the farce silently, as if her arm were detached from her body and she was merely a spectator to this man fumbling around her cloak. Finally, the ashamed Spade pressed the toy into her palm, and Dinah closed her fist around it. The Spade walked back to the barrel he had been sitting on and leaned over it, peering at Dinah. A keen interest now replaced what had been mockery on his face moments earlier.

“Eh, so yeh have some of your father’s fiery blood in you then, do you?”

Dinah scowled at him. “Speak to me again and I’ll have you sent to the Black Towers in a coffin. What is your name?”

The man paled. “I was just joking, Yer Highness. Please don’t report me to the king.”

“I said, What is your name?”

His dirty hands wrung together. “Gorrann. Sir Gorrann.”

“Well, Sir Gorrann, I will not report you to the king this day. But if you ever insult me again, I will have your head. No need to involve the king.”

With a hard look she brushed past them, her black cloak trailing behind her. As soon as the red-glass palace doors closed behind her, Dinah plunged into an empty corridor off the main hall. Her lips parted in a soft cry, but she steeled herself from the shame. Victorious, she clutched the wooden seahorse in one sweaty hand and wiped the tears from her face with the other as she made her way to her brother’s chambers.

Four

Charles’s quarters were located in the western tower of the Royal Apartments, situated neatly above the castle’s kitchens. Her father had given in building materials what he never gave Charles in life. The king showed no other sign of love, affection, or even duty to his son. Charles’s room, as a result, was one of the strangest places in the entire palace. Huge white columns inlaid with red hearts twisted up to the ceiling where they met an expansive fresco featuring all the creatures of Wonderland. Hornhooves, gryphons, birds of all types, great whales, white-striped bears, and four-winged dragons danced across the ceiling in rich paints.

It would have been lovely—a gorgeous work of art—if crudely drawn hats had not been scribbled across the creatures in black charcoal. The animals now wore ugly slashes of feathers, top hats, and huge fedoras in wavy, messy lines that ran from one to another without stopping. The hats were richly detailed, the lines between them angry slashes—the art of madness.

Sad, Dinah thought as she gazed upward, her hood falling back onto her neck, that madness and genius were always melded together in this room.

The room itself was a testament to Charles’s obsession. Racks upon racks of hats rose up from the floor, twisting and circling between rickety, half-built staircases that led to nothing but air. Doors had been attached to the hat racks, swinging open and shut with the cold air blowing in from a large open window at the top of the main staircase. This staircase was Charles’s favorite, covered with hundreds of bolts and swatches of fabric. Piles of melting snow were accumulating on the window ledge in little drifts. Dinah gave a sigh and climbed up one of the rickety staircases, shutting the window firmly and securing the clasp. She heard a skittering of tiny feet below.

“Charles. You cannot leave the window open when it’s snowing outside. It’s bitterly cold in here, and the snow will get all over your new hats. We’ve talked about this.” She dusted off a sturdy gray fedora with orange canary feathers embroidered into a sun and stars. “You have to be careful with them.”

At her feet, a matted head of dirty yellow hair rose up in a space between the wide stair treads. “Pink snow on pink hats makes the walrus dance. He dances on the sea, hee-hee!”

Charles jumped out from under the staircase. Dinah gasped as he fell to the floor, somersaulting on his rough landing and leaping up into a kicking dance. “Snow on the hat, snow on the hat, black like your Cheshire Cat!”

He gave a high-pitched giggle, and Dinah laughed with him. Charles was younger by only two years, but in his madness he was practically ageless. He was a genius, a savant, a helpless infant and naughty child, all mixed into one tiny boy. He had been born mad—a squealing infant who never slept, a silent toddler who would bang his head against the wall, a curious boy who once ate glass and loved nothing more than to look at the stars. Davianna, Dinah’s mother, had loved her crazed son fiercely and was best at dealing with him. When she curled her arms around him, clutching him to her chest as though she could squeeze the madness out, he relaxed and was content, even as he babbled nonsensically. With his mother’s intense love and focus, Charles seemed to be improving, step by tiny step. When she died, he went completely maniacal and never returned.

He was regularly found wandering around the castle, a dead bird in one hand and a tart in the other. It was as likely that he had taken a bite out of one as he had the other. He once walked off the Great Hall balcony, breaking both legs on the marble steps below. After that, his walk consisted of short steps and a trotting leap—the grotesque gait of the permanently insane.

Then he stopped eating for a while. Not even Dinah, his beloved sister, could get him to eat. Barely more than a child herself at ten years old, she pleaded with him as she tried to shove a tart, soup, quail, anything into his open mouth. He grew weaker, retreating completely into his own wondrous world, and the entire kingdom dressed in black, awaiting the death of the little Prince of Hearts.

On what surely could have been one of his final nights, Dinah brought in a trunk full of their deceased mother’s clothing. She tucked it all around him, her dresses, slips, and socks, so that he might be comforted on his journey to another place. Charles’s fingers had found one of her mother’s bejeweled hats, the one she had worn for All Tea’s Day the year before—a gorgeous plum hat with a tall plume, plump and glittering in his small hand. An absurd smile played across his translucent skin as he turned the hat over and over in his hands, a look of fascination on his face. He then turned to Dinah and simply asked for a biscuit.

“My Dinah,” he had whispered with a smile, his small hand tracing her chin. “Biscuit?”

She saw it in his eyes that day—he had decided to stay, just like that. That was seven years ago. Since then, Charles never left his room. He watched the world from his windows, where he occasionally threw his lavishly made hats down onto adoring townspeople. A hat created by Charles, the so-called Mad Hatter, was worth more than any piece of clothing in Wonderland. His creations were inspired works of skill and insanity. Unapologetically whimsical, rich in every color found in nature and some that weren’t, they were a testament to Charles’s lunacy.

He rarely slept or bathed. His two loyal servants, Lucy and Quintrell, saw to all his needs. They kept his chambers from falling into disrepair but allowed his mind the freedom to create in the wild lunacy that he fostered. Tapestries and huge rolls of fabric covered the ground and most of the walls. Narrow walkways had been created for the servants, but Charles simply danced over the rainbow floor, his feet barely brushing the patterned fabrics of amethyst, pumpkin, taupe, and lapis.

Charles looked up at Dinah, still standing on the stairway. He giggled and sang, “A ribbon across their necks, one, two, hearts. Check and check!”

She looked down at the tawny head and the mismatched blue and green eyes that stared back at her wildly. “Do you remember my name today?”

“Dinah, rhymes with lima, beans and more beans, growing up and up, over the hills into the pale white, like sugar on a pie, die, die …”

Dinah gave him a proud smile. “That’s right, Charles. Dinah. Your sister. I brought you something today.”

His right eye blinked twice. “Something? Something like the sun, inching closer every day. It will burn us, uh-oh, it will.”

“Not quite the sun, but something really special.” Dinah reached into her cloak and pulled out the tiny wooden seahorse. Charles’s eyes widened, and he took it in his slight, feminine hands. Wardley had carved swirls into its curving back and blackened its long nose with smudged charcoal.

“It’s from Wardley. Remember him? What do you say?”

Charles repaid Dinah with a huge smile that showed his misshapen teeth. “Blue horse, swimming on a long field. Tasty shrimp inside his ribs, I can taste it, yes I can!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Charles held the carving up into the light as he made it swim through the air. “Sea birds, shimmering scales, black eyes …”

He dashed away from her and began riffling through the fabrics, muttering to himself. Dinah had seen this a hundred times before. The inspiration for a hat had taken root in his mangled brain—a creative, aggressive root that was spreading its joy and poison through each and every secret path of his mind. Dinah descended the staircase to speak with the servants who were waiting patiently near the door.

“How is he doing this week?” she asked.

Lucy gave a deep bow. She was the gentlest woman Dinah had ever known, a grandmother of three with rosy cheeks and white hair that glowed a pale blue in the harsh winter light. Age lines rippled out from her eyes and down her neck into her modest white gown. On her head sat an enormous felt whale, embroidered with swirling pink blossoms. Charles loved her dearly, in his own way, and Lucy was his most devoted servant.

Quintrell was her assistant—a strapping lad who handled the physical labor involved with Charles’s care. He wrestled Charles into the swan-shaped tub once a week and scrubbed him down with hedgehog skins while the boy screamed and writhed. He was also the only one who could force Charles to eat when he was in one of his hat-making furies. Charles periodically went through long periods where he saw nothing but fabric and stitching—fits of wild, brilliant mania that would last for days. Dinah had no idea how Lucy and Quintrell dealt with Charles day in and day out, but they seemed content. Other than Dinah, they were the only ones who truly loved him.

Though he was her brother, Dinah felt that she floated in a strange emotional fog with Charles—she loved him dearly, but her love was always tinged with confusion. She couldn’t deal with him the way Lucy and Quintrell did. Charles recognized her most weeks, but when he didn’t, Dinah felt betrayed, even more alone than usual. Dinah watched as Lucy wrinkled her face, sorting a pile of buttons into several different boxes. She cleared her throat, preparing to respond to Dinah’s question. “How is he doing, Your Highness? Well, he has created two hats in the last twenty days, which is fast for him—the fuchsia beret with swallow’s eggs, and the gryphon top hat, which will be delivered to Lord and Lady Clutessa next week. Both works were inspired by the birds that have nested just outside the window.”

Dinah nodded. Working for Charles had turned both Lucy and Quintrell into hatters as well—they were as skilled and knowledgeable as any milliner in town could ever be.

“They sound beautiful. But I was asking about Charles. Has he been well?” Quintrell fidgeted nervously. Dinah smiled. “Well, out with it.”

“Your Highness, three nights past, I woke up to loud giggling coming from the atrium.” Quintrell glanced nervously at Lucy. She placed her withered hand on his arm and nodded for him to continue. “When I came out into the room, Charles was up on one of the staircases. He …” Quintrell’s voice caught in his throat.

Lucy stepped forward. “Charles had one of the stitching needles dug into his arm. He was squeezing the blood out and letting it drip onto the mulberry silk.”

A painful gasp escaped from Dinah’s lips. “Why, why would he do that?”

Lucy refused to meet her eyes. “He said the dye wasn’t the right shade of red. He was fixing it. We tried to get the needle away from him, but he was on the edge of the staircase, so …”

“So you let him do it, rather than risk his falling.”

They both nodded. Dinah was tempted to rage at them the way she had raged at the 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.

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