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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 (#u7dec2894-5c8d-5be7-a534-2b9d4df5a471)
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 (#u7dec2894-5c8d-5be7-a534-2b9d4df5a471)
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.
