Queen of Hearts Complete Collection: Queen of Hearts; Blood of Wonderland; War of the Cards. Colleen Oakes

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       Five

      Dinah spooned plum pudding over her flat fig biscuits as Harris hopped back and forth in front of her, wine dashing out from his large goblet. “You are going to be late, late, late for the Royal Croquet Game. We cannot be late, Your Highness.” Harris shuffled around the table, his long checkered robe flapping after him.

      “I would rather get run over by Hornhooves than play croquet with Vittiore today,” grumbled Dinah, draining a glass of juice. The mouse head still weighed heavily on her mind, and she couldn’t shake the image of it bouncing across the stone floor.

      “That may be the case, Princess, but you still must go. It is the precursor to All Tea’s Day, and it is expected of the royal family to not only be in attendance, but also to play after all the townspeople have finished their games. This tradition goes back hundreds and hundreds of years …”

      Dinah gave a groan and interrupted Harris’s rambling. “Starting with the seventh King of Hearts, Doylan the Great, the Royal Croquet Game has established the game’s rules and etiquette. It has made the Royal Family of Hearts synonymous with croquet, forever entwined in its grand traditions and all it stands for,” Dinah said, and smiled coyly. “You give me the same speech every year. I remember. Contrary to what you believe, I listen to you. Now, may I please read in peace?”

      One of her history texts, The Great Crane, sat open in front of her, a large silver book with worn pages. It was a rare book, and a fascinating fictional history of the Yurkei religion. Harris flung wide the doors to the courtyard, letting a swirl of pink snow into the room.

      “Please close that. I’m freezing,” mumbled Dinah.

      The old man ignored her. “Croquet!” he boomed. “The very name conjures a vision of Wonderland excellence, aristocracy, and grace.”

      Dinah let out a sigh, gently shut her book, and balanced her face on the palms of her hands.

      “The Royal Croquet Game sets the tone of the next year’s fashion, manners, teas, and style. It is an opportunity for the Royal Family of Hearts to show their unity, their athletic prowess …”

      Dinah’s head jerked up with her laugh, a smudge of plum pudding across her upper lip. “Athletic prowess? Harris, we are hitting balls with sticks. Unity? My father hates me, and Vittiore—”

      “Is a lovely, innocent girl,” finished Harris.

      Dinah shot him a nasty look. “Is a venomous wench snake,” she replied. “The very sight of her makes me ill. She may be my sister by my father’s unfaithful blood, but she is not my sibling. Only Charles is my true sibling. Who, may I remind you, is never invited to the Royal Croquet Game!”

      Harris adjusted his spectacles. “Dinah, you know very well why Charles is never invited.”

      “Because he’s an embarrassment to my father?”

      “Because he cannot be controlled, and the Line of Hearts must appear strong and unbroken. The history of the Royal Croquet Game is filled with political pandering and glorious grandeur, and it’s no place for someone who is mad.”

      Dinah brought her knife down through the biscuits on the table.

      “He may be mad, but he is my brother. And he’s the son of the king. If he wasn’t mad, he would be the rightful heir of Wonderland and every Card would bow before him.”

      Harris reached down and wiped Dinah’s lip with his white handkerchief, a tiny heart embroidered on the corner. “That is certainly true, Princess. No one grieves the loss of the prince’s mind more than I do. I was there when he was born, as I was with you. I held his red, squirming body in my hands, wrapped him up in fur, and blessed him in the name of the Wonderland gods. I love Charles, but even I know that he cannot be included in royal events. He makes the crown look weak, and it draws attention to the fractures in your family.”

      Dinah stabbed her plate angrily. “When I am queen, Charles will not be hidden away in some grand atrium, throwing hats out of windows. He will join me where I go, mad or not.”

      Harris pulled the chair out from under her, and Dinah jumped to her feet. “That is my greatest wish, Princess. Now, it is time to get dressed! We are late! Emily, bring her croquet gowns!”

      There were few things as awful, Dinah mused, as being strapped into a corset as if she were being bound to her own torso. She stood, arms outstretched, as Emily dressed her. Emily was grunting as Dinah’s strong ribs and square hips shrank gradually into a curvy, maidenly form, made perfect by thick ribbons.

      As the pressure slowly increased, Dinah studied herself in a long, heart-shaped mirror. Shiny black hair fell straight from her temple to shoulders. The hair was incredibly thick and heavy, a burden that Dinah could barely tolerate some days. Her face was soft cream, made even dewier by her deep red lips. They formed a perfect pout—a little heart on a strong face. Her black-brown eyes were huge and fringed with long lashes—arguably her best asset. Yes, strong, she thought, twisting her body around. Strong like my father and dark like my mother.

      Dinah was a bit leaner than the average Wonderland woman. She had firm, square shoulders, like a man. Her middle was solid, her legs squat. There was no curve from her bust to her waist—she was one solid square, topped with an ample bosom, more small melons than the ripe peaches described in Emily’s tawdry novels. Tarts had added a bit of softness to her chin as of late, but Dinah was still attractive, or at least that’s what she told herself. Not pretty or delicate like Vittiore, but perhaps handsome.

      A Card had once called her handsome, and Dinah had cried for days, but now she could see it. Her mother had been broad but voluptuous, and for this reason her hourglass figure still graced many a painting. Her long black hair had reached the ground, and she carried her crown СКАЧАТЬ