The corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a half-smile, and he whirled her around again. Then, without warning, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss. Surprised, Alice hesitated as her heart raced. She felt as though she was barely balancing on a cliff edge—should she go back home, where it was safe, predictable? Or should she plunge into this moment, this jubilation, and enjoy the adventures it might bring? Her partner pulled back, a small frown etched into his features.
As the crowd swirled and spun around them, Alice made a choice. She stepped off the cliff edge, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
Alice cradled the small round of her growing stomach. Something moved inside of her—so slight, like a butterfly fluttering inside of her—and she felt a surge of love, so powerful, that she folded her arms around her middle.
There was a knock on the door, and Alice hurriedly pulled her dressing gown over herself, hiding the changing curves of her body.
Her maid bobbed a curtsy. “Your young man called again, your Majesty.”
“Please don’t call me that,” Alice said, pursing her lips. “And he’s not my young man.”
“He’s called on you every day since—”
“Yes, I know,” Alice replied curtly. Every day since the late Queen had disappeared, and she’d been caught up in the resultant celebrations with that young man, Mr. Wit Lapin.
“What shall I tell him today?”
Alice closed her eyes and ran a hand over the curve of her stomach—the growing evidence of her indiscretion.
Every day he’d called.
Every day she’d turned him away with a different excuse, just as she’d turned away the people of the Forge who were always lined up outside her doors, addressing her as Your Majesty, and seeking her judgment on their quarrels.
Every day she’d also closed her eyes to the growing unrest in the city: the attacks on those known to be loyal to the Queen. The reprisals. The looting. The city was falling apart. The Queen had been a tyrant, but she’d kept order, at least.
Alice dropped her hand away from her stomach, turning away from the maid to look out of the window at the city that had been her home these last few months. Surprisingly, the Forge’s problems seemed easier to solve than her own. Of course, she wanted to go home, but she’d also come to care for the people of the Forge. She couldn’t let them tear themselves apart.
Then there was also the fact that she was carrying a child. She couldn’t go home—unmarried and pregnant. What would Mother and Father say? Here, people were different. Strange, certainly, but they would not judge her for the life she carried inside.
Still, there was the matter of the child’s father.
Alice sighed. “Show Mr. Lapin into the sitting room. I’ll dress and greet him directly.”
“My Queen, it is a pleasure to see you.”
Wit tipped his hat and smiled. Alice was pleased that his eyes did not stray to her stomach, though her small bump was unnoticeable under her corsets and skirts. She considered him a moment—there was the same handsome face, the same joyful smile, the same sparkle in his eyes. Now, though, she felt no hitching of her breath or skittering of her heart.
“I’m not the queen,” Alice replied, then motioned for him to sit. “It’s a pleasure to see you too, Wit.”
“I’ve called several times, but I understand you’ve been too busy for social visits.”
Alice gave him a tight smile. Wit sat forward in his chair, fiddling with the top hat that he held in his hands. “I understand you haven’t yet accepted the title of queen.”
Alice pursed her lips, remembering the first conversation they’d had. “Nor empress, nor anything else.”
“You would make a good queen,” Wit smiled.
“Your queen?” The words were out of her mouth before Alice could bite them back. She’d wondered if Wit had sought out a relationship with her just for the power that such an alliance would bring. Did he want to be King of the Forge?
Wit shifted in his seat, before clearing his throat. “The Forge cannot withstand this vacuum of power. If you do not fill the space left by the disappearance of the Queen, I fear what will become of us. Already different factions are preparing to battle for her place. The city is turning to lawlessness.”
“I thought you had come here to…” Declare love. Propose marriage. Alice felt a lump rising in her throat. Had Wit’s daily visits been simply to urge her to become the replacement queen?
Wit shifted in his seat, looking down as he turned his hat around in his hands. “I do not wish to… I mean no disrespect…” he trailed off, clearing his throat again.
Abruptly, he stood and walked over to the window. “Truly, you are lovely… a beautiful woman. Any man would be… I’m sure, in time…” Struggling for words, Wit took a breath, turned, and came to sit back down in front of her again. He looked her in the eye. “You see, now that I’m free of my patronage to the Queen, I wish to pursue my studies. I’ve been late my whole life—always late—but now that I’m no longer in the Queen’s service, I have the opportunity to do something different. Better late than never, eh?” Wit gave her a small smile, but the sparkle in his eyes was gone. He took a deep breath. In a rush, the rest of the words came out: “I’m afraid I’m not in a position to take a wife.”
Alice clasped her hands in her lap, forcibly stopping herself from cradling the life growing inside of her. She took a deep breath, and exhaled, looking down at the bump that no-one else could yet see. She felt a moment of fear—could she do this? Alone? Almost immediately, the fear was replaced with a sense of relief. She did not have to marry. She did not have to share this precious child. She found herself again, balanced on the cliff edge—onwards to a new adventure, or back to safety and predictability.
She straightened in her chair and smiled, and this time it was not forced. Wit opened his mouth to say something more, but Alice held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not ready for marriage either,” she said, knowing that this was why she’d been avoiding him for months. “I do hope we can put the past behind us.”
Wit smiled, the sparkle returned to his eyes. He nodded and held out a hand to her. “Friends, then?”
Alice reached forward to clasp it. “Friends.”
About six months later…
The pains came on in the middle of the night. Alice panted, her body taking control with each contraction. She paced the room, waiting for the midwife to arrive—hoping she would not be too late. For a moment, Alice wondered whether she should have told Wit that day. Would he have been here with her now, if she’d told him of the child she was carrying? Then she pushed the thought aside. This was what she’d chosen, what she’d wanted.
Her contractions came quicker, stronger, and at some point she collapsed against the bed, giving herself over to the pain. She cried out, one final time, before falling back against the pillows. A moment later, there was a mewling cry, and then she was cradling a small bundle to her chest.
Flooded with a profound sense of love, Alice relaxed against her pillows, grateful and relieved that her child—her child—had come into the world, healthy and whole. She was staring at her tiny daughter when she was startled by a knock at the door…
Find out what happens next in Queen of Clockwork
10
Wizard of Oz
“Ozma, you can’t be serious.”
Princess Ozma, historically, was very little but serious. Even so, Dorothy had a hard time imagining this wasn’t some kind of joke.
“I made you a princess of Oz ages ago,” Ozma said. “It makes perfect sense that you should take the reins.”
Dorothy strode across the balcony and looked out across the Emerald City. Bejeweled buildings shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, and vehicles of all kinds glittered along the green marble roads. She turned back to the princess, who was observing her with irritating calmness.
“No one should need to take the reins,” Dorothy said, “especially me. Heavens, Ozma, I don’t e
ven belong here. I’m from Kansas.”
Princess Ozma laughed. “I don’t buy that any more than you do. Anyway, I don’t think there’s much of a discussion to be had. The Mountaineers pledged their loyalty to me, and now they’re being threatened by a dragon. An actual dragon, Dorothy. This isn’t the first time they’ve needed my help in the last few years, and it won’t be the last.”
“Can’t Glinda go rescue them?”
“Glinda is busy,” Ozma said. “Anyway, I need a change of pace, and what’s the sense in two of us ruling Oz when we all know you’re capable of doing it yourself?”
Dorothy fixed Ozma with what she thought to be her most impressive glare. As usual, Ozma was not intimidated. Finally, Dorothy sighed.
“You’re not asking me, are you?” Dorothy said. “You’re telling.”
Ozma nodded.
Dorothy might have guessed. That was Ozma’s way, taking the lead and assuming everyone else would fall into step. And, of course, everyone usually did.
“I don’t want to be the princess,” Dorothy said as if this small rebellion could bring back some of the power she’d just lost.
Ozma raised an eyebrow. “It’s not really up to you.”
“No, I mean--I’ll do it. I’ll rule Oz. But I don’t want to be a princess. It goes against my Kansas upbringing.” Dorothy winked. “Besides, you’re the last true heir to the imperial throne of Oz. You should keep that title. I’ll be the Mayoress.”
Ozma smirked. “You always do have to do things your own way.”
“Which you find charming,” Dorothy said. “It’s why we’re best friends.”
“It absolutely is.” Ozma stretched out a hand.
Dorothy took it, and Ozma pulled her in for a hug.
“Don’t be upset, Mayoress,” Ozma said. “We’ll write to each other. You can come visit me in the mountains sometime. Perhaps we’ll get the Mist Maidens to join us. And in the meantime, you have an excuse to throw me the absolute grandest going-away party.”
The Scarecrow tilted his head and observed Dorothy, his stitched face a picture of artistic concentration.
“Your hair could be better,” he finally said.
He adjusted Dorothy’s brown updo and pulled a single curl free. It cascaded down her face, making her cheek itch.
“Perfection,” the Scarecrow said.
“Thank you, dearest,” Dorothy said.
“I liked it better when it was all down,” the Cowardly Lion said from the other side of the room, where he was happily sitting in a large box one of the Winkies had brought to the palace as a gift.
“That’s because it looked like a mane,” the Scarecrow said. “Your sense of style runs solely toward manes and tales.”
“It’s a shame the rest of you don’t have them,” the Lion said primly. He licked a paw and proceeded to groom his whiskers with dignity.
Months had passed since Ozma’s grand going away party and departure. Life in the Emerald City had slowed to its regular, dreamy pace. This city was like no other, Dorothy reflected as the Scarecrow fussed with the hem of her tailored green tunic. The frenetic pace of most large cities existed here in a sort of organized chaos, but the city dealt with little of the crime or poverty found in most places.
It was good, to have so few problems in a day. But after a lifetime of battling witches, opposing villainous princesses, and rescuing the downtrodden, the tranquillity that filled her life was beginning to get a bit… itchy.
The Tin Woodsman entered Dorothy’s chambers with a bow. She had told him a thousand times that he didn’t need to bow to her, but he insisted on doing it anyway, his hinges creaking in the same gentle way every time.
“Your meeting with the Lollipop Guild is about to begin,” he said in his courtly manner. “I thought you might like to walk to your office with a friend.”
She took his offered arm while the Scarecrow gave her collar one last tweak. The Lion blinked slowly and watched her go, then settled against the edge of his box for a nap.
The Guild meeting went exactly as Dorothy had expected. The Munchkin representatives arrived in their customary blue garb, and a respectful conversation proceeded about the ownership of certain sugar beet farms and the state of the spice trade within the kingdom. Guild Leader Eeja gave her a gift of shimmering raspberry-swirl lollipops at the meeting's conclusion, and she accepted them with the usual diplomacy.
Everything had proceeded flawlessly. So why did her skin crawl with irritation?
She ignored the sensation and bid the Munchkins a gracious farewell. The minute they had been escorted out of her office, though, she strode from the room, her boot heels clicking against the green marble floors.
Clanking echoed in the corridor behind her, the footsteps of a man made out of tin. She sighed and let him catch up.
"I couldn't help noticing," he said cautiously.
She sighed and waited. He cleared his throat with a metallic scraping sound.
"It's just, you seem upset," he said. "Since the Munchkins left the room in good spirits, would it be right for one to wonder if, perhaps, you were having difficulty with something else?"
He was eternally perceptive, and Dorothy stopped at a wide, arching window to stare out at the city and buy herself time to think.
The Tin Woodsman waited, patient as only a tin woodsman could be.
"I'm restless," she finally said.
She turned to him. His face had so few expressions, and yet she knew their nuances by heart. That slight quirk of the mouth and the gentle fluttering of his shining eyelids--that was concern. She put a hand on his shoulder.
"It's nothing," she said. "It's only... I used to have a life. Things happened. And now nothing is happening, and I'm glad, I am, but... is it wrong to feel just the slightest bit unfulfilled?"
The Woodsman shrugged. She had never met someone so unwilling to pass judgment on someone he loved, and she adored him for it.
"I feel like I could be doing more with my life," she said. "Like there's something I could do that would matter to someone, besides pretending to rule over a city that doesn't really need ruling."
The Woodsman wrapped one stiff arm around her. The metal felt cool even through her velvet tunic; odd, for that arm to belong to a being of such warmth. She leaned into the hug, and the Woodsman placed a clumsy kiss on the top of her head.
"Maybe I just miss Ozma," Dorothy admitted.
The Woodsman didn't get a chance to answer before a polite, urgent voice interrupted the comfort of his embrace.
"Mayoress," one of the palace guards called. He rushed toward them, wringing his hands and looking entirely discomfited.
Dorothy stood up straighter in interest.
"My Lady," the guard said. His gaze darted nervously between her and the Woodsman. "I don't mean to interrupt. Only it's the strangest thing. The strangest people—"
Dorothy held up a hand. "Slow down," she ordered. "What are you talking about?"
The guard frowned and gesticulated, though she couldn't tell what any of the gestures were supposed to mean.
"Well, you see, My Lady," he said. "Just now, not five minutes ago, there was a knock at the palace door..."
Find out what happens in King of Traitors
11
Snow White
She should never have taken a bite out of the apple. She'd known that since the moment it was put in front of her, but an odd compulsion had made her bite into it. And now she was stuck in a state that wasn't quite awake and wasn't entirely dreaming. She could hear the people around her, each of them believing she was dead. Even the dwarves she'd come to love as her family had given up all hope. She wanted to talk to them. To reassure them that she was alright and might even wake up properly in her own time. At least, that was what she hoped would happen. She had no actual proof of that.
Leaves crunched as someone approached the glass coffin she'd been laid to rest in. The tread was heavier than she was used to hearing, which meant it wasn't one of t
he dwarves coming to check that she was alright. No, this was someone new.
If her heart could have beat faster, then it would have done so. Could Michael have found her? When they'd met in the woods, he'd promised he'd do just that, but a part of her still worried that he was only interested in her beauty. That was what got her into this mess in the first place.
"Oh, Snow," he whispered, placing his hand on the glass of her coffin. "What has she done to you?"
Cursed her.
It was obvious to anyone that looked at her. While she might be famed for her pale skin and dark hair, the only people as pale as she was now were the actual dead.
Michael took out his wand and raised it, the stance both powerful and hope-filled. Before her step-mother had come along, Snow's father had taught her all the spellcraft he could, but she'd put a stop to that. Maybe because she assumed it would mean Snow could fight back more.
Michael muttered a few words, crafting the intent of his spell. They weren't technically necessary to perform magic, but it helped channel the magic into doing what the caster wanted rather than going off in its own direction.
The glass of Snow's coffin melted away, dripping down and nearly touching her, but never quite hitting her skin.
Michael stepped forward and reached out a hand, brushing it against the soft skin of Snow's cheek. Just like with the dwarves, she wished she could reach out and tell him she knew he was there and appreciated that he'd come for her. Not everyone would have.
"I'm sorry she did this," he said softly, leaning down so their faces were mere inches apart.
This wasn't how she'd intended to have her first kiss, but it was better than not having one at all. His lips pressed against hers, sweet and innocent, almost like he was saying goodbye.
Kingdom of Fairytales: After ever after - a Kingdom of Fairytales Prequel Page 6