"You're on," I say, dropping my ball to the grass and putting my foot on it. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a skull. Yet another fossil in this maelstrom of hell. Not sure if this one’s human or not. If it is, it must’ve belonged to a child. Bile rises in my throat as my stomach roils. "I win, and you stop beheading people without my permission."
"Your permission?" the King asks, his voice low and dangerous, like the whistle of a far-off wind, one that promises future storms. "How interesting. It's a deal then: you beat me in a game of croquet, and I'll let you stay my executions." His mouth curves up into a cruel smile, pulling at the ragged scar etched into his skin.
I take a deep breath and shrug my shoulders, loosening my joints.
No fucking way I'm losing this match.
“And if I win,” the King continues, moving closer to me. When he glances over at Rab, the rabbit-eared man takes several steps back. I meet the Duke’s narrowed eyes over the monarch’s shoulder and at least get the feeling that he’d fight to defend me if needed. That doesn’t do much to comfort me though because I’m not at all certain he could take the King down. “You’ll kiss me in front of the entire court.”
“Are you insane?” I ask, but the arrogant male triumph on his says he most definitely is not. Piece of shit. “Fine, bring it on, bitch.” The King raises his brows at my name-calling, but tosses his skull into the air and then rolls it onto the grass next to a red and white stake.
Oh, wait. It’s not a stake—it’s a bone with blood spatter on it.
"How intriguing," says the Hatter, adjusting his black top hat and grinning with two sharp canines. "Mind if I excuse myself to make some bets? Where there's a challenge, there's always money to be made." He moves off to join the March Hare near the white lawn chairs where the audience sits, and starts to smoke a cigarette in a gold holder with lazy drags.
My eyes lock onto the King's dark ones, but they're impossible to read. I've never seen someone so closed-off before. It's terrifying. Kissing this guy must be like swallowing a mouthful of ash and hate. You’re only thinking that because you’re disturbingly intrigued by him, my mind whispers, but I ignore it.
"So, what are the rules?" I ask, because like, I've clearly never played fucking croquet before. Even if I had, I doubt the rules in Underland would be anything like they are back home. “Who goes first?”
"The blood-spattered ball always goes first,” the King says, turning his skull ball with his foot so I can see the red stains on the front. “And the rules … are exactly what I want them to be." He lines up a shot with his macabre mallet while the grotesque little card creatures shiver and shake, their painted faces twisted into expressions of horror. Without even bothering to aim for the wickets, the King knocks his bloody ball into the fray, and the cards shuffle to accommodate him. "Four points," he calls out after the ball passes underneath several arches. "And four extra swings.” I watch as he works his way around the heart-shaped court. I think in traditional croquet, the wickets and stakes are supposed to be in a double diamond shape. But, of course, there’s nothing traditional about Underland. “Your turn, Alice," he mocks as the nick on my neck throbs and smarts. I won't forget that he held a blade to my throat anytime soon.
"Son of a bitch," I snarl as I kick my own ball into place, trying to ignore the entourage behind me. Tee, Dee, Lar, and … I have no idea where Chesh went, maybe rubbing his invisible self against the Duke’s legs. Rab is standing off to the side, arms crossed in front of him, one of his white ears twitching. It's impossible to miss the grimace that crosses his face.
He turns one of his arms over and shows me the watch tattooed there, ticking down to something ominous, no doubt. Probably my inevitable loss in this game.
As I ready my shot—because I have to at least try—I notice something strange shimmering in the air near the slave-card wickets. It weirds me the fuck out until I realize that what I'm looking at is a grin.
"How are you getting on?" says the cat, as soon as there's enough mouth for him to speak with. It's no use talking to him until his ears are there, or at least one of them. In less than a minute, there's a cat's head floating in the air not six feet in front of my face.
"I don't think they play at all fairly," I growl, gritting my teeth and glancing back over at the King. He's staring at the cat with a mixture of rage and frustration. Oh. I like that. So there is something that can shake the unshakeable. Good to know. "There don't seem to be any rules in particular; at least, if there are, nobody fucking attends to them."
"How do you like the King?" says the cat in a low voice. Clearly, he's trying to pick a fight. Not sure how smart of an idea that is. The rest of the guys seem pretty freaked-out by the King of Hearts. Understandably so, considering he kills random strangers to vent his anger.
"Not at all," I say. "He's so extremely”—I pause when I notice how close the King is behind me—"likely to win, that it's hardly worthwhile finishing the game."
The King smiles, but it's not a very pretty expression.
"I see you're back again," he says, resting his hands on the end of his mallet, the skull dug firmly into the grassy earth near his boots. "After last time, I'd think to find you more intelligent than all that." Chesh smiles, his eyes twinkling, a disembodied tail fluffing around behind him. "I don't like the look of you at all. However, you may kiss my hand if you like."
"I'd rather not," the cat remarks, and just like that, all of that cool, easy calm leaves the King in a violent flood. I can see the muscles in his jaw ticking with rage.
"I'd fetch the executioner myself," he growls out, "if you had a body that I could remove your head from."
"What a pity, what a shaaaame," the cat purrs, its head twisting around until it's looking at us upside down. "So there is something the precocious King of Hearts can't attend to?"
"Whatever am I going to do with you?" the King grinds out as Chesh tosses me a little wink, licks his lips, and promptly disappears from view.
"He belongs to the Duke; you'd better ask him about it." And then I crack my mallet on the ugly little skull and send it flying. The card wickets try to shuffle out of my way, but a little shimmer and a swipe of some nearly invisible claws keeps them in just the right place for my ball to fly right on through.
"Five points," I mock as I stand up straight and give the King a triumphant look that, had these idiots not completely bought into the prophecy thing, probably would've gotten my head lopped off.
The King's gloved hands squeak as he tightens them around the handle of his mallet.
"Very well then," he says, curling the edge of his lip up and meeting my eyes dead-on. The crown perched atop his head slides to one side, this lazy little dip that's too sexy for words. But it doesn't fall off, like it's defying gravity just for him. "I'll play you fair, Alice." The King stands up and spins his mallet in a circle, cracking the skull side against the ground before he takes off to meet his ball, the empty eyes of the hollow skull staring up at a blue, blue sky.
"Don't even try to win, Allison," Tee whispers, grabbing my arm. I glance back at him, and whatever he sees on my face must convince him that I'm doing this whether he likes it or not. “Fuck, you’re going to get yourself killed.” With a growl and clenched teeth, he releases me, watching as I follow along after the King.
The asshole’s next shot is damn near perfect, and even without cheating, he manages to knock his ball through three more wickets. Not sure how many of those arches are supposed to be in the game, but here in Underland, there are hundreds, maybe thousands. It almost looks like a graveyard, all these silent faces staring up at an unyielding sky.
"I've got your baaaack, so to say," Chesh purrs in my ear. I can't see him, but at least when I hit my ball, all the cards stay in place. I miss the next wicket and don’t get any points, while on the King’s next turn, he hits my ball with his own, calls a ‘roquet’, and then smashes my ball into kingdom come with his next swing. I finger the Queenmaker as I grind my teeth. Bet th
is baby could turn the dickhead to mush, I think as I stretch my neck and give a deep sigh.
The audience may as well be made up of corpses for all the noise they make, sitting quiet and still as a storm cloud rolls in, covering up the sun and casting strange shadows on the field.
"You should know better," the King says, his voice even-keeled and wicked all over again. The way he looks at me, I just want to turn and run, stumble through the castle until I find the Looking-Glass and forget I was ever here. There's something in his stare that promises I might do things I never thought I'd do—and that I might like it. "Challenging me."
"I've seen bigger bullies than you," I snort. If I hadn't met the Mad Hatter all of say, oh, twenty-four hours ago, that might not be the case. I can't help but glance over at the man in question, wondering not only how he came to be in this world, but also how he became a vampire. "Now if it will please Your Majesty …" I can't help an eyeroll to punctuate my words as I gesture at the King with my mallet. He glances down at the lump of bone near his feet, folds his arms across his chest, and stays put. With a small snarl, I stalk over to him and stand far too close for comfort.
He smells just as good as his garden, but with a solid note of thyme and rosemary that hits the back of my tongue when I breathe in, something savory to balance out all the sweet.
"You know what would please his majesty," he whispers, his breath far too near my ear for comfort.
"No," I say firmly, cracking my ball and managing to just barely sneak it through the right wicket. "And I don't think I want to know."
"I will have you, Alice," he says, his dark eyes glittering like a starry sky. "You've always been destined to be mine."
"I'd rather marry the Mad Hatter," I grind out, and the King's full mouth twists into a severe frown.
"That's part of the arrangement. At first, I was upset. But I've decided this can only bring prosperity to the Kingdom of Hearts. If the most powerful mercenary on the continent is tied to the crown, think of the possibilities."
"I think that my heart and my vagina aren't bargaining tools," I snap as the King purposely brushes past me, his fingers curling around my wrist. When I glance up, I get caught in his eyes. Fuck, I practically fall into them. It's like I'm tumbling down the Rabbit-Hole all over again, getting twisted up in glitter and bones.
"And I think that your fate is to belong to me." The King grabs my chin in tight fingers, but my reaction commands are on point. I smack his hand away and stumble back, stepping on one of the poor cards by accident. The sound it makes … it's like I've taken all its breath away. A gasping choke tears from the poor creature's throat as I jerk back, tripping over and crushing my ball before falling right on my ass.
The card person thrashes and chokes, sitting up and turning its silent screaming face toward me. It reaches its too-human hands up and claws at its neck, like it's choking. I back away, even though I know I shouldn't, even though I know I should feel pity and sympathy instead of horror and fear.
"It's a curse they brought on themselves," the King says, smashing the end of his mallet into the card's face. A tear of blood escapes its frozen eye before it collapses to the ground, shudders … and dies. "You're wasting your sympathy."
I look up at him with this expression of horror plastered across my face. When he sees the way I'm staring at him, something flickers in his gaze that I can't quite read, like a shooting star cutting across all that darkness. But he turns away too quickly for me to get a good read on it.
"Your Majesty," Rab is saying, his red eyes flickering briefly to me and then back to the King's. "The Mocking Turtle and the Gryphon … they're at the gates."
I wish I could explain the expression of rage that crosses the King's face then … and the look of terror.
"Who won the game?" I ask North as we follow the King’s entourage through the palace, trying my hardest not to think about the dead card servant that was just dragged across the lawn outside. If I think too much about what just happened, I’ll get dizzy and this fatigue headache I’ve been nursing will finally win over and knock me on my ass. The Duke’s long, black tail slashes across the checkered floor like a scythe, but the expression in his gold eyes is pure, unadulterated excitement.
And I think that excitement might be for me.
Oops.
I wonder if mating with him really was a good idea? Or maybe his lack of mating was what made him savage in the first place?
“Clearly, the bloody King,” he says, and despite his expression, his words are a bit clipped, gold gaze swinging over to the grand front entrance of Castle Heart. We come to a stop in an area that’s roughly five times the size of my school’s gymnasium—and this, this is apparently the foyer. "Although I suspect he’ll wait awhile to collect on his prize.” North flicks his attention back to me and smiles lasciviously. “I doubt he wants to share your first kiss the same day you experienced the most wonderful lovemak—”
"Ooookay," I say, interrupting him before he can get started regaling the others about our tryst in the woods. If the twins really want to know, I’ll tell them later. Right now, I want answers. Well, I would if the Duke's shirt weren't unbuttoned, a stretch of bronze chest exposed. I can see all the hard lines of his muscles as he turns toward me and leans in, breath hot against my ear.
"You're thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk." North nibbles the edge of my earlobe, and I slap him away, coming to like I've been splashed with cold water. I really need to figure out how to function with hot guys swarming around my hormone-addled body all the time. "I dare say you're wondering why I don't put my arm around your waist?"
I decide to ignore the Duke and focus on Lar instead. He looks like an intelligent enough man. And those eyes, they’re like soft blue sea glass. They pierce straight through me.
"Who are the Mocking Turtle and the Gryphon, and why did everyone shit their pants when their names were mentioned?" I ask, my cheeks warming slightly as Lar smiles at me and reaches out to push a few loose rainbow strands of hair back from my face. I feel like Tee notices my barely-there blush, but that's not a surprise: Tee notices everything.
“I have an unfortunate inkling that you’ll soon find out for yourself,” Lar says, holding his jacket over one shoulder, his ice-blue shirt unbuttoned just enough that I can see the keys pierced through his nipples. As I watch, he reaches inside his top and unhooks one, passing it over to that blonde woman I saw this morning, the one with the nasty frown who keeps staring at me like she expects me to sprout a second head.
She’s tall, thin, and that sort of dangerous pretty that makes grown men weep. I’m surprised she doesn’t have an entourage of dudes drooling after her. Dressed in a full suit of white armor and carrying a lance, she looks like she could take on a jabberwock. That is, until she trips over a potted plant and lands face-first on the rug in front of the gilded gold doors.
“Take those nonsensical things off and answer the damn door,” the Duke calls out as the woman finds her feet and whips around to glare at him, smacking him in the face with her waist-length hair in the process. At first I’m not sure what the hell he’s talking about, but then I notice the strange metal fins feathering around her feet. Ah, no wonder she tripped. I was too busy being jealous of her boobs to notice her weird shoes.
“These are ankle shields to guard against the bites of sharks—it’s an invention of my own. I don’t see you inventing anything new.” The woman sniffs and lifts her chin haughtily, clutching Lar’s key in one hand, and flicking her lavender eyes over to mine. She stares at me a moment, taking in my state of dress, and then sighs. “You’ll hardly be able to defend against these assholes wearing this.”
I’m still wondering why the hell she thinks she needs to guard against sharks on dry land when she reaches up and flicks two buckles open, one on either shoulder. Her white breastplate comes right off and she moves over to fasten it on me.
“This, it’s an invention of my own,” she tells me as
I sag underneath the metal armor. How the fuck am I supposed to stand up while wearing this?! It weighs about a million pounds. “I don’t have a name for it yet, but I will.”
“Do spare my mate the idiocy of your inventions,” the Duke says with a little growl, his gaze focused only on me. It’s like he doesn’t even see the gorgeous blonde standing beside me. And I like that. And I also feel a bit like a misogynistic prick for thinking that way.
"He might bite," Chesh says, appearing out of thin air on my left, still dressed in leather pants and nothing else. “Either you or the Alice, I’m not sure.” North weaves his arm through my right while the Cheshire Cat does the same to my left. “But if he bites you, White Knight, it won’t be for pleasure.”
“My job is to protect the Kingdom of Hearts, and that includes keeping the Alice safe. Stand down and let me do my job.” She turns on her heel and heads back to the throng of guards near the front gate, unlocking the double doors, and gesturing for the card servants to open them with long ropes.
"I do quite like a little nibble every now and again," the Duke growls, tightening his grip on my arm as Tee rolls his eyes and Dee grins. But in the next minute, all their faces fall, Lar’s included, and I glance up to find the King standing there in front of us, arms folded, frowning like a thunderstorm. Rab’s standing just behind and to the right of him, one tattooed hand holding a cigarette, the other swinging a pocket watch around on a gold chain. He smirks at me when he sees me looking, and I flip him off.
"A fine day, Your Majesty," the Duke says, his voice high and threaded through with a growl. He sounds annoyed, but I'm not sure if it's with the King or with the Mocking Turtle and the Gryphon, whoever the fuck they are. All I know about them is what I read in the original story; they scared the shit out of me in those old Tenniel drawings. Gross. "How can we be of service?"
Allison and the Torrid Tea Party: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Harem of Hearts Book 2) Page 7