Allison and the Torrid Tea Party: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Harem of Hearts Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  The crowd cheers as I go pale and give the King a scathing look.

  "Awfully presumptuous of you, isn't it?" I snarl. "Introducing me as your queen already?"

  "You said it yourself: marriage for political gain. I've accepted it." Brennin ignores me as we start down the stairs to cheers and whispers and gasps. I'm sure I've been the topic of polite conversation all week.

  So what do these people think of me, this little blonde girl with rainbow streaks in her hair?

  I feel like a fraud.

  "Alice, you’re going to change the whole world, aren’t you?” Dee's words ring in my head, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to gather my courage together.

  I tumbled down the Rabbit-Hole, fired a flintlock pistol at a giant monster bird, haggled my way out of a kidnapping by Underland's most infamous mercenary, and learned to fight with my hands. I have magic, a sharp tongue, and the will to make things better. I … survived an abusive relationship, found my brother's body, watched my mom get convicted in court.

  This crowd, or the Knave, or the Hatter or the King … how can I let them intimidate me now?

  The answer is: I won't.

  I open my eyes as we pause next to the Knave, the Lion, and the Unicorn.

  "Good evening, Alice," she says, her strange voice ruffling my metaphorical feathers. A quick glance at Dee shows me she does quite literally ruffle his actual feathers.

  "Ines," I reply coolly, using her name instead of her title on purpose. Now whose feathers are ruffled?

  The King quickly sweeps us past her, taking us down a row of glittering aristocrats and military personnel. There's no way I'll remember any of their names, so I don't bother to try. Instead, I focus on keeping my chin up, my shoulders back, my steps slow and confident. The Duke takes care of all polite conversation for me, thank God.

  We make several rounds through the ballroom before Brennin finally releases me, letting go of my arm and watching me like he thinks I'm going to make a run for it.

  The only thing I make a run for is the table piled with food. What can I say? I’m a comfort eater.

  It's all the usual weirdness I'm starting to love about Underland: candied flowers, bowls of crickets covered in chocolate sauce, slabs of purple meat, and salads that are as colorful as a spring rainbow. There are toadstools, cupcakes, lollipops, and plenty of tea.

  So much fucking tea.

  I pick through the food, reaching absently into my pocket to stroke Rab's tiny head.

  "If you're going to eat something," March says from beside me, sliding a test kit from the pocket of his leather pants. "Please test it first."

  "I tested my dress," I whisper as he moves up to stand shoulder to shoulder with me. Well, arm to shoulder, I guess. I’m not nearly tall enough to reach his. I'm not the only one people are staring at. The Mad Hatter and the March Hare have quite the audience as well. "There's no poison."

  "Nothing that shows up immediately," he drawls which, of course, makes me paranoid.

  "You're a dick," I say as the March Hare tests some fizzy grapefruit infused water, and then passes it over to me. "Are you sure I should drink this? Or am I going to drop dead later from one of the nine less common poisons?"

  "Guess we'll know by next week if the vial changes color, won't we?" he drawls, giving me a saucy little look as I sip my drink.

  "You're awfully concerned about poison," the King says, still standing far too close to me for comfort. I half-expected him to wander off into the crowd, but it looks like he plans on shadowing me instead. How lucky am I?

  I grab a fruit tart off a tray. After all, this is the Ball of Broken Hearts and Stolen Tarts, right? In the original book, it was the Knave that was suspected of stealing the Queen's tarts. Tonight, the Knave isn't stealing anything from me, not if I can help it.

  The music tonight is played by a live orchestra, situated in the corner of the room and made up entirely of card servants. They're quite good actually, and I have to wonder how it's possible that the King managed to find an entire orchestra worth of criminals to curse.

  I glance over at the Knave, still watching me from across the room. She's not subtle about it either. It could've been her, couldn't it? She's the official curseworker for the Kingdom of Hearts, right? I would not put it past someone like that to frame a horde of musicians for her own amusement.

  “I couldn’t get a read on anything else regarding tonight,” Lar whispers, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to the King or to me. Maybe both of us? “The Mocking Turtle ripped me in half, metaphysically speaking. I’m still healing.” He sets an empty teacup down hard on the table, and I notice the tea leaves sitting on the bottom. “You’re on your own tonight, Your Majesty.”

  “No matter,” Brennin says, but his dark eyes won’t stop scanning the room. It’s as if I’m not the only one looking for trouble tonight … He notices me watching him and lifts his chin haughtily, turning away in a swirl of robes.

  “Sorry to say,” I tell Chevalier as she stands guard beside me, “but your Breastplate of Courage doesn’t seem to be working. I’m scared out of my mind.” The White Knight just smiles at me, and I notice she’s wearing her shark shields or whatever the fuck they’re called. Maybe she is just a kook?

  “It’s working,” she says, still smiling at me. I quirk an eyebrow, but I’m not about to argue. If it is working, then it’s not working very well. I mean, I’m putting on a good show, but I’ll be relieved as fuck when this is over. “Just give it time.”

  “Her inventions never work; she’s a nutcase,” North says with a sniff, and clearly, he’s also on edge tonight. It’s either because of last night, or because of whatever’s been going on inside the castle. For the most part, these men, as nonsensical as they are, have been pretty open with me. The only thing they seem to be holding back on is who or what they’re nervous of inside the palace walls.

  I wonder why?

  “You’ll see,” the White Knight repeats, entirely unaffected by the Duke’s insult. She sweeps long, blonde hair over her shoulder and maintains vigil on the room.

  Unfortunately, when the Knave approaches from behind, nobody stops her. After all, she’s a good guy, right? About as pure and innocent as Jafar from the movie Aladdin. I just hope she’s not the King’s ‘most trusted advisor’.

  “The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, all on a summer day; the Knave of Hearts, she stole those tarts, and took them quite away!” I turn around to meet the Knave’s green-eyed stare as she chuckles politely with her hand over her mouth. I see that she’s donned a gown of her own for the occasion, one that’s made up of yards of black satin and lace. A half-veil covers her pretty face as she looks me over with disdain. “Have you heard that one before, the Alice?”

  “What do you suppose that means?” I ask her as the twins move up close on either side of me. At least I know their wings are out, and that each rustle of those beautiful feathers is like a stab to her broken, shriveled little heart.

  “I’ve never been much for interpreting prophecy,” she says, glancing over at Lar for a moment. “What do you think, soothsayer, what does it mean?” The Caterpillar gives her a bored stare right back, removing a pipe from the pocket on his red coat and lighting up. He smokes it for a moment and then shrugs his shoulders.

  “I only repeat prophecies; I don’t claim to understand them.”

  The Knave’s husbands remain behind her, as stoic as statues, their gazes focused on me. I have no idea what their purpose is in this game, but I get the idea that they haven’t made their moves yet—not even close. This is a disaster waiting to happen.

  “How … useful,” she says, moving past Dee and purposely hitting him with her shoulder.

  Very mature.

  “I hope she trips and breaks her face,” I grumble, and notice Lar smiling at me from behind his pipe. He passes it over to me, and I take a hit, recognizing the very distinct scent of the whiting, like lavender and chai tea. Aaaand, now I’m starti
ng to wonder why I didn’t follow my own advice and put on plain cotton knickers like I’d planned. When we start floating during the quintrille, the whole court’s going to get an eyeful of my lingerie. I knew I shouldn’t have worn it! Damn my weak, curious little heart.

  “She’ll get hers one day.” The Duke waves his hand lazily before taking the pipe from me, looking far more excited than any sane person ought to at a function like this. I get the idea that he enjoys politics and intrigue. That’s sort of his thing. “Besides, seeing us dance the quintrille is likely to ruin the rest of the evening for her. She’s always dreamed of being center stage in court.”

  “It is?” I ask, perking up substantially. “She has?” The cat bats at one of my earrings with a furred paw, and I swat him away. “Shall we dance it now then?”

  “It’s generally polite to make conversation with the courtiers first,” the King says, but I’m already rolling my eyes. I pull the Rab-mouse from my pocket and set him on the table. The Cheshire cat gets put on the floor, and I hook my arm with the King’s. I notice the Knave watching me again, and throw her this horribly triumphant look. It stinks of smug, but I just can’t seem to help myself. I’m petty sometimes, so sue me; we all have our faults.

  Brennin’s eyes widen in surprise as I drag him toward the center of the room, and the gold medallion design on the floor that I was admiring the other day. This time, I can see it’s the quintrille, laid out step by step around the outer circle. In the center, a King and Queen dance the night away. How fitting.

  As soon as our feet hit that medallion, the music stops briefly and a hush falls over the crowd.

  “This is entirely unorthodox; the quintrille requires an announcement.” I put the King’s hand on my hip, and his fingers tighten around me, making me gasp. His black eyes gaze down at me from that severe but handsome face of his. He’s a dark horse, this King of Hearts.

  “And you’re the King. Try setting the rules instead of following them.” His mouth twitches as the other men slowly gather around us, just like we practiced. The card servant orchestra starts up again with the dark, haunting notes of a cello. Above us, the lights dim until we’ve got nothing but moonlight to see by.

  I put my hand on the King’s shoulder, underneath the folds of his cloak, and I try not to notice how warm his body is, how intense his stare. If I let myself, I bet I could drown in his darkness. I would die with wetness in my lungs, but intrigue in my heart.

  “Will you, won’t you join the dance?” the King asks, his voice booming above the music, echoing around the ballroom. It’s loud enough to project above the cello’s desperate moans.

  “What matters it how far we go?” I whisper, just before the other men begin to move, dancing around us, like river water around rocks.

  There is nothing we have to say to one another, so the King and I simply stand there, staring at each other. There’s an intensity to that stare, and it makes me want to fidget. Or run. Instead, I meet him dead-on, waiting for our turn.

  As I’d thought, when we begin to move, my dress swishes around my legs, the fabric as bright as the King’s hair, as red as blood.

  Our feet begin to lift off the floor, carrying us above the crowd.

  I swear though, I don’t see anything but Brennin Red in that moment. It’s as if he’s put me under a spell. The way his hair falls over his brow, the slight gap in the buttons of his robes and the peek of his white shirt beneath them … I literally cannot stop staring. That is, until the pace of the music changes and he breaks his grip on my hand.

  “You seem awfully interested,” the Duke purrs as he switches places with the King, twirling me around in the air and teasing my ankle with his tail. I won’t soon forget that he recently fucked me with it. Or that I loved it. Or that I’ll do it again first chance I get. “Decided you like the King now?”

  “I never said that,” I whisper back as the music intensifies, the viola singing her notes in a high-pitched wail that brings goose bumps up on my skin.

  “No, you never did,” the Duke replies, “but I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Bullshit,” I snort, frowning as he kisses me on the cheek, finishing our round before he switches with the Mad Hatter. Of course, they’re both good dancers, but they’re nothing like Lar or the King. I decide to tell Raiden Walker that, and see what happens.

  “The King’s a better dancer,” I tease as he holds me in strong arms and manages to catch me before I mess up one of the steps. “What do you think about that?”

  “Credit where credit is due, I always say,” he purrs, flashing fang. My neck throbs and aches, but I refuse to touch it. When I showered this morning and went to scrub some of the crusted blood off, I almost fucking came. “Such as last night, when you stood up to me. I liked that.” He leans down and puts his mouth near my right ear. “Although I still plan on making you beg.”

  “Fat chance of that ever happening.” I break away from him, falling into Rab’s arms next and loving the way he tosses a challenging glance in the March Hare’s direction. There’s something about their rivalry that interests me. Two Rabbits, two sidekicks to two powerful men. But they’re both much more than just sidekicks. It’s not impossible for me to think of them overcoming the rulers they’re supposed to serve.

  “What are you all watching out for?” I ask as his cold hand embraces mine, sparking an intense heat.

  “What ever do you mean?” Rab drawls, not even bothering to hide his wicked smile. “You don’t think you’re the only one who’s worried about the Knave, do you?”

  My mouth tightens into a thin line.

  “If you’re all so worried about her, why doesn’t the King lock her up? Have her questioned at his famous weekly Trial?” I raise a brow, but the White Rabbit doesn’t look like he has any intention of answering me, marching us in a circle around the other men and trading me off to my next partner.

  The quintrille … it’s a lot of fucking work.

  “Well, hello there, Doll,” March says, sweeping me rather close to him. Much closer than the steps in the dance call for. “Did you miss me?”

  “How can I miss you when first off, I don’t even like you. And second, you never go away?” The March Hare laughs at me, flattening his brown ears against his head and causing his small top hat to slide forward until it’s leaning at a rather precarious angle.

  “Admit it: you don’t want me to leave.” He smirks at me, but I’m not about to dignify that response with an answer. No point in it anyway because he’s soon handing me off to Tee. This dance, when performed at its proper pace, is breakneck. I feel like I can barely breathe, like I’m as high as I was last night, the edges of the room flickering in psychedelically brilliant hues.

  Our eyes lock as we come together in the center of the room, the literal freaking center of the room, halfway between the floor and the domed glass ceiling. In the silver moonlight, the purple streaks in Tee’s hair are twice as bright. I reach up to finger a stray strand and he smiles at me.

  “Wondering how I managed to move up from last place?” he asks as I lean into him, breathing in that fresh mountain air scent of his.

  “You drew straws?”

  I can feel Tee smile against my hair as he spreads his wings wide, letting the full thirty-foot length of his wingspan shine its glory for the entire crowd. And it is fucking magnificent. The purple feathers catch the light the same way his hair does. I can just imagine the Knave, standing down there in the crowd and fuming.

  “We drew sugar cubes,” Tee says, and I lift my head away from his chest to give him a questioning look. Of course, then we’re switching partners yet again, and I end up with Dee, grinning his magnanimous grin at me.

  “What does drawing sugar cubes entail?” I ask, and he laughs, throwing his head back. The sound echoes around the room, this joyously infectious chortle that makes me smile.

  “You pick a cube from the sugar dish, and whoever has the most granules goes first. The person with the least goes last,
and everyone else in between.”

  “How do you know how many granules are in each cube?” I ask, and Dee squints at me.

  “You count them, silly.” Oh, right, of course. Excuse me.

  “Does the King have the power to investigate the Knave? Have her locked up or something?” Dee’s smile fades slightly and he tucks his wings in tight, like just the mention of the cursed witch is upsetting to him.

  “Not at all,” he says, licking his lower lip and then looking away from me. “Not unless there’s a Queen of Hearts on the throne who agrees to the same punishment. You’ll have to have an official wedding ceremony with the King first, but we can only hold that once the Knave approves.”

  “Which will be never?” I manage to grind out between my teeth. This bitch is becoming a silent thorn in my side. I’ve barely spoken a handful of sentences to her and yet, she seems to be around every metaphorical corner I turn.

  “She’s only allowed to delay the King’s proposed date twice, and even then only by sixty days. He, of course, proposed you get married either the day you arrived or the day after.”

  Shocker.

  Dee smiles at me one last time and then spins me to face the Cheshire Cat, looking ridiculously debonair in the suit that Tee picked out for him. It’s a full ensemble—coat, tie, cufflinks in the shape of paw prints. I’m surprised the angel prince actually convinced him to wear it. Since I first met the fucker, he’s been shoeless, mostly shirtless, painted into leather pants.

  “I look a fool, don’t I?” he says, flattening his ears against his skull and stumbling over the steps of the dance twice as badly as I am. We must make quite a pair, me and him. Actually, I don’t remember him being as bad of a dancer as this when we practiced. “I feel so constrained, like I can barely move.”

  I chuckle at his melancholy expression, remembering the last Halloween before Fred died, when we dressed Dinah up in a tiny hot dog costume. She collapsed to the floor and acted like she couldn’t possibly walk around in it. Oh, cats sure are amusing creatures, aren’t they?