A/N: I still *sigh* do not own these characters, with the exception of Casiphia and Rosalba-Tim Burton, Linda Woolverton, and Lewis Carroll have those rights.

Rated M for smut yet to come. However, in this chapter we do have Clothing Pron. YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT.

Chapter 1: All Together Again

If you cannot afford to give a ball in good style, you had better not attempt it at all.

~Decorum, A Practical Treatise on Etiquette & Dress of the Best American Society, by Richard A. Wells, A.M., 1889

Night hung in heavy curtains over the high green hills of Marmoreal, but the windows of the castle blazed with light and the halls rang with revelry and gossip. This was to be the first ball held since Frabjous Day, and rumor had it that the Queen's older sister would be in attendance.

In the quarters of Ilosovic Stayne and Casiphia Rhoswen, two ladies-in-waiting performed the final arrangements to their finery, awaiting the summons to accompany the Queen to the great ballroom, where the event would officially begin.

"Does this ball seem to be possibly in poor taste?" Rosalba said softly as she finished tying a blue satin ribbon around her friend's neck, leaving the ends to hang freely down Casiphia's back.

Casiphia shook her head. "I don't know. I think Mirana wanted to give her sister some kind of recognition before she, well, dies."

Stayne cut in as he entered the room. "Knowing Iracebeth as I do, I imagine she considers this ball as being held in her honor, and as her due. I shouldn't worry about her reaction."

Ilosovic was elegant in the tailcoat Casiphia had persuaded him to wear, something she had warned him in the past that she would do, clothed primarily in his customary black accented with a deep blue silk ascot that brought out the sapphire hue of his remaining eye.

"I never thought I ought to tell you," Casiphia said, "but I always thought you looked magnificent in red. I'm most pleased to find that you look just as magnificent in blue."

"It's good that you feel that way, because I hope never to find myself wearing red again," Ilosovic said.

"And you're wearing the eyepatch," Casipha said softly. She had made that herself, embroidering the velvet spade with blue silk and attaching it to the leather beneath.

"Of course," Ilosovic smiled, taking her hands in his.

Casiphia herself was attired in a white silk polonaise over an underdress of the same blue as Stayne's ascot—a dramatic departure for court dress, which until now had always been white or pale colors—her sleeves trimmed in deep flounces of lace and blue ribbons, a scattering of sapphire clips sparkling in her court wig.

Ilosovic put a hand at either side of her waist. "I know you don't care to be tightly corseted, and I appreciate that—but you should know that you look absolutely beautiful like this."

"I'll leave word, then, that if I faint on the dance floor, you're to be the one to take care of me," she winked. "But I do like that you appreciate my efforts."

They shared a meaningful glance, and Casiphia felt the familiar tightening at her core at his touch. Realizing that Rosalba might be feeling a touch extraneous at the moment, she pulled away and helped her friend fluff out the skirts of her own silvery gray gown.

The sounding of a bugle gave notice that the court was to gather, so Casiphia gave her consort a kiss (gently, so as not to transfer her dark lip stain to his face), and the two women took their leave of him.

Outside the great ballroom, male and female courtiers took their places behind their Queen, who looked resplendent herself in a profusion of ruffles of white silk and satin. The double doors were thrown open, and the court proceeded into the room.

Loud applause rang from the guests in the ballroom at the sight of their ruler and her court, and as the procession passed through the crowd, the Queen's subjects bowed and curtseyed to her with pleasure, something they never tired of after Frabjous Day.

Queen Mirana took her place in an extravagantly decorated chair at the far end of the hall, flanked by several guards, and her courtiers gathered around her and made conversation until she dismissed them with a smile to go and enjoy themselves. She seemed content enough, smiling as she watched her subjects and conversing with them as they stopped to greet her.

Casiphia made her way through the noisy throng until she found Stayne at one of the food tables.

"How can you possibly still be hungry?" she said, tilting her head.

"What?"

"Don't think I don't know that you were prowling about the kitchens all afternoon, trading on the fact that the staff is too intimidated by you to run you off."

"If no one stops you from taking it, it isn't stealing," he said.

"You do have a sweet tooth, don't you?" She wiped a bit of jam from the corner of his mouth and then licked it off her finger.

"I do," he said, leaning over to bring his mouth to hers and taste raspberry on her tongue.

Casiphia took a tiny cake and began to nibble it carefully, leaning forward to prevent sticky crumbs from falling on her gown, while looking about to see who was attending the ball.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee were at the far end of the table, arguing with each other concerning whether cake or pie was the better dessert.

"Oh my, the Duchess is here. With a pig," Casiphia said. "Or a pig for now, at any rate."

"He's likely better behaved as a pig than as a child," Stayne muttered.

"Oh, be fair," Casiphia chided. "Of course he's irritable; she beats him when he sneezes.

"There are the lion and the unicorn," she went on. "I hope the guard are paying attention to them, we don't need another battle between those two tonight. And look, even the Walrus and the Carpenter are here. But not the oysters. I'm sure they were afraid they'd be eaten," she giggled.

Their conversation was cut short when the room fell silent, and then began to buzz with quiet excitement. Entering the ballroom, accompanied by two well-armed guards, was Iracebeth, the former Red Queen and despised enemy of Underland, as well as Queen Mirana's older sister. Few had seen her since her return from exile and subsequent sequestering in her own wing at the castle, where Mirana had physicians monitoring the growth in Iracebeth's brain and resulting behaviors.

Even thick cosmetics, heavily applied, could not disguise the ravages that illness had taken upon Iracebeth, and it was clear to see that her head was even larger than it had been the last time she had been seen in public. Still, she was dressed in full regalia, red and gold (though no longer with heart emblems), and she held herself stiffly upright, refusing to show any shame or fear to her former subjects.

Halfway across the ballroom, guests moved cautiously away from Tarrant Hightopp as he stared daggers at the former queen, his eyes black as raven's wings.