Warning: This is part three of a quadrilogy. If you haven't read the first two books, you might want to do that first. Book One is Search for the Azure Princess; Book Two is Rescue from the Outlands. If you haven't read them or don't remember them, please read those first, or none of this is going to make any sense.
Author's Note: Welcome, my dear readers, to Book Three! As I've mentioned before, this was originally supposed to be the last book in this series, but the plot just got too dense and complicated to wrap up in twelve chapters. So the final book got split in half, and here now is Part One.
As I've said from the beginning of Book One, I apologize profusely for any character mangling that occurs within this story that is due to my own misunderstandings, failure to research, or ignorance. Character mangling— phsyical or emotional— that occurs due to the plot [there is quite a lot of both in this Book], I make no apologies for. Though I do promise that by the end of the story, I will have fixed everything I've broken during the series… except for the character deaths, I can't really do anything about those. Enjoy!
Original Character Face Claims: Just to refresh your memory, since there are an awful lot of OC's now.
Regina Hightopp is portrayed by Evanna Lynch [with reddish-gold curls and green eyes].
Dafydd Hightopp is portrayed by Kellan Lutz [a la the Twilight series, and blue eyes].
Princess Lily Palladia of Marmoreal is portrayed by Zooey Deschanel.
Princess Nerissa of Marmoreal is portrayed by Dakota Fanning [with short white curls].
King Kalen of Marmoreal is portrayed by Patrick Dempsey [with a black beard].
Ioan Hightopp is portrayed by Rufus Sewell.
Rhys Hightopp is portrayed by Steven Strait.
Gregan Hightopp is portrayed by Jake Lloyd.
Gwynyth Hightopp is portrayed by Helen Mirren.
Rhonwen Hightopp is portrayed by Maggie Smith.
Countess Mary Contrary is portrayed by Emma Stone.
Baron Vulpez is portrayed by Richard Roxburgh.
Duke Blancmilque is portrayed by John Cleese [a la the Harry Potter movies].
Afanen Hightopp is portrayed by Nikki Reed.
Chase Hart is portrayed by Philip Winchester.
Overall Disclaimer: This should be pretty obvious, so I'm only going to say it once [any disclaimers in future chapters will cover specific details]. If you recognize it, I don't own it. This refers to material from any of the Disney movies, any books or fanfictions, or the SyFy Alice miniseries. Everything except my own characters is owned by Lewis Carroll, Tim Burton, the Disney Corporation, and SyFy. If you think you've seen it in another fanfic, I truly do apologize; I don't mean to plagiarize any other author's idea, and if I did it was purely unintentional and coincidental. However, if you do know of stories with similar ideas, please tell me so I can give credit.
Name Disclaimer: Yes, I stole the name Abraxas from the Potterverse [for the uninitiated- or worse yet, the Gryffindors- Abraxas is Lucius Malfoy's middle name]. I did it pretty much because I thought the name was badass; there's no ulterior motive besides that. The name "Chardym" is a conglomerate from Charles [Alice's father] and Wendym [Tarrant's father].
The names Reynard and Vulpez both mean fox.
Images: Remove all spaces.
Regina's Carriage [imagine a white background on the coach, not gold, and it's open-top]: upload. wikimedia wikipedia/ commons/ thumb/ f/ f8/ Royal_ carriage_ livrustkammaren_ museum_ stockholm. jpg/ 800px-Royal_ carriage_ livrustkammaren_ museum_ stockholm. jpg
Regina's Traveling Dress [imagine purple instead of red]: www. roxx-online roxxOnline/ images/ productPhotos/ plus % 20size % 20available % 20deep % 20red % 20hooded % 20medieva l% 20dress % 201951. JPG
The cave, while not especially deep, was exceptionally large in both breadth and height. The walls were covered with a phosphorescent material that glowed bluish-green, filtering an eerie light through the entire cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites ringed the cave, glittering with water and salt crystals. In the center of the cavern was a single stalagmite, its top worn smooth. Floating above the stalagmite was a faint, shimmering ripple, almost like an opening in a curtain.
Since the time of the Beginning, the Cave of Contingency had been the haven of the Cheshire Cats, Guardians of Underland and Keepers of Time. Here resided the solitary Doorway through which one could peek to see Time Himself. Here was where the Keepers of Time had spent lifetimes plotting and planning with the Keepers of Fate to guide and protect and direct Underland.
The current Keeper of Time sat on the stalagmite in the center of the room, peering intently through the Veil and observing all the threads that had or would or were or might come together. The former Cheshire Cat had often bemoaned the frequency with which his then protégé had looked through the Veil; they had never seen eye to eye on just how close a watch a Cheshire should be keeping on Time. But never mind, the Cheshire thought to herself impatiently; it was too late to mend her ways now. She had decided what kind of Guardian she would be, and there was nothing left but to follow through.
The expression on the Cheshire's face as she watched the possibilities and probabilities wasn't particularly pleased; as a matter of fact, she looked decidedly unhappy.
"Already?" she mewed, distressed. "But… I haven't had enough Time… Isn't there any way you could delay this? Just a little while longer?"
Judging by the images that flashed past the Cheshire's eyes, the answer was a resounding no. Scowling, she gracefully leapt off the stalagmite, disappearing in a cloud of smoke just before she hit the floor. She reappeared several feet away, and paced back and forth as she muttered to herself, making plans and discarding them just as quickly.
Well… brimini. She had been trying so very hard to prevent His arrival, or at least to delay it. His coming heralded change, and while she wasn't opposed to change per say, she did very much object to anything that threatened to upset or unmake the plans she had spent so long bringing to fruition. And she was close, so very close to ensuring her little Queen's happiness… But if He were to show up too early, before the Butterfly and the Carpenter were ready for Him, everything could be unmade and undone in an instant.
But there was nothing for it. Her options were extremely limited; preventing His return to Underland was apparently not going to happen. He was coming, and He was going to change everything, and she could only hope that her little Queen was ready for it.
Oh, but it would break her heart, if anything should go wrong…
"Please don't ruin everything," she whispered, closing her eyes and clinging to Hope.
A moment later, the Cave of Contingency was empty. After all, it was by Witzend's actions that He would be brought into Underland, and she couldn't delay any longer. All she could do was set everything in motion, and pray that by doing so, she wasn't allowing everything to unravel.
One Year Later—
The entourage that emerged from the gates of Isla Affalin, the royal palace of the queendom of Crims, was a rowdy bunch, comprised of a single open-top carriage surrounded by a dozen men on horseback. The carriage was white, edged in elaborate gold scroll work. On each door was emblazoned the royal standard of Crims— a white hand, stylized to look like a tree bearing golden apples, topped by five golden butterflies. The men that rode surrounding the carriage each bore the same standard on the front of their tunics. The men were the Fearail, the personal guard of the Plum Queen of Crims, and within the carriage rested the Queen herself.
Her Majesty the Queen, usually known as twenty (or was it twenty-five? She could never quite make up her mind which method counted)-year-old Regina Miraget Hightopp Praecordia, was Not Amused. As a matter of fact, she was Most Seriously Displeased. Granted, this wasn't anything new. She spent at least two days a week being Most Assuredly Annoyed. But it was a beautiful spring afternoon, she was finally free and in the company of her clansmen and her dearest friend, and she didn't want to suffer from her Bad Mood any longer. Crims had already suffered long enough under one bad-tempered Queen; no need to make it a tradition.
"Cheer up, Gigi," her traveling companion cajoled. "Stop glaring out at the road, I can't believe it to be so very fair. Look out the other side, the scenery over there is just as attractive and rather more diverting."
Regina smiled faintly, focusing her attention on her friend. Tall, shapely and red-headed, Mary Contrary had quickly become Regina's closest friend at Court. The outspoken Countess had been the daughter of one of the many nobles Iracebeth had ordered beheaded over the years. Regina had quickly been taken by Mary's sharp mind and peculiar sense of humor, and had appointed her the Mistress of the Household. As such, Countess Contrary was a frequent companion on Regina's travels.
"More fair to some," Regina replied, an impish grin crossing her face despite herself as she glanced at her clansman Rhys, who rode on the other side of the carriage, just in Mary's line of vision. "But not so commanding, I think," she added, glancing back to her side of the carriage.
The 'view' Mary and Regina were discussing so candidly rolled his eyes in sardonic amusement. Twenty-five-year-old Dafydd Hightopp had served as Regina's captain of the guard for nearly three years; he had made his formal Champion's Vow to her the day she underwent her Queenmaking. Since that momentous Day, they had hardly ever been apart. He shadowed her every step, silently propping up the walls as she worked, his sapphire eyes missing no detail of her day. He even slept in a bed perpendicular to hers— though Court gossip was adamant that he shared her bed.
Dafydd's protection of Regina was rather more thorough than was usual, but that was due to the fact that Regina had taken the White Vow, swearing to harm none. She had chosen the White Path after having killed two men as a Princess— Ilosovic Stayne and Dafydd's cousin, Taran. The Vow had eased Regina's mind, but it meant that even if Regina were to be attacked, she could not raise a hand in her own defense. It thus fell to Dafydd to assure Regina's safety, a duty that he took incredibly seriously.
Regina had felt wretchedly guilty, asking Dafydd to take such a strident Champion's Vow, but he had been happy to shoulder the responsibility. It had after all been Regina who had claimed the Fearail as her own after Stayne's unsuccessful bid to topple Marmoreal; Regina who had given them sanctuary in her own kingdom, given them a purpose. If not for her actions, Dafydd and his men would have been executed on the battlefield as traitors to Underland, or at the very least banished back to their native Outlands. Now, thanks to her, not only did the Fearail have a home, but their clan— formerly the Nazari, a nomadic people of the Outlands— had been reinstated to their ancestral clan, the Hightopps of Tearmunn. She had given them a family and a future, and in return they guarded her with their lives.
The Fearail and their beloved Queen were currently en route to Witzend, the Queen's homeland. Regina's parents, the Blue Royals, still ruled from the capital city of Berserka. Once a week, the Sapphire King would host a Tea Party in the gardens of the Cerulean Castle, and every week the former Azure Princess would be in attendance.
The traveling party was jovial as they traversed the well-known route from Isla Affalin to Berserka, by use of the Via Abalonia, which had been built by the joint effort of Regina and her mother, Queen Alice. The road was well populated by merchants and travelers, and patrolled by the Hearts, the Crimsian army which was commanded by Dafydd. So the Fearail were relaxed as they traveled; laughing, teasing, and racing each other in an attempt to cheer their queen up.
Regina appreciated their efforts, but she feared that she was beyond their help today. Normally, the weekly trek home would find Regina in riding breeches and a tunic, astride her white Panther Sora, racing Dafydd all the way back to Berserka. However, when she'd completed the day's meetings at luncheon, she had felt the telltale throbbing behind her eyes that foretold a terrible headache— and, if it wasn't dealt with quickly, a Fit of Madness. When she got this fractious, even Dafydd couldn't coax her into a better mood; the only cure they'd ever found was a cup or five of tea, carefully created and brewed by the Mad Hatter. It was good fortune that today was a Tea Party day.
Dafydd hadn't been expecting the Countess to come along with them. Typically when Regina traveled home, she left Mary in charge of arranging her meetings and paperwork for that evening, after she returned. However, when he'd raised an eyebrow in question, Mary had given him a Look.
"You may be too afraid of her glaring to try to calm her down, but I find her quite fun when she's this snappish," Mary had replied.
He'd rolled his eyes at her, but he hadn't argued. Mary had a talent for easing Regina's temper, and if Regina wanted her nearby then Dafydd wouldn't remove her.
And indeed, by the time they approached the cobalt gates of the Cerulean Castle, Regina did look like she was in a much better mood. Dafydd drew his Stallion Arturias closer to the castle, catching Regina's attention and pointing towards the stairs.
"Brax is waiting for you."
As he'd thought, his statement had an immediate, positive effect upon the young queen. She stood in the carriage as a smile slowly grew on her face, waving to the little boy who was cradled in his nursemaid's arms.
"Brax" was properly His Royal Highness Abraxas Chardym Hightopp Clava, the Sky Prince of Witzend. The six-month-old Crown Prince was the darling of the family, and the apple of his elder sister's eye. It was mostly to see Brax that Regina traveled home every week. When she was growing up in the Aboveground, she had often wished for a sibling; now that she had one, she certainly wasn't about to miss his Aging simply because she was the Queen of the next country over.
Regina leapt out of the carriage before it had properly stopped, and bounded up the stairs, impatiently pulling the skirts of her purple and gold dress out of her way as she pushed back her hood. At the sight of his sister, Brax squealed, wriggling in his nursemaid's arms and reaching for her. Grinning, Regina took him, rubbing noses with the child and smothering him with kisses as he attempted to Futterwhacken in her arms.
And thus began Dafydd's weekly dose of torture.
He was happy, for Regina's sake, that Alice and Tarrant had reconciled. Regina had spent her entire life longing for her family, and it had been a nasty shock for her, upon her return home, to find that her parents had spent the eighteen years of her exile separated. Even after she had come home and reclaimed her birthright as the Azure Princess, her parents hadn't reconciled until Regina was kidnapped on the order of Dafydd's brother Niall. But after that disastrous misadventure, the Hightopps had stitched themselves back together and become the family that Regina had always wanted. Their happiness had only increased with the addition of Abraxas to their family. Regina had the family that she'd spent her entire life dreaming of, and Dafydd was happy for her. Truly.
But every time he saw her cuddling Brax, the same dreams and longings would return, stunning him in their intensity. He longed to see a different babe in her arms— his. Theirs. He wanted Regina's brilliant smile to be caused by their bairn; her happiness to be his own doing.
He knew full well, though, that his dreams were impossible. Yes, he was a Hightopp, a Champion, the Ace of Hearts, and a landed Duke… But who had given that to him? Everything he had, Regina had granted to him. He owned nothing of his own; he was utterly dependent upon her for his entire life, including the fact that he still lived and breathed. Even if she weren't his Queen, she was still the daughter of his clan laird. She was, in all ways, forbidden fruit.
And apart from all of that, he had sabotaged his chances with her in the Outlands. He had gone Mad, when he thought that she was dead. Even when he found her on the battlefield, it hadn't broken through his Madness. He had yelled at her, told her that he hated her and resented being in her service. It had completely and utterly shattered her faith in him, and he had very nearly lost her. In the ensuing year and a half since that Day, he had done everything in his power to make it up to her, to win back her trust. Her trust he might have, but he knew better than to hope that her heart would ever be his.
Every single night, he had lain at the foot of Regina's bed, staring into the darkness as her peaceful breathing filled his ears, driving himself Mad with the need to hold her, to tell her exactly what he felt for her… but knowing that he could never tell her. There was no way someone like her could ever love someone like him; it was foolish to hope. Moreover, he didn't deserve her. He had broken Regina's heart that day, when he rejected her and said such hurtful things to her. If he couldn't take care with her heart, if it was so easy for him to break it, how could he possibly hope to deserve her, to care for her?
Of course, his heart absolutely refused to listen to his head. It stubbornly and whole-heartedly pined for her, dreaming impossible dreams and torturing him ceaselessly. He might be strong, but he was powerless against himself. So he watched her, and he wanted, and he waited.
Lately, it wasn't just during the wee smalls that he'd wrestled with himself, choking on the words he longed to say, his arms shaking with the effort it took not to grab her and hold on. These needs plagued him day and night, surprising him at all hours, growing stronger all the time. How long before he lost this battle with himself? How long before he reached for what he knew he couldn't have, and consequently lost her again?
Regina, of course, was oblivious to his resigned pain; she walked into the castle ahead of him, blithely bouncing the baby on her hip. Dafydd let her precede him, turning to discharge his men.
"Go stable the Horses," he told the Deuces. "Then spend the afternoon relaxing. I'll send pages for you when it's time to go."
"Aye, we'll do that," Dafydd's second, Rhys, grinned. "Enjoy Gigi's company for us."
Dafydd rolled his eyes as Rhys punched him in the shoulder. All the Fearail were perfectly well aware of how Dafydd felt for Regina. After all, they had all grown up together, trained together, fought battles together. They could read each others' every emotion, every inflection of voice and every nuance of expression. Dafydd had insisted upon that level of closeness; the better they could read each other, the better they could fight together as a unit. But dear Fates, it was inconvenient when all his clansmen knew he'd lost his heart to the Queen of Hearts. Several of them had taken to constantly flirting with Regina, just to irritate their kinsman and commander. It was probably a good thing that Dafydd's cousin and former second Ioan had left Crims and gone to Marmoreal to be with his lady love; otherwise, he would have done his utmost to make Dafydd miserable.
Hoping to distract himself from his thoughts— after all, this was one Impossible Thing that was truly Impossible— he returned his attention to Regina as she deftly maneuvered through the castle, Mary following along in her wake. She wasn't walking so much as dancing with Brax, humming a cheerful, lilting version of the Song of the Hightopps. Brax was grinning wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat, gurgling along with her and kicking his ghillie-covered feet.
"Ah, ma taavi," Regina cooed, smiling and rubbing noses with him. "You like the Song, mo farquhar?"
Brax giggled, apparently agreeing both to Regina's question and the Outlandish endearments that fell so easily from her lips. Behind them, Dafydd shivered; ma taavi especially was a sacred term of endearment among their people. Hearing such loving words from her lips… apparently his torture was to be heightened today.
Entirely oblivious to the bittersweet torture she was putting him through, Regina led Mary and Dafydd into the gardens. They were early; Regina hated being late for tea. Queen Alice had not yet emerged from her study, where she was sure to be elbow-deep in paperwork. Lady Knight Mallymkun was curled within a teacup, fast asleep. Sir Thackery Earwicket was bouncing around the table, rearranging the plates of delicacies— because of course the squimberry tarts couldn't rest besides the lindenmuth cakes, they didn't get along! No, not since the Tumtum Trees had danced with the Lobsters at the Codfish Ball…
Mary and Regina flitted ahead as Dafydd moved silently, taking up his preferred post in the shadowy northeast corner. From here, he would be unobtrusive to the Tea Party guests, but only steps from Regina should the need arise to protect her. Letting her Champion get on with his job, Regina gracefully dropped into her armchair, bouncing her brother on her knee as her athair smiled at the pair of them.
"Hello, my Sugar Cube!" His Majesty Tarrant Hightopp, Sapphire King of Witzend and Laird of Tearmunn, greeted her, leaning over to kiss her cheek as he turned the teapot three-quarters clockwise. "How did you leave Crims?"
"By carriage, as quickly as possible," Regina said absently, leaning in to blow raspberries against Brax's neck. "I escaped again, yes I did!" she informed her brother as he pulled off his little shoes. "Just like your little feet are trying to escape their ghillies! Naughty wee piggy toes, they are!"
"Countess," Tarrant greeted Mary.
"I informed Gigi that she was kidnapping me and forcing me to drink tea until I float away," Mary informed Tarrant. "I promised to be very difficult about it."
"I would expect nothing less from you, Mary," Tarrant smiled.
Mary smiled brightly as Tarrant fixed her a cuppa, then turned her attention to Alice's lady in waiting Marchioness Gwen. Within moments, the two were engrossed in a serious and spirited debate about Flowers, a topic about which they were both very knowledgeable and passionate.
"Th' wee besom needs 'er tea, 'Atter!" the March Hare declared, bouncing up to Regina and peering at her withdrawn face. "She's as fractious as Auld Father William!"
"I'm afraid you may be right, March," Tarrant nodded. "Though at the moment she seems rather preoccupied with nibbling her brother."
"I can't help it that he tastes so good," she stated, tickling Brax's bare feet.
"Oh, absolutely, Sugar Cube," Tarrant nodded complacently. "Our little Buttered Scone is quite edible."
So saying, he plucked his infant son from Regina's lap, holding him close to tickle the baby with his wild eyebrows. Abraxas giggled, delighted, and grabbed fistfuls of his da's wild hair, yanking it imperiously.
"Ooh!" Tarrant winced in pain, deftly untwining his son's greedy fingers from his mane. "That is not flax for pulling, young master," he said firmly. "That is hair for embellishing Hats. If you must pull on something, use that," he added, whipping out a tangle of ribbons and handing them to Brax.
"Rhymes, Da," Regina commented as Brax squealed and intently focused on the ribbons, wriggling in glee as his clever fingers began working on the knots.
"He's awfully giddy today," Mary observed.
"It's the proper Age for him to be trying Moods on for size and finding those that fit," Tarrant smiled, bouncing Brax on his knee. "Regina did the same."
"What Moods did I favor?" Regina asked, smiling.
"Whimsy," stated a voice behind them. "Just like your father."
Regina, Tarrant and Mary looked up to witness the entrance of the Blue Queen of Witzend. Alice Kingsleigh had been renowned throughout Underland for her exploits as the White Queen's Champion; she was no less famous now as Queen of the Clubs. Whether acting as Queen of Witzend or as Lady of the Hightopp clan, Alice Hightopp Clava was a formidable woman, and not to be crossed.
Yet little of her famous determination was evident as Queen Alice descended into the garden and took her seat on Tarrant's right side. Mostly, she just looked tired— muzzy, as Tarrant would put it. Her brown eyes were bleary, and her shoulders looked tired. Clearly, Alice had been hard at work again.
In the two and a half years since Regina's return to Underland, Alice had been working day and night to rebuild Witzend. The reconstruction was due in part to Alice's self-imposed eighteen-year exile, which she'd entered into after Regina's disappearance from Witzend as an infant. For eighteen long years the kingdom had fallen into disarray while Tarrant waited for their daughter at a Tea Party and the so-called Black Queen silently kept to the shadows of Marmoreal. Alice was striving to correct the damage she'd caused by her long absence from the throne, and going about it with her characteristic single-minded focus, discounting any detriment to her own well-being in her desire to set Witzend to rights.
Regina knew that Tarrant feared the amount of effort Alice was putting into the queendom's reconstruction. She only had so much Time left, and less of it than ever after Brax's birth. Because Tarrant was frozen in Time, he and Alice had been unable to have children unless Alice gave her Time to their babies. Having done it twice now, Alice's Days were numbered. Even though Alice maintained that she still had plenty of Time left, the fact remained that her lifespan was now going to be significantly shorter than it should have been, and they were going to lose her long before they were ready to. Tarrant always watched his beloved wife now, terrified that if he didn't carefully monitor and ration her Time, it would all be spent without him, and he would lose precious Moments that would have to sustain him through however long he had to endure without her before Time decided it had had enough of him and released him to Death.
"You look as though you're in need of some very strong tea, my Teacup," Tarrant said, gently depositing Brax in Alice's arms.
"I am at that," Alice nodded, burying her face in Brax's hair as he played with her fingers. "You lovely, happy little Humpty Dumpty," she cooed, rocking them gently.
"What's been the catastrophe today, Mama?" Regina asked as she deftly began mixing dried leaves and berries together into an appropriate tea. "Momerath overpopulation, Snud arguing about the wool import tax again, Da running out of hat ribbons?"
Despite her weariness, Alice smiled as Regina handed her a cuppa. The reunion between mother and daughter had been by no means easy. Relations between Alice and Regina had been strained for the longest time; Regina had held a grudge against Alice for abandoning her in the Aboveground as an infant, and Alice had been so paralyzed by her guilt that she had unintentionally pushed her daughter further away. It wasn't until Alice had gone to the Outlands to rescue Regina after her kidnapping that they had begun to repair their relationship.
"Worse," Alice sighed. "The Beavers have walked off the job, again."
Tarrant and Regina winced in sympathy. Since returning to her throne, Alice's pet project had been building Witzend a port city, in order to encourage trade with the Oversea Nations. From the first stage of planning, Alice had had to surmount one obstacle after another. The latest fiasco concerning the Beavers was particularly irritating. They had been hired to build dams to reinforce the cove that Alice had chosen for her harbor, and they had proved to be exceptionally touchy and sensitive creatures, quick to take offense at the least provocation.
"But they can't go on strike," Regina frowned. "The town's opening in two weeks, and then you sail across the Sea."
"I know," Alice nodded. "And I cannot delay these plans any longer. I want these trade routes established as quickly as possible— by the Hogmanay, ideally, but definitely by Guid Nychburris, so we can expand the Hightopp trade wares."
"Could you replace the Beavers with someone else? Frogs, perhaps?" Regina suggested.
"I'm afraid not," Alice shook her head. "The Beavers made the plans for the dam, no one else could possibly follow them. I'll just have to figure out what's gone wrong and fix it. Again."
"And you, Da?" Regina asked, sniffing at Tarrant's tea before adding a small squeeze of lemon into his cup. "What news from the Brae?"
Before Tarrant spoke, he turned to Alice, who smiled and surrendered Abraxas back to him. Some people in the Aboveground used a talking stick to denote who was allowed to speak; the Blue Royals passed the Sky Prince around. It was a beneficial method, for how could they remain upset about life's stresses when they were cuddling the baby? Also, it was good for the young Crown Prince to pay attention to whoever was holding him; from their laps he would learn diplomacy, commerce, and tradesmanship, three things he would need as either a future King or as the next Laird of Tearmunn.
"We've finished cobbling the marketplace," he happily reported. "And we've expanded the clover fields, so next year we should have quite a stock of honey and beeswax. Madam Gwynyth has been a wonder, I don't know how I ever would have managed without her. I'll be leaving her in direct charge of Tearmunn so I can stay here in Berserka while your mam's gone."
Regina nodded absently, adding a little honey to her tea. With Alice sailing on her Oversea adventure, Tarrant would remain behind to rule Witzend as regent. This was rather an important moment for him; while he had been crowned King beside Alice, he had never ruled in his own right before, never signed bills into laws or made decisions or ruled the kingdom. But now that Alice was leaving, it would be up to Tarrant to maintain the stability of the queendom until Alice's return. Regina wondered how Tarrant felt about that; was he excited to finally use the power his crown had given him? Or was he dreading this? He had been a leader, back in his Resistance days, and he was Laird of the Hightopp clan. But those were, admittedly, relatively small groups to lead; how would he fare ruling the entire country?
"Will you be going to Tearmunn before you return home, Sugar Cube?" Tarrant asked, distracting Regina from her thoughts.
"Aye," she nodded. "I promised the Fearail a meal of Eilwen's cooking. They get homesick for it," she grinned. "Then Rhys is taking Mary and me home while Dafydd swings south to Annwyn. He wants to check on Briallen and the boys. All of which is fine with me. Anything to avoid being home."
Alice and Tarrant exchanged a concerned glance before Tarrant passed Brax to Regina.
"The Council again?" he asked.
Regina sighed heavily, looking down and concentrating very hard on the patty cake game Brax was playing with her fingers. She could feel their gazes on her, patient and concerned. And not just her mama and da's; Mary's and Dafydd's as well. She had walked— well, more like stomped— out of her castle this afternoon, but she hadn't exactly told her best friend or her Champion what had happened to make her so upset.
"Vulpez tried to force the issue of me marrying again," she finally admitted.
"What!" Tarrant exclaimed while Mary groaned.
Tarrant's spoon fell from his hand as he sat bolt upright in alarm. Thackery's plaintive cry of 'spoon!' echoed Tarrant's sentiment, though it was unclear whether he was agreeing with Tarrant or worrying about the silver utensil as he scrambled over the table, upsetting platters of cakes and a teapot or two as he snatched up the abused spoon, twitching and cradling it to his chest.
"Aye," Regina said, her displeasure mounting, if her brogue was any indication.
"But… Bu' yer jist a wee li'l boy!" Tarrant protested.
"Vulpez doesnae see it 'at way," Regina replied. "Accordin' tae heem, mah greatest priority shoods be givin' Crims a king an' an heir."
Despite his displeasure, Tarrant was hard-pressed to smother his smile when he saw the roses in his daughter's cheeks. He glanced over at Alice; while she wasn't quite as amused as he was, he saw the same memories reflected in her eyes.
Tarrant had never asked Regina how much she remembered about the Battle of the Brae nearly two years ago. She had been rather Mad at the time, and he was well aware that when one was lost within the Madness, events and conversations often weren't remembered afterwords. Did Regina remember the confession she had poured out into Alice's lap, as she lay bleeding and weeping? Did she know that her parents were well aware of where her heart lay?
On second thought, more than likely not. If Regina remembered her feelings, surely she would have acted on them by now? For she couldn't be in doubt that her love was most definitely returned. Tarrant had long been aware of Dafydd's feelings for Regina; he didn't entirely approve, but he knew of them. One would have to be a fool not to notice the spark between them, and Tarrant was no fool. About as subtle as lightning, their attraction was. So why had Dafydd not rushed in and swept Regina off her feet? Especially if this Baron Vulpez was so intent upon seeing Regina wed; the solution was staring everyone in the face! Surely Tarrant and Alice couldn't be the only ones to see it?
"Well that's… You should just dissolve the Council," Alice frowned.
"It's not the Council that's the problem," Regina shook her head. "Leferidae and Rhonwen are wonderful. It's just Vulpez. I don't even know why he's so insistent on me marrying. There's plenty of time for that, someday."
"Can you fend him off?" Alice asked.
Regina raised an eyebrow in an expression that she had quite obviously stolen from Dafydd. "What do you think I've been doing, Mama?"
"I don't blame you for not wanting to be home," Tarrant frowned. "How utterly unpleasant. I should find such an upset unbearable."
"U's, Hatter," Alice smiled.
"Aye, Da," Regina said. "I have the feeling Vulpez has a candidate in mind. If I wanted an arranged marriage, I would've stayed Above," she burst out with sudden vehemence.
"Well then, Sugar Cube, it appears you must find your own suitor," Tarrant said, proud that he was able to keep from smiling.
"I could be a virgin Queen, like Elizabeth," Regina said stubbornly.
Alice rose a skeptical eyebrow. "This from you, little Queen of Sheba? Whose hero is Queen Victoria?"
"There are precious few Solomons and Alberts in the world, Mama," Regina said, staring down into her teacup.
"You never know," Tarrant smiled mysteriously. "The things we need in life have an uncanny knack of finding us."
She looked down into her murky tea as her mind meandered. Oh, M's… a much more mesmerizing letter than U, if I may make my musings known…
Lately, this issue of a suitor had been unavoidable. Baron Vulpez made references or outright statements about it during every twice-weekly meeting. Her courtiers jockeyed amongst themselves, angling for her favors. Even Lily was teasing her about finding a mate.
She'd always been a romantic child. All through her childhood, she had daydreamed over the stories of Antony and Cleopatra, Romeo and Juliet, Justinian and Theodora, John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford, Victoria and Albert, Alice and the Hatter. She had dreamed of finding her own true love and living happily ever after.
However, it was quite difficult— impossible, really— to contemplate a happily ever after when her Prince Charming was quite unaware that he had been assigned to such a role.
Oh, Regina had been full of hope for a while. There had been Moments, over the past year and a half, when she had begun to think that maybe, perhaps, someday… After all, Dafydd had moved back into her room, hadn't he? And they had more than once fallen asleep on the couch on her balcony, her curled into his side with his arms wrapped around her, because they were too lazy to go to their proper beds. And there was her Queenmaking ring, of course, and dances and stolen glances and hidden smiles… Could she really be blamed for hoping? But Someday had gotten farther and farther away, until Regina had finally come to suspect that she was only chasing a dream.
The more she thought about it, the more foolish she felt. Dafydd's behavior had never altered; he had never behaved in a manner other than that of Champion to Queen. Of course he was protective and solicitous; that was his job. Of course his eyes were always on her; how else was he supposed to ensure her safety? Anything else, she had clearly fabricated from wishes and dreams and impossibilities. She was quite good at that, inventing stories. It was her anchorage, after all. And what made more sense— that Dafydd had somehow miraculously fallen in love with her, even though in his Madness he had once rejected her? Or that she had created a story in her Madness in an attempt to soothe her bruised heart? No, it was becoming more and more clear to her that she had imagined it all, and she was a fool for chasing a dream.
"Clean cup, clean cup, move doon!"
She cleared her throat, grateful when the March Hare's voice broke into her thoughts and scattered them to the winds. Giggling, Regina took Tarrant's hand as Alice gathered Abraxas in her arms and Mary gravely took Thackery's paw. As they began the Tea Table Tango, Regina laughed giddily, tossing a merry grin over her shoulder. And then…
The look in her Champion's eyes stunned her into silence, freezing her in her tracks, and only her father's grip kept her from stumbling. The look in Dafydd's eyes could only be referred to as hungry. It frightened her, burned through her straight to her soul… and utterly thrilled her, filling her with an ache she had become increasingly familiar with over the past year and a half. Oh, blast her heart for rising from the ashes once again and clinging to its impossible hopes…
"Come then, mo laoch," she said, holding one hand out in supplication. "Stop skulking in the shadows and dance with me."
"Is that an order, dearbadan-de?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It is," she nodded.
"Then I am bound to obey," he replied.
"Lovely!" Tarrant exclaimed.
He leaned close to the table, whispering to the teapots. A moment later they began to whistle, harmonizing and creating a tune as Dafydd spun Regina into his arms and they began to dance. Soon, they were joined by Alice and Brax, Tarrant and Mally, Mary and Marchioness Gwen, and Thackery and his spoon.
"You'll protect me from this marriage nonsense, won't you?" Regina sighed, resting her forehead on Dafydd's shoulder.
"To the death," he promised, drawing her in as though his embrace could protect her.
Most days, Dafydd forgot that due to his station as Ace of Hearts and Queen's Champion, he had an office.
This lapse in memory was understandable when you considered the fact that Dafydd spent most of his time, waking or sleeping, in Regina's presence. Wherever she was, he wasn't far behind, claymore always in easy reach. When he had business to handle— paperwork involving his army, or letters from his sister-in-law Briallen regarding his estate— he did so in whatever room Regina was in. That usually worked out well, since his paperwork would come in while she was in her study, and it was easy enough to sit down at her tea table and get everything taken care of.
But every once in a while, he would remember his office, and he would slip away for brief respites, time alone to think, to wrestle himself back into calm.
Today had been trying. Well, not the morning, that had been alright. But from the instant Regina emerged from her Council meeting, things had begun to go downhill, and Dafydd didn't approve in the slightest.
The idea of Regina being forced to marry… He gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists as he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He'd been fearing this discussion since the moment Zhithene, Keeper of the Oraculum, had revealed that Regina would give birth to a son. He'd spent a year and a half steeling himself against the day when Regina would lose her heart to the mysterious Lionheart. The fact that Vulpez was pushing her so hard to find a husband only reminded Dafydd that his Days with her were numbered; very soon, she would belong to someone else, and he would lose her forever.
Or… There was one way to forestall the inevitable, and for a breathless moment he allowed himself to follow that forbidden thought trail. Or, he could confess how deeply, desperately, and helplessly in love with her he was. He could offer her the Heart Rock he'd found in the woods surrounding the Brae, and he could beg her to marry him, even though he had nothing to offer her other than himself.
His head fell back against the chair. Yes, he could do that. And then Regina would tell him she didn't feel the same way, and he would lose her anyways. Which would be worse, to confess his love for her and lose her, or to remain silent and stay near her, even after he'd lost her to the Lionheart?
He reached into his pocket, withdrawing the small, lavender Rock that he always kept on his person and rolling it between his fingers. Like his own heart, this belonged to her and always would. The former Nazari mated for life; their hearts, once lost, were gone forever. Whether or not Regina accepted him, he was hers anyways; he'd never love anyone but her. Given that, didn't it make sense to offer her the Heart Rock? Even if she rejected him, he could not, would not give the Heart to anyone else; she should have it either way.
Drawing a deep breath, he stood, closing his fingers around the Rock. By this time, Regina should be finished with her bath. When she was finished bathing, she always dismissed Clover and Azalea; they would be alone for the rest of the night. If he was going to do this, now was the perfect time…
He opened the door, then stopped short upon seeing Baron Vulpez, hand poised to knock on his door.
Baron Reynard Vulpez was not a conventionally attractive man. He had narrow-set eyes and a rather long nose, thin lips beneath a carefully twirled moustache, and sandy brown hair falling around his pale face. His gaze was intelligent, cunning, and cold; his smirk smug and superior. Of all Regina's courtiers, Vulpez was Dafydd's least favorite.
"Baron," he greeted the elder man shortly, discreetly sliding the Heart Rock back into his pocket. "What can I do for you?"
"I was just passing by on my way to my chambers," Vulpez said in his reedy voice. "One of the Pages asked me to deliver this letter to you."
Dafydd quirked a skeptical eyebrow. The high and mighty Baron, willingly doing menial labor? Highly unlikely.
"My dear man, you needn't be so skeptical," Vulpez defended himself archly. "I am perfectly capable of carrying a missive. And, as your Grace is above me in station, it's appropriate that I should do so."
Oh. Right. Dafydd was a Duke; the third-most powerful person in the queendom after the Red Lion and Regina herself, as a matter of fact. So he did outrank Vulpez, and could assign him to run chores for him. He'd have to keep that in mind.
"Could you wait here a tick?" Dafydd asked casually. "In case this needs a fast reply."
He managed to smother his grin at the tic in Vulpez's jaw, but the baron inclined his head in acquiescence. Satisfied, Dafydd returned to his desk, cracking open the wax seal while simultaneously noting that it wasn't the original; someone had read his letter and closed it again before it had gotten to his hands. How annoying.
The letter proved to be from Briallen. Dafydd skimmed it quickly, frowning; close to his widowed sister-in-law as he was, it was unusual for Bri to write him twice in one week. He had just seen her three hours ago and she hadn't mentioned anything abnormal; had some emergency happened? But no, this letter was dated from yesterday. How long had it been in the hands of whoever had read it before him?
As he read it over, Dafydd sighed. This wasn't a report about the state of Annwyn, his ducal estate in the south of Crims; Bri was writing about her elder son, Gregan. In the nearly two years since his athair's death (at Dafydd's hand, though he wasn't certain his nephew knew that), the once boisterous and eager to please Gregan had become withdrawn and moody, rarely speaking. Lately, he'd taken to isolating himself in his room for hours on end, and Briallen was getting worried.
Dafydd sighed, rubbing his jaw. Why hadn't Bri mentioned anything today during his visit? Unless she'd thought he had already gotten her letter…
"Is something wrong, my lord?" Vulpez asked.
"Family trouble," Dafydd replied. "My nephew."
"Ah," Vulpez nodded, stroking his moustache. "How old is he?"
"Nearing fifteen now," Dafydd said.
"And his profession?" Vulpez asked.
Dafydd shook his head. "He's still at home."
"Ah. I thought that was rather unusual, among your people?" Vulpez questioned.
Dafydd paused, tilting his head in thought. Vulpez was right, he realized; most of the Hightopp men chose a profession, or at least an apprenticeship, once they'd completed their Manhood Rites. For Niall, Andras and Dafydd it had been straight into the Hassasseen; others in their clan had been apprenticed to the blacksmith or the Horse tenders or the weavers. Gregan had undergone his Rite nearly two years ago, when Dafydd had first moved Bri and her boys to his estate. And yet, no mention of a profession had ever been broached by himself, Bri, or Gregan.
Perhaps Dafydd could be forgiven for the fact that Gregan's future had slipped his mind; he was busy in Isla Affalin caring for Regina and maintaining the Heart army. And Briallen could be forgiven, since her two sons were all she had left of Niall and of course she'd want to keep them close. But why hadn't Gregan ever made mention of a profession he'd like to go into?
"It is unusual," Dafydd admitted.
"Personally, I would remedy that, sir," Vulpez said thoughtfully. "A young man without a profession to occupy his mind soon becomes ridiculous."
Dafydd nodded, considering the older man's advice. Perhaps it was time to push Gregan to consider his future.
"Would you send him back to your village, or would you rather him apprentice in one of the capitals?" Vulpez asked.
"I suppose that would depend on what sort of profession Gregan would want," Dafydd replied.
"Perhaps you should arrange for the young man to visit," Vulpez suggested. "Have a talk with him, and then arrange him an apprenticeship. I'd be glad to help, if he'd prefer to remain in Isla Affalin."
"Thank you, Baron," Dafydd nodded. "I'll send the invitation in the morning."
"Very good," Vulpez said. "If that's all…"
"Yes, that's all," Dafydd dismissed him.
He hardly paid attention as the wily Baron bowed his way out of the study. Glancing down at Briallen's letter again, Dafydd slid it into the top drawer for safekeeping. He'd answer her letter and send it out tomorrow.
For now, it was late; Regina was sure to be falling asleep. Too late to try to talk to her, to offer her the Heart Rock and all it meant. Sighing in disappointment, Dafydd blew out the candles and left his office, making his way through the castle to the chambers he and Regina shared. If he couldn't talk to her, he could at least fall asleep to the sound of her breathing; it would have to be enough, for the time being.
As twilight deepened to true night and painted the streets of London in shadow, the proprietor of True Reflections stood behind the counter, reconciling his end-of-day accounts. If he had any employees, they likely would have considered him eccentric for preferring handwritten bookkeeping to computer programs, but he had none, so they didn't.
People were enchanted by his shop. The fact that Chase Hart only sold looking glasses should have meant that he had very little business, but he had made a name for himself over the past ten years as a connoisseur of mirror styles. Whenever an interior designer, set production assistant, or snobby nouveau riche needed a looking glass, they came straight to him. Among the hundreds of mirrors in his shop, Chase would invariably find the perfect one, always with a wink and the promise that the mirror would show them exactly what they needed to see. Chase was the best at what he did, and the world loved him for it. Well, everyone in the world that mattered, anyways.
Chase Hart, however, cared little for this world. He'd never been a fan of London. He'd spent much of his childhood dreaming of a different land, a Wonderland. A place of talking flowers and whispering trees and utterly mad animals, a place at once as insubstantial as a dream and yet more real than anything this world could offer.
He'd stumbled across Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass as a child, in whatever foster home he'd been in at the time. He hadn't lasted too long there, but he'd nicked the book when the time came to leave, and had kept it with him all through his childhood. It had been a beautiful, haunting dream; nagging at the edges of his mind like a half-forgotten memory. Through a long succession of foster homes and interchangeable cities, the book had been a touchstone, something permanent he could cling to. How many hours had he spent, laying in the grass and wishing with all his might that he could disappear into Wonderland?
The story could have ended there. Chase began to grow up, and his daydreams about Wonderland began to be forgotten amidst schoolwork, the brutal foster system, and the process of growing up. Wonderland could have faded away forever, and Chase Hart would have been no different from thousands of other children who had outgrown their Wonderlands.
But one night in University changed all of that. It had been a party— Chase didn't generally go to many parties, preferring to keep to himself, but the girl he'd had an eye on at the time was going, so he'd crashed. He'd ended up on one of the couches in the basement with half a dozen people he didn't know, partaking of Cheshire stamps and cheap vodka.
In later years, he'd find it funny that it had taken a drug trip to make the entire world make sense.
He'd graduated from Uni with a degree in business administration. As soon as he got out, he'd started making plans— saving his money, finding looking glasses, trying to remember how to use them. As his reputation began to grow, so did his resources. Every mirror he came into contact with was checked; every possible looking glass was reserved and saved. At points he'd begun to fear he was going Mad; what if it had just been a drug trip? What if they weren't memories, but rather just dreams? What if there was no way back?
Then one night about seven months ago, Wonderland had found him.
He didn't really remember Baron Vulpez, but he had no doubt that the man was who he said he was. Even if he hadn't been speaking from the other side of the Looking Glass, the baron was too slinking, too sly and slithy and untrustworthy to come from anywhere but Iracebeth's Court. And even if he didn't exactly remember the Baron, Vulpez clearly recognized him. He'd been searching for Chase for a long time on his side of the Glass.
Crims needed him, Vulpez had told Chase. The country was now under the control of the daughter of Alice of Legend. She had taken over Iracebeth's dynastic surname, her title, her throne. She was changing Crims, undoing everything the Red Queen had wrought. And, Vulpez claimed, the land was crying out in protest. Calling for its true ruler to claim it again, to reclaim the Heart Throne of the House of Praecordia.
Really, how could Chase be asked to refuse such an offer? Wonderland had been his lifelong dream, something precious not to be Forgotten. But not anymore. No more Impossible dreams; now it was time to take it for himself.
Vulpez had promised to take care of all the details on his side. Once Vulpez had found a way to legitimately reclaim the throne from the current Queen, Chase would return home and take up the crown. The message had come through this morning; everything was ready. Not only did Vulpez have a plan, but he had allies to ensure that their plans came to fruition. It was time.
After locking the front door and extinguishing all the lights, Chase wove his way through the store, ignoring all the mirrors and the hundreds of reflections that danced around him. He walked back into his private office, closing the door behind him and considering the full-length looking glass that he'd leaned against his desk that morning. It didn't look like anything special; just a simple oval mirror with a plain black frame. But this was the Looking Glass that was going to bring him home.
Drawing a deep breath to steady his emotions, Chase pressed a hand to the surface of the Glass. The mirror began to fog over and ripple, looking like a pool of mercury. Without a moment's hesitation, he boldly walked through the Looking Glass, reminding himself to breathe and move slowly so he wouldn't fall in an undignified heap on the floor.
The room he entered into was darkened, with only one brace of candles lit on the wall directly next to the Looking Glass he'd exited. Judging by the size and emptiness of the room, this must be some sort of ballroom. But his surroundings held less interest for him than the three people who had gathered to greet him.
Baron Vulpez was in front, of course, looking absurdly pleased with himself. To his left was a tall, thin man with flowing white hair, moustache and pointy beard hanging from his chin, garbed entirely in white. A quick assessing glance told Chase that this must be a member of the White Court of Marmoreal. And to Vulpez's right… Chase's mouth curled up in a faint smirk. Well well, she was an exquisite creature; a flawless face and figure, even if she was a bit too covered up for his tastes. But it wasn't just her physical beauty; it was the expression in her eyes that drew him in. Shrewd, calculating, devious. This was a woman out for revenge and power. He'd enjoy having her by his side.
"By the Fates," the White man breathed. "I can hardly believe my eyes."
"You'd best convince yourself quickly," Chase said dryly. "We haven't much time to waste."
Vulpez took a step forward, sketching him a shallow bow. "This is Duke Blancmilque, formerly of High Queen Mirana's Court. And this is Afanen Hightopp."
"A Hightopp?" Chase frowned. "Weren't they all wiped out?"
"My branch of the clan was banished to the Outlands long before the Red Queen unleashed the Jabberwocky on the Hightopps," Afanen replied, her voice a throaty purr. "We've only recently returned to Underland."
"Isn't the current Queen a clanswoman of yours, then?" Chase asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Afanen didn't scowl, exactly, but her dislike of the aforementioned Queen was clear. "I have no love for her."
"I see," Chase said thoughtfully. "Well, let's not waste anymore time. There's much work to be done."
"Indeed," Vulpez murmured. "Welcome home, your Highness."
Language Note: The Outlandish terms I used came from this website: www. names- meanings names/ term- of- endearment- male
As a reminder:
Mo laoch: Scots Gaelic for 'my champion'
Dearbadan-de: Scots Gaelic for 'butterfly'
Mo farquar: Scots Gaelic for 'my dear man'
Ma taavi: Welsh; taavi is derived from the Welsh name Dafydd [ironically enough], which means 'beloved'. So ma taavi means 'my beloved.'
