It’s my turn to snort. “Right. I forgot. It’s all about the gray in Wonderland.”
“It is. I once told you that no one knows what he or she is capable of until things are at their darkest. When you were dying, both your men came face-to-face with that moment. They combined forces, looked within one another instead of themselves, and found the gray—the common ground.”
I frown. “Are you saying that it changed them?”
She sits down and, propped against the curve of my neck, lifts one leg at a time to adjust the pointed green shoes on her feet. “You’ve always brought out the softer side in my master. But he hasn’t changed. He’s as changeless as he is ageless. He’ll always be selfish, manipulative, untamable. He knows no other way to be, for he is all things Wonderland. The event simply gave him a new means to determine the direction of his actions when dealing with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“A mortal moral compass. Just as your Jebediah now understands Wonderland’s magic and feral desires, Morpheus understands the human world’s emotional needs and insecurities. He and your mortal knight have always been your perfect mate, split in twain. But now each of them has gained enough insight to provide what you need in either realm. It is not the men bridging your heart. It is your heart bridging them. They are wiser because of their love for you. I daresay even happier. Yes, they could subsist without you, but they are better men with you. They are the ones who need you to be complete, to be all they were meant to be. That does not make you selfish. It makes you indispensable.”
I smile. The idea is empowering, and as fascinating, twisted, and beautiful as Wonderland itself.
My attention wanders back to the dance floor and the guests representing the Red kingdom, the White, and even the solitary of our kind. I recognize a few more of the attendees: Mustela fae—ferret-like creatures with long, venomous fangs and vulnerable craniums, a hedgehog being with the face of a sparrow, a pink woman with a neck as long as a flamingo.
There are also some that are new to me, with batlike wings and fishy faces, or sensuous females as dark as mud, with amphibious plants sprouting out of their supple skin.
I may not know every netherling, but I know their gifts and powers. Morpheus taught me in my childhood.
The bridge troll’s dreadlocks are enchanted with a telepathy that brainwashes his victims into being so fearful of staying in place, they cross his bridge even when they know he’s waiting on the other side to turn them to stone. And the nameless muddy vixen uses an alluring song to draw lesser-minded beings into the water where she sucks the life from them.
Not all of them are deadly, but each one is deranged and strange enough to tease my darker side with the possibility of chaos. I’m eager to start visiting in my dreams so I can learn their weaknesses and how to manipulate them, because reasoning is never the law of the land in the Red Court. It’s all about who’s the trickiest, who’s the wiliest with words. And who’s the most determined to get their way.
Which is why Morpheus will be the perfect Red King one day.
Jeb mentioned earlier that he and Morpheus talked while I was recuperating from being frozen. He told Morpheus he was letting me out of my vow, in hopes Morpheus would play the gentleman, too. But I don’t expect him to fight fair. Just as I know he doesn’t expect me to be an easy mark.
I fidget in the dress he sent over this afternoon: white corset bodice with miniature crimson rosebuds sewn upon the neckline and satiny black laces that crisscross, then dangle in a bow at my waist. A fitted red and white pin-striped, ankle-length skirt hugs my lower half, and a matching choker collar is secured over my key necklace. Per his request, my hair is loose and long, and writhes around the roses pinned in place. Every part of my ensemble feels like a seduction. Even my long sleeves—sheer poufs of black netting with twirling swirls of red ribbon woven throughout the length—cling like soft kisses to my arms.
“Did you tell him my last message?” I ask Gossamer as one song ends and another begins. Earlier, I thought upon the wording of my life-magic vow: that I was to give him one day and one night. I never stated consecutive hours, or that they would be spent in Wonderland. Since I’ve pointed out that we accumulated at least twelve daylight hours together in AnyElsewhere, he’ll have no choice but to agree that only the night half of my vow is unfulfilled.
“I did tell him,” Gossamer’s bell-like voice chimes. It’s obvious by her crossed arms that she’s not about to share his reaction.
“So, he’s pouting, right? That’s why he missed the ceremony,” I say over the instruments.
“He’s been away from his home for some time. He had things to do. To prepare for your night together.” Gossamer’s furred wings buzz into action, lifting her off my shoulder.
“Sure.” I smother a smile. “We both know he didn’t come because he would’ve been bored to tears. There’s too much orderliness for his liking.”
She giggles in agreement—a tinkling sound that blends with the music.
Earlier, Ivory gave a speech, introducing me as the reigning Red Queen, assuring everyone that my blood is tied to the crown that Rabid White is keeping under lock and key until I can place it on my head again.
Two of my subjects from the Red Court stepped forward to thank Jeb for his contribution to our world: Charlie, a dodo bird with the head of a man and hands protruding from the tips of his stubby wings, and his wife Lorina, a parakeet-like netherling with a humanoid face slapped onto crimson feathers as if it were a mask. They presented Jeb with a key to the cemetery gates delivered by five of Sister Two’s smelly, silvery pixies. The fact that a human boy earned the Twid Sisters’ respect gained him quite a fandom among the guests.
After that, the music began and food was laid out.
Honey-scented tea steams invitingly from the pots, and the food sparkles with ice and magic. Plates are piled with moonbeam cookies and other unusual confections, such as starlit marzipan tarts and lightning-bug meringues, each of them waiting to pour delectable light into every guest’s mouth with one bite.
Ivory’s idea of entertaining is different from the banquets I’ve attended with Morpheus in reality, dreams, and visions. Everyone is on their best behavior due to the hundreds of elfin knights posted at every entrance and exit. Several of my card guards have joined them for extra security.
“It is. I once told you that no one knows what he or she is capable of until things are at their darkest. When you were dying, both your men came face-to-face with that moment. They combined forces, looked within one another instead of themselves, and found the gray—the common ground.”
I frown. “Are you saying that it changed them?”
She sits down and, propped against the curve of my neck, lifts one leg at a time to adjust the pointed green shoes on her feet. “You’ve always brought out the softer side in my master. But he hasn’t changed. He’s as changeless as he is ageless. He’ll always be selfish, manipulative, untamable. He knows no other way to be, for he is all things Wonderland. The event simply gave him a new means to determine the direction of his actions when dealing with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“A mortal moral compass. Just as your Jebediah now understands Wonderland’s magic and feral desires, Morpheus understands the human world’s emotional needs and insecurities. He and your mortal knight have always been your perfect mate, split in twain. But now each of them has gained enough insight to provide what you need in either realm. It is not the men bridging your heart. It is your heart bridging them. They are wiser because of their love for you. I daresay even happier. Yes, they could subsist without you, but they are better men with you. They are the ones who need you to be complete, to be all they were meant to be. That does not make you selfish. It makes you indispensable.”
I smile. The idea is empowering, and as fascinating, twisted, and beautiful as Wonderland itself.
My attention wanders back to the dance floor and the guests representing the Red kingdom, the White, and even the solitary of our kind. I recognize a few more of the attendees: Mustela fae—ferret-like creatures with long, venomous fangs and vulnerable craniums, a hedgehog being with the face of a sparrow, a pink woman with a neck as long as a flamingo.
There are also some that are new to me, with batlike wings and fishy faces, or sensuous females as dark as mud, with amphibious plants sprouting out of their supple skin.
I may not know every netherling, but I know their gifts and powers. Morpheus taught me in my childhood.
The bridge troll’s dreadlocks are enchanted with a telepathy that brainwashes his victims into being so fearful of staying in place, they cross his bridge even when they know he’s waiting on the other side to turn them to stone. And the nameless muddy vixen uses an alluring song to draw lesser-minded beings into the water where she sucks the life from them.
Not all of them are deadly, but each one is deranged and strange enough to tease my darker side with the possibility of chaos. I’m eager to start visiting in my dreams so I can learn their weaknesses and how to manipulate them, because reasoning is never the law of the land in the Red Court. It’s all about who’s the trickiest, who’s the wiliest with words. And who’s the most determined to get their way.
Which is why Morpheus will be the perfect Red King one day.
Jeb mentioned earlier that he and Morpheus talked while I was recuperating from being frozen. He told Morpheus he was letting me out of my vow, in hopes Morpheus would play the gentleman, too. But I don’t expect him to fight fair. Just as I know he doesn’t expect me to be an easy mark.
I fidget in the dress he sent over this afternoon: white corset bodice with miniature crimson rosebuds sewn upon the neckline and satiny black laces that crisscross, then dangle in a bow at my waist. A fitted red and white pin-striped, ankle-length skirt hugs my lower half, and a matching choker collar is secured over my key necklace. Per his request, my hair is loose and long, and writhes around the roses pinned in place. Every part of my ensemble feels like a seduction. Even my long sleeves—sheer poufs of black netting with twirling swirls of red ribbon woven throughout the length—cling like soft kisses to my arms.
“Did you tell him my last message?” I ask Gossamer as one song ends and another begins. Earlier, I thought upon the wording of my life-magic vow: that I was to give him one day and one night. I never stated consecutive hours, or that they would be spent in Wonderland. Since I’ve pointed out that we accumulated at least twelve daylight hours together in AnyElsewhere, he’ll have no choice but to agree that only the night half of my vow is unfulfilled.
“I did tell him,” Gossamer’s bell-like voice chimes. It’s obvious by her crossed arms that she’s not about to share his reaction.
“So, he’s pouting, right? That’s why he missed the ceremony,” I say over the instruments.
“He’s been away from his home for some time. He had things to do. To prepare for your night together.” Gossamer’s furred wings buzz into action, lifting her off my shoulder.
“Sure.” I smother a smile. “We both know he didn’t come because he would’ve been bored to tears. There’s too much orderliness for his liking.”
She giggles in agreement—a tinkling sound that blends with the music.
Earlier, Ivory gave a speech, introducing me as the reigning Red Queen, assuring everyone that my blood is tied to the crown that Rabid White is keeping under lock and key until I can place it on my head again.
Two of my subjects from the Red Court stepped forward to thank Jeb for his contribution to our world: Charlie, a dodo bird with the head of a man and hands protruding from the tips of his stubby wings, and his wife Lorina, a parakeet-like netherling with a humanoid face slapped onto crimson feathers as if it were a mask. They presented Jeb with a key to the cemetery gates delivered by five of Sister Two’s smelly, silvery pixies. The fact that a human boy earned the Twid Sisters’ respect gained him quite a fandom among the guests.
After that, the music began and food was laid out.
Honey-scented tea steams invitingly from the pots, and the food sparkles with ice and magic. Plates are piled with moonbeam cookies and other unusual confections, such as starlit marzipan tarts and lightning-bug meringues, each of them waiting to pour delectable light into every guest’s mouth with one bite.
Ivory’s idea of entertaining is different from the banquets I’ve attended with Morpheus in reality, dreams, and visions. Everyone is on their best behavior due to the hundreds of elfin knights posted at every entrance and exit. Several of my card guards have joined them for extra security.
