Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
SCARLETT
M y body still hums with the residual energy of our connection, a persistent warmth that no amount of cold rationality can extinguish. I find myself absently touching my palm, where her fingers had touched me, remembering the current of power that flowed between us. Not just magic, though that was extraordinary enough, but something deeper. A recognition , perhaps. An understanding that beneath our crowns and carefully cultivated personas, we are more alike than either of us might wish to admit.
The strange black rose vine I discovered climbing my castle wall this morning only confirms that something fundamental has changed. Black roses grow only in Darkmore, never in Underland—until now. I plucked a petal and pressed it between the pages of my private journal. Evidence of the impossible. Evidence of Ravenna's lingering influence on my kingdom.
The March Hare's frantic arrival changes my mood immediately. He bursts into my throne room, his entire body trembling more violently than usual. His fur stands on end and his ceremonial waistcoat is torn in several places. Most alarming of all, his pocket watch—the timepiece he values above all possessions—is missing entirely.
"Your Majesty!" He gasps for breath, his eyes wild with terror. "Edmund's forces—at the eastern border—they're killing—"
I'm on my feet before he can finish, my heart hammering against my ribs. The eastern border is where my army found a charred card last night. "How many?"
"A dozen, maybe more. They're—" His eyes go wide with horror. "They're slaughtering the magical creatures, My Queen. The ones who guard the border."
White-hot rage floods my system. Those creatures are mine . They might be odd, might be wild and unpredictable , but they're under my protection. No one touches what belongs to me.
No one.
"Assemble the Diamond and Heart regiments," I command the nearest card-soldier. "Full battle array. And send word to Queen Ravenna—she needs to know."
I storm toward the eastern border, my skirts swishing against the marble floors. I can’t be bothered taking the time to change from my morning gown, so I shed the more dramatic outer layers as I move. In times of crisis, speed matters more than spectacle—a lesson my parents learned too late.
Card-soldiers fall into formation behind me, their paper-sharp edges gleaming. Unlike flesh-and-blood soldiers, my card army requires no food, no rest, no reassurance. They exist to serve, to fight, to die if necessary. Their loyalty is absolute, their discipline unwavering. They are the perfect extension of my will.
As we approach the eastern edge of Underland, doubt creeps in like mist. Until now, my card-soldiers have faced only internal threats—rebellious subjects, unruly magical creatures, the occasional assassin. They've never confronted an organized military force, particularly one equipped with iron weapons that can slice through paper regardless of magical enhancement.
The sounds of battle reach us before we can see it—clashing metal, screams of pain, and underneath it all, a low hum of magic that makes my skin prickle. I round the corner to find chaos.
Edmund's soldiers, clad in iron armor that seems to absorb the very light around it, are methodically cutting down my magical subjects. A unicorn lies dead, its silver blood pooling beneath its broken horn. The dormouse who's guarded this section of border for a century is pinned to a tree by an iron spike. Three card-soldiers already lie shredded on the ground, their paper forms fluttering in the breeze.
But what stops me in my tracks is Ravenna.
She's already here. She’s already fighting .
Her black dress whips around her legs as she moves, blood magic crackling from her fingertips like dark lightning. She's magnificent in her fury, deadly in her grace. As I watch, she flicks her wrist and one of Edmund's soldiers goes flying, his armor crumpling inward as if crushed by an invisible fist.
She's defending my kingdom. My subjects. Without hesitation, without thought—she just jumped into the fight.
Something warm unfurls in my chest. How did she know?
"Protect your kingdom!" I command, and my card-soldiers surge forward. They move in perfect formation, their paper bodies a deadly force of sharp edges and precise strikes. I direct them with small gestures, positioning them to trap Edmund's army between their advance and the border's magical barriers.
Ravenna's eyes meet mine across the battlefield, and a jolt of understanding passes between us. Without a word, we begin to work in tandem. Her magic herds the enemy soldiers into my card-soldiers' formation. My troops drive them back into range of her deadly spells.
It's as if we've fought together for years, each anticipating the other's moves. Where my organized formations create structure, her wild blood magic brings chaos. Where her power focuses on individual threats, my soldiers control the overall flow of battle.
"Behind you!" she shouts, and I spin to find one of Edmund's men lunging for me. Before I can react, a bolt of Ravenna's magic slams into him, sending him crashing into a tree. The impact caves in his armor like it's made of tin.
"Three o'clock!" I call back, directing my card-soldiers to block an attack aimed at her blind spot. We move as though we’re dancers in a deadly ballet, each protecting the other while striking at our common enemy. The sensation is euphoric—having someone at my back whom I can trust, whose power complements my own, whose very presence makes me stronger.
Trust . The concept is almost foreign after years of ruling through fear. And yet, in the midst of battle, I find myself trusting Ravenna implicitly. Trusting her magic, her judgment, her commitment to our unexpected alliance.
But something's wrong with Edmund's soldiers. They're fighting too mechanically, too mindlessly . Their movements lack the fluidity of trained warriors, the adaptability of thinking combatants. Instead, they advance with robotic precision, following patterns rather than responding to the chaos of battle. And they're carrying crystal devices that seem to dim the very air around them.
"The crystals!" Ravenna shouts, apparently noticing the same thing. "They're draining the ambient magic!"
That would explain why my border's barriers seem weaker. I gesture sharply, and my card-soldiers begin targeting the crystal devices. The soldiers fight to protect them with single-minded determination, but they're outnumbered.
Finally, one of my soldiers lands a critical strike. A crystal shatters, and magic explodes outward in a concussive wave that knocks everyone off their feet. I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from my lungs. The world spins momentarily, a kaleidoscope of red and black and silver.
When the dust settles, Edmund's forces are retreating, dragging their wounded with them. Only a dozen or so soldiers, like the March Hare said.
A test , then. A probe of our defenses. And we failed.
I push myself to my feet, wincing at the pain in my ribs. Nothing broken, I think, but I'll have spectacular bruises by nightfall. I survey the damage. Several of my card-soldiers are shredded beyond repair. The unicorn and dormouse are dead, along with a talking badger and two crystal-spined hedgehogs. The loss hits me harder than I expect.
In the past, I viewed my subjects as resources—particularly the magical creatures, whose abilities made them useful tools in maintaining control over Underland. Their deaths would have been inconvenient, perhaps, but nothing more. When did that change? When did I start seeing them as beings deserving of protection, of grief when they fall?
Perhaps around the same time I began to see another queen as someone to fight alongside rather than against.
"Your Majesty!" A card-soldier rushes to check on me, but I wave him away. Instead, I walk to where the unicorn fell, kneeling beside its broken body. Silver blood stains my skirts, but I can't bring myself to care. The creature's horn, once luminous with magical energy, has dulled to the color of tarnished pewter. Its eyes, still open, reflect nothing now.
Soft footsteps approach, and then Ravenna is kneeling beside me. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "I tried to reach them sooner, but..."
"Why did you fight?" I ask, not looking at her. "They weren't your subjects to defend."
"They were being slaughtered." Her voice hardens. "I came as fast as I could. My mirror told me in the final minutes leading up to it."
I turn to her then, and I really look at her. Her hair is wild from battle, her pale skin flushed with exertion. A cut on her cheek bleeds sluggishly, and her dress is torn at the shoulder. Magic still crackles occasionally at her fingertips. She's the most magnificent thing I've ever seen.
"You're hurt." I reach up without thinking, touching the cut on her cheek. Magic sparks between us, and she inhales sharply. The same connection we felt at first touch resurges, power flowing between us like water finding its level. Her wound begins to close under my fingers, blood magic and heart magic working together to knit flesh.
"It's nothing." But she doesn't pull away from my touch. "Your magic... It feels different here. Wilder ."
"Everything's wilder here." I smooth my thumb along her cheekbone, watching as my touch leaves a smear of unicorn blood on her pale skin. “Including you.”
Her eyes darken, and she catches my wrist. She pulls me closer, her other hand coming up to cup my face. We're both breathing harder, though whether from the battle or the intensity of what we’re feeling, I can’t be sure.
"Scarlett..." My name on her lips sounds perfect.
I lean in, drawn by more than magic. Her lips part, and I can feel her breath against mine—
"Your Majesty!" A card-soldier's voice shatters the moment. "We've caught one of them. He's alive."
We spring apart, and I silently curse every card-soldier in my kingdom. Ravenna stands in one fluid motion, straightening her torn dress with as much dignity as a queen can muster. I rise more slowly, conscious of my silver-stained skirts and disheveled hair.
"Bring him to the throne room," I command, my voice remarkably steady considering how fast my heart is beating. "We'll question him there."
Ravenna nods, suddenly all business. “Edmund's forces will be back, and in greater numbers.”
She’s right. I should be focused on planning our defenses, interrogating our prisoner, and preparing for war.
Instead, all I can think about is how close I came to kissing her, and how much I want to try again.
With a sigh, I turn to the grim task of burying my fallen subjects. The unicorn's horn has already begun to fade, its magic seeping back into my wild kingdom. Above me, the roses whisper to each other, their painted petals dripping red like blood.
We have a prisoner to question. And something tells me we're not going to like what he has to say.
T he prisoner kneels on the cold marble floor of my throne room, his head bowed, his iron armor removed by my card-soldiers. Without his helmet, I can see that he's young—perhaps twenty, with close-cropped blond hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. He looks ordinary. Human . Not at all like the mindless automaton he appeared to be on the battlefield.
Ravenna stands beside my throne, her torn dress replaced with a fresh black gown, her hair once again perfectly arranged. Only a faint pink line on her cheek remains, still healing despite our magical intervention.
"Your name," I demand, keeping my voice cold. This man participated in the slaughter of my subjects. His youth , his humanity , are both irrelevant. He’s an enemy combatant, and I will treat him as such.
He remains silent, head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor.
"I said , your name." I stand, descending the steps of my throne to circle him slowly. "Unless you prefer 'prisoner' for the remainder of your exceptionally short life."
Still nothing. Not so much as a flinch at my implicit threat.
Ravenna moves closer, those blue eyes narrowed in concentration. "Something's wrong with him," she murmurs. "Look at his eyes."
I bend down, forcing his chin up with one hand. His eyes are ... wrong. The irises are clouded, the pupils unnaturally dilated. But worst of all is the absolute emptiness behind them. No fear, no defiance, no recognition that he's being addressed at all.
"He's been ensorcelled," Ravenna says, crouching beside us. She traces a finger along the side of his face, and I see blood magic shimmer beneath her skin. "But it's not like any mind control I've encountered before."
"Can you break it?" I ask.
She hesitates, studying the man's vacant expression. "I can try. But it may damage his mind permanently. Whatever this spell is, it's integrated with his consciousness, not simply layered over it."
"Do it," I command. "We need information more than we need to protect an enemy soldier."
Ravenna nods in agreement, pressing her palm against the man's forehead. Magic flows from her hand, making dark veins spread across his skin. He doesn't react, doesn't even blink as her power seeps into him.
For several long moments, nothing happens. Then, suddenly, the man's body goes rigid. His back arches, his mouth opens in a silent scream, and his eyes—those empty, clouded eyes—begin to glow with an unnatural black light.
"Something's fighting back," Ravenna says through gritted teeth. Sweat beads on her forehead as she pushes more magic into the connection. "It's not just mind control. It's... corruption. Like the sigil you found on the charred card."
Around us, the air grows heavy, charged with conflicting magical energies. The roses decorating my throne room begin to wilt, their petals blackening at the edges. The marble floor beneath the prisoner cracks, thin lines spreading outward like a spiderweb.
"Ravenna," I say, alarmed by the physical effects of magical backlash. "Ravenna, stop ."
But she's too deep in the working, her focus absolute as she battles whatever force has taken root in the prisoner's mind. Magic crackles around her like sparks, and for the first time, I see the true extent of her power. This isn’t controlled. This is something primal, dangerous, a force of nature barely contained within human form.
The prisoner begins to seize, foam forming at the corners of his mouth. Black veins continue to spread across his skin. But where hers glow, his appears sickly.
"Enough!" I grab her shoulder, channeling my own magic into the touch. Heart magic, wild and chaotic, floods through our connection, disrupting the flow of blood magic. The shock of it breaks her concentration, severing the link between her and the prisoner.
Ravenna gasps, falling back onto the marble floor. The prisoner collapses at the same moment, his body going limp as a puppet with cut strings. For a terrifying second, I think they're both dead.
Then Ravenna coughs, pushing herself up on shaking arms. The prisoner remains still, but I can see the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
Alive .
"What happened?" I demand, helping Ravenna to her feet. Her skin is clammy beneath my touch, her eyes unfocused. There’s an instant buzz between us as we touch, but I push down the feeling. "What did you see?"
"Darkness," she whispers. "His very essence has been twisted into something it was never meant to be." She shudders, leaning heavily against me. "I saw Mara. She was performing some kind of ritual with those crystal devices, but they weren't just draining magic. They were converting it. Transforming it into something else."
"Transforming it how?" I signal for my card-soldiers to remove the unconscious prisoner. He's useless to us now, but perhaps the royal physicians can stabilize him enough for another attempt at questioning later.
"I'm not sure." Ravenna watches as the soldiers carry the man away. "But whatever she's doing, it's unnatural. Magic has rules, limitations . This... this felt like a violation of the laws of magic."
I lead her to a chair, concerned by the tremor in her hands. She pushed herself to her limits.
"You need rest," I tell her, gesturing for a servant to bring water. "That kind of magical expenditure—"
"There's no time for rest." She accepts the water but doesn't drink it, rolling the crystal goblet between her palms instead. "Mara is doing something that threatens both our kingdoms. We need to understand what it is before she advances to the next stage."
"And we will." I find myself placing a hand on her shoulder, offering comfort as I try my best to ignore the hum between us. "But not at the cost of your collapse from magical exhaustion."
She looks up at me, those blue eyes sharp despite her evident fatigue. "Since when does the Queen of Hearts concern herself with another's well being?"
"Since that other became an ally worth preserving." The admission comes more easily than I expected. "You fought for my subjects today. You risked your mind trying to extract information from our prisoner. These are not the actions of someone I can afford to lose to overexertion."
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "How pragmatic."
"I am a sensible queen." But even as I say it, I know it's not the whole truth. My concern for her goes beyond strategic calculation. I care in a way I haven't allowed myself to care for anyone in years. The realization is terrifying.
Ravenna finally takes a sip of the water, color gradually returning to her cheeks. "We need more information. My mirror may show us more.”
"Then we should go to Darkmore," I decide. "As soon as you're recovered enough to travel."
Ravenna studies me over the rim of her goblet, those penetrating eyes missing nothing. "You surprise me, Queen of Hearts."
"Perhaps I'm learning to rule more gently." I meet her gaze directly. "Or perhaps I simply recognize an extraordinary opportunity when I see one."
"And what opportunity is that?"
"The chance to understand you more." I lean forward, lowering my voice though we're alone in the throne room. "Don't tell me you're not curious about what is happening between us."
"Curiosity can be dangerous," she says, but I see the interest flickering in her eyes. "Particularly for queens with kingdoms to protect."
"Everything worthwhile carries risk." I stand, smoothing my battle-stained skirts. "Rest today. We'll leave for Darkmore tomorrow at dawn."