Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
ALICE
They don’t even give me a second to think. One minute I’m standing there, trying to figure out how to make my grand escape, and the next thing I know, I’m being bundled into something small, round, and... oh, of course, heart-shaped. Seriously?
“Oi. I can walk, you know,” I yell, trying to twist out of their iron grips, but nope. They don’t care. Two of the Queen’s goons lift me like I’m nothing. I’m sure I saw this on CSI once, well, not the queen part, but the being-captured part. Not that it does me any good.
“Hey—what the—put me down,” I kick out, flailing, but it’s like trying to fight against a wall of muscle. Fun.
They practically throw me into the carriage, and I land with a hard thud on the floor. “Ow. Seriously? A little gentleness wouldn’t kill you.”
“Quit complaining, Princess,” one of them sneers before slamming the door shut. The click of the lock echoes in the cramped, dark space.
Great. Just freaking great.
I push myself up, glaring at the polished wooden floor. There’s barely any room to move, let alone stretch out. It’s dark, musty, and smells like... I wrinkle my nose. Old flowers? No, more like metal. Really comforting.
I crawl over to the tiny slit of a window, pressing my face against it to see where we’re headed. The path outside is orange and twisted, like it’s been sewn together from leftover scraps of different roads.
Magic swirls past the window, little sparks of light flickering by as we race down the road.
I sigh, leaning back against the carriage wall. “Okay, Alice. Breathe. You’ve survived worse situations... probably.” I knock on the walls for good measure, half-hoping they’ll hear me and maybe—just maybe—slow down. But, of course, no such luck.
After what feels like ages of being jostled around, the road suddenly dips. I go flying forward, face-planting into the front of the carriage with a lovely smack. “Watch it,” I shout, even though I know no one’s listening.
The ride gets bumpier, rougher. I glance through the slit again and see the path twisting ahead, like we’re on some kind of hellish roller coaster.
We tip forward, and I have to cling to the side for dear life as we hurtle down a steep hill.
My stomach lurches, and for a second, I swear I’m about to lose it.
“Alright, alright, I get it. You’re trying to make me puke. Success.” I groan, gripping tighter as we bounce along.
Eventually—finally—the wild ride slows down.
I push myself up again, peeking through the window.
We’re approaching something. Huge iron gates loom ahead, guarded by—what else?
—more of the Queen’s lovely, charming soldiers.
Beyond the gates is a massive palace, all sharp angles and dark towers stabbing into the sky.
“At least we’re here.”
The carriage jerks to a stop, throwing me forward again.
I hear chains clanking, the groaning of the gates swinging open, and the heavy stomp of boots outside. Lots of them. There’s shouting too, orders being barked out like this is some kind of military operation. Lovely.
The door swings open, and before I can even blink, I’m yanked out of the carriage by rough hands. “Hey. Easy.” I try to pull free, but they’ve got a vice grip on me, marching me straight through the gates towards the looming palace.
“I can walk, you know,” I grumble, but they’re not interested.
As we cross the courtyard, I steal glances at the palace. Black towers stretch into the distorted sky, red flags flutter ominously in the breeze, and the air smells like metal and smoke.
Heart banners flutter from the turrets, pumpkins line the grounds, and skeletons—ones I’m hoping are fake, but strongly suspect aren’t—dangle like grotesque decorations. I try to take it all in, but the goons hauling me along aren’t exactly giving me a leisurely tour.
Just as I’m bracing myself for the grand reveal, thinking maybe I’ll finally find out what the Queen wants with me and all this mystery nonsense, they jerk me to the left.
The sudden turn nearly knocks me off my feet, but of course, they don’t bother slowing down for me to catch my balance. Why would they?
I open my mouth to complain, but the big one—the one doing most of the dragging—spins me around, his face inches from mine. “If I hear another word out of you, I’ll pull your teeth out and wrap a gag around your head. Do you understand?”
My top lip curls, and I do my best to square my shoulders. “You could’ve just asked me to be quiet. No need for the dramatic threats.”
He leans in even closer, and yikes, his breath smells like he gargles with swamp water.
“Be quiet. I’m not asking.” Then, without waiting for a response, he yanks me forward again, practically dragging me along the side of the palace.
And yep, after another glance at the bones hanging around? Definitely real skeletons.
We approach a small gate, where two more guards open it with the same lack of ceremony as everything else around here.
The brute beside me shoves me through the narrow opening, and I nearly faceplant into the stone wall.
The air in here is damp and stale, and despite the dire situation, a small, absurd thought creeps in: what would Mum think of this place?
She’d probably have a heart attack at the sight of the cobwebs alone.
They shove me down a flight of stairs. And then another. And another. Honestly, how far down are we going? It’s pitch black, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to break my neck before we even get wherever the hell we’re headed.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, trying to sound calm, but of course, no one bothers to answer. “The Queen invited me, you know. I’m supposed to be here.”
Still nothing.
I reach out, trying to grab hold of something, but I’m dragged away like I weigh nothing. “If she finds out you shoved me down here—look, I have an invite to her party.”
The brute shoves me forward, hard, and I slam into a metal gate, the sharp clang echoing down the stone walls. “An invite, really?” He snickers, and it’s not a nice sound. “Because she’s the one who told us to put you down here.”