Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
HOOK
The ballroom is cloaked in an eerie stillness as every one of the Queen’s prisoners are brought in and made to sit on the ridiculous chairs lined up in the centre.
She’s dressed them all in fine attire, and to anyone looking in, it might seem like they’re attending a grand ball.
But there’s nothing elegant about this scene.
They sit back to back, stiff and uneasy, as the Queen lounges on her throne, pretending to be bored.
But I see it—the glint in her eyes, the sharp edge of anticipation.
She’s been waiting for this moment. Her gaze gleams with twisted satisfaction.
The room holds its breath. Every person here—the guards, the prisoners—is part of the Queen’s performance, waiting on edge for the cue.
Her voice cuts through the silence, low and commanding. “Welcome to the Night of Shadows,” she says, her eyes sweeping over the room like a predator surveying her prey.
I lean against a pillar, casually watching.
It’s not hard to guess where this is heading.
The Queen thrives on theatrics, and there’s nothing she loves more than watching people squirm.
She’s cruel, wicked, and predictable. But I’m not here to play her games.
I’m waiting for my moment—the amulet is here, I ‘m certain of it.
It’s not on her; though, I would’ve felt it when she stood too bloody close. That familiar pulse of Neverland’s magic is like a thread pulling at the back of my mind, teasing me. I just need to find it.
But then something else pulls my attention.
There.
I stand a little straighter.
The girl from the mirror.
Her blonde hair is tucked behind a delicate black mask, her gown clinging to her in all the right places—fitting her like it was made for her, just like mine.
She doesn’t belong here, not at all, and yet.
.. there’s something about the way she holds herself.
Something that makes her look like she might belong here after all. She just doesn’t know it yet.
That’s the thing about her.
The Queen’s voice drones on in the background, but I’ve lost interest in whatever pompous rubbish she’s spouting.
My focus is entirely on the woman across the room.
I saw her in that mirror, just a glimpse, but she was angry, defiant.
Seeing her in person is... different. She’s more striking than I expected, and there’s a fire in her eyes that sets something alight in me.
She moves cautiously, her gaze darting around the room like she’s trying to make sense of this madness.
Her fingers grip the edges of her gown, her posture stiff with unease.
The mask hides part of her face, but it doesn’t cover the uncertainty in her eyes—or the way she bites her bottom lip, like she’s trying to hold herself together.
I shift, keeping myself in the shadows, watching her. She doesn’t know I’m here—not yet—but I can’t deny the way my chest tightens when I look at her. It’s not just her beauty, though that certainly doesn’t hurt. There’s something more. Something... deeper.
Her eyes sweep the room again, and then—just for a moment—they lock onto mine.
There it is.
The spark.
She looks away quickly, but I know she’s seen me.
I feel it. Because a moment later, she looks again, and I suck in a breath.
My pulse kicks up, and I’m not even sure why.
My heart’s supposed to beat for the amulet, not her.
But she’s got my attention now. And as she turns her gaze back to the Queen, I’m still watching her.
The Queen rises from her throne, offering her hand to her captain, who rushes to her side like a loyal dog.
He takes her hand, helping her down the steps.
She’s heading towards the woman. With a flick of her head, two guards approach from either side, moving towards the prisoners, but the Queen raises her hand, stopping them.
And then two idiots lean into each other. I can’t hear what they say, but words pass between them.
The Queen lets go of her captain and strides toward the two prisoners, her eyes narrowing with cold disdain.
One of them sits straighter, whispering to the other, their voices soft, but not soft enough.
“Did I give you permission to speak?” the Queen’s voice slices through the tension, sharp and unforgiving.
One of the prisoners is a young lad, barely out of his teens. His suit’s too big, his eyes wide with fear. Dark hair falls messily around his face, sweat glistening on his forehead. He tries to sit up straighter, like sitting properly will somehow save him from the Queen’s wrath.
Next to him is a woman, older, with streaks of grey threading through what was once thick, black hair.
Her gown, while beautiful, is torn at the hem, as though she’s had to fight for every inch of dignity.
She looks like someone who’s seen better days—maybe even someone who’s fought her way through worse than this.
But despite the hardness in her eyes, there’s a flicker of fear she can’t quite hide.
Neither of them speak now, but their nervous glances betray them.
“Answer me,” the Queen’s voice rings out, sharp and furious, the kind of yell that cuts through bone. When they don’t, the Queen’s eyes narrow into cold slits, her voice dropping, low and dangerous. “Off with their heads,” she commands.
“No. No Please.”
“Don’t. We didn’t …”
They spit out their apologies, sink back as if they might change the Queen’s mind, but a real ruler would not back down. That would be a weakness.
She doesn't, even as their pleas grow louder.
The guards move swiftly, spears raised, ready to strike. The young man’s eyes widen in terror, and the older woman beside him stiffens, the flicker of fear in her gaze betraying the tough exterior she’s tried to hold on to.
Before they can move, before the guards can do anything, a voice rings out, cutting through the tension.
“No.”
It’s her. The woman. She shoots up from her seat, her voice strong, but there’s a tremor in it. Before she can even take a breath, the guards are on her, spears pointed at her chest. It happens so fast, I barely have time to process it.
The woman stands.
I straighten without thinking, my spine snapping upright as I watch the scene unfold. My breath catches in my throat.
Damn it, what the hell is she doing?
The Queen raises an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with twisted amusement as she takes her time. “Alice, dear,” she says, her voice mockingly sweet, oozing with condescension. “Are we having a problem?”
The woman--Alice, hesitates, but she doesn’t back down. No, she holds her ground, chin high, shoulders squared. “You can’t just cut off someone’s head because they spoke.”
A slow, cruel smile spreads across the Queen’s lips, and I feel a knot twist in my gut.
“I’m the Queen. I can do whatever I want.
" She steps toward Alice, the room falling into a tense silence as she closes the space between them.
“Shall I cut off your head instead?” she asks. “Would you like to take their place?”
Alice doesn’t flinch.
Sit down you fool.
I don’t know why, but something in me tightens. I shift, my eyes locked on her, my chest tight as hell. I’m here for the amulet, I remind myself. Not her. Not this. Not anyone. But damn if I don’t feel the pull, stronger than I want to admit.
My mother’s bleeding heart beats in my chest somewhere.
The Queen’s gaze lingers on Alice, her smile deepening, eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. And then, with a flick of her wrist, she dismisses the moment. “Carry on,” she says coldly.
The guards move forward, their spears raised once again. The prisoners’ fate is sealed, but it’s Alice who lingers in my mind. Her defiance, her fire… it’s dangerous. It’s reckless. And I can’t tear my bloody eyes away.