Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
ALICE
My insides are trembling, my hands shaking at my sides as I clench them into fists.
The Queen’s eyes are on me, studying every twitch, every flinch, as if she’s savouring my reaction.
Her lips twist into that sickly smile, the one I thought I’d left in the past. But she’s watching me, drinking it all in.
The guards don’t even bother taking the man and woman out of the room; they haul them off to the side like they’re just props in her twisted game.
The man starts shouting, struggling against them, but it’s no use—too many guards, too many hands.
In a flash, they’ve got him slammed to the floor.
My eyes flick over to the block, its surface dark-stained, with a large bucket beneath it.
This is her chopping block. And she loves it.
They push the woman forward, forcing her to lean over, her head resting on the cold, stained wood. She’s silent, resigned, but I can feel her fear, a terrible, pulsing thing that crawls into my own skin. The executioner raises his blade high.
You don’t have to do this. The words are right there, burning on my tongue. But I hold them back. She wants this. Any protest from me would only make it worse, give her even more of the reaction she’s craving.
I turn, keeping my eyes on her instead, and she’s delighted, practically glowing. My chest tightens as a sickening thump fills the air, the wet sound of steel hitting flesh, followed by the thud of something falling into the bucket.
The man is screaming now. They left him for second on purpose—so he’d have to watch.
Something cold slithers through my veins, ice and dread twisting in my gut.
I swallow down the bile clawing its way up my throat.
I will not gag. I will not give her the satisfaction.
I refuse to even look his way. The blade comes down fast, silencing his protests in a brutal, final thud.
I stare at the Queen instead. Her gaze flicks to mine, pleased, mocking, before she steps back.
She’s not backing away from me—no, she’s simply finished her show, and now she’s savouring the effect.
Her eyes go over each of us, taking in the quiet, horrified silence.
And for just a moment, she holds my gaze, daring me to defy her.
I consider it, just for a second, feel a pulse of anger as if I might stand, storm up to her.
But that’s exactly what she wants. This is her game.
After a beat, she begins to circle us, her guards moving in rhythm around her, her gown swishing smoothly along the marbled floor.
“Does anyone else love party games as much as I?” she announces, but the room is thick with silence.
“No one?” She pauses, turning in a grand swirl of crimson as she raises an eyebrow.
Her finger jabs towards one of her guards. “Thorin. Do you like party games?”
He gives a measured nod. “I do, Your Majesty,” he replies, bowing as he speaks, though his words lack any real enthusiasm.
She nods, almost delighted, and gives him a thoughtful smile. “Me too. What’s your favourite?”
A frown flickers on his face, but he quickly schools his expression back to that stoic readiness for orders, his posture stiff and unmoving.
When he doesn’t respond, she strides over to him, circling him like a vulture. “Come now, Thorin, don’t be shy. Surely, as a child, you attended parties, yes?”
"Yes, your majesty."
"And you played party games?"
"We did."
"And what game would be your favourite?"
Thorin hesitates, just for a beat, like he’s considering his next words carefully. For a moment, I swear I can hear his heartbeat echoing in the silence, as if he’s weighing each word against her wrath. Then, almost too quietly, he says, “Musical chairs, Your Majesty.”
“Oh.” Her eyes light up, scanning the room as though she’s already planning the next spectacle. She claps her hands, grinning with delight. “Oh, yes. Yes. Let’s have some music.”
The musicians are hidden somewhere in the shadows, but the eerie, almost surreal melody fills the air instantly, echoing around the room with an unsettling energy. It’s not a cheery party tune—it’s something haunting and alive, perfectly fitting for the Queen.
The Queen’s smile widens, but there’s nothing warm about it.
Her gaze moves slowly across the room, lingering on each of us in turn, before she swirls back toward her throne.
She raises her arms, as if casting a spell over us all, and the very air thickens, humming with a dark, electric energy. The music grows louder.
“Now, my darlings,” she purrs. “We’ll start with a little warm-up.” She sweeps her gaze over the room, her eyes glinting. The guards slip back into the shadows, disappearing along the edges of the room like ghosts.
My gut twists as the ballroom lights dim, casting long, eerie shadows that slink across the floor. The Queen raises her hands again, her fingers seeming to pull at the shadows like puppets, bending them to her will.
“Shadows,” she says, her voice almost sweet. “They can do such... wonderful things. They reveal, they obscure… they remind us of our own darkness. And tonight, they’ll help me see what you’re all really made of.”
Around me, the other prisoners shift uneasily, glancing at each other in silent fear.
The air is thick with it. Even my own nerves feel tight and frayed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the man from before—the one standing by the pillar, the one who’d looked at me.
His gaze flickers back to me, and something strange flutters in my stomach.
The Queen’s voice snaps me back to reality. “This is how it works, my little darlings,” she says, dragging out each word with a wicked smile. “When the shadows find you, you will dance. If you fight, well… it will hurt.”
The shadows around us begin to thicken, swirling and pooling at our feet. “Dance with your shadow,” she croons, her voice lilting. “Or let it devour you.”
I barely have time to process her words before the shadows start creeping up my legs, cool and whispering against my skin.
In seconds, they’re pulling me forward, forcing me to move in a slow, unnatural rhythm.
My legs respond without my permission, each step stiff and jarring.
It’s not a dance of joy—it’s more like being dragged, every motion twisted and wrong.
“It’s all a game. Just a game,” I whisper to myself, trying to hold onto a shred of control.
But the shadows tighten around me, winding around my legs and waist like vines, binding me to their dance.
There’s a faint hiss in my ear, a taunting whisper I can’t quite understand, but I don’t need to.
This dance isn’t an invitation—it’s an order.
Around me, the other prisoners stumble in the same unnatural rhythm, jerking and staggering under the Queen’s gaze.
I catch sight of the porcelain girl from the cell next to mine.
Her face is tight with fear as she fights each step, her feet moving against her will.
Beside her, a young man is trembling, his wide eyes filled with terror as he’s pulled into his dance.
I bite down on my lip, the sharp pain grounding me. Maybe if I can focus, I can keep a hold of myself. But the shadows only tighten, winding around my arms and pulling me forward, forcing me into a sweeping motion that spins me in a slow, controlled circle.
The Queen’s laughter rises above the music, high and cruel. She’s watching us, entertained. We’re nothing more than toys she’s wound up to play with. This isn’t a party—it’s a show, a game for her to enjoy.
“Move with the shadows,” the Queen croons, her gaze sweeping across the room until it settles on him. My heart lurches. "Oh, come now, Hook," she calls, a dangerous smile curling her lips. "Are you not joining us? Do you not want to dance with your own darkness? I know it’s there."
Hook. Captain Hook? No freaking way.
I try to make sense of that. No. It can’t be. I ... I have to be dreaming. I have to be. There’s no other explanation for this. But he’s standing there, as real as the rest of us. There’s something different about him. Something almost… defiant.
"I’m not much of a dancer," he says, his tone casual, almost bored, but he strides toward her anyway, pushing through us as if the shadows are nothing more than fog.
They seem to part for him, slipping away like they know better than to touch him.
He reaches the Queen and bows, an easy smirk on his lips, offering her his hand.
"Perhaps you and I could have this dance instead. "
The Queen’s lips curl into a smile, one that’s equal parts sweet and lethal. “Oh, you flatter me,” she purrs, her eyes alight with something dangerous.
Hook doesn’t back away, just tilts his head with a grin still in place. "As only you deserve. Shall we dance?"