Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ALICE
The ballroom is silent, save for the muffled shuffling of my fellow prisoners, all lined up now, chairs abandoned, every one of us on edge.
The shadows have receded, yet a dark, uneasy air lingers, thick.
I keep my gaze on the Queen. She’s revelling in this.
Exactly as I remember, though somehow worse—or maybe it's just me that’s different.
The girl I was feels a lifetime away. She was brave and strong, curious in a way that seems almost reckless to me now.
Curiouser and curiouser.
The words sit on my lips and echo somewhere in my heart, though this time, they’re tinged with fear.
Was I really brave then? Or just foolish?
A girl with no sense of danger, no thought of death—because, as a child, you think you’re invincible, that nothing can truly hurt you.
Death was something that happens in stories.
Back then, I felt like I would live forever.
The music starts low, a slow, quiet hum vibrating around the room, filling every corner with an ominous energy.
The Queen steps forward, chin lifted high, her head nodding with a terrible, triumphant gleam in her eyes.
She claps her hands, each clap ringing out like a command.
"Let the fun begin," she purrs, voice dripping with wicked delight.
At first, none of us move, frozen under the weight of her power—or perhaps it’s fear that roots us in place.
She raises a brow, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.
"Well? Are you all dimwitted? Move. You know how to play.
" Her hands twist through the air in some silent, impatient instruction, and that’s all it takes.
We begin to shuffle in an anti-clockwise direction, eyes darting to each other and then back to the chairs, tense and alert, as though we could somehow know which one will be removed next.
A guard steps forward, plucking a chair from the line-up and carrying it away with almost casual disdain.
The music picks up, a haunting, dissonant melody that seeps under my skin, clawing at my nerves.
I grit my teeth and step in time with the others, circling, watching, waiting.
We’re all coiled tight, like springs ready to snap.
Then, the Queen raises her hand—a silent command.
Everyone’s eyes shoot to her, searching for any hint, any signal, that might give us an advantage.
The music cuts out abruptly, and panic jolts through me as the room erupts.
Bodies lunge for the chairs, people pushing, pulling, clawing their way forward.
There’s no decorum here, no mercy—only survival.
A young man with wild, terrified eyes stumbles a second too late. Thorin closes in without hesitation, grabbing him roughly and dragging him to the chopping block.
"Off with his head," The Queen’s voice rings out, loud and gleeful, as though this is merely an entertaining pastime.
The young man struggles, a desperate yell ripping from his throat, but no one moves to help.
No one dares. The guards are a wall of indifference, as if he’s nothing more than a pile of dirty washing to be dealt with.
The executioner raises his blade, a flash of steel catching the light, and then—thud.
Blood splatters across the marble, pooling around the base of the block.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to look away.
The guards step forward, hauling away the man’s limp body, leaving only a thick, dark stain behind.
The music kicks back in, and we’re all jolted into motion, resuming our macabre dance around the chairs.
But my gaze clings to the body being dragged off, horror and something else creeping in.
Just as they reach the edge of the room, I catch a strange glint—a faint glow drifting up from his body, streaming towards the Queen.
What the hell is that? Do I imagine it?
No. The Queen inhales deeply, eyes fluttering shut for a brief, almost indulgent moment, as if she’s savouring it.
And the others, too busy scrambling for survival, don’t seem to notice.
But I do. And as her eyes snap open, sharper and brighter than before, it’s clear—the poor man’s life just… fed her.
The shadows around us, the ones that seemed to dance with us before, now swirl more visibly across the floor, dark and sinuous.
I rub my eyes, maybe exhaustion. I’ve got to be seeing things.
But the Queen’s gaze lands on me. My stomach twists, but I refuse to let her see me falter.
Instead, I let my gaze drift—naturally, I find Hook.
He’s standing across the room, calm but intense, with something dark in his eyes.
He saw it too. And unlike the others, he doesn’t look away.
The music starts again, relentless. A guard removes another chair. Around and around we go, lambs walking towards the butcher. My pulse pounds with the rhythm, my steps mechanical, each one dragging me closer to the edge. My breath catches, shallow and tight.
Then, the music cuts out. I lunge for the nearest chair, managing to grab it without hesitation.
But to my left, a middle-aged woman falters, her greying hair hanging loose as she stands, frozen, for half a second too long.
The guards seize her, her face a mask of resignation as they drag her towards the chopping block.
She doesn’t scream, doesn’t plead—she just stares, her silence a haunting surrender.
The game goes on, pitiless as the Queen’s smile grows sharper. Her voice booms across the room. “Off with her head.”
The blade falls again, and I catch that faint shimmer—a pull of shadows and light, drifting towards the Queen.
She inhales it, her skin seeming to gain colour, a touch of vitality.
But no one notices again. Everyone’s too numb, too focused on survival to pick up on it.
She’s broken them down to exactly what she wants—quiet, stunned, and helpless.
My fists clench as a quiet fury builds within me. Is she feeding off them? Fueling her magic with their lives? But why?
I force myself to keep my steps steady, not wanting to give anything away, even as dread gnaws at my bones.
Around me, others are barely holding it together, their expressions pale and terrified, some on the verge of breaking entirely.
I catch sight of Hook, moving through the crowd with an almost lazy grace, like none of this touches him.
But when our eyes meet, there’s a look in his—a hint of something that feels almost like reassurance.
It throws me. Hook is dangerous, every bit the ruthless pirate of fairy tales, but this. .. it’s unsettling.
The music stops abruptly, and another prisoner is seized. A boy, barely out of his teens, stands there, wide-eyed but silent as they drag him to the block. I grit my teeth as the blade falls, and the Queen all but shivers, drinking in his life with her eyes half-closed in satisfaction.
Does no one else see it?
I want to scream, to call her out, but what good would it do? She’d only laugh, relishing in my misery as much as the others’. I glance at Hook again, my gaze catching his. He’s watching me, his expression unreadable behind his mask, but there’s a gleam in those dangerous eyes I can’t quite place.
Another round, another prisoner lost. The woman next to me trembles, barely holding herself together as she scrambles for a chair. It’s becoming too much. The air is thick with fear, shadows clinging to us, feeding on our terror, just as the Queen feasts on their lives. I’m sure of it.
I hold my ground, forcing down the nausea that rises each time I catch her twisted smile. With each body that piles up, I feel myself weakening, every part of me screaming to get out of here.
The music stops once more, and I barely make it to a chair in time. My heart hammers as I watch yet another prisoner fall. The blade swings down, the Queen takes another life.
No, no. Stop it. God.
They’re not real. This is not real. Just a dream. A dream and in a moment, I’ll wake up.
The music stops. A chair is taken.
Rosie. Oh, god. “Rosie …”
Her gaze meets mine. The guards sweep in.
“Leave her alone.” I don’t care about the rules anymore, don’t care about the Queen or her twisted game. I break out of line, shoving past a few trembling prisoners to get to her. Rosie’s eyes meet mine, wide and pleading, as one guard clamps his hand on her arm, dragging her towards the block.
“Get your hands off her.” My voice is raw, shaking with a rage that’s stronger than any fear I feel right now. I lunge for the guard’s arm, fingers digging in, but he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he spins, forcing me back with a shove. I stumble but keep my footing.
I lunge at him, my fists flying, desperate, rage boiling over. My hands connect with cold metal and unyielding armour, but I don’t care. All I can see is Rosie’s wide, frightened eyes, her tiny porcelain hand reaching for mine.
“Let her go,” I scream, twisting out of a guard’s grip and shoving at the one dragging Rosie. “You don’t have to do this. Take me. Take me instead.”
One of them grabs my arm, twisting it painfully behind me. I twist, my other hand clawing, my voice raw and wild, “I said, let her go.”
“Alice.”
His voice is low and steady, right behind me, but I ignore him, my eyes fixed on Rosie’s face, pale and cracked, her lips trembling. Another guard grabs me, and I shove them back, my strength waning, but my rage keeping me on my feet.
“Alice,” he says again, sharper this time. It’s not a guard. It’s Hook. Hook’s pulling me back, yanking me out of the guards’ hold with one powerful tug. I whirl on him, thrashing against his grip, my voice hoarse with rage. “Let me go, damn you.”
“Alice, enough.” His voice is like steel, hard and unforgiving, but I’m too far gone to care.