Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
ALICE
I wake alone in the bed, the sheets still warm from where Hook had been.
His absence feels… odd. Strange how quickly I’ve got used to his irritating presence.
I figure he’s gone downstairs, though a small part of me wonders if he’s left entirely.
The room is empty except for our discarded clothes from last night—my ruined dress hanging limply over a chair, his tattered shirt tossed aside.
I take my time getting ready, smoothing out the red dress the girl brought me and running my fingers through my tangled hair.
Not that I care too much how I look. It’s just…
practical. I make the bed, straighten the room.
It’s nice and warm in here, a comfort I’m sure we’ll have to leave soon enough.
There’s no way the Queen will let last night’s little escapade go unpunished.
I’m surprised she hasn’t turned up here already.
If I were the Queen, that’s exactly what I’d have done.
Logically, if someone escaped into the water outside my palace, I’d be searching all the stops along the way, and this was the first one. Maybe that was foolish on our part.
The stairs creak under my feet as I leave the room and head downstairs. Something feels different. The air. It’s thick with a strange energy, raising goosebumps along my arms. I pause at the entrance, taking in the scene until my gaze lands on him.
Hook is standing at the other side of the tavern, close to the door, talking to the girl who brought up our food and clothes. He glances up, his gaze immediately finding mine, but even here, something’s off.
It’s not just him, though. It’s everyone, it’s the place. The guests from last night, who’d been little more than hazy figures, are now… perfect. There’s a soft glow to their skin; it’s like they’re lit from within, and their faces… they’re flawless. It’s beautiful, deep and unsettling.
Hook strides towards me. “Good morning, Princess,” he says.
I already want to kill him. “Stop calling me that.” I make my way across the room, and before I can get very far, one of the patrons practically leaps out of his seat, pulling my chair out for me, almost bowing.
Another follows suit, fussing over the table, ensuring I have a comfortable seat.
They murmur things I can’t quite catch, their words clipped, strange.
Hook is watching me. “Enjoying the welcome?”
“What are they doing?”
He lifts a brow, clearly amused and sits down. I hate him. “Serving your breakfast?”
“Don’t be a smartarse. Why?” I put my hand up. “Wait, don’t answer that.”
The table is set, food and tea being brought out to me—to us.
Stacks of it, like a grand buffet. The table is filled with food—eggs, toast, tea.
Hook wastes no time with them. He grabs a plate and starts piling things on.
There’s bacon, sausages, some meats I have no idea about, biscuits. He’s digging in.
One man bows as he sets down a teapot in front of me.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for it.
But a spark jumps between my fingers and the handle—actual blue light dancing in the air. The room goes dead silent, all eyes fixed on me. “Static,” I mumble, bringing my hand back to my lap, rubbing my fingertips together, where they feel like they’re vibrating.
This is just great. I hate attention. I go for the toast instead, placing a piece on my plate, and the moment I reach for the butter, someone hands me the small dish, curls of butter softened just the right amount.
I spread it on the toast. Now I know how goldfish feel—I'm on display, and I’m not sure why.
I take a bite, savouring the warmth, the taste, like I haven’t eaten in days. But I hold back any appreciative sounds because Hook’s watching me, his gaze sharp, and I know him well enough by now to tell he’s waiting for a reaction. One hint of pleasure and he’d be ready with some barbed comment.
He cuts into a slice of something that vaguely resembles bacon, though it smells… different. Tempting, but not quite right.
“Why is everyone staring at me?” I whisper, leaning closer to him. But before he can answer, a young girl skips over, her voice sing-song: “It’s you. You came to help us, didn’t you? You’ll defeat the Queen.”
“Save Wonderland.”
“End the decay.”
“She’s not the one…”
“She’ll make things right…”
My words catch in my throat. I want to tell them I can’t, I won’t. I don’t even know how. But something in me can’t say it. And Hook—I swear to God, I could... he stares at me, and he’s just smiling, amused, annoyingly amused.
It doesn’t matter, though. I don’t get time to say anything, because a large, portly man comes from somewhere else in the room, adjusting his monocle with a precise, almost fussy gesture.
He’s round, his waistcoat strained over his belly, his attire reminiscent of some Victorian caricature, his expression laced with disdain.
“Well, well, isn’t this quaint?” he sneers at me, casting a low, judgmental gaze over me.
I frown at him.
“Our little hero, finally gracing us with her presence.” He looks me up and down like he has the right to, and honestly, what am I supposed to say to this? I could tell him where to shove it, to get lost, right?
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re late. You’re always late. Late, late, late. That’s the trouble.” His smile is thin, his eyes narrow. He sniffs, looking down his nose at me in a way that makes me want to knock that monocle off his smug face.
I take a breath. I will not let this man get under my skin.
“Yes, she’s late,” he insists.
“Very, very late.”
“Well, if someone told me what I was late for…” I lean back, fold my arms.
The man gasps dramatically. “The audacity. It’s not what you’re late for, but that you are late.”
“So I’m not late for anything?”
“No, you’re late for everything.”
“And everything is…?”
“The thing that is everywhere. You’re late.”
Hook stifles a laugh, and I kick him under the table.
It only makes his grin grow even wider, his eyes bright with infuriating challenge.
He shifts in his seat, not even a flinch, as he stands and reaches into his coat to pull out something small and ornate.
It’s a compass, worn and old, the edges etched with strange patterns, the glass slightly warped, catching the light in odd ways.
He flips it open, and the needle spins erratically, whirling like it’s lost its mind, before it stills and points. .. directly at me.
“Yes, she is late, isn’t she.” He pats the man on the shoulder. “You just can’t get the people these days.”
“Is that broken, then?” I ask.
He snaps it shut, bringing his full attention back to the room, back to me.
“It’s not broken. It's just not working.” He comes around to me.
“Perhaps we should be heading out, Princess. We can’t sit around here all morning eating breakfast. Not when you're already late.” He pulls my chair back, shoves his hand under my arm, and hoists me up, giving me no time to protest. “I’ll make sure she’s on time next time. ”
I go to push him back—honestly, the lot of them—but the girl from last night slips through the crowd, moving as easily as if she’s part of the shadows.
She’s clutching a piece of parchment, which she places on the table in front of us, her wide eyes darting between us both before she gives a small, uncertain bow.
Like we’re supposed to make sense of it.
Hook is the first to reach for the parchment.
“What is it?” I ask, watching him as he carefully lifts it, turning it this way and that.
It’s instantly clear—a map, crudely drawn, with strange landmarks scattered across it.
There’s a forest that looks suspiciously tangled and overgrown, a twisted river, and a looping ‘X’ marking one small, ominous spot.
The girl leans in, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “A path to the heart of Wonderland, miss. To a place where things are… hidden.” Her hand flies to her mouth as if she’s said too much, as if that single word, hidden, slipped past her defences.
“Hidden?” I glance at Hook, who’s still examining the map, his gaze sharp with a new intensity, that dangerous spark of intrigue lighting up his expression.
The girl nods, dropping her voice even lower. “It’s where you need to go, but you’ll have to be quick. The Queen watches… she knows.” With that, she presses her lips together and darts back into the crowd, vanishing before either of us can ask anything more.
The Queen. Always her shadow hanging over us. “If the Queen’s watching, then why hasn’t she found us here?” I ask Hook, unable to shake the feeling that we’re being toyed with.
The barkeep’s voice drifts over, his tone oddly calm. “The Queen cannot see this place.”
I nearly forgot he was there, he’s been so quiet and still. “Can’t see it? What do you mean?”
He wipes down the bar with deliberate slowness, his gaze flicking up to me, an odd glimmer of pity in his eyes.
“What is said is not to be spoken,” he murmurs cryptically, and for all its simplicity, it gives me chills.
Then he nods towards the bar, where an egg timer has appeared, its sands slipping downward.
“That… wasn’t there before,” I murmur, moving closer. Inside the glass is an unsettling image—me, but as a child, head bowed in an eerie stillness, and sand rising halfway up, trapping me.
I feel Hook’s presence beside me, his eyes fixed on the timer. His shoulder brushes against mine, a warm, steady weight, but he doesn’t say a word.