Chapter 1
Chapter
One
SCARLETT
M y crown sits heavy on my head as I survey my morning court from my gilded throne. Its weight is a reminder of the power I wield, the fear I command, and the order I must maintain. Below me, the marble floors of the Castle of Cards shimmer with an iridescent glow—black and red, always black and red—while my subjects await my judgment.
The light streaming through the stained-glass windows casts kaleidoscopic patterns across their upturned faces. I observe them from my elevated position, noting the subtle signs of anxiety rippling through the crowd. A duchess fidgets with her delicate lace collar. A knight's armored fingers tap against his thigh. Even the magical creatures, who should be accustomed to the wilds of Underland, hold themselves unnaturally still in my presence. Only the red roses adorning my throne room remain vibrant and unbothered—as they should, after my soldiers spent the better part of the morning painting each petal to perfection.
I shift slightly, feeling the corset beneath my gown dig into my ribs. Each breath I take sets the ruby gemstones aflame in the morning light—a reminder to all who gaze upon me that I am both beautiful and dangerous. A queen to be admired yet feared.
The accused nobleman kneels before me, his fine silk jacket now wrinkled from the rough handling of my card-soldiers. Lord Preston . Once a trusted advisor, now a fucking traitor who thought he could slip away in the night with my kingdom's secrets. He was caught at the southern border with documents detailing Underland's magical defenses.
The evidence against him is damning, really, and the punishment has been predetermined, yet still we play this game of supplication and judgment. It's a necessary theater—one that reinforces the natural order of my kingdom.
"My Queen," he pleads, his voice trembling. "I meant no harm. The documents were merely—"
"Silence." The word cracks through the air. I lean forward, letting him see the cruel curl of my painted red lips. "You dare to steal from your queen and then lie to her face? Do you think me a fool, Lord Preston?"
My voice carries the perfect blend of disdain and controlled rage, a tone I've spent years perfecting. It's the same voice that has ordered countless executions, made hardened warriors tremble, and has ensured that even the most magical of creatures in my realm remember their place.
The entire court holds its breath. Even the Mock Turtle has ceased his eternal weeping, and the March Hare's perpetual trembling has momentarily stilled.
I rise from my throne, my ruby-encrusted gown catching the light and throwing crimson shadows across the walls. The dress is a masterpiece, layers of blood-red silk that cinch at my waist before flowing out like the petals of a deadly flower.
My movements are deliberate as I descend the steps to stand before him. My heels click against the marble, each step fracturing the silence until I tower over his kneeling form.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" I circle him slowly, enjoying the way he holds his breath when I pass behind him. "Did you think the Queen of Hearts wouldn't feel the betrayal of one of her own?"
I pause directly behind him, close enough that I know he can feel my breath against his neck. I lower my voice to a whisper meant only for him. "Did you forget that I have eyes everywhere? That the very roses you passed in the garden would whisper your treachery to me?"
He shivers, understanding too late that in Underland, even the flowers serve the queen.
"Please, Your Majesty—" His frightened pleas are pathetic, and a waste of this court's time. A waste of my precious time.
" Off with his head !" I bellow for the entire room to hear. I've had enough of him, and quite frankly, he's had this coming.
The words ring out, sending a delightful tingle of familiarity down my spine. My card-soldiers move immediately, their paper-sharp edges gleaming as they drag the struggling nobleman away. His protests echo through the hall until the heavy doors slam shut behind them. The sound reverberates through my throne room, a satisfying punctuation to my judgment.
I return to my throne, adjusting my crown of gold and rubies. Another execution, another example made. This is how order is maintained in a kingdom where reality bends like a dream and magic runs wild through every creature's veins.
Yet as the court resumes its normal activities—the Duchess arguing with the cook, the Dormouse falling asleep in his teacup, the Knave of Hearts sneaking tarts when he thinks no one is looking—I find myself wondering, not for the first time, if there could be another way. The thought is fleeting, dangerous , and I dismiss it before it has a chance to fester. Underland requires a firm hand. It requires fear. It requires me .
A flutter of pink catches my eye— Gariel , my favorite flamingo, its crystalline feathers tinkling like wind chimes as it approaches my throne. Unlike the flesh-and-blood flamingos of other realms, the birds of Underland are partially translucent, their feathers catching the light and transforming it into delicate music. Gariel is particularly magical, capable of changing the tune of its chimes to match my moods—a trait that makes it invaluable as both a lookout and a confidant.
Its long neck bows in submission before it speaks. "My Queen, there's movement at the eastern border." The words are bright and airy as it speaks, almost like there's a flute permanently lodged within the tight confines of its throat.
I sit straighter, my interest piqued.
"What kind of movement?"
"Dark mist, Your Majesty. It appears to be reinforcing the border between Underland and Darkmore."
I tap my fingers against the armrests of my throne, the rhythmic click of my nails against solid gold echoing my thoughts. Reinforcing borders typically precedes more aggressive action—a harsh lesson I learned during my parents' overthrow. "When did this begin?"
"Just before dawn, Your Majesty. The border guards report that the mist carries whispers—unintelligible, but distinctly magical." Gariel's feathers shift, creating a minor chord that reflects the tension of its news.
Darkmore . Queen Ravenna's kingdom. The thought of her has my fingers tightening on the armrests of my throne. We've never met, but her reputation precedes her—a witch-queen who rules through blood magic, consulting only with her prophetic mirror, managing to keep her kingdom shrouded in perpetual twilight. Some whisper that her isolation has driven her to madness.
She’s a threat. And now she's fortifying her borders.
"Send for the Gryphon, immediately ." The Gryphon serves as my informer. His ability to soar undetected above neighboring kingdoms makes him invaluable for gathering intelligence.
Gariel bows again and retreats without another word, its lucid feathers creating a melody of soft chimes. While I wait, I watch my card-soldiers in the palace gardens through the towering windows. They move with military precision, painting the white roses red—a daily ritual that must be maintained for the kingdom's magic to flow properly. The roses are particular about their color; they must be the exact shade of fresh blood. Too bright, and they become sickeningly cheerful; too dark, and they begin to wilt. The perfect crimson hue makes them vibrant, ensuring the kingdom's power is flowing and balanced, which keeps me in control.
The Gryphon arrives moments later, his golden feathers ruffled from flight. Unlike most gryphons, who are merely half-eagle and half-lion, the gryphons of Underland have feathers that contain flecks of real gold and claws capable of slicing through enchanted armor. They're fiercely intelligent and unwaveringly loyal—at least, as long as their loyalty is properly rewarded.
"Your Majesty." He bows low, his eagle eyes never leaving mine. Trust , in Underland, only extends so far.
"Report," I demand. Time is a luxury I do not have.
"Queen Ravenna has increased military training in her kingdom. The dark forces are gathering more frequently, and her army appears to be preparing for something..." his voice fades before he continues. " Significant ."
I tap my fingers against the throne, considering this news. A military build-up combined with border reinforcement suggests preparations for either defense or aggression. Neither of which bode well for the current peace.
"And what of the diplomatic summit this evening?" I ask, referencing the long-scheduled meeting between our kingdoms. It had been arranged months ago, a formality meant to renegotiate trade agreements and border patrols. It suddenly seems like it might serve a more crucial purpose.
"Queen Ravenna’s attendance is confirmed. She will be traveling with a small retinue—her commander and her liaison to Underland."
Ravenna . Her name alone sends an unwelcome flutter through my chest. The infamous Queen of Darkmore. Tales of her beauty and ruthless power have passed my ears more often than I can count. They say she's the fairest in all the lands, that her magic runs as dark as her reputation.
They say many things about Queen Ravenna. Tonight, I'll have a chance to discover which rumors might be true.
"Very well." I wave my hand in dismissal, but the Gryphon hesitates.
"There's more, My Queen. Our insiders have reported that her mirror has been especially active lately. We can only speculate at this time, but it appears to be influencing the movements of the Darkmore army."
This gives me pause. Ravenna's mirror is legendary, almost as famous as she is. While my power comes from fear and strict control, hers reportedly stems from foreknowledge—the ability to see possible futures and navigate them to her advantage. If it's showing her visions of the future...
"Double the guards tonight. I want eyes on her every moment that she's in my castle. She doesn't breathe without supervision."
The Gryphon bows and takes flight, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Through the open windows, my eyes catch a card-soldier just as he slips with his paintbrush, leaving a thick streak of white visible on one of the roses. Without hesitation, I raise my hand and cleanly snap my fingers. The soldier explodes into a shower of playing cards that flutter to the ground.
The other soldiers work faster, their brushes moving desperately while they try to maintain precision. They know the price of imperfection in my kingdom. The slightest imbalance will siphon the kingdom's power faster than we can mend it, and it takes years to recover.
Tonight, I will finally meet Queen Ravenna face-to-face. The thought sends another vibration through my chest, this one accompanied by a spike of anticipation. She rules through prophetic magic and isolation; I rule through fear and spectacle.
Two queens.
Two approaches to power.
Two women who have sacrificed normalcy for the burden of a crown.
It's the thrill of finally being able to match the rumors to a face, nothing more.
I rise from my throne, already planning my attire for the evening. If Ravenna is truly the fairest of them all, then I shall be the most magnificent.
"Prepare my chambers," I command the nearest card-soldier. “I have a queen to provoke.”
The words taste like a threat on my tongue, but somewhere in the back of my mind, a traitorous little voice whispers that perhaps I mean them as something else entirely. The thought is disturbing enough that I push it away immediately, focusing instead on strategies for the upcoming summit.
I walk to the window, watching as the final few playing cards drift down to replace their fallen comrade. They'll learn. They always do. Fear is the greatest teacher I've ever known—it's what kept me alive when my parents were overthrown, what showed me that kindness is merely weakness wearing a pretty mask.
Toward the end of my youth, rebels infiltrated the castle during a harvest celebration. They slaughtered my parents in their thrones, spilling royal blood across the marble floors. I survived only because the Mock Turtle had hidden me in his shell, his tears creating a barrier that masked my sobs from the assassins. That night, after seeing my parents lifeless and cold, I made a vow: I would never allow such weakness again. I would make my kingdom—and myself—so terrifying that none would dare rise against the throne.
Fear became my shield, my weapon, my legacy .
The afternoon sun catches on my ring, the ruby at its center as dark as freshly spilled blood. I twist it absently, remembering the first time I ordered an execution. I was hardly eighteen, my crown still new and heavy on my head. The court had watched, wondering if I would be strong enough, cruel enough, to maintain control of this wild and wonderful kingdom.
But Ravenna... Ravenna is different. She rules through power, not fear. Real power—blood magic that flows through her veins like a birthright. I've heard that her black hair falls like silk and her blue eyes pierce through any lie. That she trusts no one but her mirror, keeping to herself in that dark castle of hers.
She'd do well to remember that my kingdom may seem like a dream, but I've spent a decade transforming it into a nightmare for outsiders.
And yet... my heart beats a little faster at the thought of meeting her. Of seeing if the rumors of her beauty are true. Of matching wits with someone who might be my equal. Is it anxiety? Anticipation? Something else entirely?
"Foolish," I whisper to myself as I shake my head. This is politics, nothing more. Two queens meeting to ensure peace between their kingdoms.
Even if my pulse quickens at the thought of her.
Even if I'm already planning which dress will make the strongest impression.
I turn away from the window, my skirts swishing against the marble floor. "Prepare my ruby and gold gown," I call to the waiting servants. "The one with the plunging neckline."
Let her see exactly who she's dealing with. Let her see that the Queen of Hearts fears no one—not even the most ruthless queen in all the lands.
But as I return to my chambers to prepare, I can't quite silence the voice in my head wondering what she'll think when she sees me. Will her piercing blue eyes linger? Will she find me as intriguing as I already find her?
I push the thoughts away. I am the Queen of Hearts.
Fear, power, and perfectly maintained control.
Tonight, I'll remind everyone—including Queen Ravenna—exactly why I should not be underestimated.
The sun begins its descent as my handmaidens dress me for the evening. They work in silent efficiency, knowing that any mistake could cost them dearly. The ruby and gold gown flows over my form like liquid fire, the low-cut neckline both revealing and powerful. My hair is styled in elaborate curls, ruby combs holding it away from my face. My crown, smaller than the one I wear for official court but no less commanding, is placed precisely at the perfect angle to catch the light.
My cosmetics are applied with similar precision—eyes lined in black to appear larger and more intense, lips painted the exact shade of blood that I've ordered for my roses. Each element of my appearance is calculated for maximum impact: beauty to distract, magnificence to intimidate.
When they finish, I stand before the mirror, examining their work. The woman who stares back at me is undeniably beautiful, undeniably powerful, undeniably dangerous. She is the Queen of Hearts, ruler of Underland, commander of fear.
And tonight, she will meet her match.
"Perfect," I whisper to my reflection, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my gown. "Let's make an impression."