Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
RAVENNA
T he carriage rocks gently as we travel toward Underland. Beside me, Scarlett gazes out the window, her expression troubled. Our hands are linked, and she’s rubbing her thumb over mine with anxious strokes.
I study her profile in the shifting light. The Queen of Hearts, feared ruler of Underland, is a complicated tapestry of strength and vulnerability. The fiery curls of her hair catch in the increasing sunlight as we approach her kingdom.
The soldiers' revelations haunt me. The seed is planted. Now we merely wait for it to bloom. My sister always had a gift for manipulation, for finding weaknesses and exploiting them. What if our growing connection—this thing I've come to cherish—is actually her greatest triumph?
"You're questioning everything," Scarlett says softly, her voice cutting through my thoughts. It's no longer surprising when she senses my mental state; our minds brush against each other constantly now, thoughts and emotions flowing between us effortlessly.
"Aren't you?" I counter, turning to face her fully. "After what they said?"
"Of course." Her free hand comes up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. "But I still believe what I said before. What flows between us doesn't feel like corruption. It feels like..."
"Balance," I finish when she hesitates. "Like pieces fitting together as they were meant to."
She nods, relief evident in her expression. "Exactly. And if Mara believes she can use that connection for her purposes, then perhaps we simply need to understand it better than she does. Control it more effectively."
"The Blood Tree responded to you," I muse, following this line of thought. "A source of blood magic that should, by all historical precedent, reject any power not of Darkmore's royal line. Yet it accepted you as if you belonged."
"And the roses in Underland have changed," Scarlett adds. "My card-soldiers report black roses blooming throughout the kingdom, while the traditional red ones develop black veins."
I consider this, idly twisting a strand of hair with my free hand. "We're working toward the same thing through vastly different strategies."
The realization shifts something in my understanding of what we face. Mara isn't wrong about the need for unification—she's wrong about the method . The corruption she spreads isn't the goal; it's her twisted approach to a legitimate problem.
One queen must fall for the other to serve as guardian of unified magic. The mirror didn't specify which of us would pay that price, but I suspect it will be me. My blood magic makes me the natural conduit for transformation—the perfect sacrifice to ensure balance.
Scarlett's eyes narrow as she studies my face. "You think it'll be you," she states, not questioning. "You've believed all along that you'll be the one to fall."
I don't deny it. She can practically read my thoughts at this point. "Blood magic has always required sacrifice. It seems fitting that the ultimate unification would demand the ultimate price from Darkmore's queen."
"No." The force in her voice surprises me. "The mirror didn't specify either of us. The future isn't determined."
"Scarlett—"
"We find another way," she snaps, her grip on my hand tightening. "There's always another path. I refuse to accept that either of us will be lost."
I want to believe her. With every fiber of my being, I want to trust that we can defy the mirror's vision, that we can achieve unification without sacrifice. But my years of being a queen have taught me that power always demands payment.
The carriage crosses into Underland fully now, the darkness giving way to vibrant sunshine. The transition is jarring after the subdued atmosphere of Darkmore, yet I find it less disorienting than before. My eyes adjust quickly, my senses attuning to the wild magic that permeates Scarlett's kingdom. It feels less foreign than it once did.
Through the window, I notice the roses lining the road to the Castle of Cards are no longer purely red. As Scarlett mentioned, many have developed black veins and deep burgundy centers, while entirely black blooms appear intermittently among them. But what she didn't mention—perhaps because she couldn't see it from a distance—is that all of them pulse with magic that combines both of our signatures.
"Look," I say, directing her attention to the roses.
She leans closer to my side of the carriage, her eyes widening as she observes them. "They're connected," she whispers. "I can see them drawing power from both of our magics simultaneously."
"A network," I realize. "Just as the crystals create a network for Mara's corruption, these roses are forming a network for our unified magic. They're creating pathways between our kingdoms."
The idea is staggering. If the natural flora of our realms is spontaneously developing channels for our combined power, then this is much grander than we realized.
As we approach the Castle of Cards, I notice the structure itself seems slightly altered—still predominantly red and black, still defying conventional architecture with its impossible angles and living card components, but with subtle modifications. Shadows cling to certain corners with greater persistence, while blood sigils—faint but unmistakable—have appeared spontaneously on some of the marble surfaces.
Scarlett sees it too, her expression a mixture of awe and concern. "My kingdom is adopting elements of yours," she says. "And I'd wager Darkmore is incorporating aspects of Underland as well. We just hadn’t noticed."
The carriage stops before the castle gates where card-soldiers stand at attention. They bow deeply as we exit, their paper forms rustling in the breeze. I notice that several of them now bear small red sigils on their armor—miniature versions of the blood magic symbols that protect Darkmore.
"Your Majesties," they address us in unison, the plural form feeling natural.
Scarlett acknowledges them with a nod, but her attention is focused on the castle itself. I follow her gaze, understanding her concern. If Underland is changing so visibly, what other transformations might be occurring beneath the surface?
The March Hare approaches as we enter the castle, his trembling more pronounced than usual. "Your Majesties," he stutters, ears twitching nervously. "Thank goodness you've returned. Strange things are happening throughout the kingdom."
"What kind of strange things?" Scarlett asks, though I suspect we already know the answer.
"The Duchess reports shadows that move of their own accord in the eastern province," the Hare replies, counting on his fingers. "The Caterpillar says the mushrooms in his garden have developed blood-red caps with black gills. And the flowers—oh, the flowers are speaking in different voices! Deeper, more solemn. They're telling riddles instead of gossip."
I can't help but smile slightly at the earnest way he reports these changes—as if speaking flowers are perfectly normal, but a change in their conversational preferences is cause for alarm. Underland's particular brand of madness has always been fascinating to me.
"And the people?" Scarlett presses. "How are they responding to these changes?"
The Hare's whiskers twitch. "That's the strangest part, My Queen. No one seems particularly bothered. The card-soldiers report feeling 'more grounded.' The chess pieces claim they can now move in ways they couldn't before. Even the Mad Hatter says his tea tastes better when poured clockwise instead of counterclockwise—a change he's quite pleased with."
Relief flows through Scarlett, and I feel it as clearly as if it were my own emotion. Her subjects aren't suffering from the transformation; they're adapting to it, perhaps even benefiting from it.
"Summon my advisors," she tells the Hare. "We need to prepare for a potential attack. Queen Mara will likely target Underland next, and we must be ready."
The Hare bows and scurries off, his pocket watch bouncing against his waistcoat as he goes.
"My chambers first," Scarlett decides, leading me through the familiar red and black corridors of her castle. "We should refresh ourselves before meeting the advisors."
I follow willingly, though I suspect her suggestion has more to do with securing privacy for further conversation than requiring any need for refreshment.
Her chambers are just as I remember them—opulent, dramatic, designed to impress and intimidate. Yet now I notice a few subtle changes here as well. The roses in the golden vases are the same hybrid blooms we saw along the road. The crimson candles burn with a steadier flame than the flickering chaos I recall from my previous visit. And most significantly, a small mirror has appeared on her vanity—not an ornate prophetic glass like mine, but a simple reflective surface that nevertheless radiates faint magical energy.
Scarlett moves to the window to look out over her kingdom. "If our subjects and kingdoms are adjusting so readily to this transformation, perhaps unification truly is the natural state of things."
I join her at the window, taking in the view of Underland below us. From this height, the patterns of change become more visible—patches of midnight sky appearing amid the bright chaos, black roses growing alongside red, creatures from both our kingdoms mingling in the gardens.
"Beautiful," I murmur, not referring only to the landscape, but to the breathtaking woman standing beside me.
Scarlett turns to me, those green-blue eyes searching mine. "I meant what I said in the carriage," she says softly. "I refuse to accept that either of us will be lost. There must be another way."
"What if there isn't?" I ask the question that has haunted me since the mirror's vision. "What if sacrifice is the only path forward?"
Her hand wraps around my waist, drawing me closer. Her touch sends magic coursing between us. "We’ll face it when the time comes. Together ."
The word carries weight, a promise neither of us might be able to keep. Yet, I find myself leaning into her touch, drawing strength from our connection.
Our foreheads touch, and I feel the barriers between us—those careful walls I've maintained so well over the years—dissolve completely. The magic flowing between us becomes overwhelming, no longer merely a trickle but a raging tide.
Scarlett's mouth finds mine, and her tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance that I eagerly grant. I raise my hands to cradle her face, fingers tangling in those fiery curls I've admired since our first meeting. The silken strands wind around my fingers as if they’re alive.
"Stay with me," she whispers against my mouth, her breath warm and sweet. "Just for a while, before they call us back."
I answer by kissing her again, deeper this time, letting my body speak what words cannot fully express. My tongue slides against hers, tasting the essence that is uniquely Scarlett—spiced honey and something unidentifiable yet wild that reminds me of Underland itself. My fingers trace the intricate embroidery of her gown, mapping the contours beneath, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the stiff brocade. The air around us shimmers with magic—red and black energies intertwining, just like the roses in her garden.
“You’re perfect,” I breathe against her as we move deeper into her chambers, past the receiving area to her private bedroom, leaving a trail of hairpins and jewelry in our wake. She’s so fucking beautiful. Her hair flows down her back in a mess of waves and curls, making her look more human and less of the feared queen she forces herself to be.
Her smile in response is radiant, genuine in a way rarely seen from the formidable Queen of Hearts. She begins to unfasten the complicated clasps of my gown, her fingers deft and sure. I shiver as they brush against my spine, each point of contact sending sparks of magic skittering across my skin. I return the favor, finding the hidden hooks that hold her elaborate dress in place, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of skin. Goosebumps rise along her flesh, making the small hairs on her arms stand up.
Layer by layer, we shed the armor of our titles—the heavy brocades and stiff corsetry that announce our royal status to the world. Her stays fall away, revealing full breasts tipped with dusky rose nipples that harden under my heated gaze. My gown pools at my feet, followed by the thin shift beneath, leaving me bare before her hungry eyes. Beneath it all, we are simply women, our skin warm and alive with magic that dances visibly between us.
Scarlett guides me to her bed, the crimson sheets cool against my skin. I've imagined this moment countless times since our connection began forming, yet reality surpasses fantasy. Her hair falls around us like a curtain of fire as she leans over me, her naked body pressing against mine. The weight of her is exquisite, grounding me as the magic threatens to sweep us both away. Her eyes reflect the magic that dances between us, pupils dilated with desire.
"I can feel you," she murmurs, tracing a finger along my collarbone, down between my breasts, leaving a trail of tingling skin in its wake. "Not just physically, but here." She taps her temple, then her chest, directly over her heart.
I understand exactly what she means. As her hands and mouth explore my body, I sense not only my own pleasure but echoes of hers, a feedback loop of sensation that intensifies with each touch. When my fingers find the swell of her breast, cupping its perfect weight, brushing my thumb across the tightened peak, the gasp that escapes her lips resonates within me as well. The pleasure doubles—hers flowing into me, mine into her.
We’re slow, taking time to be in the moment rather than rush to the end. I learn her body as intimately as my own—where to touch to make her breath catch, how to move to draw forth the soft sounds that vibrate against my skin. My fingers trace the curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, mapping her body. Her thigh slides between mine, creating delicious pressure where I need it most.
“Scarlett,” I moan, letting my head fall back.
Without taking her eyes off mine, she uses her mouth to trace patterns across my chest. When her lips close around my nipple, tongue swirling in deliberate circles, I arch beneath her, a moan tearing from my throat. Her teeth graze the sensitive peak, sending shockwaves of pleasure directly to my core. I feel like I’m coming undone. I’m losing control, and I’m beginning to realize there’s no one else I’d rather get lost with.
"You're exquisite," I breathe, watching the flush spread across her cheeks.
The magic builds between us with each caress, visible now—tendrils of red and black energy weaving around our entwined forms, caressing our skin as tangibly as our hands do. Scarlett's mouth blazes a trail down my stomach, her tongue dipping into my navel before continuing lower. Her hands push my thighs wider, exposing me completely to her gaze. I feel no vulnerability, only anticipation, trust, and desperate need .
When her tongue makes first contact with my center, I cry out, fingers clutching the sheets beneath me. She explores me thoroughly, reading my body’s responses as easily as if they were her own. Her tongue circles my clit before flicking directly across it, sending jolts of pleasure through my entire body.
Her fingers trace my entrance, gathering the evidence of my desire before slowly pressing inside. The feeling of fullness, of connection, is overwhelming. Magic surges between us, the visible tendrils pulsing in time with her thrusts. When she curls her fingers forward, finding the spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids, I cry out, lacing my fingers through her hair. Our magic races through us both, and I hear her come undone with me. She’s feeling everything she’s doing to me.
I pull her up to me, needing to taste her lips, to share breath as our bodies share pleasure. The taste of myself on her tongue is intoxicating. My hand slides between us, finding the slick heat between her thighs. She gasps into my mouth as my fingers slip through her folds, circling her most sensitive point before dipping lower to enter her. She grinds against my hand, moaning softly as she moves. Each stroke, each caress is magnified by our connection. And I feel it too. There’s another orgasm building, driven forward with each touch.
Our movements grow more urgent, guided by instinct and the connection that allows me to anticipate her needs before she voices them. I curl my fingers inside her, matching the rhythm she set for me, my thumb rubbing against her clit. Our foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, eyes locked as we climb toward release.
When she trembles against me, I hold her closer, my lips pressed to her throat where I can feel her pulse racing beneath my mouth. Her inner muscles clench around my fingers, her entire body shuddering with pleasure.
"Let go," I murmur against her skin. "I have you."
Her eyes meet mine, vulnerable in a way I've never seen before. Then she surrenders—to pleasure, to our connection, to the transformation occurring within and around us. The wave of her release crashes through me as well, triggering my second climax. Our shared magic crests in brilliant purple light that momentarily illuminates the entire chamber, lifting us both briefly from the bed as if gravity itself has surrendered to our union.
We collapse together, limbs entwined, skin slick with sweat, breathing ragged. Aftershocks of pleasure ripple through us both, each one shared through our connection. The magic settles around us like a blanket, still visible but gentler now, pulsing lazily with our gradually slowing heartbeats.
As we lie together afterward, our breathing synchronizing naturally, I trace idle patterns on her bare shoulder. The hybrid roses in the vase beside her bed have fully bloomed, their petals unfurling to reveal hearts that pulse with the same purple energy that surrounded us at our peak. The air is thick with the scent of them—spicy and sweet, like blood and honey mingled.
"Do you still think sacrifice is inevitable?" Scarlett asks quietly, her fingers laced with mine.
I consider the question seriously, weighing the evidence of our unified magic against the mirror's prophecy. "I don't know," I admit finally. "But I'm beginning to believe there might be another interpretation of 'falling.' Perhaps it doesn't mean death or loss, but..." I gesture to our still-glowing skin, the visible manifestation of our powers. "Surrender. Becoming something new together."
She smiles against my shoulder, her breath warm against my skin. "That's a sacrifice I could make willingly."
"As could I," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple.
A knock at the door interrupts the moment, making my heart drop into my stomach. We need more time together, but queens don’t have that luxury. Not now. Perhaps never.
From the other side of the door, Gariel, Scarlett's flamingo, announces that her advisors have assembled in the throne room.
"We'll be there shortly," she replies, her hand lingering on my naked skin a moment longer before she reluctantly sits up.
We dress each other with care, restoring the outer symbols of our titles. Our magics remain connected even as we don formal attire, a constant awareness humming beneath the surface.
I catch her hand before we reach the door, pulling it to my lips to press a gentle kiss. " Together ," I agree, echoing her earlier assertion.
I believe in us .