“Dry yourself,” she ordered.
Smiling, Dinah walked out onto the balcony, into the afternoon Wonderland sun. Standing with arms outstretched, she felt the droplets of water on her skin shrivel and dry. From the balcony she could see almost all of Wonderland proper, the villages outside the palace that would soon be hers to govern and rule. Dinah allowed herself a deep breath of pleasure as her eyes hungrily ate up everything in sight. Out to the north stretched endless fields of wildflowers, and eventually, the Ninth Sea, though she had never seen it. Beyond that, she knew from her studies, were the dreaded Caves of Mourning, which bordered a massive lake. The lake was called the Todren, home to mermaids and sea monsters, of child’s tales and nightmares. To the east, beyond the plains, she could vaguely make out the topless Yurkei Mountains that lay past the Twisted Wood, where explorers and adventurers went to die at the hands of white bears or the Yurkei Mountain tribes. To the south lay the Darklands, a moist, swamp-like region that hosted rogue Cards and wandering ghosts, the home of the Penitent Swamps and other places of untold horrors.
Closer to her was Wonderland proper, which included dozens of small towns, roads, windmills, and rivers that sat just beyond the iron palace gates—this was HER country—the heart of Wonderland, as far as the eye could see. Dinah raised her arms as if to embrace them all.
Harris popped his head around her red curtain. “We are late, my child! Let’s GO! Dinah, we are very, very late. You do not want the King to be even angrier than he already is.”
Dinah gave her body a final shake in the sun and sullenly walked inside.
“Please sit, Your Highness,” Emily prodded.
Dinah sat. Emily pulled a brush through her thick black hair and Dinah gave a soft whimper. “Oh, stop.”
Her lady-in-waiting tugged lovingly on her ear. “It wouldn’t get so tangled if you took care of it.”
“It wouldn’t hurt so much if you didn’t yank,” Dinah retorted. Emily clucked her tongue.
After the brushing was done, the intolerable undergarments were put on and laced up into place. A white slip and white corset followed. “Why do I need all of this?” huffed Dinah as Emily labored over the laces. “I’m only fifteen.”
Emily did not answer right away and instead gave a hard yank. The corset’s whalebone ribs tightened around Dinah’s waist. “Because you don’t want your father to see you’ve been having extra tarts, do you?”
Dinah bit her lip and braced herself against the dresser. When that torture was finished, Harris led her to the center of the room where she stood like a stuffed doll—arms out, legs open, as her entourage clucked about her dresses. A plain black frock with a high white collar was decided upon, one that flared about the face. Dinah hated that dress. Dinah hated all dresses.
They dressed her in silence and finished it off with a peacock brooch. Emily rubbed rouge on her lips and cheeks to prevent Dinah from looking sickly and drew a small red heart under her right eye. What seemed to be an eternity later, Dinah shuffled down the Hallway of the Golden Birds, feeling quite like one of the bronzed birds perched on golden pedestals that surrounded her. Her silly black dress bulged at the seams. She had told Emily that she was too big for that dress, but Emily wouldn’t listen.
She’s so silly, thought Dinah. Silly and stupid.
It was a mean thought, and she instantly regretted it. Dinah’s anger could overwhelm her if she wasn’t careful. Her hair was twisted up in an insufferably tight bun, one that exaggerated Dinah’s already-large black eyes. Upon her head sat the princess crown—a thin string of red ruby hearts outlined in gold spikes. Even though it was thin, it was still heavy. It glittered in the sunlight, and it was the only thing Dinah was wearing today that she liked. On her feet twinkled a pair from the Queen’s shoe collection—molded white slippers, inlaid with tiny white diamonds. Before she died, her mother, Queen Davianna, had taken up the lady’s hobby of slippermaking. They made Dinah’s feet hurt. She hated the way the tiny stones cut into her toes and heels. She had wide feet, and the shoes pinched her soles.
Dinah looked back at Harris and Emily. He walked quickly behind her, looking a bit like a walrus. He was a cuddly and generous man, kind and fiercely intelligent. He had once been a dashing Card, or so Dinah had heard, but now he was her tutor and guardian, a portly man with white hair and a dozen varieties of checkered outfits. Without a doubt, he loved Dinah deeply—something she lacked in other areas of her life.
A little bird ran across her path and Dinah kicked it, sending it shrieking into the air.
“My child!” thundered Harris. “Do NOT let your father see that behavior, otherwise you will be sleeping in the Black Towers.”