“He may be mad, but he is my BROTHER. And he’s the son of the King. If he wasn’t mad, he would be the rightful heir of Wonderland and every Card would bow before him.”
Harris reached down and wiped Dinah’s lip with his white handkerchief, a tiny heart embroidered on the corner. “That is certainly true, Princess. No one grieves the loss of the prince’s mind more than I. I was there when he was born, as I was with you. I held his red squirming body in my hands, wrapped him up in fur and blessed him in the name of the Wonderland gods. I love Charles, but even I know that he cannot be included in royal events. He makes the crown look weak, and it draws attention to the fractures in your family.”
Dinah stabbed her plate angrily. “When I am Queen, Charles will not be hidden away in some grand atrium, throwing hats out of windows. He will join me where I go, mad or not.”
Harris pulled the chair out from under her and Dinah jumped to her feet. “That is my greatest wish, Princess. Now, it is time to get dressed! We are late, late, late! Emily, bring her croquet gowns!”
There were few things as awful, Dinah mused, as being strapped into a corset as if she were being bound to her own torso. She stood, arms outstretched, as Emily dressed her. Emily was grunting as Dinah’s strong ribs and square hips shrunk gradually into a curvy, maidenly form, made perfect by thick ribbons.
As the pressure slowly increased, Dinah studied herself in a long, heart-shaped mirror. Shiny black hair fell straight from her temple to shoulders. The hair was incredibly thick and heavy, a burden that Dinah some days could barely tolerate. Her face was soft cream, made even dewier by her deep-red lips. They formed a perfect pout—a little heart on a strong face. Her black-brown eyes were huge and fringed with long lashes—arguably her best asset. Yes, strong, she thought, twisting her body around. Strong, like my father, and dark, like my mother.
Dinah was a bit leaner than the average Wonderland woman. She had firm, square shoulders, like a man. Her middle was solid, her legs lean and muscular. There was no curve from her bust to her waist—she was one solid square, topped with an ample bosom, more small melons than the ripe figs described in Emily’s tawdry novels. Tarts had added a bit of softness to her chin as of late, but Dinah was still attractive, or at least that’s what she told herself. Not pretty or delicate like Vittiore, but perhaps handsome.
A Card had once called her handsome, and Dinah had cried for days, but now she could see it. Her mother had been broad but voluptuous, and for this reason her hourglass figure still graced many a painting. Her long black hair had reached the ground, and she carried her crown with a great ease and beauty. Davianna had been so elegant in gowns and crowns, whereas Dinah always felt more like one of the ridiculous birds that Charles so frequently pinned onto hats.
“Are you done YET?” she snapped at Emily. “You cannot make my waist any smaller without killing me.”
Emily laid her slipper against Dinah’s back to brace herself and gave a final tug. The bone ribbing ripped into Dinah’s side and she let out a gasp of pain.
“There,” said Emily, with a self-satisfied smile. “Now I’m done, Your Majesty.”
She fetched Dinah’s gown and draped it carefully over her head. The thick gray wool fell around Dinah like a curtain, hanging heavily over every inch of her. The gown was lovely in a severe way, with hundreds of gray fabrics mingling together in an elaborate tweed. A large red heart arched over her shoulders and down the back of the dress, its top folds meeting at her collarbone. White ribbons ran up and down the heart in delicate ruffles. Bright-raspberry hearts dotted the full hem of the dress.
Emily buttoned the dress up the back and began working on Dinah’s hair. She swept it away from Dinah’s face, twisting and twisting until a voluminous bun decorated the back of her head. Long, silver heart pins were stuck into the bun, which was then covered with a red, jeweled hair net. Harris came over, carrying a crystal box.
“No.” said Dinah. “No, no, no.”
Harris ignored her and opened the box, pulling out a long purple brush. With a smile, he began brushing a thin, white powder over her face with the long-handled bristle brush. Dinah sneezed, and they were enveloped in a musky cloud.
“A princess should NOT struggle so,” reprimanded Harris. “You should be thrilled to be a part of this honorable tradition. What a gift it would be to play on the Royal Court.” He stepped back with a sigh and summoned Emily to his side. “Bring the crown.”
Emily slowly settled Dinah’s thin crown onto her head. The unbroken line of red ruby hearts shimmered like fire upon her dark hair and powdered white skin. Harris gave a deep bow, though Dinah saw his legs quake with the effort. He was growing older, and it saddened her so.