He took his extra strokes to send his black sphere hurtling towards the third wicket. Vittiore took her second turn, the gentle nudge of her mallet sending her white ball through the obstacle. Dinah got her red ball headed back in the right direction, but she hadn’t even taken a single turn before one of her father’s black balls was targeting her red ones. Dinah recognized his strategy immediately. Isolate the opponent. Attack with relentless fury. Dominate. Eliminate.
As she watched her father smile encouragingly at Vittiore as she sent one of her white balls into a bush, Dinah felt her shame at this spectacle turn into anger. The black fury was rising inside of her, making the tips of her fingers tingle. Two could play this game, she thought—she wouldn’t let herself be humiliated by his misplaced doting. When her turn came again, she swung her mallet hard, unladylike. Her red ball sailed through the wicket and with a smack, sent Vittiore’s ball completely off the course in a perfect roquet. The crowd gave a murmur of disapproval. Poor Vittiore. Dinah didn’t care.
Another horn blasted and the game advanced in complexity once the birds were let loose. A dozen birds ran wild over the course—flamingoes, dodos, pale-white swans, and ducks. They got in the way of the balls or blocked stakes, or pecked at players’ heels. It was chaos. A dodo sank its beak into Vittiore’s smooth calf, and she let out a scream, which made Dinah’s heart leap with joy. Yet even with the whimsy of the birds and the lighthearted mood of the crowd, both Dinah and her father seemed to sense a turn in the purpose of the game as they attacked each other with relish. Red and black balls cracked against one another continuously as their mallets swung higher and higher. Vittiore was almost forgotten, but just when she would draw close to the eleventh wicket, Dinah would send a red ball her way and she would be pushed backwards.
Time seemed to stretch on forever as the three wound their way through hoop after hoop. The crowd grew silent and tense as they sensed the enmity between Dinah and her father. Dark circles of sweat had formed under the King’s arms and across Dinah’s brow. Her heavy wool dress was swampy inside, and Dinah dreamed of casting it off into the crowd. Her thin ruby crown lay uncomfortably on her head, its sharp points pulling her hair out strand by strand as she bent and twisted, beyond caring how she looked.
After an hour had passed, Cheshire strode out to the middle of the lawn and signaled for the bird catchers. The birds were gathered and removed for the final round, signaling the end of the game. Vittiore had three hoops left and would not win. She forfeited with an easy smile to the crowd and a wave of her hand. They gave a great cheer as she retired, her blond curls untouched by any of the physical strain that Dinah and her father were suffering. Cheshire led her to the edge of the lawn, where she collapsed into a large heart-shaped chair. She was so charming in that self-effacing way: a toss of her hair, a twinkle in her blue eyes. It made Dinah feel dismal and jealous at the same time.
It was her turn. Her emotions tangled inside of her and she brought her mallet down upon her red ball with vengeance, which sailed across the lawn with a loud CRACK and slammed into her father’s last black ball, which rolled out of bounds and rested against the foot of a mortified Heart Card. He stepped back, and wisely so, for the next sound Dinah heard was her father’s rushing cry of rage. He took three steps toward Dinah and violently pulled her close. Both Harris and Cheshire stepped toward the lawn, ready to intervene. The King’s huge fingers sank into Dinah’s shoulder as a cruel look stretched over his face. To the crowd, it looked like a funny moment between father and daughter. But Dinah could see the enraged indignation in his eyes and could smell the wine as his breath washed over her face.
“Princess, You WILL let me win this game. You will not humiliate me in front of my kingdom any more than your mere existence already does. The King of Hearts will not lose to his pathetic daughter, or you will find yourself a new mentor, and Harris will find himself suddenly a Spade.”
Hot tears welled in Dinah’s eyes as he shook her loose. He was her father, how could he do this to her? She tried to summon the same boldness that dwelt in her when she had whacked his ball off the lawn, but it was not there. It was replaced by a gnawing hunger for her father’s love, so powerful and real that it made her gasp.
“I will,” she whispered. “I will do whatever you ask, Father. I’m sorry.”
“Do not forget your place again. I am your King and Vittiore is your sister and you will honor us both. After the game, you will bow before her so all of Wonderland can see that you have accepted her as your blood sibling and equal.”
A shocked sob escaped from her clenched lips. He smiled and gestured to the crowd. “She takes the game so seriously!” he announced. “My sweet daughter.”