Pulling her sword back out was harder than she anticipated and required both hands. She gave a hard yank and his body fell forward, dead before he hit the ground. The second Card stared at her in shock. Dinah brought the pommel of her sword across his temple as she had seen Wardley do. He dropped to his knees, and she ran the blade swiftly through his chest. A stain of red bloomed out, becoming one with the crimson heart of his tunic.
I’m sorry, she thought, as she stood behind the bodies. I’m sorry for this. Dinah retrieved her bag from underneath the statue and gave a lingering glance back to the empty doorway of Charles’s apartment. The glass doors rocked slightly back and forth in the wind, never giving a peek at the nightmare within. Goodbye, Charles, she thought. Goodbye, my dear one. She glanced down at the bodies in shock. Then, she ran. She ran faster than she ever had in her life, plunging through the palace hallways one after another, taking turns without thinking. Her legs burned and her lungs contracted, but she never wavered—she had to get outside the palace. Dawn was beginning to break, and a pale morning mist had begun to filter through the carved-iron windows. Flinging open a side door, she approached the servants’ quarters through the kitchen, where she dashed past several cooks making breakfast. They stared at her with wild confusion as she rushed past them, knocking over plates and trays.
“Your Highness?” several cooks called out to her, but she couldn’t stop. The kitchens eventually led out to the courtyard, and she flung open the doors with a sigh of relief and stepped outside. The change in the light was so extreme that Dinah stood still for a minute, willing her eyes to adjust. She was in the trellised gardens that bordered the courtyard. White roses she had planted a lifetime ago with her mother were beginning to show, their early spring buds poking forth from their ivy blankets. Dinah straightened her bag and ran through the yard, keeping close to the walls, thankful that the trellis offered shelter from curious eyes.
At the sound of raised voices, she stopped and ducked behind a bush, elaborately trimmed in the shape of a dodo. Her whole body shaking, she tentatively raised her head over the prickly leaves and clenched her teeth. There he was—her father, marching through the courtyard with Cheshire at his side, leading what looked like an entire army of Heart Cards into the castle. His face was blotchy and red, full of a righteously blazing wrath.
“HALT!” All the Cards stopped moving and Dinah felt her pulse quicken. Had he seen her? The King of Hearts’ booming voice echoed over the marble pavement as he turned to address them. His hands shook as he screamed at the Cards. “Heed my orders and find my daughter! Should she try to run or fight, however, use any force necessary to subdue her. If this means at the cost of her life, so be it! She is guilty of murdering my innocent son, of high treason, and of planning the eventual demise of Wonderland. She is no longer a princess; she is a murderous traitor to the realm! We will wake her from her slumber and bring her to justice this very day. I will have her head by nightfall!” Cheshire grinned nastily, his hand wrapped around one of the Diamond’s telltale dagger handles. The King turned and drew his Heartsword. “To the Royal Apartments!”
The Heart Cards marched two by two into the castle. Dinah began to shake uncontrollably. It was true, it was all true. Her father was a murderer. He killed her brother, killed Lucy and Quintrell. You killed two guards, a quiet voice reminded her. You are not so innocent yourself. Dinah wiped the sweat off her face. The truth of her situation dawned on her. There would be no talking through this, no plea from daughter to father. No compromise. It was over. She would not wear a crown and she would not wear her head if she stayed here. The stranger had been right—she needed to leave the palace now, and never return.
Run, she whispered to herself, though her lungs tightened at the idea. It was not long before her advantage would disappear into the bright morning buzz. She followed the courtyard walls, making her way to the stables. The trellis ended, and Dinah waited until she could see no one lurking through the glaring morning light before sprinting toward the outside stalls. Keeping her head low, Dinah entered the stable labyrinth and began to weave her way through, one rivet and stall at a time. Around and around and around she went, circling deeper into the dark wood. The horses snorted and bucked as she passed them, their gentle senses picking up her panic and disorientation. Almost there, she thought, as she passed one stall after another, her feet slipping in mud and manure. The paddock she was looking for appeared again, and for the first time that night, Dinah dared to hope she might make it out of this day alive.
Fumbling, she unhooked the latch and stepped into Speckle’s stall. Someone was waiting for her. A man stood in front of her, the darkness of the stables concealing his features, his sword drawn. Dinah pulled back her hood and raised her hands up in surrender. “Who is there?”
“Dinah?” whispered a voice.
“Wardley?”
They rushed together, falling gratefully into each other’s arms. Dinah clutched him with desperation. Wardley kissed her forehead, her head, placed his hands on her cheeks.