“And you believe him?”
“I don’t have to believe him. I know it to be true. Look at him, and look at me. I looked nothing like my father—” Dinah corrected herself, something she was starting to do more often. “I’m sorry, the King of Hearts. I look nothing like the King. And I believe that my mother had an affair. When I was young I heard them arguing about it. There are so many things that fell together when he told me, so many disparate pieces that fit perfectly into place. My life makes sense now, even though the whole thing is a bit alarming.”
Wardley was quick to see through her easy cadence. “A bit alarming?” he scoffed. “That’s how you feel about Cheshire being your father?”
Dinah walked over to the tent flap and looked through the narrow sheaf of light. Thousands of tents littered the damp ground as far as she could see. “He’s clever. He’s organized this entire war, all to put me on the throne. He saved my life and probably will again. The King never even looked me in the eye. He hated me. He murdered Charles, Wardley.”
His voice softened. “I know. But be wary that your gratitude turns into blind trust.”
Dinah shook her head. “I won’t. I promise.” Cheshire was the least of her concerns. Right now there were a thousand Yurkei warriors, three hundred rogue Cards, and almost nine hundred Spades all gathered in one wet field. The Spades were the most loathed of all Cards among the Yurkei. If they all weren’t careful, the war could start and end right here.
Wardley looked past her, casually resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Dinah.”
Dinah’s skin tingled at his touch, at being near to him. A smile crept across her face, and she forced herself to take a few quiet steps back into the tent.
“Sit down. You are exhausted and in no shape to be moving around. But tell me all that’s happened in the palace since I’ve been gone.”
“I’ll tell you later, but right now I have to get ready to meet with the war council. Do you mind if I clean up?”
Dinah rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen you bathe a thousand times.”
“That is true.” Wardley crouched next to a small bowl of water and pulled his shirt over his head. Dinah struggled to keep her face motionless as her eyes raked over his tan, taut skin and she watched with pleasure as he scrubbed the grime off his lean chest. As he lathered a bar of soap through his hair and scraped the dirt from under his fingernails, he repeated most of what she already knew: after she had stabbed him (way too deep!, he was kind enough to remind her) he was transported to the infirmary, where the King of Hearts had found him and demanded his head. Wardley had assumed that he would die right there and then.
“He was mad with rage, Dinah, furious and insane. You’ve seen him drunk—well, this was a thousand times worse. He began striking the midwives and the nurses, screaming, ‘Off with his head! Off with his head!’” Wardley shook his head. “I was terrified. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t fight. I could barely stay conscious, for gods’ sake. Luckily, one brave doctor convinced him that my blood on the table was price enough. No man would let himself be injured that deeply on purpose. The King stuck his fingers deep into my wound to make sure.”
“Oh, Wardley. I’m so sorry.”
Wardley let the wet rag linger over the jagged, ugly scar on his shoulder, four inches long and barely healed. Dinah felt tears flood her eyes as she looked at the hideous wound she had inflicted. “I’ll get you some Yurkei medicine for that. Their potions possess incredible healing powers, surprisingly much more advanced than ours.” She let her fingers softly trace the scar before stepping away.