Dinah kissed him softly on the cheek. He gave a slight bow of his head, and she continued up the aisle, with Mundoo following a few steps behind. The Yurkei warrior held the king’s head high above his own. As she made her way toward the front, Dinah could hear the painful gasps of her people as they saw the head of their former leader. It was cruel to show them, but necessary. She looked around the courtyard as she walked, her dark eyes wide with wonder.
The white roses were painted red. That was the first thing Dinah noticed as she strolled proudly toward the execution platform. The white garden roses, the ones she had lovingly planted with her mother so long ago, were spotted and slashed with drops of deep ruby. Blood was splattered across the white and black cobblestones, a deep crimson spreading across the sidewalks and gardens. The roses had gotten the worst of it, as evidenced by the many bodies that lay curled against the vine, as if these men were merely taking a nap in their fragrant blooms.
The soles of her boots were slick with blood and mud. Her sword bounced against her bruised hip as she walked. Thousands of nervous eyes followed her as she proceeded up the narrow aisle, their heads bowing to the ground as she approached. Dinah could smell their fear as she brushed past them. She was their queen now, and she would have their allegiance whether they gave it willingly or not.
The king’s crown lay heavily on her head, its golden points digging into her skull and pulling on her thick black hair. She tried to hide that her steps trembled with exhaustion, and she was aware that she was probably covered in even more blood than the roses. When Dinah reached the stairway to the platform, she looked up at its giant obsidian steps. These steps led to a long block of white marble, a place where hundreds had lost their heads. As she lifted her foot to the first step, a drop of blood fell to the ground. She paused. The last thing she needed was to slip down the stairs in front of her new subjects. She was no longer that weak girl that they remembered. She turned to the nearest Card.
“Take off your cloak and wipe my boots,” she barked. The young Heart Card fumbled with his clasp, his hands shaking as he yanked the cloak from around his shoulders.
“My queen.” He knelt before her, taking her boots in his calloused hands and frantically wiping at the blood on the soles. She waited patiently for him to finish before climbing the staircase, her knees giving a slight tremble on each step. At long last, she stood on the platform, looking down at her new subjects as the rumbling cheers of her army shook the castle grounds. She savored the taste of victory on her tongue. It was a bittersweet flavor—hard-won and lovely at the same time. A hesitant smile crept over her lips. The last time she had seen this courtyard, she was running for her life. As she enjoyed the view of the smoldering castle, Vittiore’s pathetic whimpering assaulted her eardrums.
“Please . . . ,” she cried, her voice breaking over the now-hushed crowds. “Please, Dinah, you don’t understand.” Huge blue eyes, the color of cornflowers, peered up at her as the girl painfully lifted her head from the chopping block. She was so much more beautiful than Dinah had remembered. Her golden hair flowed over the white marble. It glowed now, radiant in the light. She was pale and small, adorned in a flowered gown. Only one shoe was left on her feet.
The queen raised her arms and the crowd fell silent. Cheshire was right—these people wanted someone to take charge of their lives, even if she had just attacked their city. Behind the girl, the trembling executioner stepped forward, stripped of his hood. His voice was shaking, but a poke from a Yurkei blade made his deep voice echo around the courtyard.
“Say it,” the warrior hissed.
The executioner unrolled a sheet of paper covered in Cheshire’s elaborate scroll.
“Vittiore, the once false queen, stands accused of the following offenses: high treason, sedition, and being an accessory to murder. You shall be judged and punished according to the Queen of Hearts, the only true queen.”
The crowd cheered, egged on by Dinah’s soldiers, who raised their swords menacingly at her name. The girl dissolved into loud sobs, her tears dripping down the block.
“I’ll tell you everything. Please, Dinah, you don’t know what you are doing!” Her frail body began to shake as she melted into hysterics. “This must be a terrible dream, it must be.” She repeated the phrase over and over again.
The executioner turned to Dinah, beads of sweat dripping into his eyes. “What is the queen’s verdict, Your Majesty?” He gave Dinah a pained look.
Dinah raised her head and stared out past the crowd, past the devastated iron gates and the Black Towers, past the ashen ruins of the stables. The Queen of Hearts took a deep breath and looked out over the Wonderland Plains. The wide afternoon sky was breathtaking—dewy lavender and orange stretched out over heavy clouds as a blue storm gathered over the Twisted Wood. This was the day she’d dreamed of for so long, the power hers for the taking. The blood on her boots was almost dry, and she finally had all she wanted. Vengeance was hers, at long last.
The blond-haired, blue-eyed girl raised her head again, a look of desperation marring her radiant face.
“Please!” she screamed.
Dinah should be merciful. She would be merciful. She had made a promise. She wasn’t like him. She paused, eyeing the crowd. She knew how to earn their love, but how to best seal their fear without becoming a tyrant?
“OFF WITH HER HEAD!” she screamed.
“No!” yelled Wardley, who was now standing nervously behind the platform. “Dinah, no!”
Sir Gorrann gestured for Dinah to stop, and even Cheshire, who was watching the crowd with his narrow cat eyes, frowned with concern. The executioner took a tentative step toward his ax, and then another. With shaking hands, he stepped beside the dethroned queen. The crowd grew wild and restless, shouting and begging for mercy as they pushed against each other, and against the Spades who surrounded them.
Dinah watched them, her dark eyes calculating and careful. The executioner clasped the ax low over Vittiore’s neck and she grew oddly silent, her eyes trained on something Dinah couldn’t see. Her perfect pink lips were forming silent sentences. The executioner raised the ax above Vittiore’s head, preparing to strike, something he had done thousands of times. He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and shifted the ax for the fatal blow.
Dinah suddenly raised her hand.
“Stop!” she barked at the executioner. The crowd was still, their hands folded in prayer, every eye upon her. Dinah cleared her throat. “I will grant her mercy, only because you have asked it of me, and because mercy is the mark of a great leader, something you have never known with the King of Hearts. Vittiore does not deserve mercy, for she sat upon a throne that was not hers. This woman is no relation to the king, Queen Davianna, nor me or my deceased brother, Charles. She is a traitor, a conspirator, a stranger who ruled over you. By all of Wonderland laws, she deserves death, for that is the punishment for her crimes. And yet, I hope you will see that I am not like your murderous King of Hearts, a man who killed his own son and blamed it on his daughter in order not to share his throne.”