Page 1 of Off with Her Head
Prologue
SCARLETT
The royal ball swirled around me in a kaleidoscope of colors—ladies in elaborate gowns twirling, gentlemen in their finest attire, magical creatures mingling among the nobility, and card-soldiers standing at attention along the walls. I was ten years old, dressed in a gown of palest pink, a small tiara nestled among my copper curls.
"Scarlett, my darling," Mother said, leaning down to smooth my hair. Queen Marianne of Underland, beloved by all, her kind eyes sparkling above a smile that never seemed to fade. "Why are you hiding behind the curtains? This celebration is partly for you."
I clutched my small fan tighter. "Everyone stares at me."
"Of course they do," Father replied, joining us. King Henry's laughter was as generous as his rule. "You're the princess of Underland, the brightest jewel in our crown."
The palace walls gleamed with the same magic that flowed through every inch of our kingdom. Windows that changed their views depending on who was looking through them. Flamingos whose crystalline feathers created melodies when they moved. Roses that spoke in hushed whispers of court gossip.
This was Underland—wonderful, wild, and waiting for me to someday take the throne.
"Come," Mother said, taking my hand. "The time has come for your dance."
I allowed myself to be led to the center of the marble floor where Father took my other hand, and together we performed the traditional royal waltz. Mother clapped in delight as I remembered all the steps, the kingdom watching with affection.
"You see?" Father whispered as we turned. "They adore you, little heart. A good ruler is loved, not feared."
Seven years later, I understood how wrong he was.
"The rebels have breached the eastern gates, Your Majesties!"
The guard's voice cut through the harvest celebration like a blade. Mother grabbed my arm, her fingers digging painfully into my flesh.
"Scarlett, go with the Mock Turtle. Now!"
"But—"
"NOW!"
I'd never heard that tone from her before. The Mock Turtle—our family's ancient guardian—was already at my side, tears streaming down his wrinkled face as he had been crying long before the danger arrived.
"Come, Princess," he sobbed, pulling me toward a hidden passage. "Quickly, quickly!"
I looked back at my parents one last time. They stood tall and proud—my father with his sword drawn, my mother with heart magic swirling around her hands. They believed, even then, thattheir kindness would protect them. That their subjects loved them too much to harm them.
They were wrong.
I heard it all from within the Mock Turtle's shell, where he had hidden me beneath layers of magical tears that masked my own sobbing. The screams. The fighting. The rebel leader's voice crying out: "The rulers of Underland have made us soft! Magic requires order, control! We will no longer be the laughingstock of the three kingdoms!"
And then the sounds that haunt me still: the wet thud of blades meeting flesh, my mother's gasp, my father's final words—"Mercy, please..."
Mercy. He asked for mercy from those who had none.
"All hail Queen Scarlett of Underland!"
I stood before the remaining court one month later, my parents' blood scrubbed from the throne room floor but still vivid in my memory. I wore crimson instead of pink, my mother's crown resized to fit my head. It was heavy—so impossibly heavy—but I refused to show weakness.
The first traitor knelt before me—a duke who had aided the rebels, believing he would be rewarded with a position in their new government. Instead, the rebellion had been crushed by loyal forces, and the survivors brought before me for judgment.
"Your Majesty," he pleaded, his voice trembling. "I was misled. Confused. Please show the same compassion your parents were known for—"
"My parents are dead," I replied, my voice echoing across the suddenly silent hall. "Their compassion died with them."
I stood, feeling every eye upon me. Not with affection as they had once looked at the little princess in pink, but with uncertainty, with nervousness.
