Page 12 of Off with Her Head
That would explain why my border's barriers seem weaker. I gesture sharply, and my card-soldiers begin targeting the crystal devices. The soldiers fight to protect them with single-minded determination, but they're outnumbered.
Finally, one of my soldiers lands a critical strike. A crystal shatters, and magic explodes outward in a concussive wave that knocks everyone off their feet. I hit the ground hard, thebreath knocked from my lungs. The world spins momentarily, a kaleidoscope of red and black and silver.
When the dust settles, Edmund's forces are retreating, dragging their wounded with them. Only a dozen or so soldiers, like the March Hare said.
Atest, then. A probe of our defenses. And we failed.
I push myself to my feet, wincing at the pain in my ribs. Nothing broken, I think, but I'll have spectacular bruises by nightfall. I survey the damage. Several of my card-soldiers are shredded beyond repair. The unicorn and dormouse are dead, along with a talking badger and two crystal-spined hedgehogs. The loss hits me harder than I expect.
In the past, I viewed my subjects as resources—particularly the magical creatures, whose abilities made them useful tools in maintaining control over Underland. Their deaths would have been inconvenient, perhaps, but nothing more. When did that change? When did I start seeing them as beings deserving of protection, of grief when they fall?
Perhaps around the same time I began to see another queen as someone to fight alongside rather than against.
"Your Majesty!" A card-soldier rushes to check on me, but I wave him away. Instead, I walk to where the unicorn fell, kneeling beside its broken body. Silver blood stains my skirts, but I can't bring myself to care. The creature's horn, once luminous with magical energy, has dulled to the color of tarnished pewter. Its eyes, still open, reflect nothing now.
Soft footsteps approach, and then Ravenna is kneeling beside me. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "I tried to reach them sooner, but..."
"Why did you fight?" I ask, not looking at her. "They weren't your subjects to defend."
"They were being slaughtered." Her voice hardens. "I came as fast as I could. My mirror told me in the final minutes leading up to it."
I turn to her then, and Ireallylook at her. Her hair is wild from battle, her pale skin flushed with exertion. A cut on her cheek bleeds sluggishly, and her dress is torn at the shoulder. Magic still crackles occasionally at her fingertips. She's the most magnificent thing I've ever seen.
"You're hurt." I reach up without thinking, touching the cut on her cheek. Magic sparks between us, and she inhales sharply. The same connection we felt at first touch resurges, power flowing between us like water finding its level. Her wound begins to close under my fingers, blood magic and heart magic working together to knit flesh.
"It's nothing." But she doesn't pull away from my touch. "Your magic... It feels different here.Wilder."
"Everything's wilder here." I smooth my thumb along her cheekbone, watching as my touch leaves a smear of unicorn blood on her pale skin. “Including you.”
Her eyes darken, and she catches my wrist. She pulls me closer, her other hand coming up to cup my face. We're both breathing harder, though whether from the battle or the intensity of what we’re feeling, I can’t be sure.
"Scarlett..." My name on her lips sounds perfect.
I lean in, drawn by more than magic. Her lips part, and I can feel her breath against mine—
"Your Majesty!" A card-soldier's voice shatters the moment. "We've caught one of them. He's alive."
We spring apart, and I silently curse every card-soldier in my kingdom. Ravenna stands in one fluid motion, straightening her torn dress with as much dignity as a queen can muster. I rise more slowly, conscious of my silver-stained skirts and disheveled hair.
"Bring him to the throne room," I command, my voice remarkably steady considering how fast my heart is beating. "We'll question him there."
Ravenna nods, suddenly all business. “Edmund's forces will be back, and in greater numbers.”
She’s right. I should be focused on planning our defenses, interrogating our prisoner, and preparing for war.
Instead, all I can think about is how close I came to kissing her, and how much I want to try again.
With a sigh, I turn to the grim task of burying my fallen subjects. The unicorn's horn has already begun to fade, its magic seeping back into my wild kingdom. Above me, the roses whisper to each other, their painted petals dripping red like blood.
We have a prisoner to question. And something tells me we're not going to like what he has to say.
The prisoner kneels on the cold marble floor of my throne room, his head bowed, his iron armor removed by my card-soldiers. Without his helmet, I can see that he's young—perhaps twenty, with close-cropped blond hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. He looks ordinary.Human. Not at all like the mindless automaton he appeared to be on the battlefield.
Ravenna stands beside my throne, her torn dress replaced with a fresh black gown, her hair once again perfectly arranged. Only a faint pink line on her cheek remains, still healing despite our magical intervention.
"Your name," I demand, keeping my voice cold. This man participated in the slaughter of my subjects. Hisyouth, hishumanity, are both irrelevant. He’s an enemy combatant, and I will treat him as such.
He remains silent, head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor.
