Page 8 of Off with Her Head
I’ve heard the stories. We all have. It wasn’t all that long ago when Ravenna’s sister committed traitorous acts against Ravenna and her kingdom.
"The very same." Her fingers trace patterns on the table, and I realize she's drawing magical sigils. Protection spells, perhaps? A nervous habit? "Though I'm more interested in why the Cheshire Cat feels the need to warn usboth."
She's right, of course. The Cat rarely involves himself in politics, preferring to watch and smile from the sidelines. For him to appear like this...
“Come,” I say, gesturing for her to rise from her seat. “Walk with me.”
She does as I ask, and we leave the conference table without another word, promenading until we’re in the heart of my garden.
"Your garden seems less chaotic than the rest of your kingdom," Ravenna observes. Her steps are silent beside mine. "More controlled."
"It follows different rules," I reply, hyper-aware of her presence beside me. The subtle scent of her perfume—dark roses and something with a metallic tang, like blood—makes it difficult to focus. "The chaos of Underland can be... exhausting. Even for its queen."
She glances at me, and I see a flicker of surprise in her blue eyes. "You would admit to such weakness?"
"Is it weakness to acknowledge the costs of power?" I counter, leading her deeper into the maze. The hedges shift subtly as we pass, opening a path for us. "Or is it weakness to pretend no cost exists?"
Ravenna is silent for a moment, considering my words. "In Darkmore, we believe that acknowledging the price of power is a step toward true strength. Blood magic requires sacrifice—to pretend otherwise would be folly."
"And what do you sacrifice, Queen of Darkmore?" The question slips out before I can stop it, more personal than I intended.
She lifts her hand, and I see faint scars crisscrossing her palm—dozens of them, some old and white, others newer and still pink. "Blood. Pain.Normalcy." Her voice is soft, almost contemplative. "The ability to trust. The luxury of vulnerability."
The honesty of her answer startles me. I had expected deflection, perhaps even mockery. Instead, she's offering a glimpse of the woman beneath the crown—a woman who understands sacrifice because she makes it daily.
We reach the fountain at the middle of the maze. Black marble gleams in the falling sun, the red water catching the light like liquid rubies. Around us, the hedges have grown higher, ensuring our privacy. The roses here are different from those elsewhere in the kingdom—darker, their petals veined with black, their scent heavier and more intoxicating.
"And what do you sacrifice, Queen of Hearts?" Ravenna asks, trailing her fingers through the crimson water. Ripples spread outward, disturbing the perfect surface. "What price do you pay for your theatrical displays of power?"
I should be offended by her characterization, but there's no judgment in her tone—only curiosity. "Connection," I admit, watching her fingers in the water. "Authenticity. The ability to be seen as anything other than an object of fear."
"And yet you persist in ruling through terror." She turns to face me fully, those arctic eyes piercing my soul. "Why?"
"Because it works." I move to stand beside her at the fountain's edge. Our reflections waver in the red water, distorted by the ripples. "Because fear is reliable when nothing else is. Because when my parents were overthrown, their kindness did not save them."
Understanding flashes across her face. "You lost your parents to rebellion?"
"Assassination." The memory still burns, even after all these years. "I was young. They were too trusting, too focused on being loved rather than respected. Their kindness was seen as a weakness. I learned from their mistake."
Ravenna is quiet for a moment, studying my face. "And I learned from my sister's betrayal that trust is a luxury a queen cannot afford." A small, bitter smile curves her lips. "Perhaps we are not so different after all, Queen of Hearts."
"Scarlett," I say impulsively. "When we're alone, you may call me Scarlett."
She seems surprised by the offer, those stunning eyes widening slightly. "Ravenna, then." She holds out her scarred hand, and after a moment's hesitation, I take it.
Magic surges between us at the contact, wild and unexpected. I gasp, letting my jaw drop slightly as I feel power flow from her to me and back again, a circuit of energy that makes my skin tingle and my heart race. It's intoxicating, more intimate than any touch I've experienced before.
"What is that?" I whisper, unable to pull away despite the intensity of the sensation. Despite how out of control I’m feeling.
"I don't know." Her voice is equally soft, equally awed.
We stand there, hand in hand, as magic dances between us. The roses around the fountain begin to change, their red petals taking on a deeper hue, their stems growing thorns thatgleam like obsidian in the dimming light. In the fountain, our reflections blur and merge, becoming something new entirely, something neither wholly Underland nor wholly Darkmore. It’s red and black, swirling with sparks of energy throughout its ever changing shape.
"This is impossible," Ravenna murmurs, her eyes fixated on our joined hands. "Blood magic doesn't share. It takes, itconsumes, but it doesn't... blend."
And yet we both feel it—our magic intertwining, strengthening, transforming. It's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
After a moment, I reluctantly release her hand, and the magical current between us fades. But something lingers—a warmth in my chest, a subtle awareness of her presence that wasn't there before. Looking around, I see that the roses near the fountain have changed permanently, their red petals now edged with black.
