If this were a replica of the ice palace, there would be frozen bodies everywhere. But the quiet is more daunting than it was before, and the more I move, the more my body aches.
Barely outside the room, I slump against the wall and touch the back of my neck. Pain radiates from the spot; different from a headache. It feels like something’s missing, but violently so, the numbness before the burn kicking in. I don’t know what that means, but it can’t be good. After moving away from the throne room, using the wall for support, the pain has moved from the top of my spine all the way down, leaving a fiery trail across my back. I know, realistically, it isn’t real, but it hurts like it is.
This is different. I felt a dull ache in my finger last time, something I now realize I never quite got an explanation for. I’m not even sure who to ask about it anymore. Ban? My mother?
Peering down the hall as I move, my steps pause. To the left, down another long hallway I’m plenty familiar with in these dreams, stands a figure.
There are horns protruding from its skull, which makes me take a step back. It’s enough to distract from the pain in my back, and I push off from the wall to stand straight.Never look weak.
When I lift my chin, I’m disappointed to hear the tremble and tiredness in my voice. “Who are you?”
The figure steps closer, its steps silent in the hall. Usually, with ice, people either slide or step too firmly for balance and make a noise. Other than the Sandman, this is the only person I’ve ever seen in the dreamscape.
It’s a dream, Neve. Possibilities defy logic.
“Your magic might betray you now, but you still stand as a regal queen,” the man says, his voice not matching the face that catches the glowing light. The horns make everything wrong, but I can’t look away either.
My voice trembles when I speak, worse than before. “F-father?”
He smiles at me, the dark hair and stern eyes from my memories crinkling at the edges with his grin. I forget all about my back and the confusion of being back here, throwing myself across the space to tackle him.
Agony blazes up my back, but I don’t care as my arms lock around my father. I’ve waited a century for this moment. When his hands bind around my back, holding me close, a little part of me mends.
It rips apart again when I lean away, and I see the face staring at me is no longer my father’s.
“Hans,” I hiss, shoving him as hard as I can. My movements are weak, and he barely budges when I push. Still, he steps away, clasping his hands behind him. The horns are gone, and in their place the gray skin and dark robes I’ve seen before. “Trickster. How dare you pretend to be him?”
He holds his hands up as he steps further away, a moment of regret flashing across his face. “Apologies, Queen Neve. I had to find a way for you to approach me here.”
“So you wear the face of my father?” I hiss. “Why?”
He gives me a look that borders on pity, and I wish I had the energy to smack it off his face. “You don’t remember much about me, do you? When you were a young girl, before your mother’s curse started to freeze her, Andor and I were friends. I helped him… after his passing.”
“Helped my father…” My voice trails off. “You barely knew my father.” The Sandman reaches for me again, and Iwrench my arm away before I continue to speak. “My parents barely knew your brother.”
Hans studies me, and I glare back, waiting for another excuse. “The years changed my brother and me. Before you were born, and even before Andor married Sned and brought her from across the sea, Andor and I were long-distance friends. But political agendas got in the way, and once Jasper took the throne, he no longer wanted me to whisper in the King’s ear.” He scoffs, the sound filled with disgust. “My brother needed a bride to solidify his place as the King. He reached out to your parents, to King Andor in particular, to ask for your hand in marriage.”
Blinking, I try to understand. “B-but when King Jasper was searching for a bride I was a child!”
“Eh, teenager,” Hans replies, shrugging. “These things weren’t rushed back then. By the time Jasper believed your father would allow a union, you would have been of age.”
“I was never told that,” I growl, backing away from him. The ache in my spine falls to the wayside as I look at him with renewed skepticism. “I only learned of the King’s search for a bride when Lady–” I cut myself off, clearing my throat. “When Davina made mention of it to Mother.”
“Davina was a secondary choice,” he agrees. “Not a royal in her own right, but born of noble blood. When Andor would not budge, Jasper accepted her as a consolation bride. I was on Andor’s side. Jasper did not need the royal family to have concrete connections within the Frostlands if he could extend the hand of friendship.”
I wrap my arms around myself, sliding further away. “Why are you telling me this?”
“It was a long time ago,” he says quietly, almost reminiscing. “I wassodisappointed when I learned of your father’s passing. I wished to attend the funeral, but Jasper explained there was too much unrest within the lands. It was aclosed ceremony, from my understanding, even to allies of your father. You think Uther would have bothered with such travels, or anyone else on the eastern side of the continent? The funeral was a small affair, don’t you recall? And to think it took place so quickly after that ice mage escaped.”
Staring at him, I no longer know who I am speaking to. “Are you really Hans?”
He nods, clasping his hands behind his back once more. “I am Hans Traum, second-born son of Klaus and Victoria. Second-in-line for the throne of the Court of Cards.” He tilts his head. “I suppose it’s only Wonderland now. And the Mad Court, since Davina dug her nails into the land.”
“Why bother telling me all of this?” I snap, glaring at him. “Why wear my father’s face? Why are you evenhere? You wish to speak so fondly of Wonderland? Go back there, then.”
Shaking his head, he steps away from me as well. “I am just a messenger, Queen Neve. I paid your father a favor during his unexpected passing and promised to hold up my end of the deal.”
I narrow my eyes. “What deal, and to whom? My father?”
