Daphne
This escalated quickly.
One tempo we’re pretending to be a traveling talent show of questionable skill and even more questionable decision-making, and the next?—
“Off with their heads,” the Red Queen hollers once more, in case there was any confusion. Hundreds of playing cards march toward us with murder in their eyes and absolutely no sense of humor. That won’t do. Life is too short not to laugh at even the most critical of tempos. What a sad way to live out your annus.
“Right,” I say, clapping my hands together. “New plan.”
“There was an old plan?” Hart mutters.
“Less talking, more not dying,” Nash snaps, guiding his horse in front of ours, placing himself between danger and me.
Have they learned nothing? I am not a sack of potatoes strapped to Theo’s chest for safety. An appreciated chest, sure. One I’d happily nap against and lick at my convenience. But still. I am a murderous maiden of means and chaos and, well, not exactly battle-ready. More murder-adjacent problem-solving.
Theo’s arm tightens around my waist as his horse stamps and tosses its head, reacting to the advancing wall of cards. They move in disturbing harmony, the edges of their bodies flashing in warning of a thousand paper cuts. Creepy. So creepy.
The Queen of Hearts stretches her blood-red lips and bares her teeth in a cross between a smile and insanity. “Try not to bleed on my lawn.”
“She’s delightful,” I mutter.
“She’s unstable,” Genie says, hovering to my left and looking both alarmed and interested. “Remember, she cheats.”
“That’s lower on the list of concerns,” Malachi calls, drawing his sword with smooth, lethal ease that does pleasant things to my insides.
Hart sighs. “Daphne, stay on the horse.”
I twist to look up at Theo. “Thoughts?”
“On staying put?” he asks.
“No. On murder croquet. Keep up.”
His mouth brushes my temple. “I think if you do anything reckless, Nash will carry you out of here under one arm and tie you to his bed for the next three diurnals.”
“An annus at minimum,” Nash growls.
That’s promising. “Will there be sausage? So long as there are snacks, I’m okay with a little maiden napping.”
“I despair for your palate,” Genie mutters.
“I’d be more concerned for my floof. Dealing with five sausages is quite the feat.”
Genie scans the knights with a frown. “Did you select another suitor since your resurrection? Greedy, Daphne.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I answer. “Four is the perfect number.”
“But you said five—” His eyes widen, and he takes a tempo to really look at each of the knights. “Oh, I see.”
Does he? Because it was a total shock to me.
The card soldiers spread out, boxing us in across the newly laid croquet field with flaming torches, enormous rose hedges, and little white arches hammered into the grass. Back again in this game where only one player knows the rules.
A card guard lunges at Nash, which is his first mistake. The second is getting too close to Hart’s horse. The huge black beast snakes its head sideways with shocking speed and bites clean into the card guard’s face.
I scream. Not because I’m scared, but because I was right. “I knew it.” I point like a deranged prophet while the guard flails and Hart’s horse shakes him like a rag toy. “I knew they had a penchant for eating faces. Nobody listens to me, but do I know horses? Yes, I do.”
Hart leans forward and rubs his horse’s neck, who releases the card with a wet tearing sound and looks thoroughly pleased with himself.
