“Death by horse,” I say, deeply vindicated. “The truth is out now.”
Theo huffs a laugh against my hair. Malachi actually grins. Nash still looks like he’d like to murder the entire courtyard and then circle back to lecture me on plan adherence.
The faceless card guard crumples to the ground, somehow not dead, which is upsetting for everyone involved, especially him. The other soldiers hesitate.
The queen blinks once. “Well,” she says flatly. “That was disturbing.”
“You started this,” I fire back. “You can’t be precious now.”
“Daphne,” Nash warns.
“I’m helping.”
“How?”
“I’m lowering morale.”
One of the shivering hedgehogs sneezes. Good for him. It’s a minor revolt, but still one.
“Off with all their heads,” the queen yells.
“One-trick pony,” I grumble.
The card guards, fearing her wrath more than horses, surge forward. Horses rear. Steel sings. Theo’s horse lunges forward, powerful and furious, forcing a gap through the first rank of cards. Nash cuts one down with efficient brutality. Malachi slices through two more like he’s working out long-standing emotional issues on enchanted stationery. Hart focuses his horse sideways and tramples another set beneath iron-shod hooves.
Theo and I join the fray. The cards are no match for us. The knights dispatch them with ease.
A card soldier makes a grab for my leg. Theo leans down, catches him by the throat one-handed, and flings him bodily into a rosebush. My dragon. My terrifying, gorgeous dragon.
“Still got it,” I praise.
He snorts. “Never in doubt.”
My focus lands on the queen. Because while the knights carve through her guards and the horses prove themselves to be the face-eating monsters I always suspected, she’s watching me. Not them. Me.
And I feel it again. That strange tug beneath my skin where the world goes thin and stretchy, as if somebody has pulled the fabric too tight and all I need to do is poke one finger through.
A card soldier swings at Malachi. He ducks. Nash wheels back. Genie floats over the battlefield, offering commentary and badly timed advice. Theo’s hand spreads across my stomach to hold me steady.
I hear the queen’s voice like a nail scraping over glass. “This game has rules.”
The words hit me strangely. Hard. As if they’re not only aimed at the field or the players but at the whole bloody realm.
Rules.
Stay in your place. Play your part. Suffer prettily.
No. I am so very done with rules.
Theo’s horse charges, and we break past a cluster of card soldiers toward the center of the field. The Queen of Hearts narrows her eyes and swings her mallet up onto her shoulder.
“You should not be here,” she says.
Rude.
I square my shoulders. “You are the one in the wrong realm.”
Her painted mouth curls. “I am exactly where I need to be.”
