"Grab a mop," North says, gesturing with his horned head in the direction of a supply closet. "Clean this up, and let's get going again. There's certainly no rest for the wicked."
My next lesson of the day is with Lar in the ballroom.
I thought I was prepared to see the grandeur of that room.
I was nowhere near it.
As soon as I step into the domed room, I'm reminded of Beauty and the Beast, of Belle dancing under that chandelier in a yellow dress.
"Shocked shitless?" Dee asks, holding the door open for me. The ballroom is in the shape of a heart—no surprise there—but the architecture is to die for, reminiscent of gothic revival but ten times as intricate. There are arches carved with roses and faces of happy, dancing couples, their clothing flowing in a non-existent breeze. Above us, the ceiling is made entirely of glass, revealing the setting sun and washing the red walls with rays of gold. Several chandeliers drip from the ceiling, heavy with black and red crystals, giving off flickering light that adds to the ambience.
In the center of it all, Lar's waiting in a pale blue shirt that matches his eyes, his sky blue/blonde hair falling just below the level of his chin. When he brushes some loose strands back from his forehead, his sapphire earrings dance, and his ice-blue gaze locks onto my own.
“I hear there was drama with the Cheshire Cat,” he says, his voice like a calm breeze. It’s a refreshing change from North’s savagery, Chesh’s cattiness (pun intended), and Tee’s direct honesty. I find myself exhaling for the first time in hours, reaching up to rub at my sweaty forehead. I tried to find time between training and dancing for a shower or bath, but Dee grabbed my elbow straight after lunch and brought me here.
“Yeah, well, I accidentally stabbed him in the kidney and almost killed him.” I shrug my shoulders loosely as the scent of blueberries and fresh-cut flowers fills my nostrils. Jesus. Every dude in Underland smells good enough to eat and looks it, too. No wonder I can’t keep my hands to myself. “Okay, so I don’t know if I actually stabbed his kidney, but it sounds more dramatic that way, right?”
Dee chuckles beside me as Lar raises a pale brow, tilting his head to one side as he studies me.
“Getting the Hatter under your thumb so quickly, I’m impressed,” Lar breathes, his white and gold jacket draped loosely over his shoulders. He folds his stained-glass wings together behind his back.
“Gossip travels quickly around here, doesn’t it?” I ask, unable to pull my attention from Lar’s gaze. As glorious as the ballroom is, it doesn’t compare to the beauty of his face. He has high, fine cheekbones, a gloriously full lower lip, and long lashes framing his pale eyes. There’s something about the way he holds his mouth, lips just slightly parted, that intrigues me. It’s like he’s always on the edge of asking a question, like there’s a question mark resting on the tip of his tongue. “Although I’d dare say the March Hare is the one you should watch out for. Sometimes, he’s not just the Hatter’s right hand—he is the Hatter.”
“He’s …” I start, and then realize what Lar’s saying. My eyes fly wide, and the Caterpillar chuckles softly, pulling out a small glass pipe in the shape of a toadstool. He snaps his fingers and then lifts his pointer finger in the air, a small flame dancing on the tip. He uses that to light his pipe, the grassy scent of marijuana quickly taking over the room. It’s not quite right though, like pot mixed with a bit of rosewater, some crushed lavender, and just a hint of chai tea spice. “He ate some of Raiden’s flesh?!”
“What do you think?” Lar replies in a low, cool tone that helps soothe away some of my anxiety. He takes a long drag before passing the pipe my way, exhaling beautiful blue smoke from between his lips. I’m about to tell him no, because as much as I want to get high, I have a feeling that could also get me killed in this palace of hell. “Just a little bit goes on a long way,” he tells me, the edge of his mouth twitching in a smile. “I can’t properly teach you to dance if you don’t take any.”
“What is this?” I ask as I glance over at Dee, but he’s shaking his head and putting his hands up.
“Just a bit of whiting,” Dee says as I raise an eyebrow. “But I can’t have any. I have to keep both feet firmly on the ground, so I can play the piano for you.”
“On the ground?” I ask as I glance back at Lar, and finally take the pipe from his outstretched fingers. Our fingertips brush together, and a warmth fills me, traveling down my arm and into my chest, making my heart beat. I jerk my hand back and cradle the pipe in my palm. “Isn’t a whiting a type of fish? You know, like salmon or trout.”
“Just like a quadrille can be a card game or a dance, so can a whiting be a fish or a magical plant.” Lar taps the side of the glass pipe with a fingernail. “Take a hit, Sunshine, and I’ll show you what it means to join the dance.”
"Good luck," Dee says, leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek. His mouth lingers, turning the relatively chaste moment into something so much more. His wing dips down and brushes along my bare arm, making me shiver, before he finally retreats, moving over to a massive red and white grand piano in the corner. Dee stretches his fingers and his wings out as he sits down to play.
“Good luck?” I ask Lar, turning back to him as I lift the pipe to my mouth and inhale. I close my eyes as I do it, feeling the hot smoke curl its way into my lungs, the taste of lavender and chai clinging to my lips. As soon as I breathe out, I feel it hit me, this lightheaded, airy sensation that makes me feel like I’m floating. “What’s he talking about?”
The Caterpillar just smiles at me, takes the pipe, and sets it on a small glass table next to a gramophone. When he holds out his hand, I hesitate to take it.
“I haven’t forgotten about Raiden and March,” I say, and Lar’s smile turns into a confident smirk, like I’ve taken the bait. Exhaling sharply, I put my hand in his and watch his pale fingers curl around my own. It’s enough to make a girl swoon—if I were the swooning type, that is. I am most definitely not.
“I mentioned that little tidbit all of two minutes ago,” Lar says as he leads me into the center of the room. “I wouldn’t have expected you to have forgotten already.” I roll my eyes because he knows what I mean. What a dick.
As I pause beneath the largest of the five chandeliers in the room, I wish suddenly that I’d worn a dress. Dee suggested it, but nooooo, I had to be a rebel. Damn it.
"Sunshine," Lar says, releasing my hand, and then taking a bow. When he stands up, he whips his jacket off his shoulders, revealing a short-sleeved sky blue tunic underneath. He then shakes it out and tosses it behind him, spreading his wings briefly like he’s trying to hide the garment from me. I never see it hit the floor; when Lar folds his wings together again, the jacket is gone. Magic. It’s everywhere in Underland. “Tell me: do you know how to waltz?”
"I don't know how to dance for shit," I reply, feeling my cheeks warm slightly. I've never been much of a dancer, not even a social dancer. But I have read about a million books with characters who attend balls and dance their asses off with noble princes. Does that count?
Dee starts to play some sad, slow sort of song, his fingers dancing across the ivory keys as a card servant I hadn’t noticed before begins to pluck at a harp with its too-human fingers. I can’t look at its face, no freaking way. If I do, I’ll get too creeped out and leave before my lesson has even begun.
"Just follow along and don't worry about it for now," Lar says, placing one warm hand on my hip and curling the fingers of the other through my own. I find myself licking my lips and avoiding any sort of eye contact. We're standing far too close for that. Besides, he smells like tobacco and blueberries, a toxic sort of combination that makes my heart flutter. "You're thinking too hard," he tells me as we start to sway, and I end up stepping on his foot.
"Oops, sorry," I say as I cringe and struggle with where to place my left hand. Lar sweeps his right up my side, making me shiver, and takes hold of it, placing it on his right shoulder. He just smiles at me, earrings swaying with
the motion of our bodies. He holds his wings just high enough that the curled tips brush the ground. "I'm sort of a dance-virgin."
Lar smirks at me, his eyes going half-lidded as the chandeliers flare to life, brightening up the room before the sky is completely dark outside.
"Don't apologize for being inexperienced, only for refusing to learn. Seems to me like you're trying plenty hard." He spins me around as Dee picks up the pace on the piano, giving us a bouncier tune than I'd expected. I have no idea what one dances a quadrille or a quintrille to, but I suppose I'll soon figure that shit out.
"There's certainly a lot to, uh, take in," I say as Lar picks up our speed. He's right though: when I'm not focusing on what I'm doing, I have no problem keeping up. As soon as I let myself get laser-focused on his feet, and my feet, and that yummy smell of his … that's when shit gets fucked up.
"Don't think too hard," Lar whispers, moving his hand from my hip to tap at my chin. I lift my face up to look at him as we make our way around the dance floor. "And don't think too little, either. Just enough to point yourself in the right direction. Once you've done that, you have to learn to trust yourself."
"So you're a seer and a wiseman?" I ask as the Caterpillar starts to guide my feet with his own, pushing me back with his shoe, or to the side, or beckoning me forward by hooking my ankle. It's a little unorthodox, I have to admit, but I'm not really thinking about dancing anymore. I'm just looking at him. He has big, round eyes, but they seem to be in a near perpetual half-lidded state. His mouth is generous and full, lips pink, skin pale, and that hair … it's blonde, but when you look at it just right, it tints blue. I wonder if he really is a faerie?
"I'm a slave," he says with a loose shrug of his shoulders, spinning me around again. If I had a dress on, the fabric would swish around my calves right now. Damn it. I should've just worn the fucking dress. That easy, fantastical high I felt when I took a drag on the pipe amplifies with each movement we make, promising that I’m in for a serious trip. "I'm whatever the King wants me to be."
"You're a prisoner, too, huh? Who isn't?"
"The damn cat," Lar says in a soft voice. It's not weak, just … quiet. Like he expects the world to shush up and listen to him. Considering his talents, I don't think that's much of a request. "And the Duke. I think he actually likes Red."
"Anyone else?" I ask, thinking of Tee and Dee. They are most certainly prisoners. Slaves, actually.
"You know Rab hasn't much of a choice either. Although I think he likes his place in the palace now. There are bets out there to decide if he was crazy before or only after the King made him a Rabbit."
"Psychopath? Or sociopath?" I ask as the music slows, stops, and then starts up again. Lar doesn't skip a beat, keeping us moving before I can trip on my own feet.
"Both?" he asks with a lift of one, pale brow. There's something soothing about his hand on my hip, this guiding presence that makes me feel like I'm being taken care of. But, like, not in a creepy way. "Rab is an easy man to get along with, but a terrible man to cross."
"He shot my schoolmate in the face," I say, looking past Lar and feeling my eyes blur with the memory. God, that feels like it happened ages ago. When was it really? A week and a half ago? For fuck's sake.
A week and a half back home without me … Dad and Edith are probably frantic. I just hope they haven't told Mom. Being trapped in jail with no way to look for me, that very well might kill her.
"King's orders," Lar says simply, shrugging his shoulders. After meeting the royal prick, I guess I can see why they're so eager to do what he says: he's not insane, he's just evil.
Our steps get more elaborate as we go, until I feel like I'm really and truly dancing for the first time in my life. My hair billows out behind me in a blonde and rainbow wave as we make another turn on the dance floor.
"This is easier than I thought," I say, just before I trip over Lar's foot and end up stumbling into him. He catches me and helps me upright, my face ridiculously close to his. His breath is sweet, fanning against my lips. I have to swallow hard to get past the sudden lump in my throat.
"Nothing is so hard you couldn’t figure it out, mighty Alice," Lar says, folding his wings together and then opening them slowly, like he's putting on a show. I'm not sure that he even realizes he's doing it though.
"Well, most things anyway," I say as I right myself, brush my sweaty palms down the front of my red button-up shirt, and take a deep breath. Lar and I get into position again as Dee starts up a new song, this fast-paced piano solo that makes me want to move.
"I've never met a problem I couldn't solve," he says as I cock an eyebrow.
"The King of Hearts?" I hazard, but Lar just shakes his head, long blue-blonde strands of hair falling across his forehead. His earrings catch the light as he moves, too, and I can't help but admire them. He has a fine-boned look to his face, this aristocratic air that begs attention. Jewelry suits him.
"He's not a problem," he says with a long sigh, blinking pale lashes at me. "The King of Hearts is the best ruler Underland has right now. Compared to the King of Spades, and the King of Clubs, he's practically a saint. I'll serve him without resistance," Lar starts, leaning in and putting his lips against my ear, his breath tickling my skin, "until I find someone better."
I feel weightless, with the Caterpillar this close to my face. It’s quite obvious to my body right now that a slight turn of my face would put my lips to his. We could kiss right now. My tingling lips tell me it’s the right thing to do, that I should try. After all, when am I ever going to feel like this again, like I’m floating across the dance floor?
Lar chuckles, like he can sense what I’m feeling. When I do turn my head and kiss him, it’s with laughter dancing on both our lips. My mouth presses softly against his, and he doesn’t press the moment, letting me come to him. My fingers squeeze his right shoulder, curl around his left hand. His tightens on my hip, letting me know that he’s enjoying the moment as much as I am.
Barely spoke ten sentences to the guy, and you’re shoving your tongue down his throat, my brain quips, but I’m not listening to her. When am I ever going to get this chance again? I’m surrounded by attractive men that want me, that think I’m the literal answer to all their prayers. Am I supposed to keep fighting this? Am I supposed to hate it?
I don’t.
Lar teases the tip of my tongue with his own before pulling back and leaving me breathless. My chest aches as his wings open wide, a gold, black, and blue backdrop to … the sky? I blink a few times and look down.
I shouldn’t have looked down.
With a squeak, I realize we’re floating far above the dance floor, our heads just a foot or so from the domed glass ceiling of the ballroom.
“Lar,” I choke out, but he doesn’t seem concerned, twirling me around as easily up here as he did on the marble floor below. My feet continue to follow his, mimicking the steps of the dance as best I can. I’m afraid to stop. What if I fall? “I have a thing about heights.”
“Will you, won’t you join the dance?” the Caterpillar whispers, tugging on one of his earrings. The blue jewel lights up, and then dozens of wall sconces burst into brilliant flame, casting beautiful shadows across the walls and floor. “When the King asks you that at the ball, you take a curtsy and reply ‘What matters it how far we go?’”
My eyes get caught on Lar’s as we twirl through the air, dancing on the wind as easily as if it were the earth beneath our feet. Next time these people ask me to smoke a pipe, I won’t question it. Prophetic visions and magical air dances? Sign me up.
As we move, Lar’s wings sparkle, the colors in the center shifting and adjusting until I’m looking at something … carnal. There are two naked people in this image, playing out like a porno inside the confines of his beautiful wings. Just like last time, I can see, hear, smell, almost taste that vision. It’s so real that I have to shake my head to remind myself that it isn’t actually happening.
No, I’m just watching two pe
ople fuck.
“A prophecy,” I start as I squint and … realize that the two figures in the image are me and Lar. I squeak and jerk back, slipping from Lar’s arms. Almost immediately, I begin to fall, tumbling through the air like I’m on my way down the damn Rabbit-Hole again. Lar tucks his wings in tight, dives down, and snatches me from midair, setting us both gently down on the marble floor.
When our eyes meet, I feel my cheeks heat.
Lar looks at me for a long moment before raising his head and narrowing his eyes at something over my shoulder while Dee finishes up the music and turns on his bench seat to follow the other man’s gaze. There’s a tingling between my shoulder blades, and it takes me a moment to realize that's because there are eyes boring into my back. When I glance over my shoulder, I find Brennin Red watching me with cold, dark eyes.
"I'm starting to get the feeling you don't like me," I call out, putting my hands on my hips and staring the asshole down.
"You're a deplorable dancer; the court will notice." He runs a finger absently along the scar at the corner of his lip. "Oh well. Nobody expects the Alice to be … cultured. I suppose it'll have to do. We don't have a lot of time."
"Is your stupid ball that important?" I ask, moving across the marble floors toward him. I get the idea that this is a guy that thrives on manipulation and intimidation, and I refuse to play into his hand.
"The Ball of Broken Hearts and Stolen Tarts is a send-off for my soldiers, the people who inhabit this world that means nothing to you. The Walrus and the Carpenter are mobilizing an army on our border. You wouldn't want to see what they'd do if given free rein to terrorize the kingdom. You might be interested in disappearing through the Looking-Glass, but the rest of us are stuck here, Alice."
"I'm not responsible for the pain of an entire world!" I shout as Brennin—or Red or whatever his stupid name is—turns and leaves the room with an entourage of guards swarming after him. The White Knight is with him, but at least she gives me a sympathetic look as she follows the King out. He's wearing that stupid suit again. I'm guessing it's his version of casual wear. Prick. He probably sleeps with a stick shoved up his ass.
Allison and the Torrid Tea Party: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Harem of Hearts Book 2) Page 14
