Free The Crown by Colleen Oakes

could plant my ruby slippers into her pretty face .
    “Ah, I see the Princess is anxious to begin the game.” Cheshire, clothed in dazzling purple, slithered around her and Vittiore, putting himself between them. “The Royal Croquet Game, Your Highnesses, must always be played with grace and dignity. I should remind you both that the entire kingdom is watching.” While he quietly berated both of them, his black eyes lingered only on Dinah, who bit down on her lip until she felt a tiny drop of blood on her tongue.
    She earnestly smiled up at him. “Of course, Sir Cheshire. One should never convey oneself with anything other than honesty and charity. A man of virtue like you reminds us of that.”
    Cheshire stared at her, his eyes darkening with anger, though the wide smile on his face betrayed nothing. Dinah felt a stab of fear. Vittiore gave Dinah an apologetic smile and took her mallet. “We will remember, Sir Cheshire. I have much looked forward to playing with my sister.” She raised her pale, slender arms and waved to the crowd, who gave wild roars of approval, followed by lewd marriage proposals. It was the sort of reception that Dinah had never received, not even once.
    Cheshire put his thin hand on Dinah’s shoulder, squeezed it, and whispered in her ear. “Take comfort in the fact that she is probably quite cold in that thin dress. A queen should be wise above being beautiful.”
    Then he was gone, back to standing beside her father’s Heart Cards, his arms tucked behind his back, his knowing expression resumed. Though she still hated Cheshire and remembered when he had locked her out of the palace, Dinah allowed herself to take comfort in the dimpled goose bumps that ran up Vittiore’s arms and bosom. She was indeed snug in her warm gray wool, even if she did look matronly compared to the radiant duchess. She looked to the crowd and spotted Wardley, standing in his Heart Card uniform at the edge of the lawn. He raised his hand in a silent hello, but his face held a mangled frown as he stared at Vittiore. Dinah was relieved that she wasn’t the only one to notice this public slight. He looked incredibly displeased for Dinah’s sake, as if some food had disagreed with him.
    Finally, after several trumpet blasts, her father stomped out onto the court, his iron footsteps ricocheting off of the marble sidewalk. His wavy blond hair was pushed back from his face by his heavy golden crown, and his cheeks were the ruddy red that comes with drink. Her father hated the Royal Game of Croquet as much as she did. He much preferred hunting sports—killing deer or wild horses just outside the castle walls, or tracking down the large sea cats that prowled the Western Slope. He loved the chase, that intense moment when the animals fought for their lives, all for naught, for they were fated to be the King’s dinner. The King cleared his throat.
    “Give me my MALLET!” he bellowed.
    His gaze rested on Dinah as he waited. She kept her black eyes glued to the ground, but she could feel the searing heat of his gaze. The three players lined up and were handed a velvet bag containing their wooden balls, carved like hedgehogs. Dinah’s were red, the King’s black, and Vittiore’s white. The Master of Games sauntered to the center of the lawn and explained the rules. A drum roll began as the players walked onto the court. Her father gently took Vittiore’s arm and led her to stand next to him. A sharp jealously swam through Dinah. She shot a pitiful look in Harris’s direction. He gave her a kind smile and nervously rubbed the lenses of his glasses with his handkerchief. She raised her head to take in the rapidly shifting clouds, to pretend she was anywhere but here. As the players reached their mark, a single horn blared out a triumphant sound and the crowd gave a roar of applause. Bobbing white lanterns bordering the lawn were lit, and the Royal Game of Croquet began.
    Vittiore was the first striker. Her first turn with