Queen of Hearts: The Crown (Queen of Hearts Saga #1)(51)
Wardley pushed her back and stared at her face in disbelief. “But who . . . what?!”
“My father. An assassin? I don’t know what’s happening.”
“But why, why would your father kill his own SON? What kind of a father would kill his own SON?” Wardley’s eyes echoed disbelief.
“I don’t know! The kind of father who does not want to share the throne. He killed Charles so he could blame it on me. Wonderland would never accept a queen who commits fratricide. My father wants my crown, Wardley. I don’t think he ever intended to give it to me.”
She shook her head as Wardley forced her to drink water out of a canvas horse bag. It splashed down her face.
Her voice rose to hysterics. “I don’t know, I don’t understand what’s happening. A stranger woke me and told me to leave, but I didn’t listen, I went to Charles’s apartment to see and. . . .” Dinah felt the tack room spin around her. “I heard him, my father. I SAW HIM. He ordered the Heart Cards to arrest me, and kill me if necessary.”
Wardley nodded. “I heard. I managed to slip out the back of the march. We were woken up by the King, ordered to be present for your arrest and trial this morning, ordered to either kill you or take you into custody.”
Dinah took a step backwards. “What are you saying?” She looked down at Wardley’s drawn sword. “You aren’t?”
Wardley gave Dinah an exasperated look. “You can’t be serious, Dinah. Dinah.” He wrapped her swiftly in his lean arms and murmured into her black hair. “You are my sister. My best friend. My Queen. You will not die today, not on my watch. But you must go. Once your father has discovered that you have gone, this will be the first place that he looks. He will kill us both. Dinah, you MUST go now!”
Dinah nodded and reluctantly pulled back from Wardley. She saw tears glistening in his brown eyes. She pulled Speckle’s saddle from the wall mount, her hands shaking.
“NO.” Wardley grabbed her arm roughly and suddenly she was being pulled through the labyrinth of stalls, deeper and deeper into the middle of the stable. His arm was firm; she could not squirm out of his grip.
“Wardley, what are you doing? STOP it! I have to LEAVE!”
Wardley continued to pull her through the stalls. “You cannot take Speckle. Where will you go?”
“Speckle is my horse!”
“You will not be able to outride the Heart Cards on Speckle, not even if you had a day’s lead. Speckle can barely handle an afternoon trot. He’s old, Dinah!”
“Then give me Corning. You’ve always said he is the fastest horse in Wonderland.”
“That he is,” mumbled Wardley as they ran past stall after stall of rudely awakened horses. Their whinnies filled the air. “Even then, even with Corning I’m not sure you could—”
He was interrupted by the blast of a hundred horns sounding out from the palace walls. The sound froze them both. Dinah’s blood ran cold, and she found herself unable to move.
“They’re coming for me,” she whispered. “It’s over.”
Wardley’s eyes narrowed. “Not today it isn’t. You will not die today, Dinah. You will die with a crown on your head, subjects bowing at your feet.” He pulled Dinah through the center of the labyrinth, running now. An iron stall door, twice the height of the other stall doors appeared before them. The chain that held it shut was thick as a man’s arm—but Wardley had keys, since he had been the stable boy for so long.
Dinah felt her entire body tremble. “NO, NO! I can’t. Absolutely not.”
“You must.” There was finality in Wardley’s voice—the decision was made. “You must. Hornhooves are much, much faster than regular horses. They can easily outrun a normal steed, and they can run for days without exhaustion.”
“Yes, and they will kill a person because he is not their master, or because they are in a foul mood that day!”
Dinah was terrified of the Hornhooves. Wardley swung open the pen, revealing the three Hornhooves—two white and one massive black beast. Morte, her father’s steed. He rode in on a devil steed. The creatures backed into the corner of their pen, snorting angrily, pawing the ground until it began to crack and break under their massive weight. Morte towered over the other two Hornhooves, a colossal figure of glistening black muscle, more like a dragon than a horse. His hooves were larger than Dinah’s head and covered with hundreds of bone spikes—perfect for impaling a head, knee, or torso.
Dinah’s knowledge of Hornhooves ran through her head; they were not just faithful steeds—they were bloodthirsty creatures, warriors of their own choosing. They loved killing and hunting and death. In their battle frenzy, a strong Hornhoov could kill forty men. There was a painting of Morte in her father’s study, rearing up before a Yurkei warrior, the heads of his fellow tribesmen decorating his hooves as her father raised the Heartsword from astride his back. This was the animal that Wardley wanted her to ride.
“No,” Dinah started looking around, bordering on hysteria. “There must be a place for me to hide, maybe in the hay, maybe in the rafters.”
Wardley grabbed her roughly and lifted her off the ground, his arms wrapped around her waist. Morte had backed into a corner and was snorting angrily, boiling-hot steam hissing out of his giant nostrils, his black eyes wide with confusion. The steam could scald skin.