The Mad King (The Dark Kings #1)(58)
“Honestly.” Danika straightened the ends of her dress in an attempt to settle herself.
The stork didn’t pause, but he dipped his head in apology. Ruffled but not vexed, she nodded back. He was, she supposed, in a hurry much as herself.
A tiny green fist poked out the top of the bundle.
Danika curled her nose.
She hated ogres no matter what form they came in. Nasty little boogers they were, always smashing through trees, destroying her precious forest home with their big, gigantic ham fists and warty feet.
With a shake of her head, she hurried on. She couldn’t wait to see the Bad Five. Of all her charges, they were her favorites, and for the life of her she could never understand why more fairies didn’t feel as she did. Bad boys needed love too. Her boys weren’t dangerous—just naughty. But naughty could be very, very fun. Unfortunately, Kingdom was mostly made up of Goody Two-shoes with a very rigid view of good and evil. They were completely unable to look beyond her boys’ slightly colorful pasts. So the Wolf had killed a time or two. Big deal. He was a wolf! What did they expect? That he’d lick his balls all day and howl at the moon?
She chuckled at the thought.
In no time, she spied the lights that Leonard—the Hatter’s pet mouse—had hung from branch to branch. She hovered in the air directly over their table. The Bad Five were already thick in their cups, laughing and eating. Danika took a moment to study her motley crew before they noticed her presence.
The Hatter, as always, slouched in his seat at the head of the table with a fist tucked under his chin. He stared blankly into the night, distant, thinking... who knew what thoughts. Hair disheveled, clothes ripped, but all of it with that flair of style that made it seem possible he’d contrived his appearance to look just so.
Danika had known him several years now, and each year he seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the quagmire of his mind. He needed a mate, someone to help offset the residual madness that built up like toxins in the bones if he didn’t have an outlet. A mate would force him to get out of his head
Wonderland was wonderful, but without a counterbalance, it could turn its inhabitants completely insane.
The man was dangerously close to irreparable damage. He’d been here too long, with no one to pull him from the cliff’s edge. And now, with Miriam’s warnings ringing in her ears, she knew he’d only a year left before the madness completely consumed him. Maybe even less. Her heart clenched—what would Wonderland be without him? Not near as fun, that was for sure.
Hatter took a sip of his tea. She sighed. He truly was a lovely man, with a face that seemed a kiss from the gods, a strong jaw, molten brown eyes, and a mouth made for sin. Her pulse raced. Old as she was, she was not impervious to his charms. Charms he never seemed aware of. Hatter simply was what he was.
“Has the witch arrived yet?” The deep timbre of Gerard’s voice shivered through the cool night. He tipped his head back and chugged from the tankard he held fisted tight in his hand.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Hook said, eyeing the French drunk with a sharp black brow.
“She’s not a witch.” Jinni sipped at his tea. “She’s a fairy. Kahar.” The last dripped from his tongue like venom.
She covered her mouth, containing the mirth that threatened to spill when Gerard’s face mottled a dark shade of red.
“I detest when you speak Chinese.”
“To vilify a man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness,” Hatter said, never taking his eyes from some unknown spot in the distance.
Gerard’s face screwed up as if he was contemplating Hatter’s words and whether to take umbrage or not. Finally the effort seemed too much for him. “Argh,” he growled, dismissing him with a flick of his wrist.
Hook rolled his eyes. “He’s Persian, you idiot.”
Gerard clenched his fist. “I can take you, une main.”
“Beauty with no brains. Calypso save us,” Hook said in a whiskey-thick drawl. “He called you an idiot, you dolt.” Never a patient sort, his silver hook tapped the table.
Tap.
The wolf’s nostrils flared. Yellow eyes narrowed to thin slits.
Tap.
A low, guttural growl.
Hook’s lips twisted as he looked toward the wolf whose hackles were raised, eyes glowing with threat of violence.
Tap.
“Bloody hell!” Gerard smashed his fist into the table, knocking a silver platter full of crumpets to the floor. “Shut up,” he snarled and snatched up a roasted leg of turkey. Straight white teeth ripped into it with animal aggression.
“Oy” A tiny squeak rang from a ceramic teapot.
Hatter sighed and flipped the lid up. Leonard popped his furry brown head out, whiskers twitching as he said, “I’ll give ye a nibble to yer hind, I will.”
“Oh hush, rat. And why do you bother with such a stupid creature anyway?” Gerard asked, looking at Hatter and pointing his ravaged turkey leg at the mouse, whose eyes bulged with indignation.
“I never!” Leonard huffed, looking back at Hatter.
Hatter patted his furry head, handed him a sugar cube, and tucked him back into his favorite cubbyhole.
The Wolf gave a gentle whuff, whether of agreement or not, it was hard to say, and continued lapping at the cream within the silver dog bowl.