The Mad King (The Dark Kings #1)(71)
He shrugged. She smirked—he hadn’t denied it.
“Come on.” He turned and continued on down the winding maze of corridors. The cottage outside had been tiny, but this place was an M.C. Escher nightmare.
Hatter would walk through one door and suddenly it was day, the sun beating so hard she’d been ready to chant “I’m melting” in her best Wicked Witch impersonation, only to then enter through another door and plop face-first in a mound of silver-dusted snow.
Shivering, rubbing her arms to generate any heat, she stuttered “c-c-cold” through clenched teeth.
Then they were walking through yet another door, and before she had a chance to breathe a loud sigh of relief at the blast of warmth, she was free-falling. Again.
She threw her arms out, attempting to grab anything to stop the mind-numbing terror of total darkness.
“Relax.” His deep voice rumbled next to her ear.
She turned, blindly reaching out toward his voice. He grabbed her hand and the fear vanished, replaced by a thrill of excitement that bordered on lunacy.
Wind surged past in a sickening rush. All she could focus on was the heat emanating from long fingers wrapped around hers. Her stomach dipped when his thumb caressed her knuckle.
Then they landed on what felt like a hundred soft pillows, and she lost him.
“Hatter,” she cried, scrabbling to stand. Everything was dark and she was disoriented, turning in circles, trying to find some source of light.
“Hold my hand.”
His hand slid into hers, and for a second, a whisper in time, she felt the world shift. Small. Minute. Like a butterfly’s wings taking off from a rose petal. She jerked, eyes widening, feeling his heat spread through her palm, up her arm. Her heart twisted almost painfully in her chest at the rightness of the very strange moment.
He didn’t slow his pace or turn as they advanced through door after door, each room more strange than the last. A green sky with blue grass. A room filled with thirty moons. Another smelling of the heavenly scent of vanilla and spice. One after another, shifting in a blurry daze she couldn’t track.
They stepped through yet another door, and all she had time to do was groan, “Dammit.” Just how many times would she have to free-fall?
She closed her eyes when she got too dizzy to keep them open from the constant rotation. Her hair hung above her head. Lovely. She was falling headfirst. At that point, she wasn’t even scared. Sort of like riding a rollercoaster twenty times in a row—after a certain point, it failed to terrify.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling in the best she could. With his big frame shielding her, she felt safe, protected in the madness of his home.
And then they were there, landing gracefully on their feet. She looked, breathing in the wonder of a land that defied description.
The world sparkled with the deep-hued shades of jewels. They stood in an open meadow. Flowers, petals looking like they’d been dipped in gold, swayed from a gentle breeze. A flock of birds gracefully sailed overhead, their birdsong a trilling, haunting melody that pierced her heart. And in the distance, she heard the faint roar of rushing water.
“My home is this way.” Somewhere between her falling at his feet and her falling in his arms, he’d gentled, reminding her forcibly of the man etched in her memory from years ago.
She nodded, feeling as if the world hushed around her, held its breath with an expectant hum.
Hatter led her to a white cottage with a red door. It looked exactly the same as the one painted on the teapot. She halted, narrowing her eyes.
His lips quirked, and heat nestled deep in her belly.
“Don’t worry.” He shook his head. “No more tricks. This is home. You’re probably exhausted.”
He’d read her mind. For a second she’d been afraid she’d have to endure more tricks and turns.
A thick wave of dark brown hair fell into his eye, and she felt the oddest desire to reach up and tuck it back into place, run her fingers through it and see if it felt as soft as it looked. She bit her lip and nodded.
The moment they stepped inside, she waited for the dizzy inertia of a spinning room, but he’d told the truth. It was a simple living room. A stuffed blue love seat and rocking chair sat before a fire burning in the hearth. Beside it, a wooden bookshelf lined with books. Colorful rugs were strewn haphazardly around the dimly lit room.
She sniffed and her stomach rumbled when she identified the scent of buttery scones. Everything had a homey, comfy feel to it. Not at all what she’d expected from the Hatter’s home.
The crazy rooms and falling into nothing, sure... but not this. This was nothing short of a dream home for her.
She’d always wanted to live in a place just like this. A simple, cozy, warm haven. She could picture herself here, reading in front of the fire.
Alice glanced at Hatter from the corner of her eye.
Or maybe making love, while outside a storm raged and the world seemed bathed in madness and chaos. Safe in her lover’s arms.
Heat crept up her neck, and she rocked on her heels as she became aware of his large presence and the fact that they were very alone.
She swallowed, wishing she knew what he was thinking.
His eyes were shaded, and it was hard for her to make out his expression. But he kept casting her shifty glances. Maybe... he was nervous? Her heart skipped a beat. Did he like her being here?
“This place is so awesome. So un-mad-like. In fact”—she gushed, not filtering her words—“in fact, I wish I could stay here forever.”