Ensnared

Without the lifeline of the diary, I may as well be drowning. I tighten my fingers through Morpheus’s as waves of insecurity roll over me. Holding my gaze, he lifts my hand and kisses my gloved knuckles. He’s genuinely glad to see me.

That would change in a blink, were he to hear about my life-magic vow to Jeb. Even though the human side of me has always belonged to Jeb, even though somewhere in Morpheus’s heart he’s always known it, he’s going to be furious. Both guys may have learned to coexist in this world, but if Jeb stands in the way of some master plan, things could change in a heartbeat. I won’t tell Morpheus while we’re in this castle. His jealous, feral side is too unpredictable when it comes to Wonderland or me.

After climbing two flights of winding stairs, we walk through a marble hallway. Hundreds of shadow boxes line the walls, boasting a selection of hearts—different sizes and shapes—that pump wildly in their compartments. With each thump, blurs of red smear the glass lids, as if the organs are knocking on the doors of their prisons. A coppery, meaty stench curdles my stomach.

I try not to compare the bugs I killed and hung on the walls at home to what Hart has done, but the parallel is striking. Collecting must be in my blood. I don’t dare speculate what else might be . . .

The guards open a set of double doors and usher us into a chamber with black shag carpet and burgundy tiled walls. The queen accompanies us inside against her will. It’s apparent by her crimson hair that Red has taken over again. After we’re safely inside, the guards step out into the hall and close the door behind them.

“Welcome to Hart’s playroom.” Red’s breathy murmur slithers into my personal space.

Her presence pricks that frangible place behind my sternum where she left her mark. I crush my fur-lined bodice against my skin in an effort not to be paralyzed by the climate of terror and oppression that surrounds her in any form. I have to be stronger than her.

I familiarize myself with the room, seeking out possible weapons. An assortment of gold velvet parlor chairs and chaise lounges lines the walls. Stolen hearts provide the decor: picture and mirror frames utilize the throbbing organs in grisly albeit creative ways; throw rugs ornament the carpet, tasseled with sprite-size thumping beads like the ones on the queen’s sleeves.

The most intricate and morbid display is a giant brass chandelier at the center of the domed ceiling, tipped with the pulsating organs. Impaled with light bulbs, they glow from within, casting veined luminaries along the white ceiling. The contractions of hollow muscles and the rush of blood circulate in an eternal loop, as if projected onto a screen. With the discordant vibration of heartbeats and the strange, pulsing lights, the room feels like a conscious thing—and we are the prey, trapped inside its rib cage.

Is this what Morpheus felt like, being swallowed by the bandersnatch?

Disoriented, I catch his elbow. In response, one of his wings enfolds both of mine, snuggling me into his side in unwavering support. His scent surrounds me.

“The one thing Hart asks,” Red says, her vines wrestling the queen’s hands to maintain control, “is that you not touch her paints or her tarts.”

A table is set with pastries along with a glass of white liquid that looks like milk. On the wall above it hangs an easel filled with blank papers held in place by a clip. A set of finger paints in small containers waits to be used. The sight of them makes me think of Jeb, and I gasp against the shortness of breath that has come to accompany the knifelike stab behind my breastbone. Dizziness blurs my vision.

As if sensing my distress, Morpheus takes a seat on a parlor chair and draws me into his lap—my wings draped to one side of his legs and my calves along the other. He folds his arms around me, completely at ease.

“You see. It’s as I told you,” he speaks to Red, his voice a deep rumble close to my ear. “We’re utterly in love, and pla

“Oh no,” Red intones. “Not until we are married. That is the bargain. You’ve tricked me once. It won’t happen again.”

“We are married? What do you mean, we?” I look over my shoulder at Morpheus, who offers a pleading wince from beneath his hat’s brim. It’s infuriating to have the iron dome overhead. Without it, he could send me his thoughts instead of me playing this game blind.

“We, as in us three. The wicked trinity.” Red smirks at her cleverness, and a stray strand of ivy pulls the red streak free from my bun. The hearts on her gown’s sleeves begin thumping so wildly, they make a wet smacking sound. Her dark blue gaze falls on mine as my hair comes alive, wrapping around her vine affectionately. It’s my magic causing the contact, not hers, which scares me even more.

“You and I are to reclaim the throne for our bloodline once and for all,” Red continues. “And to prove to me that you are serious about your royal duties, that living as queen in Wonderland is your one priority, and to ensure there are no more mortal distractions, you will marry Morpheus, today. He told me you love one another, that you will rule the Red kingdom together. I want to see it for myself. I will not leave this place until you’ve forsaken your other life and the boy who’s been such a distraction for you. Or, if you prefer, I can rid you of him permanently and give our predecessor the human heart she’s been craving for her collection.”

Fear for Jeb’s safety resurrects my courage. I yank my treasonous hair away, forcing it behind my ear. “Keep making threats like that and I won’t take you out of here at all, wretch. You can stay and rot.”

“Your beloved betrothed wants me to repair Wonderland far too much to allow your stubbor