AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A rustle sounds from above, the faintest moment of the leaves before a shadow descends. Quicker than my eyes can track, Dum has shifted. Shooting to his feet, a tiny lithe figure falls into the trap of his arms. He throws her to the ground, whipping a blade from his boot and presses it to her neck.
“Sloppy, to say the least. Do better,” he growls, shoving the small girl aside. Arabelle rolls to her front, pushing up to her knees with a fitting scowl for an eight-year-old spoilt brat. Personally, I’d been rather impressed with her stealthy attack, but for Dum, she’s never good enough. There’s a deep psychological issue there I won’t bother delving into.
“Give the girl a day off,” I use his shoulder to push myself upright. “It is her birthday, after all.”
“Soldiers don’t get birthdays, and they certainly don’t have days off.” Raising to stand beside me, Dum stares down at the expectant eyes peering up at him with such desperation. The day Dum compliments her, I reckon she might jut explode. I hope I get to see it.
“Well then,” I bow low. “Happy un-birthday, Princess.” Offering out my hand, she accepts and returns to her full four and a half feet height. Aside from the ponytail of vibrant red curls bursting free of a ski mask, she’s donned in full black. Leggings cling to her lower half, a tight long sleeve top in the same spandex material covering her wrist to her chin. Much like a gymnast would wear if performing a ninja routine. Because that’s all this is – a choregraphed routine for her to gain attention. “Now go change before your mother beheads you.”
“She’s too distracted to care for my outfit,” Arabelle smirks, her attention oddly on me for a touch too long. “You should report to the ballroom. There’s quite the display being erected in your honor.” I frown, the expression not sitting right on my face. Releasing Arabelle’s hand, I wipe my palms down the length of my sweatpants to be rid of her cooties. Can never be too careful and I’m positive becoming royalty is a fatal condition I don’t want to catch.
“Hmmm, so the queen is using her sprog as a messenger now,” I grunt to cover my piqued curiosity. I’m accustomed to Dum being summoned, or plain abducted from his bed in the cupboard-sized room we share, but me? I’ve become part of the furniture. Forgotten, ignored, and that’s just how I like it.
Retracing my steps, I enter through the rear of the main lobby. Dum is right behind, his swift steps catching the back of my sneakers. Still threadbare and torn, I haven’t earned the right to tailored combat training like my brother. I slow right down, forcing him to bump me along with his chest before stepping around me altogether. I link my arm in him, putting us in step with each other the way we used to be.
“Hey now, no need to be jealous. Whatever they want me for will be fleeting, and then it’s back to you being the star prodigy,” I bob my eyebrows. Dum bristles.
“I’m nothing to no one,” he grumbles and I let the lie slide. The entire Kingdom of Hearts knows of Dum, whether they praise or hate him for taking up so much of the Queen’s time. She didn’t even show up to her own jubilee celebration, preferring to follow Dum through the Enchanted Wood with a whip – not in the kinky way either. I’ve taken my fair share of lashes, and the more I receive, the more insolent I become. Foreplay doesn’t tickle my fancy. I prefer to get straight to the fuckery. In this sense, which involves screwing with the Queen’s plans before screwing her maids in waiting.
Coming to a halt outside the ballroom, we can hear voices through the closed doorway. There’s plenty of them, all bubbling with excitement. I pick out the King of Diamonds, the stuck-up asshole ranting about not having enough ice in his drink before a glass shatters. So quick to shout, yet the one time I snuck up behind and held a rolling pin to his neck, he could only squeak. Dum squares his shoulders, huffs and pushes the door open. Silence falls, a sea of eyes swinging to the two men standing arm-in-arm at the doorway.
“Ahh there you are!” the Queen puts on a smile for the crowd, but her dark eyes are simmering with barely contained rage. Ushering us inside, a pack of lizards rush by with a ladder braced across their shoulders and tool kits in hand. A stage has been built in the center of the ballroom dancefloor, giving a 360 view from the armchairs placed around the outside. Butts fill them all, from Royals to the high council and any other who holds a pointless title. The Duke of Baked Goods twists to grin at me, his full-bodied moustache twitching with full-on creep vibes.
Gripping my wrist, the Queen of Hearts tugs me into the room and my sixth sense prickles. The one that tells me to run. Drawn to the stage, shining like a spill of ink against the marble of the dancefloor, a glint of metal catches the dual chandeliers. A pole of solid chrome, from the stage to the ceiling. I halt, pulling back against the hold on my wrist. Nope, I don’t like this.
“Come now,” the Queen grits out, desperate to keep her smile in place. “We’ve finally found a use for you. Every Queen needs a Jester, does she not?” I swallow, shaking my head. Dum steps between us as she plucks a riding crop from her belt and lifts it high, sensing his Queen’s unstable mood better than I can.
“We’ve barely just become men,” Dum tries to reason with her. The heart-shaped crop comes down with a sharp snap. Dum doesn’t even flinch.
“Eighteen is plenty years to grow up, and I’ve waited long enough. Time to earn his keep or I’ll consider selling him to the King of Diamonds.” My eyes slide to the stout man, more grey hair than sense, sneering at me. Jerking forward with my fists curled, a high-pitched scream penetrates the air and he shrinks back into his seat. I chuckle to myself. Being twin to the Champion of Hearts sure has its perks. Taking the crop from the Queen’s hand before she has a chance to stop him, Dum turns long enough to slap me across the face with a warning to ‘behave.’ Gently placing the leather instrument back into his Queen’s hand, his back flexes on a deep exhale.
“You have no need for the money. You are, however, indebted to me for my service.” Dum tilts his chin upwards, despite having a fair few inches on the woman before him. The silent room stills further, those watching not daring to breathe.
“Is that so?” the Queen asks mockingly. She’ll be of the disposition that we are indebted to her for molding us into men we wouldn’t have been otherwise – and for good reason. But Dum doesn’t back down.
“More than so,” he holds her stare. I slink back a step, towards the shadows where I’m comfortable. Unseen, unnoticed. All heads are turned towards the power play happening by the stage, except for one. Golden eyes hunt me through the darkness, a spill of jet-black hair falling over delicate shoulders. A dress of gold hugs her frame in the furthest armchair, buckled tight in the waist. Netting along the low bust gives me enough hint at her full breasts, her fingers sitting delicately against her cheek. ‘Who is that?’ I think to myself.
She watches me, a spark of interest I’m unused to pulling me a step towards her. Scorns have become second nature, even by the maids in waiting I gag and fuck from behind as to not see their disgust. It doesn’t matter that I have Dum’s face, I’m not him, and no one will let me forget it. But maybe…
“Very well,” the Red Queen inclines her head. My attention is redirected with the gasps echoing around the room. Dum held his ground, and the Queen before him has relented. A momentous feat, yet a small smirk plays about her painted lips. “Dee stays. But I won’t have him running about this castle, stealing snacks and bringing havoc. There’s enough of that around as it is,” she drops her voice to mutter. “What with the death of my dear husband causing the realm to question my sole leadership skills, I don’t need Dee causing trouble beneath my nose as well.”
“But it is such a fanciful nose,” I raise my finger to pitch in. Dum tosses a glare over his shoulder and I can hear his thoughts telling me to shut the fuck up.
“Is it time, your majesty?” a viscountess stands, a bundle of material wrapped in her hands. The Queen nods.
“You’ve proved yourself a fine warrior, Dum. Against all odds,” she glowers across the crowd of nobles, “you’ve become a citizen worth keeping alive. The lessons you are providing Arabelle will prove our Kingdom is the strongest for at least another generation. My legacy is only as strong as my kin, and I’m entrusting you to make her the best. Do you accept this challenge? It is possibly the toughest yet?”
“I have no other reason to live,” Dum kneels before his Queen. My heart sinks. Where she heard acceptance, I heard the words of a young boy that never stood a chance. It was kill or be killed, and Dum saved my life more times than I can count. All at a cost to his soul. He’s a solider alright, a mindless drone for the Queen to toy with. Clicking her fingers for the viscountess to bring forward the bundle, the Queen flicks it open to reveal a jacket. Draping it across his shoulders, she orders Dum to stand.
“You’ve outgrown your name and the mockery it has brought you. From this day forth, you shall be known as Tweed, my prized Tweedle and Knave of Hearts to Arabelle upon her coronation.”
Slipping his arms into the tweed jacket, I saw the image of my brother melt away. Charcoal grey dons his muscled frame, fitting from the high collar to the cuffs at his wrists. A red heart stamped into the back brands him as property to the Red Kingdom, for better or for worse. The material hugs his thighs, chunky heart buttons gleaming as he swishes it back to push his hands into his pockets. Too comfortable in his position, too at ease with the stench of bullshit in this room. I imagine he’s numb to it by now.
Holding out her hand, the Queen waits for ‘Tweed’ to accept and leads him towards a pair of empty armchairs facing the pole in the center of the room. Becoming distracted by the knighting of a damn jacket, I’d forgotten why I was summoned here. My heart clenches as my brother turns to face me, his expression hidden behind a stoic mask. The blood in my veins runs cold.
No. I’m not doing anything for these shitheads. Especially feeding their insatiable appetites with the death of my soul. Sensing my hesitation, Tweed crosses the ballroom to where I’d almost made it out of the door.
“You have to give something, Dee. After everything I’ve done to keep us together, this is your weight to bear.” He grips the back of my neck and forces my face into his. Green eyes glare through my own, the itchy fabric of his jacket cuff scratching my skin. There’s a plea in his frown, but that’s not what tumbles from his lips. “It’s your fucking turn.”
