A BLISSFUL AFTERNOON flew by a little too quickly in Alice's opinion. She had come to realize that whenever she was enjoying herself, time always slipped from her grasp faster than she would've liked it to. The cakes that were laid before her were all nothing but crumbs at the end of their tea party, their cups empty of drinks, and stomachs filled with delightful treats.
"Ah," Alice sighed in satisfaction, slouching in her seat a little. Her stiff corset disallowed her much movement but she still managed to break into the hard material against all odds. "Makes me miss cafe-hopping a little."
"Cafe-hopping?" Spade echoed, one corner of his lip turning up into a smile.
Nodding, Alice pushed herself upright once more.
"Cafe-hopping. It means to patronize different cafes in a single outing. I suppose this isn't counted but the delectable foods we had on the table today sure gave the illusion of it."
The more Alice explained, the brighter Spade smiled. If Alice hadn't known better, she might've thought he was bemused by her oddly excitable personality. It was almost as though he couldn't believe how she could've gotten so enlivened by something so simple. Yet, there was no way that could've been Spade's train of thought. As far as Alice knew, she was the only one that had crossed worlds.
Other than the strange woman she caught sight of at the cafe a while ago, that was.
"We should do that sometime soon," Spade suggested. Gesturing to the empty plates on the table, he chuckled. "I'm sure we can find something else that would fill our bellies better. The chefs in the palace kitchen are far too… restrained in their cuisines."
Scrunching her nose, Alice nodded in agreement.
"That's true. The food is always so beautiful. But the more you look at it, the more bland and mundane it becomes. Something beautiful doesn't stand out in a sea of other beautiful things. There's nothing unique about it anymore."
Tea-time ended quite uneventfully after that.
Eventually, like most other important people in the world, Spade was dragged away due to his responsibilities by his personal assistant. Dorian came scuttling over, his expression calm and composed as always but his movements practically desperate.
"Work," he had said it was but the shifty gaze in Dorian's eyes told Alice that it wasn't any ordinary assignment that Spade had to deal with. However, she wasn't in the position to pry nor did she think it was wise to. If Dorian had to watch himself and be vague about it, it only meant that it was something she as an outsider shouldn't know about.
"You can wander the garden if you like," Spade offered before he left. "The flowers here are quite stunning. I'll let the guards know that you're a guest of mine and have Dorian send you back to the Ragan's estate after when you're done."
"That would be lovely, thank you," Alice accepted with a smile.
Thus, lonely as ever, Alice was left on the pebbled paths by herself. It reminded her of how just a short while ago, she had been exploring the palace by herself as well, guided by a white rabbit that was journeying through the palace grounds. She thought it funny how back then, she wasn't quite known, nor was she a welcomed guest. Now, in just weeks, she was personally invited by one of the princes as a guest for friendly tea.
If she had been told months ago, back when she was still in her own world and time, that she would be lost in a place so very alike wonderland, she would've called the other person mad. However, time had made a fool out of her. The only person that could possibly be mad was herself— if not the entire world.
The flowers on the path paired with the wind brought about a refreshing breeze that perfumed the air around Alice. She was sure that she already smelled like flowers, a natural scent that was no doubt pleasant to have. Nonetheless, whatever she thought was pleasant about the garden was soon polluted by the appearance of someone she never thought she would have to deal with alone.
A short distance away from her, standing on the same path, was a woman dressed in scarlet. Her arms were placed one over the other in front of her, back straight and chin high up just as all noble ladies were taught to act. The way she stood allowed her to sneer down at Alice, who wasn't standing as straight and rigid as Rose Whitaker was.
The lady bit out a smile, one that Alice knew in her bones was as false as plastic. Yet, none of the pretenses were shown on Rose's face. The smile she wore was perfect, an alluring visage that was trained and ingrained in her muscles since young.
"Greetings," Alice offered her hellos first, dipping her head gently in a nod. She was still wary of Lady Whitaker, a woman well known by the public eye and yet so very mysterious nevertheless.
Rose Whitaker's smile was a mere mask she wore, nothing more. It held no warmth nor was there any sincerity. In fact, she made sure Alice knew for a fact that she didn't like her. Not one bit.
"Hello," Rose returned, voice curt. "Commoners aren't allowed in this section of the palace if you weren't aware. Please leave before I get the royal guards over to have you arrested for trespassing."
A frown found its way onto Alice's face. She knew that Rose had seen her in the white rose pavilion with Spade just moments prior. After all, their gazes interlocked, chilly as ever. The only reason why such a repulsive request, if it could even be called that, was made by Rose Whitaker was that she found Alice a threat.
A threat to what, Alice wasn't sure. She guessed it was only because she made the selection for the crown prince's bride shakier than ever. Any competition was still considered competition, no matter how much weaker they were.
"I'm afraid your worries are unfounded," Alice retorted. "I'm here as Prince Spade's guest today. I've been given permission to roam about the garden as I please. You may check with him if you still doubt my words."
For a split second, Alice thought she saw the mask on Rose's face crack. Her upper lip twitched just the slightest, trembling as Alice's reply registered in her mind. Even when she breathed it was no longer as composed and subtle as before. This time, Rose Whitaker heaved in a deep breath through her nose, her lips pursed as she glared down at the blonde a short distance from her. Slowly, she took her steps forward, minimizing the distance between them.
Her fuming expression made Alice wonder if anyone had ever talked back to the high and mighty little pampered girl before. Compared to the other noble ladies at Hartley's tea party the other day, Rose Whitaker definitely took Alice's curt reply much better. However, it seemed like even the ever-refined daughter of a duke couldn't keep her cheeks from flushing out of anger as long as her buttons were all pushed.
The clicking of shoes on the pathway snapped Alice's attention to the approaching figure behind Rose. She looked past the other woman, staring right at the man that was quickly approaching them.
"Is there something wrong?" Hartley asked, showing up right on time.
If Alice had thought the face-changing mask performances she had witnessed during festivals in her time were impressive, then Rose Whitaker's own display would be phenomenal. The lady's countenance immediately turned pink instead of garnet, bearing a soft glow akin to a glowing petal bathed in sunlight. All animosity was gone from her face, now only exhibiting pure, humble beauty.
"Your Highness," Rose greeted, turning back the instant she heard Hartley speak. "I was just telling Miss Alice here—" she paused, casting Alice a dirty glare, "—that a common peasant should know their place. The palace isn't a playground for ordinary folk."
Even though every feature on Rose's face wore the pretense of an innocent sheep, the words that she uttered were all coated with poison and wrapped with daggers. Yet, she was confident in her tone and she had every right to be. When Alice had first met Hartley, he was a stuck-up that would've said the exact same thing Rose Whitaker had.
And so, it came as a surprise when Hartley gave Alice a smile instead. It was as cordial and friendly as it was awkward and shy. For Alice, a person that had only seen multitudes of Hartley's negative expressions, the genuine smile made her heart flutter in awe. She didn't know that the crown prince was capable of such a look.
"Alice is allowed to venture in the garden anytime she wishes to." Hartley waved off Rose's words, nodding once in Alice's direction. His words made both women widen their eyes in shock, staring at him in disbelief.
"Your Highness?..." Rose Whitaker murmured under her breath, almost in a gasp.
"Thank you for the offer, Your Highness," Alice offered her gratitude, dipping into a small curtsey.
She wasn't one for the strict, stifling rules but it seemed like a fitting reaction for what Rose Whitaker had said about her. Even a common peasant like her could mimic the ways of the upper class. Then, what was it that made them so upper class?
She then continued, "But it seems like I have overstayed my welcome. My host isn't present any longer and thus I should be returning as well." Pausing, she threw Rose Whitaker a sneer, "I wouldn't want to be misnamed as a trespasser and get prosecuted for something I've not done, after all."
With Hartley present, the wolf hiding beneath the sheep's wool could not present itself. Rose Whitaker merely silently fumed by the sidelines, her fingers gripping tightly onto the fabric of her dress as she glared at Alice, hatred in her irises. Behind her, Hartley saw none of Lady Whitaker's poisonous stare. He merely smiled at Alice, pleasant as a welcomed summer breeze.
"Please, allow me to escort you back to the Ragan's Estate," he offered. He side-stepped Rose Whitaker, coming over to stand at Alice's side.
"But Your Highness," Rose interjected. Her voice was almost desperate, on the verge of cracking if she hadn't kept it in so well.
Slowly, Hartley turned around to look at her, waiting for her to continue her plea. However, now that Alice stood beside him, she finally understood why he was so welcoming and gentle despite their previous disagreements. As the saying goes, 'the enemy of an enemy is a friend'.
"Yes?"
"Your Highness, you promised to show me around the palace earlier, remember? Her Majesty told us to spend more time—"
"My mother's wishes are her own, Lady Whitaker." As Hartley spoke, Alice could feel the chill that was wisping off from his words. His tone was frosty, distant, and cold. It held none of the warmth it did just seconds ago. Most of all, it held a double meaning, something Alice could tell Rose Whitaker had caught. After all, her lips were almost blue from the intensity she bit into them. "I am sure as Duke Whitaker's daughter, the palace is nothing but a common playground of your childhood. Surely a guide isn't needed to bring you around. Furthermore, do not misunderstand. This is strictly a business trip. There are things that I have to discuss at the Ragan Estate."
"But Your Highness—"
"Let's go, Alice," Hartley ushered. He placed his hand on the small of Alice's back, urging her forward. Heartlessly, he turned around to exit the garden without even sparing Rose Whitaker a second glance. The lady was left there, stunned speechless and utterly defeated. Alice could only imagine her expression once she was completely alone again.
"Will she be alright?" Alice asked worriedly. "She's a candidate to be your bride, right? That might be the future queen of Gladiolum standing right there."
Hartley scoffed. Now that they were away from another's prying eyes, there was no need to hold any facade. His hands slipped from Alice's back, returning to his own side. The physical gap in between them grew a little but the emotional one stood just as tightly together as previously. Alice knew that none of them liked the duke's daughter very much.
"With the way she acts?" Hartley's eyes turned bitter, frigidly glacial. It reminded Alice of the look in Spade's eyes. "She will never become my queen. Her father can promise her the moon and the stars but the choice still lies in my hands and my hands alone."
The crown prince's words were firm. However, how much of it could he uphold in the future was still uncertain. Alice could still recall the gaze in the queen's eyes when she had met her last. If Spade was the chill and iciness of winter, and Hartley was the blazing and unstoppable heat of the summer, the queen's eyes would be the end of autumn, the time where everything falls to the ground, slowly claimed by death.