Page 54 of Off with Her Head

Edmund approaches the pool's edge carefully, military training evident in his cautious assessment despite the clear water. "The dark magic has receded throughout the kingdom," he confirms.

Scarlett's hand finds mine, squeezing reassuringly as we exchanged glances. Her red hair shines against the crystal clear pool, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out to run it between my fingers. Our eyes meet, and I slide my hand to the back of her neck, drawing her into a kiss so needed I feel like I might die without it. Her mouth finds mine, and her body relaxes against my hold.

“And now there will be time forus,” I whisper against her lips as I pull back, smiling down at her. “Endless time to learn and explore each other and our kingdoms.”

“I’d love nothing more,” Scarlett beams back, biting her bottom lip between her teeth. “But first, a bath.”

I laugh, kissing her forehead before letting her go. “I can’t argue with that.”

Chapter

Nineteen

SCARLETT

Three weeks after cleansing the corrupted pool, I stand on the balcony of what was once exclusively my castle, watching the landscape of Underland transform. The changes that began with our merged magic have accelerated since Ironwood's cleansing, spreading outward from the three Blood Trees in waves of energy that reshape reality itself.

My kingdom remains recognizably Underland—the vibrant chaos and creative magic still pulse through every flower, every creature, every impossible structure. But discipline now undergirds the madness, providing foundation that enhances rather than constrains natural exuberance. Card-soldiers move with newfound purpose, their paper forms strengthened by blood sigils that grant resilience without sacrificing mobility. The Duchess organizes her kitchen with mathematical precision she would have disdained mere months ago, and the Mad Hatter's tea parties now follow delightfully unpredictable patterns that nevertheless conclude precisely when intended.

Most dramatically, the sky above Underland fluctuates between bright daylight and Darkmore's deep dusk in a rhythmic cycle that corresponds to neither traditional day nor night, but something uniquely balanced. The roses havepermanently turned into hybrid blooms that combine heart and blood magic equally, their network extending throughout all three kingdoms.

"Admiring your handiwork?" Ravenna asks, joining me at the balcony rail.

"Ourwork," I correct, turning to study her with an appreciative gaze. Like our kingdoms, Ravenna herself has changed. Her raven hair now bears prominent streaks of deepest burgundy that match the hybrid roses, while her once purely blue eyes contain threads of green that mirror my own. She even occasionally wears a pop of red rather than her traditionally black attire.

I watch her as she catalogs the changes visible from our vantage point—it’s beautiful, truly. All of it. It was always meant to be this way.

Ravenna slips an arm around me, drawing me closer as we look out over Underland. Her body is warm against mine, and I melt into her touch.

All is well.

All is as itshouldbe, with Ravenna at my side.

Epilogue

SCARLETT

Two years later

The water in the garden pool shimmers with an otherworldly luminescence, catching sunlight and twilight simultaneously in its depths. I trail my fingers through the surface, creating ripples that transform into tiny fish before dissolving back into the enchanted water. Beside me, Ravenna reclines on a chaise of midnight velvet, her eyes half-closed in contentment as she absorbs the peculiar beauty of this place—our place.

Two years since we defeated Mara.

Two years since the three kingdoms began their gradual, beautiful unification.

Two years of us.

The Underland gardens have transformed into something beyond imagination. Where once there were only roses that required painting to maintain their perfect red hue, now hybrid blooms spring forth in extraordinary variety. Black roses veined with crimson grow alongside crimson roses edged in black. They no longer require constant maintenance—they simply exist in perfect balance, drawing magic from both heart and blood traditions.

"The Mock Turtle is crying again," Ravenna observes lazily, not opening her eyes. Her voice carries no concern, only mild amusement.

I glance toward the far edge of the pool where the Mock Turtle sobs quietly, his tears creating expanding circles of magic that spawn miniature whirlpools of rainbow colors. Unlike before, his tears aren't born of sorrow but simply exist as his natural contribution to the garden's enchantment.

"He's always crying," I reply with a smile, reaching for the goblet of sparkling nectar beside me. "But now he cries because it brings beauty, not sadness."

Above us, crystal flamingos fly in perfect synchronization with ravens from Darkmore, their contrasting forms creating elaborate patterns against the peculiar sky—a sky that shifts between bright azure and star-studded twilight in gentle pulses. Their wings create music as they move, a harmonic convergence of chimes and deep resonant tones.

Ravenna opens her eyes to watch their flight, the blue of her irises now permanently threaded with green that matches my own. Just as my copper hair now bears streaks of midnight that mirror her locks. Our physical changes reflect the deeper fusion of our magics, our kingdoms—our very selves.

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