i’m miss world [riddle rosehearts]
part one | not edited, please ignore any mistakes! | wc: roughly 1k
You’re not entirely sure how you became the King of Hearts. You had always fancied yourself to be more of an Alice—bold and bright and daring, charming in a roguish manner, curious to a fault. Not to mention your status as an inter-dimensional traveler. Like Alice, you had fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in a fascinating new world, so different to the one you called your own.
And now you had been thrusted into the role of the meek King, a pitiful figure that many knew nothing about. Searching through Twisted Wonderland’s expansive historical records yielded nothing. The King’s name was never recorded and his mythical gravestone, lost to time itself, supposedly had the carving: ‘The husband of the legendary Queen of Hearts.’
That was it. Nobody knew his name, the duration of his life, his birthplace; the historians of Twisted Wonderland could never uncover any information regarding the King of Hearts, despite their greatest efforts. He was rarely ever seen in public during his lifetime, and he was firmly attached to the Queen’s side the few times he was presented to the world. There was a total of three pictures which had been taken of him, all very similar: a blank-faced King leaning into his eternally furious Queen, her hand forcefully latched over his.
You were surprised to find that the King’s appearance did not match the puny cartoon depiction of your world. If anything, he greatly resembled you.
Riddle had painstakingly explained to you how the three existing pictures of the King were heavily coveted. One picture belonged to the ruling family of the Briar Valley, another belonged to the royals of Sunset Savanna, and the final picture belonged to the Rosehearts.
“The Queen is very important to my family,” He spoke stiffly, holding your gaze intently. You found it harder and harder to look him in the eye as the days passed and the weeks blurred together. “We are not her direct descendants, but we are connected to her through her sister’s children.” And didn’t that just send you down another furious spiral of tireless research and ink-stained hands? This fearsome, bloody Queen supposedly had a sister. A sister who had children of her own. A sister who was the ancestor of the red-haired boy who was holding you captive.
You remember your shaky hands preparing tea for him in the exact order you knew he preferred. You remember him tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. You remember the bright red roses – authentic, not painted – decorating the vase which had been placed on the table. You remember the exact moment when you asked, “Did the Queen not have any children of her own?”
And you remember the hideous look in his eyes as he answered your innocuous question.
“She did not. The King did not give her any.” He raised a delicate pinky finger as he sipped his tea, a clear sign that the conversation was over.
You swiftly moved on and you did your best to forget his bizarre mannerisms and ominous answers.
Because if your suspicions were confirmed to be valid (and if you were right—oh, if you were right, you would eat your own beating heart), then you knew that you had more in common with the King of Hearts beyond physical appearance.
“There’s not much about him, your majesty,” Cater Diamond laughs pointedly as he avoids your gaze, his eyes trained on his phone. “Even his Magicam hashtag has, like, nothing. That’s totes sad!” His laugh becomes slightly shrill as you say nothing, your eyes boring into him. Out of all the card soldiers, it is Cater who sympathises with your plight the most. Perhaps it reminds him of the days when he, too, was a captive, forced to dress in glitter and frills for his sisters’ amusement. He never looks at you anymore.
“I have never known much about him,” Trey Clover admits gently as he smiles down at you weakly. “He’s a proper mystery. Very unique too. The other members of the Great Seven didn’t have spouses, but the Queen did.” He is kneading dough as he talks with you, preparing treats for the upcoming Unbirthday party. “Why the sudden interest, your majesty?”
You don’t like being referred to as ‘your majesty’. It is a recent development, urged by Riddle who resented other people for having the audacity to say your name.
You smile and shake your head, leaving him to bake his treats. You’ll get your answer from someone more rebellious. Someone far less willing to be complicit to your unhappiness for the sake of his Housewarden.
You find Ace Trappola in the endless, beautiful gardens of Heartslabyul. He’s dressed in pink from head-to-toe and he’s looking very disgruntled about it. The flamingos are milling about him as he sorts through their food. He is alone, which is strange, but it works in your favour.
“On Wednesdays, we wear pink!” You say cheerily, unable to help yourself. Ace stiffens and then relaxes, turning to face you with raised shoulders. “Hey,” He says nonchalantly.
Ace doesn’t call you ‘your majesty’. He doesn’t use your name either, but this is something you’re willing to forgive. Being on the end of Riddle’s genuine wrath is terrifying and some battles are not worth picking, let alone fighting.
“It’s a reference to a film from my world,” You say easily, falling into step beside him and ignoring his obvious flinch. “I think you’d enjoy watching it.” Ace frowns at you, as if to express doubt, and then shakes his head. “Whatever. You need something?” He asks carefully, but you don’t miss how his bright eyes dart around the area. He’s looking—no, he’s checking to see if there is any trace of Riddle nearby.
After all, wherever you are, Riddle is only a few steps behind.
“Do you remember when we met?” Your tone is hushed now. “It was you who explained the Queen of Hearts to me.” By the mutinous expression which is slowly spreading across Ace’s face, he clearly remembers your chaotic first meeting.
“Help me, Ace Trappola. You’re my only hope.” You say quietly. Your words are heavy and your tone is grave. You feel guilty for burdening him, but you do not feel bad enough to retract your words. What you said is true. Caged in the rose-scented, ivory-leafed walls of Heartslabyul, your only ally is the hotheaded ginger.
Ace is silent. His solemn expression greatly contrasts with his hot pink clothes. He sighs and then he frowns, his lips forming a rebellious pout.
“C’mon then, Prefect. Lay it on me.”
You smile, and it is genuine. You haven’t been called ‘Prefect’ in a long while.
“I need you to—“
Once you finish explaining exactly what you needed from Ace Trappola, you step back and stare at him. He meets your gaze evenly and then shrugs his shoulders.
“Alright, Prefect. I’ll see what I can do for ya.”
Before your lips can form another real smile, he holds up his palm. His face is troubled and his eyes are unreadable.
“Don’t get your hopes up. It won’t be easy,” He warns, and then he picks up the flamingo closest to him. The flamingo blends into his pink jacket seamlessly. It’s a cute animal, you notice idly. The bright eyes, soft feathers, and fascinating beak support your thoughts; the flamingoes are really, really cute.
You’ve always been more interested in the hedgehogs, though.
“Bye.” Ace says warily, looking behind you as if a hideous monster had suddenly materialised into thin air. He takes the flamingo with him and you watch the pink pair go on their merry way, wishing – not for the first time – that you could be as free as the animals of your rose-adorned prison.
A steady hand lands on your shoulder. You don’t need to turn around to see who it is.
You already know.
You always do.
“Hello, Riddle,” You say mildly, still staring in the direction Ace went in, “It’s a nice day for a stroll, isn’t it?”
He hums in lieu of an actual answer. You turn around, lace your fingers with his, and let him lead you back to your shared dorm room.
Tomorrow will be a new day. It’ll be different.
You’re counting on it.