Page 85 of Fated to the Wicked King

The king’s posture remained rigid and alert beside me. He didn’t care who this man was or what was happening, what it all meant. The General was the cause of the malady afflicting Wünder and a threat to me. That was all he needed to know.

“This ends now.” The king had taken no more than one step toward the General when the first ghostly villager hit him from the side. Then another. And another. Clumsy hands clawed at his coat, his hair, his arms, dragging him to the ground. He growled in fury as about a dozen hands seized him at once. Fingers dug into his shoulders. His throat. His wrists.

I rushed to help but yelped as one of them grabbed hold of me.

The General laughed. “It’s no use. My followers are loyal to me.”

“Stay back, Allie!” The king surged upward, pushing two villagers aside with enough force to send them hurtling back, crashing against the metal scaffolds.

“You’ve turned them into mindless zombies.” I forcibly struggled against the ghostly villager who had grabbed hold of me, managing to twist out of his grip and shove him away.

With an enraged roar, the king caught him by the neck, lifting him clean off the ground. His hand tightened, but then he stopped. His jaw clenched in self-control.

Cursing beneath his breath, the king flung him away instead. Panting, he returned to my side, taking my arm securely in his. He shot the General a dark glare. He didn’t get anywhere near him at all. The General’s zombies were an effective barricade.

“Give up already?” the General mocked.

Just then, there was a soft pop.

To the right of the giant platform machine, from the hollow of the ancient tree, a small, eerie figure emerged. Beneath an oversized black umbrella, he stepped into the grassy clearing, giving the canopy a sharp shake that scattered cold droplets into the air.

My jaw dropped. “Hatter?”

Glowing, beady green eyes shone beneath round horn-rimmed glasses, meeting mine. “Ah, Allie. It’s lovely to see you again, my dear.” He lowered the umbrella in his hand with deliberate care, closing it with a click. “It’s raining in the underworld.”

I almost breathed a sigh of relief.

The Hatter was back. Perhaps he could use his magic to help. With his and the king’s powers combined, they could destroy the fantastic machine. He could restore the ghost villagers’ consciousness. He could use his magical doorways to send the General away somehow, somewhere.

A cold dread struck me when a corner of the General’s mouth curled up instead. “Ah, Hatter. You’ve come back right in time to greet our guests. Won’t you make them feel welcome?”

Oh no—no, no, no, no…

My stomach sank in dismay. “Hatter, what⁠—”

One of the theories rattling around in my brain was that the Hatter had been held hostage, compelled against his will to assist the General with his nefarious otherworldly plots. But it appeared as though he had formed an alliance with the man.

The Hatter set his umbrella to one side, barely acknowledging anyone. “Oh, but I am so very busy today. We shall put out the tea a bit later.”

I couldn’t stop staring. “Hatter? What’s…happened to you?”

The Hatter I had met once was a homunculus of a man with wiry red hair, sticking all out of his oversized top hat. He still wore his usual dusty overcoat with ruffles bursting out of each sleeve. He used to toe the line where genius and insanity blurred, except now it seemed he had crossed this line altogether. His wrinkly face appeared all the more weathered, hair silvering at its roots, his cheeks sunken deeper against even sharper cheekbones.

The Hatter set about immediately climbing the scaffolding around the fantastic machine. “The great machine is almost ready. It’s almost time. Ah, time—it is a very interesting concept. Did I tell you time is my friend? Or he used to be. We quarreled just last March.”

The king’s narrowed eyes slid past the Hatter toward the machine, the determination in his gaze crystal clear. If he couldn’t stop the General, he would stop the machine instead.

His jaw clenching, he lifted his hands. His shadows burst forth at the machine of gears and glass, but just as he directed the wrath of his colossal anger, the shadows scattered upon it, the torrential streams of magic simply wafting away.

My eyes widened in full dread.

Nothing.

His Majesty’s powerful magic had absolutely no effect on the metal beast. Frowning, he jerked back in his stance.

“Rabb, stop.” I winced in alarm.

Grunting under his breath, he curled his fingers to push more magic against the mechanical beast, flicks of charm and sorcery crackling. His energy draining, his knees shook to keep him upright. He was going to exhaust his powers this way.