Page 104 of Madness Becomes Her

“Alright!” the queen shouts, banging on her teacup to call order to the madness that is a bog tea party. “I know we’re all unhappy to be here today, but it was required.”

Her grin shot my way as I shook my head at her antics, which makes Hatter laugh.

His hand creeps up my thigh, and I shove it back down. His laugh shakes my body.

“There will be decorum during this tea, and absolutely no funny business!” the queen announces, to which the entire table knows she means the opposite and breaks out into cheers, and the noise surrounding us gets louder.

“Cheers!” Lewis yells, lifting his tea.

“Is the tea spiked?” I whisper to Hatter.

“Most certainly.”

The White Queen chugs her tea and offers her cup to a guard to refill.

“It’s horrible to see you again, Eleanor.”

“You as well, Your Majesty.”

“Any news on that Chatterwocky you released into the wild?”

“Strelow? He comes by now and again to visit Sable.”

“The Fettersnatch and the Chatterwocky? I’d love to see the fruit of that union.” Her horrified look speaks to her truth, and I laugh.

“Yeah, I’m worried about it, too. Don’t worry, I’ll monitor the situation.”

“See that you do,” she whispers, sipping from her fresh glass of spiked tea.

Lewis drunkenly gets on the table, and everyone groans except for me. I giggle.

“Oh, shove off!” he shouts. “I have something to say!”

“Don’t you always?” Beau replies from Hatter’s right side.

He’s grown since I last saw him. He’s almost as large as his father now, but in dog years, I’m sure he’s nearly forty now.

Lewis gives Beau a death glare, and Beau waves him on. “Go ahead, then. But if we don’t like what you have to say, you’re getting tarted.”

Lewis grins. “As many of you know, our very own Eleanor, slayer of the Red Queen and Mistress of the Bog, has fallen in love with the Mad Hatter.”

The table breaks out into cheers, including Finlo, who claps around my body.

My cheeks heat.

Where is he going with this speech?

“Now, that being said, she’s taking up much of his time. So much of it, poor Jillian had to make her own hat for the founder’s party last week.”

Jillian, one of Winston’s children, nods. “It’s true. I looked dreadful!”

“Where are you going with this, Lewis? I haven’t fallen behind on any orders! Get to the point.” Finlo shouts, and a ringing starts in my ear.

Lewis grins. “I don’t have a point.” He finishes with a hiccup, and everyone pelts him with tarts.

“Too much tea.” Beau shakes his head. “He’s always been a lightweight.”

“Is that true?” I ask Finlo. “Did you miss a hat order?”