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Two of Hearts	By : HalfUnderwater Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Alice in Wonderland Views: 1652 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on the Alice in Wonderland book series.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter Three: A Day in the Life of a Spade

Hare hovered awkwardly at the edge of the large, mahogany bed, resting his paw against one of its thick posts. A vague outline of his slumbering master was visible through the bed's slightly sheer curtains, and Hare couldn't help but pull them back to peek inside. Nathaniel was still dozing, wrapped in peace and contentment in his rich, silky blankets. Waking a master had never been his strong point, back in Matilda's awful cottage, and he found himself growing nervous for his first real performance of the task.
“Master Orington?” His whisper was quiet, like a soft breeze stirring the long grass in the garden. The young rabbit leaned in, nudging his sleeping master's cheek with his nose, just as he would have roused any of his brothers and sisters as they dozed peacefully near their mother in their first week of life. Nathaniel was still despite Hare's best efforts, his chest rising and falling with breath slowly, up and down. He seemed to Hare like a stone, unmovable and unwaking, but he was determined. Doberman said that Nathaniel’s father would likely punish him if he was not awake for school at the proper hour, and the thought of Nathaniel being punished was unthinkable, especially when it was his own job to wake him. The morning light had just started bleeding through the thin blue curtains of the extravagant bedroom, and Hare knew his window of opportunity was shrinking. Feeling a little more desperate, he dared to reach in and shake his arm. “N-Nathaniel?”
Nathaniel was surrounded by floating cotton candy clouds and blueberry bluebirds with spiraled pig tails. It was all simple and yet so masterfully complex. The little candy birds would dart through the clouds, grabbing at their tantalizing sugary fluff, and feed him tiny morsels with their little claws. It was all quite delicious. But suddenly everything started to shake, and the bluebirds were darting about wildly and all squeaking “Nathaniel? Nathaniel!” And then came a stab of bright light as his eyes fluttered open, the voice clarifying into a newly familiar one.
Nathaniel rubbed at them as he rolled over, brown hair a mess, his cheeks carrying their typical soft morning blush. Hare staggered back a little, crouching beside the bed until only his eyes and his twitching pink nose peeked over the edge of the mattress, nervous that Nathaniel would be upset about being tugged from such a peaceful state.
But the young Orington just smiled a sleepy morning grin, stifled a yawn, and said, “Yes, Hare? Am I late for a very important date?”
Hare hesitantly straightened up a bit, encouraged by the spirited kindness shining in his master's eyes.
“Er. A date? I don't know. Do you have one I haven't heard about?” asked Hare, stepping back and looking up at Nathaniel with wide pink eyes.
“Not unless it's being forced on me,” laughed Nathaniel as he stretched, his joints popping in protest.
Hare couldn't help but giggle too, and it was only then that he remembered the letter he had tucked in his breast pocket. He withdrew it and offered it to Nathaniel.
“I have a message for you. Well, really an envelope. I didn't look inside. Though, it's probably a message, as people aren't in the business of giving out fancy empty envelopes with wax seals,” he said, considering it at an arm's length. Embarrassingly enough, there was a smudge of sticky red marring one of the corners, for Opossum had been kind enough to share her morning snack of crackers and jam with him.
“Are you sure you didn't peek?” teased Nathaniel as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wobbling for a moment before finding his balance. He stumbled to the ornate chest of drawers a few steps away, wearing nothing but the silky black shorts and white undershirt he had slept in. A moment later those too were flung away, leaving him bare as he considered the day's clothing options.
Hare tried his best not to look at Nathaniel in such a state, out of respect, but found his eyes darting back to him. He was curious, for he had never seen a human truly, without all its adornments of clothing and jewels. Nathaniel, as it turned out, was tall and lean, with sharp angles and smooth, detailed musculature that drew the eye along his limbs and down his back. He dressed only in a new pair of shorts and another undershirt before turning to Hare, who rubbed shyly at the little spot of jam on the envelope and only managed to make it more obvious.
Nathaniel laughed softly as he took it from Hare's fingers, and the nervous hare flinched hard even though punishment for the infraction was unlikely.
“I see Opossum has been feeding you,” Nathaniel said kindly as he rested his hand on Hare's head, finding it deeply endearing whenever the new Pet flinched. He ruffled the tuft of white fur there, smiling pleasantly as he moved to one of the thick armchairs across the room. He flopped onto it, looking very unlike his strict and proper family in his casual, slouching way of sitting, his legs dangling over the edge of the chair as he pulled on a pair of soft white gloves. Hare, though, sat in the chair next to him with care, showing his impeccable posture and smiling a little. Nathaniel was looking down at the symbol stamped in the wax, his family crest, and he could feel the apprehension building in his chest. Messages from his own family were never good news. He slid his finger under the wax seal, breaking it open and withdrawing the letter delicately.
Nathaniel,it read, I have a very important matter to discuss with you. Meet me in my study before you depart with Elk for the Academy this morning. Wear appropriate clothing. Bring your Housepet if you please.
Though it was unsigned, he knew it was from his father, and he felt an expression of disgust fall onto his attractive features.
“My father wishes to see me,” he said coldly, tossing the paper onto the gold-trimmed table in front of him. “He has a 'very important matter' to discuss.”
Hare observed his master for a few moments with wide pink eyes, his head tilted as he tried to puzzle through all the emotions on Nathaniel's face.
“That upsets you,” said Hare gently, leaning in closer to get a better look at the boy's troubled hazel eyes.
Nathaniel chuckled harshly for a moment before looking away, crossing his arms over his chest and huffing out a sharp, angry breath.
“Why exactly must he make appointments with me? I'm his god-damned son, aren't I?” he spat. “Don't most families sit around their dining table together as they share their evening meal and chat? No, no. Not the Oringtons! We schedule each other, like business clients. Blast appropriate clothing!”
Though he said that, he crossed back to his chest of drawers and donned his gray trousers, a white button-up shirt, and a black vest with gold buttons. He scowled at himself in the mirror as he tied a teal tie around his neck. Hare hovered back, pressing himself into his chair even though the venom in Nathaniel's words was not directed at him. He had heard enough stories of masters displacing their anger onto their unwitting Pets to be cautious.
“You know, Hare,” said Nathaniel, his voice somewhat calmer as he ran a comb through his unruly locks, “I've always liked my hair. My parents can't stand it, but my grandmother says it makes me look wild, untamed; mad as a hatter.”
This memory was enough to put a smile back on his face, and Nathaniel waved Hare over. He approached without hesitation, feeling silly for suspecting Nathaniel of something so awful. From what he had seen of the Orington family, they left their son to his own devices. It had to be difficult for him, to be ignored at such an important time in his life when he needed their guidance. Hare helped him on with his suit jacket and smoothed it down his back, even buttoning it for him.
They made their way to the staircase then, following its velvet-clad spiral to the third floor. As usual, different Pets were buzzing about, cleaning and fixing various areas of the hall. Nathaniel was used to it, and it escaped his notice; Hare, though, was a little astounded by all the commotion, the house alive with the movement of dozens of creatures all with a goal, a purpose, and all with a frantic sense of energy. He was so wrapped in his own thoughts as he observed the quiet clamor of all the Pets that he walked several steps after Nathaniel stopped and had to rush back to him. They stood in front of an ornately carved door inlaid with flecks of gold.
“This probably isn't going to be fun, Hare. 'We don't like the direction your life is headed. Get a girlfriend. Find a passion,'” Nathaniel mimicked in a serious, deep voice with an aristocratic gesture of the hand. “I just want a witness to confirm that he's astoundingly unreasonable.”
“I know you're going somewhere. I can see the passion in your eyes,” said Hare firmly, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries. “You'll know what your passion is supposed to be when you find it, whatever it is.”
A weak, uncertain smile was all Nathaniel could drum up.
He opened the door to the study, which was surprisingly large and immaculate, and drew Hare inside gently. The moment they stepped in, the fragrant and acrid scent of expensive tobacco enveloped them. Red velvet curtains hung heavy on golden rods, bookshelves with thick volumes lined the walls, and the gargantuan wooden desk held an imposing, demanding presence at the end of the room. It was a wooden continent in a sea of velvet, and Hare felt a little wobbly as they traversed the extraordinarily expensive tasseled rug from Perza.
Nathaniel tossed himself haphazardly into one of the plush, high-backed armchairs. Hare held back, uncertain until the Orington son gestured gently at the chair to his right.
“Sit next to me. Don't stand in the corner like the rest,” he said, his annoyance at his father peaking higher every moment. The idiotic Housepet rules were meant only to encourage division and subservience, and they were all complete rubbish.
The moment Hare sat, the study doors burst open again and he leapt up, fearing immediate punishment for his indiscretion. Nathaniel, alarmed at his sudden movement, reached out and took his hand lightly.
“It's okay,” he whispered. “Take a seat...”
Mr. Orington was a strong, built man with soft brown hair like his son's. He had a serious and stern disposition, a slightly haughty air of superiority as he dictated duties to Doberman, who followed him with a fancy black quill, scribbling down everything that needed to be done that day. The man didn't notice that his son and his Housepet sat before him until he had shuffled a considerable number of maps and papers around on his desk for a moment.
“Ah, Nathaniel,” he said, clearing his throat and glancing at his heavy golden pocketwatch. “I suppose you wonder why I've called you here.”
Nathaniel said nothing; he sat with crossed arms, waiting for the lecture he was sure would come.
“Nathaniel, I want to be frank with you,” said his father, leaning closer in an attempt to appear more personable. He rested his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands lightly together. “I've spent my entire life building this empire of import and export, dealing with vendors and manufacturers here in Wonderland and beyond its borders. I've built a strong and lasting bond with the Queen herself which is not an easy task, as any citizen knows. But I'm beginning to worry over the future of this industry and this company. I won't be around forever. I want to pass this fortune, this wealth, this security onto you and your brother when I'm gone, but it's truly a family job, as you understand. I would be lost without your mother's insight, for a feminine hand can be very effective in matters of business. She and I have been talking as of late, and we have made some...decisions...about the path your future may take.”
Nathaniel felt his stomach fill with a cold, heavy dread. He pressed his lips together in a thin, hard line and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
“And I get no say? What exactly have you and mother so expertly chosen to be my future? Will I be kissing the Queen's feet with diamonds from Fantasyland and rare spices from Indoninja? Or will you find a better, more suited person for that and ban me from it all? Tell me what the crystal ball has in store for me, oh great one,” Nathaniel spat, his words carelessly irreverent, his eyes narrowed in frustration. He had heard this all too many times before, and perhaps he had been careless to think he could evade the issue forever. He knew exactly what was coming.
“You will NOT speak to me like that in my own house, Nathaniel,” barked his father. Hare began to tremble a little in his seat, and he tucked himself back into the chair as far as he would go. “We've arranged you a date this evening with a lovely girl from the House of Clubs. And you best treat her with dignity and respect. Your mother said it was an absolute necessity before we arranged your marriage to her, though I don't see the point.”
“Marriage? The House of Clubs? Those liquor pushers? What, a pretty, tiny, spoiled girl with more dresses and diamonds than a wedding shop? The last thing I ever want to do is play house with some stuck up, weak little...bitch.”
Nathaniel tore himself from his chair and shoved it back as if it were attacking him. Hare, flustered by the tenseness in the room, scurried behind him and clung feebly to his sides.
“Come on, Hare,” he growled, wrapping an arm around the small hare's shoulders and guiding him out of the study gently.
“You're going on that date, Nathaniel!” shouted Mr. Orington as the door slammed shut.
Every pet within earshot was staring as Nathaniel stopped at the stairway, fists clenched and breath furiously hissing. Hare fidgeted with the buttons on his vest as he watched Nathaniel pace and fume, frustration evident in his eyes.
“Imagine it,” Nathaniel huffed, shaking his head, a sardonic smile on his face as he slumped against the wall. “Me, holding hands with a girl, kissing her cheek as I order a lobster!”
“There's nothing inherently wrong with lobsters,” said Hare absently as he ran his fingers over the ornately-carved handrail. “I've known some very pleasant ones.”
That brought on a slightly more genuine smile from Nathaniel and they both took to the stairs then, descending the large spirals and emerging on the ground floor of the large manor. A left turn took them toward the kitchens.
“Now, while I'm away at school, I thought you'd like to help Owl with meal preparation,” said Nathaniel, trying to let his frustration cool as he slid open the simple wooden door. “I know it may seem like a lot to learn at first, but you'll do wonderfully once you've adjusted to it.”
“I would like that!” gasped Hare as he crossed the threshold to stand a step inside. Abarrage of sights, sounds, and smells assaulted his senses. Hare was taken aback at the bustle of the busy Pets. They were chopping and peeling, stirring and baking, carrying around platters of ingredients to dozens of separate workstations in a well-coordinated rush of activity. It was all an intimidatingly complex dance, so complicated that Hare scarcely noticed that Owl had stopped to stand next to him. The good-natured creature just chuckled and took Hare under his wing, nodding knowingly to Nathaniel as he guided him further into the room.
“I'll be back this afternoon!” Nathaniel called gently after them. Hare looked back and waved, beaming with excitement, before being engulfed by the buzz of activity.

oooooooooo

The gilded Orington coach stopped in the small circle of gravel outside the thick black gates of Spade Preparatory Academy. The large brick building was crawling with deep green ivy that wove elegantly up its walls and added to the old, respectable air of the place. Students sat on the wide front steps, nibbling on eccentric breakfast fare and chattering to one another in their affected Spade accents as much as possible before the morning bell called them away to their classes.
Nathaniel straightened his black vest and teal tie as Elk opened the door for him. He descended to the schoolyard, brushing his hair back as he passed through the wrought iron gates. The rush of typical daily gossip hit his ears the moment he was within hearing distance, but he paid it only the usual minimal attention. Apparently the young Duchess of Diamonds had been at Samuel's gala the night before and had disappeared upstairs with him before the first dance was even through. Nathaniel only shook his head in annoyance and proceeded to his first classroom.
Early morning sunlight poured through the tall windows to light the room. A huge blackboard stretching across the front wall was already loaded with the concepts and equations they would be learning that day, and Nathaniel took his place at the leftmost desk in the front row. As they were arranged by class rank, his position indicated his superior standing; he was the best student in the entire class. Advanced Economics was required by his father and dreadfully boring, but it was a simple enough course.
Nathaniel had a while before class, and he withdrew from his shoulderbag a thick sketchbook and the breakfast Owl had carefully packed for him. The crunch of the crispy apricot pastry reminded him of Hare hidden under the table, surrounded by an assortment of teacakes, and his hand instantly went to work sketching the scene from his memory. By the time he looked up once more, his peers had filled the room and his professor was doing his best to start the morning's lecture. Tearing the students' attention away from the morning's gossip was not an easy task. When the lecture finally started, Nathaniel filled a page with notes written in his flawless script, keeping respectfully quiet.
The morning continued to pass much the same way. Nathaniel kept to himself, took careful and precise notes, answered questions (correctly) when called upon, and consistently sat in the very first desk. This carried on throughout Accounting, which he despised, and Legal Ethics, which he adored. When the time came for the ethical debate portion of the class period, he spoke passionately against the power of parent-planned marriage arrangements. Most of that passion came from his fondness of legal logic, but a small part of it came from that morning's argument with his father, about which he felt bitter. Even the professor could not deny the power of his well-constructed argument and released them early for lunch.
It was a typical day, and lunch was a surprisingly impressive beef stew served with puffy white dumplings. Nathaniel sat alone sketching until he had finished eating, then excusing himself to the sunny school grounds. For the moment, he could escape the incessant gossip about the Duchess of Diamonds.
Often after lunch, when the school grounds were flooded with students and the chattering of his peers began to annoy him, Nathaniel slipped out of sight around the side of the school building where the ivy didn't grow. There was a small footpath beaten through thick brush that marked the boundary of the school's nature preserve. No one ever scolded him for entering the secluded area, even though a posted sign said students were strictly forbidden.
The first time he explored the small forest, early in his first year at the Academy, he discovered a small clearing against the school's coarse brick wall. It became his typical spot, a place to spend the remainder of his lunch hour in quiet repose, often sketching whatever came to mind. He had never seen another person in the several years he had been spending time there, so it came as a shock to him when, one day in his fifth year, someone else graced the clearing with a human presence.
The girl was in his year, he knew, but he couldn't recall her name. Her soft red hair fluttered in the gentle breeze and the sun shone in her vibrant green eyes. She looked as if she belonged in nature, in the clearing, so he didn't stop her when she lowered herself to the grass next to him, spreading her blue dress out around her and working quietly at weaving a crown of the little indigo flowers that spread through the long grass. When it was finished, a ring of green dotted with blossoms, she placed it carefully on Nathaniel's head, letting her fingers run through the soft sun-lit waves of his hair. It was only when she planted herself in his lap that Nathaniel realized what she wanted from him.
It was his first kiss, and it was delicate and cautious, carefully exploratory. He wasn't sure if it counted as one long kiss or many shorter ones, but he did know it all felt very strange to him. More than that, he knew he was rendered almost instantly confused. By the way the others in his class spoke, a young woman's kiss was a force to be reckoned with, something to desire above breath or food or sleep, but he didn't find it particularly enthralling. It was unnecessarily moist, impossibly unsanitary and, after the first few moments, rather dull. But after the first female perched in his lap in the small grove—Elizabeth was her name, he later found out—he was almost never alone there again. Without even trying, he had gained a reputation for it. His silence on the matter cast him in the role of the mysterious, handsome, rich bachelor, the one male every female in his year wanted to see bearing flowers on her doorstep, asking for courtship.
At first, it was just a way to pass the usually unpleasant lunch hour. As time passed, it became a routine. Different day, different girl; or, on many occasions, the same girl. A flower crown, a caress of the hair, and then an impossible amount of kissing. The gossip about it was shameless.
But that day, late in his seventh and last year at the Academy, something changed. Nathaniel was sitting in his usual place, sketching a small sleeping owl perched in a tree across the clearing, when he heard the typical footfalls on the well-worn path. He didn't bother looking up. By that time, truth be told, all the company was beginning to annoy him. Whoever it was would sit, slowly and quietly make a crown of flowers, climb wordlessly into his lap, and kiss him until the bell summoned everyone back inside.
“I've heard about you,” said the boy quietly. Nathaniel glanced up slowly after finishing the patch of shading he was working on, feigning disinterest. The figure standing there was younger than he by a year or so, built not tall and thin, but shorter and strong. His accent was slightly different from anything Nathaniel had heard before, something even the well-traveled Orington son couldn't place, and it was then Nathaniel remembered that the boy had recently transferred. There had been a big stir about it a month or so back, when he came to Wonderland from a far-off country where his father had set up a business and married a native woman. His eyes must have been from her, because they were a deep, expressive brown like nothing Nathaniel had ever seen.
“All charming things, I'm sure,” Nathaniel replied, turning his eyes away from the handsome stranger as he stroked out the curve of the tree branch in his sketchbook, concentrating harder than necessary. He felt uneasy, as if the clearing was smaller due to the addition of another masculine presence.
The boy approached, shaking his sandy blond hair out of his eyes as he settled into the grass at Nathaniel's side.
“I'm Samuel,” he said, plucking a single blade of the long, thick grass and twirling it around his fingers, keeping it moving again and again in circles, obviously a well-practiced motion. Nathaniel recognized it as one of his own and allowed himself to puzzle over it for a moment. “From New Selland, before you ask. My father went there long ago to create new business revenue. Didn't expect to fall in love there, but here I am.”
Nathaniel looked over at him, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion, in frustration. Samuel could take a hint, and he smiled an easy, relaxed smile.
“I'll get to the point. Do I honestly need to make you a crown of flowers, or can I skip that nonsense?”
Nathaniel was very rarely speechless in such situations. He almost always had a few sharp, witty quips to throw someone off, to make them falter, to reflect the attention away from himself. But this time, he was drawing a blank. His lips remained parted in surprise, no words to fill the gap in the conversation.
Samuel leaned back on his palms, staring up at the plush white clouds in the sky. After a moment, he let one of his hands drift to Nathaniel's, his thumb caressing lightly at the softness of his white glove. Nathaniel parted his fingers, marveling at the way Samuel's slid so easily between them.
There was no need for words, then. Nathaniel set his sketchbook aside, heart hammering roughly against his ribs in a confusing expression of his nervousness, his excitement, his...attraction? Samuel surely lacked all the soft curves of the girls who usually planted themselves delicately in his lap. When Samuel sat there, it wasn't politely sideways, with a blush and a giggle. His legs wrapped around Nathaniel's torso and he gave a self-satisfied smile, tilting his head a little and setting his hands firmly, surely, on Nathaniel's shoulders, thumbs running over the jutting collarbones hidden by his crisp white shirt.
Nathaniel, who had never reciprocated all the touching and caressing of his female visitors, suddenly found himself wrapping his arms around Samuel's back, holding him in, feeling his musculature through his expensive black sweater. Those deep brown eyes stared into the hazel ones before them, and Nathaniel could feel the purposive tensing of muscles beneath his fingers as Samuel leaned in a little closer, letting his arms slide up around Nathaniel's neck, fingers tangling lightly in the hair there.
Nathaniel let a little gasp escape his lips, for the deep caress of his scalp was nothing like the tentative little pets of delicate female fingers, and Samuel felt the burst of air on his own lips. The pressure on the back of his head was slight but inviting, and Nathaniel found himself leaning in with bated breath. Samuel's lips twitched in a soft, relaxed smile as he closed the tiny gap between them.
The touch was so slight, so subdued, that it barely counted as a kiss. Samuel's lips were on his own, a tiny, tenuous graze of flesh on flesh that sent a shiver down Nathaniel's spine. He found his hands grasping slightly harder at the soft black sweater as he parted his lips and pressed closer, mind and breath both suddenly racing. Samuel responded in kind, and when their mouths came together once more, it was an undeniably real, firm kiss that seemed to linger an eternity.
“Nathaniel,” came Samuel's soft, passionate whisper, and the breath of it was warm and harsh on his lips. Nathaniel found himself wanting to drink in every little sound the blond boy made as they kissed.
There was fire behind it all, a raw passion that Nathaniel had never felt with his typical visitors. And though he had denied them when they tried, he let Samuel press him back into the lush grass of the clearing. Nathaniel was breathing hard by then, his body flushed with warmth, his heart threatening to burst with the speed and force of its blows as their bodies aligned perfectly together. He was so wrapped in the fervor of the moment, he didn't notice the way he was gripping and caressing down Samuel's firm sides, tugging him in closer, arching up gently to meet his hips as their legs tangled lightly together.
The bell's shrill clangor was so unexpected that they both startled as it reverberated through the tiny clearing. The owl he had been sketching earlier shifted from foot to foot as it opened its bleary eyes, hooting lowly in annoyance.
Samuel sat up, a wry smile on his face as Nathaniel rested back on his elbows. The blond had an aura of gold, silhouetted against the afternoon sun as Nathaniel looked up at him.
“We're late,” Samuel said softly in his curious accent, reaching down to brush an unruly strand of Nathaniel's hair back into place before standing. He smoothed his sweater gently, picking a blade of grass from his sleeve before offering a hand to help the young Orington heir up from his place on the ground.
“For a very important date?” responded Nathaniel, but the last word tangled around him for a moment and caused a light blush to appear on his cheeks. He set his hand in Samuel's, gazing up at him for a moment and receiving a curious smile back as he rose from his place in the grass, their fingers weaving together effortlessly once more.
The walk along the narrow path toward the Academy was silent, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Nathaniel's lips still tingled from the firm pressure of Samuel's kisses and his mind was flying through it all again, trying to capture each detail like an insect in amber. For some reason, it felt like his first real kiss, the only one that had ever meant anything.
The schoolyard was empty when they reached the path's end, and Nathaniel didn't stop Samuel when he paused and leaned up for another slow, soft peck. It was so easy to fold him into his arms and return that peck ten times over that only a sudden and tiny surprised gasp stopped them.
There stood Beatrice Branchwood, her blue eyes wide in shock, her blonde hair fluttering in the light breeze. Inside her rose an unprecedented amount of frustration, for in front of her stood Nathaniel Orington, the wealthiest young bachelor in the district. His genes and his fortune were among the most desired in all of Wonderland. He could bestow those gifts on one choice female through his marriage, and he wasn't about to opt out of it all while she was on watch. After all, she had a chance to be the one lucky enough to win his favor. She had visited his little clearing enough times for that, she was certain. She felt her nose wrinkle in disgust, and she turned on her heel and marched indignantly away.
Samuel only shrugged, for girls were silly little frilly things to him. A coy smile played about his lips as he pecked Nathaniel once more, and he let his hand linger on the soft fabric of Nathaniel's white shirt before slipping inside the Academy's hidden side door.

oooooooooo

Professor Baird of Citizenship and Civic Responsibility gave Nathaniel a strange look as he slipped into the classroom a few minutes late, for he was normally the most punctual of students when it came to arriving after the lunch hour. The strain of tedium was painted on the faces of the other students; few even noticed that the professor had stopped lecturing for a moment to gaze at the latecomer. Nathaniel lowered his head apologetically and took his typical front-row seat. He reached into his bag, meaning to withdraw his leather-bound book of notes and pay strict attention to make up for his tardiness, but it was his sketchbook that met his fingers and fell open on his desk instead. The unfinished owl sketch called to him, and he alternated between filling in the texture of its wings and staring out the window.
Samuel was on his mind at once, though he wasn't quite sure what consequence those thoughts had. He couldn't help but recall the way the boy's golden hair shined in the sun, the way his hands felt grasping at his shoulders, and especially the way his lips fell so delicately against his own. Not a word of the lecture reached him, and he was drumming his fingers lightly against his lips, trying to puzzle the meaning out of the encounter, when a hand pressed a small slip of blue paper to his desk. Nathaniel started at the unexpected intrusion.
“You're to report to the headmaster,” said Professor Baird's voice. His expression wavered between concern and frustration. “Immediately.”
The cheetah Serviteur that had delivered the summons waited outside to show him the way, though he suspected the creature's presence was actually to ensure he didn't run off before the Headmaster could have his word with him. He was led into the sitting room just outside the office's ornate golden doors, which opened at once.
Beatrice Branchwood, in her tight-fitting blue dress, looked out at him with a coy smirk on her face. She turned, curtseying politely to Headmaster Beauman before scurrying off to the desk beside the door, shuffling papers around at once.
Of course, thought Nathaniel. He should have put the pieces together sooner, for it was foolish of him to pay no attention to Beatrice's earlier eavesdropping. She was shamelessly wound up in the Spade social scene, looking to marry as high as possible; that much was evident in the many days she had joined him in the grove. She was also the office’s head assistant and, being in Beauman's pocket as she was, she used all the power she had to control the situation she found inherently repulsive. Nathaniel felt anger flare up inside him as he realized what the cute little wrinkling of her nose had meant. Beatrice had tattled, gone running to the headmaster to report the same illicit activities in which she herself had previously participated. When Samuel strolled in behind another Serviteur, Nathaniel wasn't at all shocked to see him.
“Mr. Orington, Mr. Abbot,” said the Headmaster, gesturing into his office. “A word, please.”
When the man turned around, Nathaniel rolled his eyes. A word, please was something he hadn't heard often, but it was code for “Come quietly and no one needs to hear the outrageous amount of trouble you're in.” He looked to Samuel, his lips still humming with electricity, and the blond just shrugged, gesturing forward.
“After you,” he said, and his tone was nervous.
They stepped into the ornate office and the door swung shut behind them with a soft click. The room was silent, save the tiny chirps from a small yellow songbird caged in the corner. It tilted its head at them before losing interest and preening its glossy feathers.
“Have a seat,” said the Headmaster in his deep, formal voice. There were two armchairs before the thick oak desk, and Samuel perched on the right-hand chair, one hand gripping the sturdy wooden arm, his muscles tense with nervousness as Nathaniel dropped into the left.
“It has come to my attention that you, Mr. Orington, have been vehemently participating in illicit sexual behaviors on secluded Academy property forbidden to student entry,” said Headmaster Beauman, his strict eyes shining their disapproval. “It is not uncommon for students of your age and stature to participate in exploratory activities of that sort, but I assure you, Mr. Orington, that your lunch hour here at the Academy is neither the time nor the place. And you, Mr. Abbot,” he said, turning his attention to Samuel, who had not yet known the powerful glances of the headmaster designed to drown a student in guilt for misbehaving at the Academy. “You are a new student here, and I had higher hopes for you. Do not follow in Mr. Orington's footsteps. The life of a shameless Lothario may be tempting, but I assure you it will lend you nothing but trouble.”
Shameless Lothario? thought Nathaniel, an incredulous, insulted gasp wrinkling his nose and showing his derision.
“I will be sending a letter to each of your fathers explaining todays occurrence and any previous infractions,” said Headmaster Beauman with a pointed glance at Nathaniel. At the ring of a small bell, two of the Academy's prestigious cheetah Serviteurs entered the office, and the headmaster placed a sealed envelope in both their hands. They departed with a low bow, parchment pressed into their waistcoat pockets.
Nathaniel felt his chest tighten in apprehension, his heart pounding against his ribs like a scared, caged bird. His eyes darted back to the little yellow songbird, which was calm and fast asleep. If his father learned of his behavior with Samuel in the grove, regardless of what those confusing heated kisses ended up meaning, he would be married off as quickly as possible to the highest ranking female to be found. The thought made him cringe. Tonight could be the eve of his wedding to the girl from the House of Clubs, and that would be that.
“I’m not finished with you, Mr. Orington,” said Headmaster Beauman, and it was only then that Nathaniel realized he had shoved his chair back and stood.
“Well I’m finished,” he said firmly, shoving the chair out of his way and turning on his heel. He slammed the ornate wooden door open, sending Beatrice Branchwood the most powerful glare he could muster as he rushed from the office area. The hall was teeming with students chattering in their obnoxious tones between classes. He burst into his Royal Etiquette classroom, making the fancy place settings clatter on the display table as he tossed himself into his desk. For the rest of the class period Nathaniel sat fuming, arms crossed over his chest while Professor Adamson demonstrated the correct and respectful manner of approaching a member of the Royal Guard. And though he wasn’t done as the final bell shrilly rang the end of class, Nathaniel stood and rushed from the room. Elk was waiting at the gate for him as usual, and he stared out the window nervously as the carriage pulled away, trying to picture himself in a wedding tuxedo and frowning with displeasure.

oooooooooo
When Nathaniel entered the main doors of the pretentious manor after school, Gazelle was waiting in the welcome hall, straightening the flower arrangements. It was extremely out of the ordinary, and could only mean that his mother wanted to speak to him. As she never wanted to speak to him, it meant she had received the letter from the headmaster. An involuntary curse word issued from his lips as he tried to sneak by the waiting Housepet. She turned, though, looking at him with her large amber eyes.
“Your mother is waiting for you in the fourth floor drawing room,” said Gazelle, bowing to him gracefully.
And she was. Her hair was loose, flowing over her shoulders. A young beaver Pet was brushing through it, carefully winding it in a fancy design on the back of her head.
“Nathaniel,” she said warmly when he appeared. The beaver instantly clipped her long hair back and left the room.
It was rare for him to be alone with his mother. She was headstrong and successful, always busy with organizing the shops that sold their wares, meeting with entrepreneurs whose products they were considering, and paying crews of men to explore the Orient to find new and rare goods. He had heard the Pets talking of his birth once when they thought he wasn’t listening, chattering about how she had handed him immediately to Dormouse and taken a long nap before continuing to work from her bed.
“Mother,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I received an interesting letter from your headmaster this afternoon,” she said, sitting elegantly in a high-backed armchair, feigning disinterest. A steaming pot of tea sat on a table next to her and she carefully poured them each a cup.
Nathaniel crossed the room to join her. He could already hear his father’s harsh criticisms molded by his mother’s gift with words. It was what typically occurred with his misbehaviors. He sat anyway, ignoring the tea she had poured for him and crossing his arms over his chest. This amused his mother greatly, as his stubbornness always did. She hadn’t sounded interested, but he knew she was. Tea only reminded Nathaniel of the previous evening with Hare, crouched under the table in the barn as they ate illicit pastries.
“The typical tedium, I’m sure,” he said of the letter with the same indifferent tone, adding a few cubes of sugar to the tea. A sip told him it was slightly bland. The tiny tea sandwiches didn’t match its spice at all. Hare would have done better, and he found himself hoping the Pet had had a good first day in the kitchens.
“It stated that you have been participating in illicit activities of a sexual nature on Academy grounds during your lunch period.”
She set her tea down and looked at him sternly over the top of her tiny spectacles. He just shrugged, resenting the way the letter had inflated what had happened. The kissing, after all, had never felt all that sexual, at least not until that afternoon.
“It also said this has occurred with an absolutely astounding number of your classmates.”
He looked up at her, then. If the letter hadn’t mentioned Samuel by name, there was a chance he could escape the meeting without the scathing punishment of marriage. He set his tea down and stared back at her just as hard. The he chuckled, fell back in his chair, and kicked his legs over the arm of it.
“So?” he asked casually, holding his tea spoon up to admire his reflection in its silver gloss. He found he looked a little devilish.
This seemed to irk her deeply and she pursed her lips hard for a moment, considering what to say.
“You’ve never shown interest, Nathaniel, so we didn’t think to inform you that your actions have consequences. If any young woman you are with becomes with child, the customs and laws of Wonderland dictate that you must marry her. Think of the family. If your marriage is not advantageous, it may cause the collapse of the company, and all our wealth will come crashing down around us.”
Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest, watching the steam rise from his teacup.
“Well, it worked out for you and Father, did it not?” he asked coldly. His glare was petulant. He didn’t like feeling like a punished child, especially when his mother didn’t truly understand what was going on.
“That was unintentional, Nathaniel,” she said sternly. He could tell he was pressing her buttons.
“On whose part?” he asked. When it came to conversing with his mother, things never went well. When things were going poorly, his favorite card to play was the unintentional pregnancy card. Rumor had it his brother’s conception had not been planned; it was the kind of accident that caused a marriage and led to the merging of the two largest import-export companies on the globe. But no one would say—or could say—whether it had been his mother’s intention to become pregnant and gain access to the Orington fortune or his father’s intention to cause the merge.
“On both our parts!” she was angry for sure by then, for she had never responded to his taunts before. “But the way you’re acting is beneficial to no one. Women are not just toys for your pleasure, Nathaniel. They are to be respected. I never suspected I’d have to have this conversation with you. Your brother, without a doubt, but never you.”
“Did you ever think to ask me if the headmaster’s claims were true?” he asked, falling back into his chair once more. Though he had never spent much time with his mother and didn’t feel that she cared for him, this assessment of his character bothered him.
“Don’t lie to me about it,” she said, and her voice descended to calm gentleness as he sipped at her tea once more. “Your father is pleased that you are showing an interest in your female peers. He would like you to choose your date for the gala this evening in honor of the queen. Perhaps there is one you favor over the others?”
“So you call my behaviors misogynistic, but then let Father validate them with a reward?” he scoffed.
“Choose, or he’ll choose for you,” she said plainly.
It was then that an idea came to him, and he could barely contain the smirk that was fighting its way onto his face.
“Tell him to send a letter of invitation to Beatrice Branchwood.”

oooooooooo

The kitchen was a wreck.
Hare sat quietly at the prep table furthest from everyone else, concentrating hard at trimming edges of chocolate off chilled, dipped marshmallows. Behind him, pans of different chocolate concoctions were piled far taller than he, for it had taken quite some time for him to get the right flavor, the right sweetness, and the right consistency for melting and pouring and hardening. But now it was right, sweet but bold, the flavor heightened by the addition of a bit of orange zest left over from the day’s dinner preparations.
Each marshmallow was delicately placed among the others, spread with a small amount of marshmallow paste to keep the figure together. And it just so happened that as soon as the perfectly-shaped pyramid was finished, its recipient walked through the door.
“Nathaniel!” cried Hare, waving his arms to catch his master’s attention. Though his day had been difficult and strange, Nathaniel couldn’t help but smile at the hare’s enthusiasm. “I’ve finished the pyramid!”
“It’s spectacular,” beamed Nathaniel as he arrived, lifting it in the air. For a moment, he forgot the day’s troubles in favor of inspecting the magnificent figure. More than a hundred marshmallows must have been included in Hare’s finished masterpiece.
“Owl said you like afternoon snacks with your tea,” said Hare with a smile, holding up a much smaller pyramid and a teapot. “I was hoping you’d give this a taste.”
“How would you like it if we saved the large one to present at the gala this evening? We can share the smaller one now.”
Hare flushed with modesty, shaking his head.
“Surely it can’t be good enough for a…”
But Nathaniel had already plucked the marshmallow off the top of the smaller elegant structure and popped it into his mouth. The thick, rich chocolate accosted his tongue and he sighed in delight, smiling at the added zest of the orange.
“This is brilliant, Hare,” he said around the firm, springy marshmallow.
They ate in peace together over the prep counter, the orange spring tea perfectly complimenting the chocolate. Unlike the bland tea prepared for his mother, which he had sipped at but subsequently ignored, this tea burst with flavor and he gladly drank every drop. When they had demolished the first small tower of marshmallows, Nathaniel listened to Hare chatter happily about his day as he dried the pans of chocolate Hare was washing. Though they weren’t Clubs, there was still plenty of house gossip to be heard. Flamingo and Sparrow had chattered all morning about the lead guard Stag and his fondness for young, timid female Pets, even though everyone knew he was mated to Gazelle. Then Owl, finding their talk distracting, split them up to work on separate projects. Flamingo found a conversation partner in Gecko, the stew cook. They took turns sharing tidbits they had overheard in the dormitories—Salamander’s infatuation with Pug, the missing night crew leader presumed to have run off, and Turtle’s demotion from laundry to scrubbing for folding the sheets wrong. There was plenty to hear, and Hare happily regurgitated it to an astounded Nathaniel as they washed. Nathaniel had never realized that the manor’s Pets had such a wild and varied social life, and he listened with rapt attention.
“What did you learn at school today?” asked Hare as he piled the pans back into the cabinet.
Nathaniel only shook his head, waving Hare upstairs with him. What had he learned? That kissing a fellow male aroused him more instantaneously than kissing a hundred of his female peers?
“I’m not sure yet,” he said as they climbed, shrugging. The day’s events weighed heavy in his mind, and he shook his head as if to clear them. “For now, we have to prepare for the gala. Let’s just hope the queen doesn’t show up…”
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Two of Hearts