There was no house of cards to rebuild. No insurance or double downs to chance. Only the ashy remains of a corrupted four-suit deck in the guise of a casino, the last remnant of Wonderland's oppressive regime.

Jack walked through the still-smoldering wreckage even as the smoke stung his eyes. A year. It had been an entire year since Alice's crusade, and yet nothing could erase the charred scar of where the Happy Hearts Casino once stood. The blonde pushed his way forward, over chipped glass and splintered metal.

There were any number of routes he could've taken that wouldn't have led him past this bleeding wound in the ground. He could've flown by scarab. He could've rented a flamingo. He even could've asked Charlie for a horse and the charming fellow would've granted his wish, with maybe a few nonsensical phrases here and there to lighten the mood.

But instead, Jack chose to walk. He wasn't entirely convinced that the tears rolling down his cheeks were just a by-product of the smoky air, although he wished that to be true. He hated the Happy Hearts Casino with all his…well, heart. The irritating nature of the pun made him grimace and he quickened his pace. Why he continually subjected himself to this pile of anguish was a question for which he had no easy answer. The thin trail he'd worn from over-use weaved around the foundation's edge, disappearing between thin trees that guided the young king's path as he let his thoughts wander.

Red. For some reason he still chose to wear the blasted color, which was odd, considering that the color had been forced upon him ever since his royal birth. But the time of pristine suits, ties, and carefully polished shoes was over. It was a time for integration.

Not long after his mother's arrest, he'd shed the fine clothing that had cloaked him for so long and swapped it with the ruddy garb of the common, although he still couldn't part with the red shade. Acting as the bridge between the pampered upper class of his mother's making and the angry lower class of her suppressed subjects was still a work in progress. Maybe, in the end, it would be all for nothing if he didn't find a way to succeed.

Jack shook his head slightly. No, he couldn't think like that. He knew better. The suits had been disbanded. The library had been reopened and its pages spread to every corner of the world. The hungry had been fed. The homeless had been given shelter. And, after months of effort, he'd managed to shut down the tea runners distributing their contraband to the wealthy and addicted and rid the nasty hallucinogens altogether. Without oysters, it didn't take long until the last drop of tea dwindled into nothing. And, Jack promised, he'd never have another oyster set foot in this land again to be used for such horrific purposes. He closed his eyes as he slowly dredged up the memories of keeping said promise. Still painful. Yet it had been the only way.

The king stilled his steps as he found what he'd been looking for. It was a small clearing, barely big enough for one person to kneel before the rough-hewn tombstone. Jack, usually so poised, dropped to his knees at the sight and let a shaky hand drift over the carved words:

Winston H.

Beloved husband, adoring father.

His hand seemed to move of its own accord as he absentmindedly removed leaves and other debris from the simple monument. No matter how much the King of Wonderland had failed his people by sheer inaction, he was still his father and deserved a proper resting place. The headstone had been created in secret, the small patch of land scouted from shadows, the thorns and weeds cleared meticulously by his very hands. Even so, the inscription was purposely kept vague, nondescript; he didn't want to run the risk of Heart-Haters desecrating the grave if they were to find this place.

"Father," Jack began tentatively, "I want to ask your advice." The stone remained small and silent in response, much like his Winston Heart during life. It was familiar. And frustrating. "I'm worried." A light breeze tickled the treetops, causing more leaves to fall. Brilliant hues of reds and oranges danced around him before dropping lazily beside the untidy scrawl. Jack swept the leaves away again. "I need your strength, father."

Strength. A quality not many would attribute to the late Winston Heart, yet it had been present, albeit buried beneath his submissive and cowardly nature. Jack had watched his father's reign wither into ineffectiveness day after day in the casino until one day he had failed to rule at all, instead delegating any and all matters to the Queen. He'd simply given up, disillusioned by tea and his wife's hunger for power…or that's what Jack had told himself, until he witnessed his father's strength first-hand. Winston wasn't particularly strong-willed or resolute in his beliefs and lacked conviction unless he was parroting the Queen's orders. So it wasn't a surprise when he said nothing during the Queen's announcement of Jack and Duchess' arranged engagement. Or when he stood idly by while oyster children were marched through the Looking Glass to provide Innocence to the drugged masses. Or when he turned a blind eye to the severe torture methods of Doctors Dee and Dum. It came as an enormous surprise, then, when he learned Jack was a member of the resistance…and kept his secret.

It was odd to think this decision marked the definitive step in securing the rebellion's victory. Jack had never been more scared in his entire life than when his father had confronted him, alone, about his illegal activities. Even with her temper tantrums and mood swings, his mother's behavior was usually predictable, her emotions easy to deceive. His father, on the other hand, was a puppet with tangled strings. Deeply devoted to the Queen, yet capable of moments of incredible clarity. His father had stepped closer, expression unwavering. Jack, so certain of the executioner's blade, had steeled himself for the blow…when his father's arms embraced him in a crushing hug.

"Stay strong, Jack," Winston had said. And Jack, so relieved to find a confidante, had let his mask slip and returned the hug, reverting ever-so-slightly into that young boy who still needed his father.

"Help me, please." His voice had cracked at the words and he felt the King's hold tighten.

"It'll be okay, son. Trust me." Unfortunately, at that moment, the Queen herself had entered the parlor and swept Jack away for a round of despised tea-testing. Jack remembered locking eyes with his father and exchanging a small nod of understanding before his mother ushered him through the door. That was the last time they spent together—just father and son—before the Heart Empire crumpled into dust. The same ugly dust that marred his boots even now.

"I'm worried that my actions have started another war," the blonde continued solemnly. He let his fingertips brush against the carved words and ignored the persistent trembling in his hand. "And I fear that I've lost two beloved friends forever."

Alice and Hatter.

Jack had never felt more at home than when he'd ran off to another world, exploring New York City with Alice. He'd never experienced such freedom as a prince, especially under his mother's watchful eye. But in Alice's world, living the life of a fictional Jack Chase, it was easy. Jack Chase certainly didn't have the stresses and demands that came with being the Queen's dutiful son, groomed to answer her every beck and call. Over time, in that strange and beautiful city, he'd started to care about Alice, so different from the wealthy, tea-soaked aristocrats that graced the royal halls.

And, selfishly, foolishly, he had asked Alice to be his Queen before she stepped through the Looking Glass and left his own, twisted world far behind. Jack knew, deep down, that she would decline his proposal, but a small part of him wanted—no, needed—that confirmation from Alice herself. After the casino's collapse, Jack had yearned to fall back into the alias he had created. No great weight of responsibility to bear. No threat of assassination. No ugly surname to blacken his reputation. No secret grave to mark.

Alice was his last, tangible hold to that man he'd created in New York. He lovingly remembered those dreamy days attending her Tae Kwon Do classes, buying her flowers, trying to convince her that the tea she brewed tasted far better than the tea he'd grown up with. And, when his entire world seemed to be crumbling around him, he'd latched onto that last lifeline and asked Alice for the impossible. Her refusal was a hidden blessing that later led to the hardest decision of his life.

A week after Alice and Hatter's departure, he destroyed the Stone of Wonderland. It was a public affair upon the steps of the Grand Library with Charlie, Duchess and the ever-loyal Ten of Clubs by his side. As he swung the blade that shattered the stone into oblivion, he felt a piece of his heart chip away as well. Without the stone, the Looking Glass was sealed forever. Alice and Hatter would never be able to return.

And Jack would never be able to escape. Had he kept the Stone of Wonderland, the young king knew he would've been tempted to use it to run away to Alice's world again and resume his counterfeit life as Jack Chase. But, as Alice had taught him on so many occasions, he couldn't run from his problems. It was time to lay Jack Chase to rest.

"Who am I, father? A king? A runaway? A traitor?" Bitterness colored his voice, his clipped accent sharpening as anger pulsed beneath his calm façade.

As a Heart, it was his birthright to rule, but his swift ascension to the throne came with a price. The resistance that once backed his cause was now fractured into two opposing parties. Those who swore allegiance to Jack's reign collectively called themselves the Clubs and believed in his vision of a peaceful and prosperous future. Those who opposed him, the Heart-Haters, consisted of the Spades, whose contempt for the Heart family could be kept at bay no longer. The fear of a second palace coup was ever-present and, even among allies, Jack never truly felt at ease. Even kneeling before the gravestone he felt a tendril of dread course through him, and prompted him to press his late father even more.

"Am I fit to rule? Or am I cursed to repeat the mistakes of those who came before me?" Silence. "Am I a good king?" More silence. He mussed his hands through his hair, willing the tears not to fall. "Please, answer me. Just this once." He dropped his head in his hands, letting the autumn leaves pelt his back in response, when—

"Of course you are, Jack." He lifted his gaze quickly, tracking the lilting response until he locked eyes with Duchess. She approached from his right, stepping gracefully from the small dirt path.

Like himself, Duchess had changed since the events of his mother's downfall. No longer was she the obedient pet of the Queen's making, trussed up in gold and presented to Jack like some sort of prize. Without her daily dosings of Manipulation and Seduction, she was incredibly kind. And thoughtful. And intelligent. And – dare he say it – strong.

She'd parted easily with the sunlit shade and adopted a simple and unassuming wardrobe. However, that did not make her any less regal. There was a certain poise about her that had nothing to do with her trained etiquette. And when she smiled – really, truly smiled – he swore he had never seen her look so beautiful.

And here he was. Kneeling in the dirt. Hair standing on end. Close to bawling. He could only imagine how pathetic and broken he looked.

"Jack?" Duchess stepped closer, her boots crunching the strewn leaves. She reached out her hand, but he stood quickly, shuffling backwards away from the comforting touch.

"Hey Duch, what are you—" his back made contact with a sturdy tree, causing him to grunt in pain and look even more idiotic "—doing here?"

Duch. He remembered the first time he'd called her that very name. It was when he'd first visited his mother after her arrest, locked away in the bowels of Caterpillar's reclusive facility. He'd gone alone. The Queen of Hearts—ever witty, ever selfish—had first praised him and complimented his reign. Those sweet nothings quickly melted into insults and empty threats when he refused to release her and reinstate her rule. She'd called him weak, a coward, and a myriad of other words more suited for his late father.

But when his mother mentioned Duchess, he'd visibly stiffened, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the smirking woman behind the bars. The Queen had her ammunition and she knew where to strike. And for minutes, perhaps hours, Jack defended his fiancée before the Queen, as if on trial. Thinking back, Jack didn't remember turning away from her cell in anger. He didn't remember walking in a stupor through the dilapidated streets, at the mercy of any sniper's choosing. He only remembered dear Duchess intercepting him, as if she'd known where to find him all along, and pulling him into the shadows and out of harm's way.

"Duch?" he'd said weakly. And she'd only smiled warmly and handed him a familiar looking fedora.

"Why don't we take a walk, Jack?" He'd allowed Duchess to guide him through the streets in companionable silence. From that moment on, she was never "Duchess" in his eyes. Like Jack Chase, that was also a fictional character—a mask—created to hide the true person underneath.

Jack grimaced at the memory. Why must Duchess always appear when he felt like he was breaking apart? Weak, cowardly…perhaps he wasn't so different from his father, after all.

"I wanted to see if you would like some company," Duchess said. "I can, of course, leave if—"

"No, don't leave. It's—I'd love the company, Duch." A small smile graced her lips, though it vanished quickly once she took in his appearance. Self-conscious, he attempted to brush off the stubborn dirt flecks from his pants and hand-comb his hair into something borderline respectable. "And I'd like your advice, as well." Blue-gray eyes met his gaze, softening slightly in the fading light.

"Yes, Jack?"

"Let's get something to eat. You pick. I'm starving." They walked back together, shoulders not quite touching, hands not quite holding, but close all the same. The dirt bled into concrete as they left the open countryside and entered the fragmented, decaying City.