Beatrice DuPont stood on the platform of the Throne Room, wondering to herself if there was some psychological explanation for the drawn out hallucination she had somehow found herself experiencing. What was her subconscious trying to tell her? That she needed more spontaneity and nonsense in her life? That she wanted a Prince to literally sweep her off her feet? That she had a secret desire to run around in weird outfits with some stranger she just met?

“I had my doubts about you, Chapeau,” the Prince was saying as Beatrice tuned back into the conversation. “I was afraid that you had gone rogue, but now I see you were just busy delivering the goods straight to me personally.”

Mad Hat didn’t respond and avoided Beatrice’s intense glare pointed in his direction.

“Well, where’s the Bishop?” the Prince demanded, “I want to get this over with!”

“Get what over with?” Beatrice finally spoke.

“Why, your coronation, Darling. We have to have you properly crowned before we can be wed.”

“Did you say wed? Like marriage?”

“Yes, that’s precisely what brings us all here together today!”

“I don’t understand. Why would you want me to marry you?”

The Prince laughed disingenuously. “Let’s just say I’d like to make my claim to the throne a little more legitimate.”

“And what’s so illegitimate about you now?” Beatrice questioned.

The Prince frowned at her phrasing. “My enthronement was a little unorthodox, I’ll admit, but I’m trying to correct that.” He straightened his perfect looking hair.

“But I don’t understand how involving me will help you any. It’s not like I have any rightful claim to the throne,” she argued.

“The Red King’s Dream,” someone stated simply, and everyone turned to look at them.

Annette strolled up with a mischievous grin.

“And that means…?” Beatrice trailed off expectantly.

“Could someone please go find the bloody Bishop!” the Prince ordered, ignoring them.

“The Red King and Queen were impeached and guillotined by their cousins, Duke and Duchess DePiques, and after they died, their son, Jacques, claimed the throne,” Annette explained.

“I am not responsible for my parents’ doings, I only followed the proper line of succession after them,” the Prince defended. “And who are you anyway?”

“Oh? You don’t recognize me outside of my uniform?”

The Prince looked closer. “Annette? What are you doing?”

“I’m here to fill this poor girl in on everyone’s schemes,” they shrugged.

“I still don’t see what anything has to do with me,” Beatrice insisted.

“The Red King had a dream the night before he was executed,” Annette continued. “He dreamt that a girl who looked just like the Red Queen when she was young would travel here from far away. He said that whoever married her would be the King in Two Worlds.”

“Which will be me, as soon as… Ah! Finally!” the Prince exclaimed as a tall man wearing a gown and a slotted hat came bustling into the hall from the far end.

“Apologies, Your Majesty! I was wearing the wrong colors!” the Bishop huffed.

The Prince waved his hand dismissively. “Can we begin the ceremony now?” he asked rhetorically.

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty!” the Bishop bowed. “What’s your name, dear?” he asked Beatrice.

“Beatrice,” Beatrice answered automatically.

“Right…” The bishop looked down at the open book in his hands. “Well, Beatrice, you are hereby charged on this day to govern this land with responsiclarity and passionence.”

“With what?”

“I name you Queen Beatrice. La Reine est morte, vive La Reine!” The Bishop then took off her headpiece and placed a puffy red crown on her head that he had pulled from his red stained robes. “Don’t forget to kiss the groom!”

“But, I…!” she stuttered as she felt her new headgear.

“Thank you, Bishop,” the Prince said in dismissal and the Bishop was gone. “Now! Monsieur Chapeau, will you do the honors?”

Mad Hat stepped hesitantly forward and Beatrice turned her angry attention to him.

“So you were working with the Prince! I knew I couldn’t trust you!” she accused.

“It’s not what you think,” he implored.

“Then why have you been researching the Dream?” Annette asked plainly.

He frowned.

“You knew about this stuff?” Beatrice asked. “How many times did I wonder what the Prince wanted from me... And here it turns out it's because I look like his mother?”

“Well… to call a cat a cat, I guess I did sort of know what was probably going on…” he admitted. “I came across the Dream when I was reading. I didn’t think much of until I saw you standing in the middle of my club saying strange things. I realized right away that you fit the Queen’s description.”

She threw up her hands. “I’ve had it with this nonsense stuff!”

“Just get on with it,” the Prince urged Mad Hat, once again adjusting his hair.

Mad Hat cleared his throat. “As my power entitles me to as Overseer of all contracts and accords, I do on this day join the Queen, the Holder of the Throne, and the Prince, the Rightful Heir of the Throne, together in a marriage bond and declare them the rulers of The Kingdom until their deaths.”

Beatrice’s mouth was agape.

 “There! And now we’re married.” Prince/King Jacques proclaimed. “Where are the rings?” He looked around expectantly.

“No, now we’re married,” Mad Hat clarified, indicating Queen Beatrice and himself.

“What?” a bunch of people asked in unison, including the Queen and Prince/not-King-after-all Jacques.

“But you just said that you joined the Queen - that would be her - and the Prince - that would be me - together, and declared us rulers of The Kingdom!”

“The Queen, and the Prince, the Rightful Heir.”

“Yes…?” Prince/maybe-not-King Jacques asked uncertainly.

“I’m the Prince and Rightful Heir,” Mad Hat stated frankly.

“What?” a bunch of people asked again, including the Queen and not-Prince/not-King Jacques.

“You? Who are you?” various voices demanded.

“I’m Madoc Chapeau, but Chapeau is my mother’s maiden name. My real name is Armel Madoc LeBlanc.”

“What?” asked a bunch of people yet again.

“You mean you claim to be the lost son of the lost White Knight?” Prince - or whatever he was - Jacques asked skeptically.

“Who’s the White Knight?” Beatrice was still trying to keep up with the story.

“The Red King’s older brother, my father,” King Armel explained. "The true king that the Red King and Queen had usurped and banished before I was born."

“But that’s impossible! He fell off his horse and died!” not-Prince Jacques said somewhat frantically.

“He fell off his horse, but he didn’t die, he just got lost,” Annette chimed in. “He was lost in The Obscurity.”

“Then he’s dead,” insisted Jacques.

“If he’s lost to The Obscurity he’s neither alive nor dead, and if he’s not dead, then his line is still in line for the throne.”

“Which would be me,” King Armel stated.

“Possible not is this... King be cannot you... You not, worlds two of King be to am I!” Jacques shouted.

“What?” asked et al.

Regular Jacques snatched the crown off of Beatrice’s head and she instinctively grabbed for it, but missed. Instead, a drop of blood rose to the surface from where one of the crown points had caused a cut.

“Are you all right?” the King asked the Queen.

“I’m fine. I don’t feel anything,” she answered, in a bit of a daze. “How odd… I’m surely dreaming…” she muttered.

“I will be King of Two Worlds!” Delusional Jacques declared, jamming the crown down over his hair – so perfect it looked like a wig. “Someone find the Bishop! Tell him he needs to crown me King!”

The real King grabbed the Queen’s uninjured hand while the not-King continued his tantrum and they slipped away.