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Her pulse galloped. She had not been in the King’s presence since he’d asked to court her. She wanted to turn and run, but she had already been spotted. The King scurried toward her and pulled himself up onto the stage.

“Good day to the most pretty, precious, and p-… p-…”

“Provisional?” Jest supplied.

“Provisional lady in all the land!” Then the King hesitated, not sure if the description was fitting or not.

Cath cast the Joker a cool look. He grinned.

The King shook his uncertainty away. “I must say, that is a very fine hat you’re wearing, Lady Pinkerton.

Why, you look almost good enough to eat— my sweet!

” His face was full of blushes and frivolity, and all the horrible lines of poetry written into his cards over the past week came whirring back through Catherine’s head.

She curtsied and tried to be flattered. “You’re too kind, Your Majesty. Are you enjoying the festival?”

“I am indeed!” He jigged in place, his face all joyful anticipation. “It’s all very good fun. Just what the kingdom needed, I daresay.”

She inclined her head. “It is nice to have some merriment during these dark times. I’m sure you’ve heard that the Jabberwock attacks have continued.” A shiver caught hold of her shoulders as she thought of the little carousel pony in the pumpkin patch. “And his latest victim, a courageous Lion— ”

The King held up his hands, backing away as if she were the monster. “Please, I beg of you, my darling, let’s not speak of it. I break out in hives every time that horrid creature is mentioned.” He pulled away the collar of his cloak to reveal a newly developing rash.

Cath frowned. “But you are doing something about it, aren’t you?

I’ve thought that perhaps you should hire a knight or a monster slayer.

In the stories, there was always some brave soul that volunteered to slay the Jabberwock, and that seemed to go rather well, judging from all the ballads that came out of it.

Well, I suppose it didn’t go very well for the Jabberwock, but all things considered—”

“Oh, oh!” The King clapped. “The lobster quadrille is about to begin! I’ve been eager for it all morning!”

Cath paused. “Yes, any moment now, I suspect.”

The King was sweating profusely, not meeting her eyes. She recognized shame in his expression, but it only annoyed her. Silly or not, clever or not, he was the King of Hearts. He should be doing something about the Jabberwock, shouldn’t he?

She sighed. “I take it you’ll be watching the quadrille, Your Majesty?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, only too happy to look at her now that she wasn’t pressuring him about the attacks. His eyes glittered.

She envied the ostriches, wishing she could bury her head beneath the sand.

When she didn’t say anything more, the King’s expression turned halfway pleading. “Have you yet… chosen a dance partner? For the quadrille?”

Guilt scratched at her. Cath felt as heavy with it as if her dress had been soaked through with seawater. Jest’s presence lingered in the corner of her eyes, as tempting as fresh vanilla ice cream, but she did her best to ignore him.

“Not yet, Your Majesty. ”

His eyes brightened again.

And for a moment—just a moment—Catherine imagined turning to Jest and holding her hand out to him and asking if he would do her the honor of dancing the lobster quadrille.

She pictured her parents’ baffled expressions, the surprised murmur of the crowd, Jest’s sure hands on her waist, and she bit her tongue against a burble of glee.

“Your Majesty, good day! What a profound pleasure this is.”

The fantasy crumbled away as her mother nudged in between her and the King.

She recoiled.

“Good day, Lady Pinkerton!”

They shared the requisite greetings, her mother’s curtsy far grander than Catherine’s had been. Catherine inspected her own feet, knowing that to look up would be to look at Jest—his magnetism was stronger by the moment.

“My darling Catherine, we are ready for the dancing to begin.”

She peered up at her mother’s fervent, impatient face.

“Have you chosen a partner, my sweet daughter?”

She shook her head. “No, Mother. Not yet.”

“Well then.” Her mother’s eyes were sharp. “We’d better make a choice, hadn’t we? We don’t want to keep everyone waiting.” The Marchioness clasped her fingers beneath her bosom while Catherine worked her fists into the heavy wool of her skirt. Her mother’s eyes widened at her, lacking subtlety.

Catherine inhaled and met the gaze of the King. His hopefulness was painful to look at, though, and her eyes skipped upward to Jest.

Jest. The court joker. Who seemed to be laughing at her.

Well—not literally, but his lips were pressed in an attempt to contain the laughter that was so very obvious behind his twitching mouth .

Indignation flared behind her sternum. Jest knew that the King desperately wanted to be asked. He knew that the Marchioness desperately wanted Cath to ask him. He knew that Cath was equally as desperate not to.

Once again, it seemed her palpable discomfort was a source of amusement to him .

Lifting her chin, Cath turned back to the King, then promptly lowered her chin once more to meet his eye. “Your Majesty,” she said, “would you do me the great honor of being my dancing partner for the lobster quadrille?”

The King squealed. “Oh, yes, yes, I would be delighted , Lady Catherine. I do enjoy a quadrille, I must say!”

With some relief at the decision being made, for what it was worth, she threaded her arm through the King’s elbow.

Before they could leave the platform, Jest craned his head toward her and whispered, “He means well, Lady Pinkerton.”

She stared at him, long enough to see that his amusement had vanished, taking his confidence with it. In that moment, he looked vulnerable and maybe even disappointed, though he tried to smile. Tried to be encouraging.

“Enjoy your quadrille,” he said, with a tip of his hat.

Her gut sank.

Once again, she had chosen the King. It was her choice. It may not have felt that way, but it was.

There was no taking it back, but…

“Oh, I won’t be dancing the lobster quadrille,” she whispered back. “I’m going to be in a secret sea cave. Remember?”

His eyes brightened, but she turned away before she could see whether he remembered his promise or not. Those hushed words spoken when he’d been standing in her room at the end of an impossible night.

She would dance her lobster quadrille. He would juggle his clams. And all the while they would pretend that they were hidden away in a secret sea cave, concerned with no one but themselves.

She was sure all the world would have noticed the longing in her face, except all the world was focused on her hand locked inside the crook of the King’s elbow.

They reached the dual lines of sea creatures, already partnered with their lobsters. The King was far too exuberant to notice how distracted Cath was.

What would have happened if she had asked Jest to dance instead?

What would happen if she chose him?

Was such a choice truly outside the realm of possibility, or did it only seem that way because such a choice had never presented itself before?

She was as empty as a marionette as the dance began, her body leading her through the steps.

They advanced, they retreated. Her skirt twisted around her ankles.

Her heels sank into the sand. The King’s hands were soggy in hers and the wind was burning her cheeks, and all around her lobsters were being tossed out to sea and their partners were diving in after them.

Everyone was laughing and splashing and turning somersaults along with the music.

Even the King, caught up in the moment, charged out into the surf, wading halfway up to his calves. He turned back to her, laughing.

Catherine alone remained above the foam, her smile frozen. In her head, she was sequestered away in a sea cave somewhere. In her mind, it was Jest grinning at her, his dimples carved deep into his cheeks. He beckoned to her, and she went.

She knew, in that moment, that she would go to him, if only he asked. She would be his, if he wanted her.

“Oh no,” she murmured, her smile thawing, falling, carried away with the undeniable, inevitable, impossible truth of it.

She was falling in love with him.