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C ATHERINE WAS WEARY , in her head, in her limbs, down to the toes pinched inside her finest boots.

Her head was full of fantasies of going home and crawling beneath her covers and not coming out again until she’d achieved the longest sleep of her life.

The wish was so powerful she wanted to weep from longing.

She could tell the performance was commendable, judging by the frequent gasps and cheers from the audience, but she could barely keep her stinging eyes open enough to enjoy the show, and the storyline muddled in her head by the second scene.

It was only when a fool appeared on the stage that she willed herself to pay attention.

But it wasn’t Jest, only an actor, done up in familiar black motley, doing cartwheels across the stage and spouting bawdy jokes that left the audience in hysterics.

He poked fun of the King, he peeked up the skirts of the passing actresses, he wagged his hat until the jingle of the bells was all Cath could hear inside her head.

As the crowd broke into another bout of laughter, Cath launched to her feet. “I need to use the powder room.”

The King took no notice as she inched past, too enthralled with the fake joker, but Mary Ann started to rise to come with her. Cath gestured for her to stay. “I’m fine. I’ll be right back.”

The stairs into the lobby echoed with her footsteps as she rushed down to the main level, gripping the banister to keep from tripping on her skirt.

Only once her feet had hit the final step and she’d spun around the rail did she hear Jest’s rumbling voice—followed by the higher-pitched, snooty tone of Margaret Mearle.

Catherine reeled back, ducking behind a pillar.

“—about as pigheaded as they come!” Margaret was saying.

“An apt description,” agreed Jest, though he sounded tired, “but stubbornness is not always a flaw, particularly in matters of love.”

Margaret guffawed. “ Love? ”

“Indeed, love, or so it seems from my perspective. You ought to see how his eyes follow you around a room. Small and beady they might be, but they overflow with affection, nevertheless.” Jest cleared his throat. “The moral of that, of course, is that ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’”

“I’ve never heard such a moral, and as I’m sure you’re well aware, I am most knowledgeable in the matter of morals.”

“I think I read it in a book.”

“Well.” There was a long hesitation. “It is a decent sort of moral, I suppose.”

“There was another too. Something about the depth of skin… not as apropos, I fear.”

“He is both thick-skinned and thick-headed.”

“Two of the Duke’s finer qualities. I might also add that he’s an impeccable dresser.”

Margaret hummed, unconvinced.

“And brave,” Jest added, “as showcased when he stood between you and the Jabberwock at the ball. And also loyal and compassionate, even to his servants—I hear he refuses to let go of his cook, though I’m told she’s quite dreadful.”

“But I don’t understand it. He’s always been so rude toward me. I’ve never felt so judged in all my life than when I’m in his presence, with that snooty look he gives everyone, and the way his nose turns up.”

“Could it be, Lady Mearle, that you’ve judged him unfairly? What you call rudeness might be nothing more than his inability to speak easily with a girl he admires.”

“Do you really believe he feels this way?”

“He told me so himself, Lady Mearle. What reason would I have for leading you astray?”

“It just seems so… so sudden.”

“I assure you it’s been brewing for longer than you realize. Here, he asked that I give you this.”

Catherine heard the crinkle of parchment.

“What is it?”

“An invitation to join him in his theater box tonight, if you’d care to, along with your chaperone, of course. He said he would leave a seat available, in hopes you might accept the invitation.”

Margaret let out a delighted oh. The paper crisped some more. “I… well. I suppose it couldn’t hurt… just for an evening… after all, I am not the sort of lady to dally about indecisively when faced with a man’s well-intentioned admiration.”

“I wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing, Lady Mearle. I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of the performance.”

Catherine pressed herself to the pillar, inching around to its far side as she heard Margaret’s footsteps approaching.

She ducked beneath the stair’s banister as Margaret floated past, and was just letting out a breath when a flurry of feathers assaulted her face and a caw blared in her ears.

Catherine stumbled away from the pillar, flattening herself against the wall and beating at the ferocious bird.

Raven twisted away and flew upward to alight on the sculptured bust of a stern-looking playwright.

“Raven!” Jest scolded. “That wasn’t nice at all.”

“No, no, I’m sure I deserved it,” said Cath, trying to smooth back her hair. “I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. ”

Raven turned his head away, his beak stuck into the air, and it became clear that he now shared Hatta’s low opinion of her. She was, after all, the charlatan who had played Jest for a fool while being courted by the King.

“Regardless, you didn’t need to frighten her, Raven. You should apologize.”

“Nevermore!” said the Raven.

“Raven!”

“It’s all right. I’m the one who’s sorry, for sneaking around so.”

Cath stepped around the staircase and saw Jest leaning against a wall, holding his hat in one hand and the ebony scepter in the other.

Half his hair was matted to his head and he looked like a vagabond who had claimed the theater for his own.

If it weren’t for the thumping drumbeat coming through the closed doors, the place would have felt abandoned but for them.

“Thank you for what you said to Margaret just now,” she said. “You didn’t have to help me.”

He tugged the hat back on. “Let us imagine I did it not for you, but for true love.” He shrugged.

The gesture wasn’t as nonchalant as she thought he intended it to be.

“I had the honor of speaking to His Grace at the tea party—the King’s tea party—and I believe he cares a great deal for Lady Mearle.

” His eyes narrowed as he glanced up the staircase where she had gone. “I’m not entirely sure why.”

“It baffles me as well. But… what do you think will happen when she finds out the things you said weren’t true? I think your intentions are commendable, but it might do more harm than good.”

Jest cocked his head. “What makes you think I said anything that wasn’t true?”

“Well, only that the Duke…” She hesitated.

Brave. Loyal. Always impeccably dressed, though it was sometimes difficult to tell with his girth and awkwardness.

Her brow knit together. “Would you believe I’ve known him nearly all my life?

How is it possible that you have somehow come to know him better, so quickly? ”

He turned his focus down to the scepter, idly rubbing his fingers along the polished-smooth orb. “You should go back to your seat, Lady Pinkerton. Go back to your beau.”

“Please don’t call him that.”

“What shall I call him?”

“Just the King, if you would.”

He wouldn’t look at her. Though they stood a mere dozen paces away, it felt like miles and miles.

“Nothing has gone as I thought it would,” he said, and she wondered whether he was speaking to her or himself, or even to Raven. “I thought this would all be much, much easier.”

“Your mission?” she ventured, dropping her voice. “From the White Queen?”

Raven let out a surprised squawk, but Jest ignored him. Ignored her question too. “His Majesty is going to propose soon, you know. I almost expect him to do it tonight.”

Grimacing, Cath glanced back up to the first tier, glad she wasn’t up in that dark box, pretending to be enjoying herself. Waiting for the King to ask for her hand.

“If you’re asking me whether or not my feelings have changed,” she said, “they haven’t.”

“No, that much is clear.” Jest scratched beneath the brim of his hat. “I’m sorry if I’ve been cold to you tonight. Even knowing you don’t fancy him like that, seeing you with him makes me uncannily jealous.”

Her heart skipped. “Does it?”

His expression turned wry as he finally looked at her. “That cannot possibly surprise you.”

She tried not to sway too much from satisfaction .

Raven let out a disgusted choking noise and flew up into one of the chandeliers. He started cleaning himself, as if soiled.

“You should go back,” said Jest. “In case anyone should come out here. We wouldn’t want them.… It would seem…”

Her lips twitched. It was such an unusual thing for him to be out of words.

“You’re right,” she said, backing away from him. She drifted around the staircase banister, placed a hand on the rail, and looked up the long staircase. Her heart began to sink, like an anchor had been chained to it.

Back to the King. Back to her beau.

A cheer rumbled through the theater, drawing her attention to the closed doors.

“Lady Pinkerton?” said Jest.

She glanced back.

“Have you decided what you will say once he asks?”

Inside the theater, more cheers exploded, louder still. The Raven let out a shrill caw.

“Do you think I could possibly say yes?” she asked, for in this moment, it seemed impossible to her.

Jest was expressionless for a moment, before it turned to pain, the kohl creasing around his eyes. “I think you have to say yes,” he whispered, and it sounded like he was pleading with her, but the words sent an arrow into her heart.

She took half a step toward him, but stopped again. “Why, Jest? Why do you keep doing this? You say you’re jealous, or mesmerized, or that I could be your reason to stay in Hearts, yet in the very next breath you encourage me to accept the King. I don’t understand you.”

His expression was pained when he opened his mouth to speak again, but suddenly the building shook. Cath jolted, ducking at the distant crash of breaking glass .

A door burst off its hinges on the second floor. A wave of heat flooded the lobby, along with the smell of smoke.

Catherine reeled back but Jest was already beside her, catching her. She realized that what she’d thought were cheers were actually screams, and applause the stampede of feet.

Through the sizzling door, a creature burst onto the lobby’s second level, all black skin and scales and dark, rabid eyes.

Cath froze.

It was the Jabberwock.