Page 59

C ATH SLOWLY TURNED HER HEAD and dared to peer up at—not a joker. A gentleman.

He wore a fine-cut suit, all in black, with long coattails and a satin cravat, a black top hat and a face mask covered in silky raven feathers. Only his eyes defied the darkness of his ensemble. Bright as sunshine, yellow as lemon tarts.

As soon as he’d freed her from Peter’s grasp, he trailed the leather of his palmed glove over her bruised arm, like he wanted to rid her skin of Peter’s grip. Goose bumps followed where he touched.

Peter forced himself between them and Jest’s hand fell away. He was nearly a head shorter than the gigantic farmer, but there wasn’t a hint of intimidation as he met Peter’s glare.

“The lady and I,” Peter growled, “were having a conversation. So why don’t you mind your own—”

“That will be all, Sir Peter,” Cath said, trying to channel her mother’s domineering spirit. She noticed that people were watching them and had probably been watching since the moment Peter had accosted her. He was a sore thumb in their pristine world, after all.

But none of them had stepped forward to interrupt or defend her, no doubt hoping the drama would resolve itself.

“In fact, my dance card is quite empty,” she said, louder still, and threaded her arm around Jest’s elbow .

Jest tipped his hat to Peter and before there could be any argument, he was leading her onto the dance floor. Her heartbeat outpaced the music—still livid over Peter’s treatment of her, and afraid that Jest would be recognized at any moment. But mostly she was exhilarated.

He was here. He had come for her.

The fool had come.

She turned to face him. Their hands linked together and a waltz began. Her feet knew the steps, though she barely heard the music.

They were dancing, in front of everyone.

There was no alarm from the crowd. No guards were sent to apprehend him. There were no whispered rumors of his presence.

In this ballroom full of masks, no one would know it was him. It was easy to believe that he was nobility, like any of them. Not an entertainer, or a fool, or a wanted man. He was as refined a gentleman as any guest.

They pressed their palms together and turned in a half circle and Jest took the opportunity to dip his head toward her. “You seem surprised, my lady.”

She stifled a laugh and turned toward the next girl in line, twirled around, gripped loose hands with the lady’s partner and found herself returned into Jest’s waiting hands. “What are you doing here?” she whispered. “You’re…”

He grinned. “A wanted man?”

She ducked beneath the raised hands of the next couple. Rotated back. Curtsied.

“Exactly,” she said as her palm found Jest’s again.

“Good,” he said, his dimples showing, “I hoped you might still feel that way.”

They finished the rest of the dance in silence, and by the end of it Cath knew she was wearing a silly, dazed expression, but she couldn’t escape it. Jest leaned over her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckle, and in that touch she felt a slip of paper being pressed into her palm .

He stepped away, watching as she looked down at the piece of crumpled confetti, just like those he had once scattered across the ballroom.

On it was printed a tiny red heart.

She wrapped her fingers around it and looked up again. She swallowed hard, bracing herself. “I’m going to accept the King’s proposal.”

Jest’s face froze. They stood in agonizing silence, staring at each other for a long moment, too long, before the storm came into his gaze. He moved closer, his toes brushing against the hem of her gown. She had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.

“You promised,” he growled. “You promised that you wouldn’t.”

“That was before you ruined any chance we might have had of being accepted—by my parents or the court or the entire kingdom. They all think you’re a liar and a cheat. They all think you’re a villain.”

“I was trying to save your reputation,” he whispered back at her. “Besides, you made it clear at the festival that a courtship between us would never be accepted, no matter what I did.”

She licked her lips. His eyes followed the movement, creating a flutter in her stomach that was painful to ignore. “You’re right, it wouldn’t. Which is why I have to accept the King.”

Hurt crossed his face, drawing deep wrinkles across his brow. “Catherine—”

“Then, when I give you my heart, it will truly be the heart of a queen.”

He sucked in a breath and started to shake his head, but she plowed on.

“And you can take it back to Chess and end your war. That’s what you came here for, isn’t it?”

“But—”

She inched closer, letting herself be drawn into his shadow.

“Maybe there is no amount of magic that could ever make this a possibility,” she whispered against his jaw.

He was trembling, but so slightly she could only tell when she stood so close.

“If I am not to have happiness, let me at least have a purpose. Let me give you the heart of a queen. ”

She watched him swallow, feeling the faint warmth of his breath on her cheek.

Then she stepped back and turned away. His hand grabbed for hers but she pulled it out of reach and slipped into the swirl of masks and dancers.

Her heart was hammering. She wanted him to call out for her, to stop her, almost as much as she wanted him to let her do this while her courage held.

A trumpet blared across the ballroom. Over the heads of the gentry she could see the White Rabbit beside the throne. “Ladies and gentlemen, presenting His Royal Majesty, the King of Hearts!”

The crowd applauded and drew toward the dais. Cath crumpled the slip of paper in her fist and couldn’t help looking back at Jest… but he was gone.

She spun in a circle, searching the feather-and-rhinestone masks for a black top hat and yellow eyes.

“Catherine.”

Her mother’s voice halted her stampeding thoughts. An arm fell around her shoulders and ushered her toward the stage.

“It’s time,” the Marchioness said, her voice light with joy.

“Oh, my dear girl, it’s happening, finally!

” She shoved her way through the crowd. Catherine felt her body going numb with every step she took toward the King, who had started to make a speech, but she couldn’t hear him.

She couldn’t feel the pinching of her mother’s fingers.

She didn’t notice the curious faces watching her pass by.

It’s time.

She was going to accept the King.

She was going to be the Queen of Hearts.

She looked back a few more times, but the crowd had closed in behind them and there was no sign of Jest. It was as if his being there had been nothing more than a dream .

Inhaling a deep breath, Cath tried not to be hurt. If they had more time, would he have tried harder to dissuade her from this plan? Would she have let him?

No. She wanted this. She wanted to give him what he had come for.

Her heart belonged to him either way, whether it was the heart of a baker or a queen. At least this way it could serve some purpose beyond her trivial life.

She began to feel like she was above it all, looking down on a stranger.

Watching herself being shoved onto the platform.

Seeing the guests applaud without sound and the King take one of her hands and pull her to the center of the stage.

It was another girl standing pale and speechless.

It was another girl sacrificing her happiness for something greater than herself.

Another girl accepting that some things were never meant to be.

Her heart shriveled to a prune.

“As you all know,” the King was saying, bouncing on his toes, “our kingdom has faced some horrible things these past weeks, but it is my privilege to take your thoughts from these f-frightening times, and instead give us all cause to celebrate.” He beamed.

“This lady that stands before you has shown herself to be brave and gallant, and I—” His eyes glistened as he peered up at Catherine.

He squeezed her hand. “I both admire and adore her.”

Catherine fell back into her body with a jolt, and nothing was distant anymore. The air was stifling. She was choking on panic and disbelief. She ordered herself to be strong, but it was difficult when she could hardly believe this had become her reality.

Was it only yesterday Jest had taken her to the treacle well? Only yesterday when he had kissed her breathless?

“Lady Catherine Pinkerton of Rock Turtle Cove,” the King said, all tenderness and joy. His voice magnified in her skull. He knelt before her. His fingers were clammy and thick. “Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife and my queen?”

A delighted gasp burst from the crowd.

Tearing her attention away from the King, Catherine found herself staring at the people she had known all her life. They all looked so happy, so eager.

It was a startling realization to her that the King was right about this.

He wanted to pretend the attacks weren’t happening, that the Jabberwock wasn’t a very real nightmare.

He wanted his people to feel safe and happy in their beds at night, and to do that, he would take their minds off it with a proposal.

A wedding. A new queen—a queen who had battled the Jabberwock and survived.

It was a coward’s solution, but it was working.

She wondered what would become of Hearts after Jest claimed his prize. When her heart was given to him and taken back to Chess and this kingdom was left with a hollow husk of a queen instead.

She imagined they would all go about their lives and pretend nothing had changed. Pretend that all was well. Pretend, like they always did.

Chess needed her. Hearts did not.

She squared her shoulders and faced the King, who was still kneeling with her hand between his damp palms. His face jovial and honest. He did not deserve the ungrateful wife he was going to be trapped with.

She held his gaze and stretched a smile over her lips. “I will, Your Majesty.”