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T HE WHITE ROSE TREE was in full bloom. Catherine could see it from the castle chambers where she had been brought to make her final wedding preparations. Its flowers were like glowing white lanterns amid the green foliage of the gardens.

She couldn’t take her eyes from it.

There was a coal burning in her chest. Her fury had grown since she’d seen the Sisters, since she’d accepted the King’s proposal. Three days had been agony. She wanted it over. She wanted to be the Queen so the Sisters could fulfill their end of the agreement.

Raven was on her shoulder, his talons puncturing her skin through the fabric of her wedding gown.

He had become her most constant companion, though they rarely spoke.

He was the only one she had told about the deal she’d struck with the Three Sisters, and at first she had expected him to try and talk her out of it.

Even when he didn’t, it still took her a full day to realize he yearned for vengeance almost as much as she did.

Jest had been his friend, his comrade, his fellow Rook.

“Soon,” she breathed—to Raven, and to herself. “Soon.”

Raven said nothing, just dug his talons deeper. She didn’t flinch, though she did wonder if there would be spots of blood left on the white brocade.

Behind her, the door opened. “Cath?” came Mary Ann’s timid voice. “I’ve come to fix your hair. ”

Cath turned to her and nodded, before moving away from the window. She sat at the vanity.

Mary Ann waited a moment, as if expecting more of an invitation than that, before she sighed and padded across the carpet. Raven fluttered up to the top of the vanity mirror.

Mary Ann worked in silence, pinning Cath’s hair with expert fingers and working it through with pearls and red rosebuds.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Cath met Mary Ann’s gaze in the glass.

“The King will let you out of the arrangement if you ask,” the maid continued. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

“What then?” Cath asked. “I could be the Marchioness of Mock Turtles. Die a spinster, all alone with my half-invisible cat?”

Mary Ann paced in front of her and leaned against the vanity. “What about us? Our dream, our bakery?”

“My dream,” Cath snapped. “It was my dream, and mine alone. It only became yours when a trickster hat fooled you into having an imagination.”

Mary Ann flinched. “That isn’t true. I always—”

“I haven’t changed my mind.” Catherine stood, tugging her skirt into place. “I am getting precisely what I want.”

“A false, loveless marriage?”

Cath sought out her reflection. The face in the mirror was that of a corpse, bloodless and indifferent. But her dress was breathtaking, for those who had breath to take—a full-skirted gown bedecked in lace and ribbon. Red roses were embroidered across the bodice.

She felt nothing at all when she looked at her wedding gown, or imagined herself on the throne, or lying in the King’s bed, or someday watching their full suit of ten children race across the croquet lawns.

Her future existed like a barren desert with a single bright spot on the horizon. The one thing she wanted. The last thing in the world she craved .

Peter’s head.

“Yes,” she said, without emotion. “This is what I want.”

Mary Ann’s shoulders fell and Cath could see her biting back what she wanted to say. Finally she slinked away from the vanity. “The Marquess and Marchioness asked to see you before the ceremony. And… Cath? You haven’t asked me to continue on as one of your maids here in the castle.”

Cath blinked, waiting for the words to seep into her clouded thoughts.

You should have died instead , she wanted to say. If you hadn’t gone to the patch, this wouldn’t have happened. I should have let you die. I should have left you there.

“No,” she finally said. “I haven’t.”

“Cath, please,” Mary Ann whispered. “I know you’re hurt—devastated, even. But you’re my best friend. You came back for me. You saved me.”

You should have died instead.

“The White Rabbit is looking for a housemaid,” Cath said. “Perhaps you can seek new employment there.”

The silence that followed was stifling.

Cath picked a ruby necklace off the vanity, one the King had sent her during their pitiful courtship. She latched it behind her neck. The jewels sat heavy on her collar.

“If that’s what you want,” Mary Ann murmured.

Cath didn’t watch her go. Didn’t turn even when the door shut behind her.

Somewhere in the castle, the people of Hearts were gathering. Music was playing. The King was wondering whether he was making a mistake, and whether it was too late to stop it.

She stared at the girl in the mirror, the one who looked as though she had never known a smile. Even as she had the thought, her reflection’s lips curled upward, revealing a delirious grin beneath her sullen eyes .

She scowled. “This had better not be your way of telling me to be happy.”

The reflection’s eyes turned yellow and developed slitted pupils. “Were you aware that this is your wedding day?” said Cheshire. The rest of his face formed, furry cheeks and long whiskers. “To look so sad seems a travesty.”

“I’m not in the mood. Go away.”

“All due respect, Your Soon-to-Be-Majesticness, you do not seem much in the mood for anything. I have never seen such an empty expression.” His face vanished, leaving the outline of fur and whiskers topped with pointed ears.

Catherine pushed away from the vanity.

Cheshire’s face reappeared. “You needn’t be so cold to Mary Ann. She’s worried about you. We all are.”

“What is there to worry about? I am going to be a queen. I’m the luckiest girl in Hearts.”

His whiskers twitched. “And won’t we be lucky to have you, miserable wretch you’ve become.”

“Mind my words, Cheshire, I will have you banished from this kingdom if you tempt me.”

“An empty threat from an empty girl.”

She rounded on him, teeth flashing. “I am not empty. I am full to the brim with murder and revenge. I am overflowing and I do not think you wish for me to overflow onto you.”

“There was a time”—Cheshire yawned—“when you overflowed with whimsy and powdered sugar. I liked that Catherine better.”

“That Catherine was a fool.” She whipped her hand toward the cat. He vanished before she could strike him. “You knew the bakery would never happen. You’ve known that I would end up either destitute or married to the stupid King, and any other hopes were meaningless. ”

“Yes. That’s true.”

She spun to see Cheshire floating in front of the door.

“But hoping,” he said, “is how the impossible can be possible after all.”

With a scream, Cath grabbed a vase of white roses and launched them at Cheshire’s head.

The door opened. The cat vanished. The vase flew right between the White Rabbit’s ears and shattered in the corridor.

The Rabbit froze, his pink eyes wide as saucers. “L-Lady Pinkerton? Is everything quite all right?”

Cath straightened her spine. “I despise white roses!”

The Rabbit shrank back. “I… I do apologize. I’ll—er—have something else sent for, if you prefer—”

“Don’t bother,” she snapped, marching toward the window and thrusting her finger against a leaded pane. “And I want the gardeners to take down that tree.”

The White Rabbit approached hesitantly. “Tree?”

“The white rose tree by the arches. I want it removed immediately.”

The Rabbit’s nose twitched. “But, my lady, that tree was planted by the King’s great-great-great-grandfather.

It is an extremely rare varietal. No, I think we had better leave it as it is.

” He cleared his throat and pulled a watch from his pocket.

The watch Jest had given him during the black-and-white ball.

Seeing it brought blood rushing into Cath’s face.

“Now then, your parents will be here soon to escort you to the ceremony, but I wanted to be sure you had everything you needed before—”

“Mr. Rabbit.”

He looked up and ducked at her glare.

“That tree is to be gone by nightfall. If it is not, then I will find an ax and cut it down myself, and your head will be soon to follow. Do you understand? ”

His gloved hands began to shake around the watch. “Er—y-yes. Certainly. The tree. Quite an eyesore, I’ve oft said so myself…”

“In fact,” she continued, scanning the gardens below, “I want all white roses to be removed before springtime. From now on, the gardeners are to plant only red roses, if they must grow roses at all.”

“Of course, my quee—my lady. Red roses. Excellent choice. Your taste is immaculate, I daresay.”

“Exuberantly glad you agree,” she deadpanned, brushing past him. She paused at the vanity and Raven hopped off the mirror and came to settle again on her shoulder before she swept into the corridor.

She paused.

Her parents were there, standing over the shattered glass vase and drooping roses, waiting to escort their daughter to her wedding ceremony. Their faces held on to wobbly smiles.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” said the Marchioness, taking a step forward. Hesitating. Glancing at Raven. Then she closed the distance between them and took Catherine into her arms. “You are a beautiful bride.”

“Are you sure?” said Cath, still livid over the roses and the pocket watch and Cheshire’s insolence. “Look again. You might find that I actually resemble a walrus.”

Her mother pulled away, shocked. “What do you mean?”

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes. “Nothing at all.”

“Catherine,” said the Marquess, placing one hand on Cath’s shoulder and one on his wife’s. “We know you’ve been through some… difficult things recently.”

Anger, hot and throbbing, blurred in her vision.

“But we want you to be sure… absolutely sure this is what you want.” His eyes turned wary beneath his bushy eyebrows. “We want you to be happy. That’s all we’ve ever wanted. Is this what’s going to make you happy? ”

Cath held his gaze, feeling the puncture of Raven’s talons on her shoulder, the weight of the rubies around her throat, the itch of her petticoat on her thighs.

“How different everything could have been,” she said, “if you had thought to ask me that before.”

She shrugged his arm away and pushed between them. She didn’t look back.