“That is enough, Sir Peter!” Cath said, raising her voice when she remembered the role she’d sworn to play this evening. Everyone believed she was to be their future queen—surely she wouldn’t stand to be spoken to in this way by a measly pumpkin farmer. “I demand that you release me at—”
“Pardon my intrusion.” A voice as warm and soothing as melted chocolate slipped between them.
A shock jolted down Catherine’s spine. She fell silent, her lips hanging open.
“If the lady’s card isn’t full,” continued the voice, “might I request the honor of this next dance?”
Soft leather brushed against her upper arm. Her gaze fell, watching as a gloved hand pried Peter’s fingers off her, one by one. She was afraid to look up. Afraid to meet the speaker of the voice and find she was wrong.
For he couldn’t be here. Not even his bravado would have brought him here.
It was … impossible.
CHAPTER 40
CATH 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.”
Her words had barely left her when the crowd erupted into cheers. All around her, women dabbed the corners of their eyes with handkerchiefs, like they were witnessing something beautiful. Men tipped their hats. The orchestra started up with an enthusiastic song, deafening with celebration.
She sought out her parents. The Marquess stood at her mother’s side, an arm around her shoulders. They both looked so delighted, so proud.
Cath felt like she didn’t even know them.
Her gaze scanned the crowd, searching, searching, but she didn’t see Jest. She wanted to know if he was as miserable as she was. She wanted to know if he understood why she was doing it. She wanted to know if he was grateful for her sacrifice, or angry that she had broken her promise.
The crowd began to swarm onto the stage. Women she hadn’t spoken to in years grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into embraces, brushed kisses against her cheeks, adoringly pressed her hands. She heard the Dowager Countess Wontuthry making a bawdy joke about the wedding night, and a couple of the courtiers placing bets on when the kingdom would have its first prince or princess.
Congratulations whirred through her ears.
You are such a lucky girl …
The Marquess and Marchioness must be overjoyed …
What a pretty queen you’ll make …
She ran her hands down the sides of her stiff skirt, trying to rid them of the touch of so much unwanted kindness. This was her decision, she reminded herself. She had made her choice.
Someone called for a dance, and another cheer filled the ballroom. She and the King were ushered off the dais, down to the center of the dance floor. She found herself facing him, staring down at his curled mustache and twinkling eyes and a grin that could not have looked any happier.
“Oh, Lady Pinkerton, my decadent truffle,” he said, tears gathering in his eyes. “You have made me the happiest of men!”
She felt the twist of guilt in her chest.
She was going to be ill.
How much longer could she keep up this feigned joy? She didn’t think she would last the night, much less the rest of her life.
The orchestra started up again and the King reached for her hands. She shoved her derision down as far as she could and placed her palms into his.
But before the dance could begin, a crash echoed through the ballroom—the massive entry doors being thrown open and colliding with the quartz walls. A gust of wind blew in, extinguishing the chandeliers overhead in a single breath and casting the guests in blackness.
A swath of light from the open doors cut through the ballroom and two shadowy silhouettes stretched along with it, reaching almost to where Cath and the King stood. One silhouette she remembered from that first night in the gardens—a hooded man gripping an enormous curve-bladed ax.
The other shadow wore a three-pointed hat.
Jest stood in the doorway, once again in his joker’s motley, his feathered mask replaced with the dark kohl and dripping heart. Raven was perched on his shoulder.
The King squeaked. “Jest?”
“Jest,” Cath breathed in response, letting her hands fall out of his grip.
Though she could barely make out Jest’s face in the darkness, she knew he was looking at her. Only at her.
“I know a way,” he said, his voice calm and cutting through the stunned silence. “I know a way, Catherine. We can be together and save Chess and you can have your bakery, and all of it.”
Her lips parted, almost not daring to hope.
“You would be giving up all of this,” he said, gesturing at the ballroom and the masqueraders, “but I think you were already willing to do that.” He paused and took in a hesitant breath. “I know another way, my lady.”
“This … this man!” The Marchioness’s high-pitched voice cut through the stillness. “He is the one who tricked my beloved daughter, who would make your future queen out to be a strumpet. He is deceitful and wicked and he must be stopped!” She stepped out of the crowd and waved her arms at the King. “Your Majesty, do something!”
“O-oh, yes! Guards! Guards!” the King wailed, pointing at the Clubs that lined the ballroom. “Capture him!”
It took another moment for the guards to shake off their befuddlement and begin to mobilize, their boots clomping against the tile.
Jest never took his attention from Cath. “What do you choose?” he whispered, and though he was so far away, she could hear him plainly. Hope and wanting, so much wanting.
The guards hoisted their weapons and moved toward him, pushing their way through the startled crowd.
“You,” she whispered back to him, and though her voice barely reached even her own ears, she saw the brightness enter his eyes. “Over everything, I choose you.”
He grinned and moved toward the stairs.
Cath grabbed her skirts and began to rush toward him, ignoring the startled cries of the crowd, her mother’s shrieks, the guards’ thundering footsteps. They would reach him before she did, though Jest was swooping down the steps. The guards changed directions. Aimed their spears.
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Cath started to run. She could see the collision coming, and she didn’t know if she could make it to him before the guards did, and the King was calling her name and her father was ordering her to stop and Raven was lifting off Jest’s shoulder and soaring overhead.
Something sparked at her feet. Smoke thickened the air.
The guards drew up short.
Cath tripped, but Jest’s arms were already around her, like feathers against her skin, carrying her away.
CHAPTER 41
“I’M SORRY. I’M SO SORRY,” she said, her voice muffled against Jest’s shoulder, her arms like vises around his neck. She didn’t know where he was taking her to. She could feel the evening air on her hot skin. She could hear his heavy breathing—he was running, with her and all her crinoline in his arms. “I thought I could do it. I thought I could marry him and give you what you want, but it’s not what I want, Jest, you must know that—”
“It’s all right, Cath. It’s going to be all right.”
He came to a stop and sank down to his knees, cradling her in his lap.
Untangling her arms, Catherine looked up. At her Joker. Her Rook. Cath pressed her hands against his face and saw it instantly. The openness in his eyes, the tenderness.
“I choose you,” she repeated. The words tasted like sugar.
His jaw twitched and with his free hand he grasped her fingers, keeping them pressed against his face. “Cath, you have to be sure.” His voice was thick, practically choking. “Raven gave me the idea. I wouldn’t have thought of it otherwise, and I … I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say. It isn’t too late. They already believe I have you under some spell, it would be easy to persuade them—”
“Wait.” Cath’s hands slid down his cheeks, reaching for the collar of his tunic instead. “You said we could be together. We can save Chess and I’ll have my bakery and—”
He nodded. “It’s true. I think it will work.”
“You think?”
Tilting forward, Jest buried his face into her neck. He was shaking as hard as she was. “It won’t be easy. And you can still change your mind. The King will still want you, I know he will, and I’ll leave you be, you and your heart, I promise. I couldn’t do it anyway, Cath. I couldn’t take it from you.”