But the King was meek and spineless.
So she waited while the King searched the faces of his courtiers and guards, looking for a way out. A way that did not include him having to reject her, for he was not the rejecting sort.
His expression slipped towards helpless. ‘Well. That’s certainly . . . er.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘You see, Lady Pinkerton, the thing is – I . . . um.’
‘I understand, Your Majesty. I would not have expected to earn your favour again after the way I treated you. But I also know that you are a thoughtful, good-hearted man.’
His cheeks reddened behind his curled beard and pointed moustache. ‘Well, I don’t know if that’s—’
‘Which is why I brought you a gift. A symbol of my devotion.’ Her voice cracked, but she shoved the pain down, down, down. Turning to the Queen of Diamonds, she raised an eyebrow.
It took a moment for the startled woman to step forward, box in hand.
Catherine flicked her fingers towards the King.
Flushing, the woman dragged her feet up on to the dais and deposited the gift into the King’s hands, before retreating back to her spot among the courtiers.
The King’s face was tight with dread as he untied the ribbon and peeled the paper back. He moved as cautiously as if he had expected the present to combust in his lap.
He lifted the lid. Everyone in the throne room tilted forward – all but Catherine, who watched with empty eyes.
The King squeaked. ‘L-lime?’
‘Key lime pie, Your Majesty. You told me once that key lime is the key to a king’s heart, after all.’
He licked his lips, eyes filling with hunger. Behind him, the Knave of Hearts surged upward on his toes, trying to see into the gift box with the same overflow of desire.
Cath lowered her lashes. ‘I believe we shall get on quite well, and I shall be proud to bestow upon you many such delicacies. I have always been fond of baking, you see.’
Her chest quivered, but she clenched her jaw. Stayed strong. She knew he was crumbling. She knew she would win.
Down, down, down.
‘Oh. Right,’ said the King. ‘You were – er.’ He gaped at Catherine, then at the pie. Licked his lips. ‘Many such delicacies . . . you say?’
‘As many as you wish.’ She raised her chin. ‘As I see no cause for delay, I suggest we set the wedding for a fortnight.’
His eyes widened. ‘A fortnight?’
She bobbed her head. ‘Your Majesty makes a most excellent point. A single week would be much preferred.’
He stuttered incoherently. The crowd was stirring, concerned glances passing through the courtiers and the guards.
‘Very well, if you insist,’ said Catherine. ‘Three days hence will be as good a time as any.’ She turned to a young page – the Three of Diamonds – who was hiding behind a pillar. ‘Note that the royal wedding between the King of Hearts and the daughter of the Marquess of Rock Turtle Cove is to be held in three days hence. The entire kingdom is to be invited. Does that sound all right to you, Your Majesty?’
‘I . . . I suppose . . .’
‘Wonderful. I’m so pleased.’ She dropped into another curtsy.
The King wrapped his hand around the box containing the key to his heart and squeezed it against his middle. ‘Th-three days hence. I am – it is – I am honoured, Lady Pinkerton.’
Her lips twitched, more with derision than flattery. ‘I do believe the honour is meant to be mine.’
Pivoting on her heels, she marched out of the throne room without looking back. She was glad when the aroma of sweet-sour lime finally faded behind her.
All during the carriage ride home she thought of the Sisters’ drawing. Catherine upon her throne, wearing a queen’s crown. She tried to recall the feeling of horror she’d had then. How adamantly she’d refused to believe it could ever come to pass.
Those emotions were far out of reach.
‘I am the Queen of Hearts,’ she said to the empty carriage. Practising. ‘I am the Queen of Hearts.’
CHAPTER 51
THE 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 fulfil 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 the top of the vanity mirror.