Catherine did not despise dancing, but she did despise being first, being watched, being judged. She was always sure that she was one dance step away from making a dunce of herself. She could still recall how her stomach had tied into knots that first year. How her palms had sweat, despite the cold. It seemed worse every year, especially as her body had matured and she’d been forced to dance with potential suitors, rather than the sweet-meaning gentlemen of the court who laughed like kindly grandfathers as they swung her through the air.
Only a handful of jellyfish remained on the beach when she felt the faint tickle of a fingertip tracing the back of her wrist.
Cath jumped and spun around, but Jest had already pulled back. His attention dropped as he pulled black gloves on to his hands. ‘Good day, Lady Pinkerton,’ he said, too casual. He was dressed in his usual motley, the black heart dripping from the kohl around his eyes. If it hadn’t been for the faintest hint of redness in his cheeks, she would have thought she’d imagined the touch, but she knew she hadn’t. Her entire arm was still tingling.
‘Good day, Sir Joker,’ she said, suddenly breathless.
The corners of his mouth twitched and he met her gaze, before his eyes skipped up to the macaron hat. ‘I take it you’ve been to see Hatta.’
She reached up to give the hat a squeeze, liking the lightness of it more and more as the soft insides contoured to her head. ‘He’s very clever.’
‘He certainly likes to think so.’ Jest inhaled sharply, and she noticed that his eyes were troubled, still looking at the hat. ‘Did he say what it does?’
‘The hat? I’m not sure it does anything.’ She listed her head to the side, but the hat was snug enough that it didn’t shift. ‘Unless you are going to teach me the trick with the White Rabbit.’
He was shaking his head, but it was a subtle movement. ‘Hatta’s creations are far from ordinary. And you look . . .’ He hesitated.
Cath raised her eyebrows and watched his Adam’s apple bob.
‘Today, you seem rather . . .’
She folded her hands patiently in front of her skirt. She could see him biting back his words. Considering and reconsidering before, finally, he said, ‘You are a pleasure to look on, is all, Lady Pinkerton.’ He pointed his chin past Catherine’s shoulder, disappointment clouding his expression. ‘As your beau will no doubt tell you as well.’
‘My b—oh.’
Catherine heard the King first, his giggles loud over the chatter of the audience, and her dread returned. She turned to see the King of Hearts bobbling across the sandy dance floor.
Her pulse galloped. She had not been in the King’s presence since he’d asked to court her. She wanted to turn and run, but she had already been spotted. The King scurried towards her and pulled himself up on to the stage.
‘Good day to the most pretty, precious, and p- . . . p- . . .’
‘Provisional?’ Jest supplied.
‘Provisional lady in all the land!’ Then the King hesitated, not sure if the description was fitting or not.
Cath cast the Joker a cool look. He grinned.
The King shook his uncertainty away. ‘I must say, that is a very fine hat you’re wearing, Lady Pinkerton. Why, you look almost good enough to eat – my sweet!’ His face was full of blushes and frivolity, and all the horrible lines of poetry written into his cards over the past week came whirring back through Catherine’s head.
She curtsied and tried to be flattered. ‘You’re too kind, Your Majesty. Are you enjoying the festival?’
‘I am indeed!’ He jigged in place, his face all joyful anticipation. ‘It’s all very good fun. Just what the kingdom needed, I daresay.’
She inclined her head. ‘It is nice to have some merriment during these dark times. I’m sure you’ve heard that the Jabberwock attacks have continued.’ A shiver caught hold of her shoulders as she thought of the little carousel pony in the pumpkin patch. ‘And his latest victim, a courageous Lion—’
The King held up his hands, backing away as if she were the monster. ‘Please, I beg of you, my darling, let’s not speak of it. I break out in hives every time that horrid creature is mentioned.’ He pulled away the collar of his cloak to reveal a newly developing rash.
Cath frowned. ‘But you are doing something about it, aren’t you? I’ve thought that perhaps you should hire a knight or a monster slayer. In the stories, there was always some brave soul that volunteered to slay the Jabberwock, and that seemed to go rather well, judging from all the ballads that came out of it. Well, I suppose it didn’t go very well for the Jabberwock, but all things considered—’
‘Oh, oh!’ The King clapped. ‘The lobster quadrille is about to begin! I’ve been eager for it all morning!’
Cath paused. ‘Yes, any moment now, I suspect.’
The King was sweating profusely, not meeting her eyes. She recognized shame in his expression, but it only annoyed her. Silly or not, clever or not, he was the King of Hearts. He should be doing something about the Jabberwock, shouldn’t he?
She sighed. ‘I take it you’ll be watching the quadrille, Your Majesty?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ he said, only too happy to look at her now that she wasn’t pressuring him about the attacks. His eyes glittered.
She envied the ostriches, wishing she could bury her head beneath the sand.
When she didn’t say anything more, the King’s expression turned halfway pleading. ‘Have you yet . . . chosen a dance partner? For the quadrille?’