Heartless(128)

The throne room was all ruby-encrusted chandeliers, pink gilt mirrors, and rose quartz pillars. There was no carpeted aisle, and each footstep echoed off the walls and up to the arched cathedral ceiling.

Her attention didn’t stray from the King of Hearts, who was fidgeting on his throne, his fingers twitching with every thundering clack-clack of her heels.

Catherine knew how she must look in her head-to-toe black, including the black lace veil that partially covered her face. She had seen herself in the mirror before she left, pale as a ghost with crazed, bloodshot eyes. She didn’t care.

She knew the King. She knew how to get from him what she wanted.

The White Rabbit’s voice trembled when he introduced her. “L-Lady Catherine Pinkerton of Rock Turtle Cove, requesting an audience with His Royal Majesty, the King of Hearts.”

She waited a beat, before turning to the nearest member of the court—the Queen of Diamonds—and dropping the red-wrapped package into her hands. The woman gasped and barely caught it before the box smashed on the floor.

Turning back to the King, Catherine stretched her lips as far as she could and dipped into her finest curtsy. “Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty.”

“L-Lady Catherine. Good d-day,” stammered the King. He scratched his ear. “We’ve had word of your unfortunate un-un-w-wellness. It’s so good to see you … about.”

“Your concern flatters me, Your Majesty.”

The King leaned forward. “And w-what can I do for you, Lady Pinkerton?”

She stood as straight and sharp as a spade in her engulfing ebony dress.

“I came to apologize. My reaction to your marriage proposal was appalling. I hope you know it was a result of temporary madness, not any disregard for your proposal. You did me a great honor when you asked for my hand, and I did not respond as a lady ought to.”

She finished her practiced speech with another upward turn of her lips.

The King cleared his throat. “Er—that’s not necessary, Lady Pinkerton. Of course, your apology is h-heartily accepted.” His mouth quivered. Still nervous. It was clear that he hoped Cath was done, now. That she would leave.

But she wasn’t.

“Good.” Her smile fell. “With that unpleasantness behind us, I would like to officially accept your proposal—again.”

The blood drained from the King’s face. “O-oh,” he said. “Is that … is that so?” His eyes skittered toward the White Rabbit, as if the master of ceremonies might be able to respond for him.

Catherine had expected this. No man—not even a silly, empty-headed man—would wish to marry a girl after she’d rejected him. Humiliated him, even. A girl everyone was saying had gone quite ill in the head.

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 toward 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 favor 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 mustache. “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 toward the King.

Flushing, the woman dragged her feet up onto 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.