Heartless(129)

“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 honored, Lady Pinkerton.”

Her lips twitched, more with derision than flattery. “I do believe the honor 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. Practicing. “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 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 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.”