Heartless(21)

Catherine pursed her lips, trying to disguise the influx of hope beneath a veil of concern. “If the King wished to request my hand in marriage, I should hope his attachment wouldn’t be so flimsy as that. And I’m still not convinced of his intentions.”

“Oh, he very much intended. And he had better still intend, or you will be confined to this room until you learn when it is and is not appropriate to leave a ball!” She hesitated. “Wild, murderous beasts notwithstanding. You must fix this, Catherine!”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to apologize for leaving the gala prematurely. I expect you to be around the next time a man makes you an offer that will make you a queen. We must think of some way to ensure we haven’t lost his good graces. Something to keep him from changing his mind, not when we were so close!”

“But what if I don’t…” She trailed off, curling her knees up to her chest.

“What if you don’t what? Spit it out, child.”

She gulped. Hesitated. Sagged. “What if I don’t see His Majesty for a while? We can’t very well call on the King, and we have no invitations, do we?”

Her mother smugly tilted her nose up. “In fact, we do have an invitation. We have been asked to afternoon tea in the castle gardens in three days’ time.” She snapped her fingers. “I know! You shall bring His Majesty a gift! That will be the perfect excuse to approach him. He is fond of your sweets.” She stood and took to pacing the room, the light from the lamp casting a restless shadow over the walls. “What do you think he’d like?”

“Anything, I suppose.”

“Why are you being difficult?”

Cath shrugged. “I don’t mean to be, Mama. What about those rose macarons I mentioned?”

“Yes, yes, perfect! What are rose macarons?”

Cath prepared an explanation, but her mother was already waving off the question. “Never mind, I’m sure they’ll be fine. Now, try to get some sleep. You know you plump up when you’re not sleeping well.” Fluttering her arms, she bustled out of the bedroom, nearly crashing into Mary Ann’s tea tray on the way out.

After the Marchioness had gone, Mary Ann slipped inside and shut the door with her foot. She turned her wide eyes on Catherine and abandoned the tray on the nightstand. “Can it be true, Catherine?”

Catherine collapsed back onto her pillows. “I don’t wish to believe it, either. A Jabberwock! In Hearts! The attack must have been awful.”

Mary Ann froze, her thoughts tripping over the topic. “Oh yes. It was awful. It happened so fast—I barely caught sight of the beast as it was flying away with one courtier in each of its big, gangly claws…” She grimaced. “No one knew what to do. The ballroom was in chaos, everyone wanting to flee but too afraid to go outside. Then the Joker showed up out of nowhere—he’s rather uncanny, don’t you think?—and insisted that the King have everyone gather together in the great hall until it was deemed safe to leave. That’s when we realized you were missing, and the Joker tried to calm Mama. He told her that he’d seen a girl in a red gown get into a carriage and he was sure you were safe, but we couldn’t send a messenger, and we were stuck inside for hours…” Her face pinched with worry. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“Well, mostly right.” Cath rose up onto one elbow. “The Joker gathered everyone in the great hall?”

Mary Ann nodded. “He was very calm about it, while the King was … well, you know how he is.” Her lips stretched into a smile. “Or shall we say, your sweetheart?”

“We certainly shall not.” She collapsed backward again. “I’m exhausted thinking about it.”

Mary Ann laughed. “Oh yes. It must be tiresome, being a favorite of the King himself.”

“Are we speaking of the same man? The short one with the funny curled beard? The one who never stops wiggling?”

Mary Ann settled onto the bed beside Catherine. “Don’t be mean. To think, if you had been trapped in the castle with the rest of us, the King would have had to protect you from that beast. Or, at the least, he would have ordered the Clubs to protect you, as is much more practical, given the circumstances. It’s very nearly romantic. Why, we would be discussing your engagement right now.” She lay down beside Catherine, fluffing a pillow beneath her head.

Catherine pried open one eye. “You can’t mean it.”

“Mean what?”

Shoving away the blankets, Catherine flopped off the mattress. “Have you met the King?” she asked, adjusting her nightgown. “Practical? Romantic? Rubbish! I can’t marry him!”

Mary Ann sat up, eyes wide. “Why not? You would be the Queen.”

“I don’t want to be the Queen! I want … I don’t know. If ever I get married, I want there to be romance, and passion. I want to fall in love.” Cath poured some tea into a cup, annoyed at how her hands shook. She was flushed—from talk of the King, from news of the Jabberwock … but mostly, she knew, from the dream.

Romance. Passion. Love.

She had never experienced them before, but she imagined they would leave her feeling like that dream had. Like the Joker did, with his quick smiles and witty remarks. She felt like she could talk to him for hours, for days and months and years, and never tire of it.