Heartless(44)

Another glance upward, and this time she spotted tiny black eyes. She reeled back, dropping the rose at her feet.

The Raven inclined his head. Or, she thought he did. His inky feathers were almost invisible in the darkness.

“Hello again,” she said, shivering in the night air.

“Good eve, fair lady, your forgiveness we implore, to come so brashly tapping, tapping at your chamber door.”

“Oh, well, this isn’t exactly my chamber door. More like a window, actually.”

The Raven bobbed his head. “I made some alterations for the sake of the rhyme.”

“I see. Well—good evening, fair Raven, my forgiveness I bestow, for this uncanny meeting outside of my window.”

A boisterous laugh startled Catherine, sending her heart into her throat.

In his black motley, he was nearly impossible to see in the shadows, perched in the crook of a tree branch. He looked mysterious and elegant, his gold eyes glinting in the light of her bedroom’s fire.

“That was impressive, wasn’t it, Raven?” Jest said. “The lady is a natural poet.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Catherine. “I thought you left with the King.”

“He had no further need of me tonight, so I took my leave. I thought I could take a walk, look around. I’m still new to these parts.”

“But you’re not walking. You’re climbing trees.”

“It’s still exercise.”

Catherine leaned farther out the window. “The courtship was your idea, wasn’t it?”

His smile faded and in the darkness he looked almost uncomfortable. “I hope I haven’t overstepped, my lady. But it seemed, from your reaction at the party today, that you would prefer a proposal of courtship to a proposal of marriage.”

She pressed her lips.

“Although it would also seem,” Jest continued, his voice sympathetic, “that you don’t particularly want either one.”

“You must think I’m a fool to even consider rejecting him.”

“My lady, I am a professional fool. I can say with certainty that you do not have the makings of one.”

She smirked. “Then that’s a relief.”

“Is it? Have you something against fools?”

“Not at all. Only, if I were as natural at foolishness as I am at poetry, I might try to take your position from you, and you seem so very well suited to it.”

His body shifted—a melting of his muscles—and she realized that he was relaxing. She hadn’t seen the tension in his body until it was gone. “It does seem to suit me,” he said, “though I daresay the hat would look better on you.” He shook his head, just enough to make the bells jingle.

Their smiles met each other across the darkness, tentative and a bit shy.

The moment was shattered by footsteps in the hall. Cath gasped and spun around, her pulse racing—but the steps continued on. Probably her father, retreating to his library for the evening.

She let out a slow breath, feeling the hard thump of her heart beneath her fingertips.

Turning back, she saw that Jest hadn’t moved from his perch, although his body was taut again.

“Well,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, though it trembled a little, “it seems that whether or not I wanted a courtship, I now have one. Thank you for your … involvement, but you should probably leave, before someone sees you.” She reached for the window sash.

“Wait!” Jest slipped off his bough, skipping across a few branches until he was arm’s reach from her. He made it look as simple as walking on flat ground. “Is there someone else?”

She paused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you in love with someone else?”

She stiffened, bewildered. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I thought maybe that’s why you’re opposed to the King. I thought you might have already given your heart away to someone else, but maybe … maybe it’s someone your parents wouldn’t be so quick to approve of.”

She started to shake her head. “No, there isn’t anyone else.”

“You’re sure?”

She was surprised at the dart of annoyance that stuck in her ribs. “If I had given my heart to someone else, I surely think I would know of it.”

His shoulders sloped downward, though his hands were still securing him to an overhead branch. He looked almost relieved, but also confused. “Of course you would.”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” said Catherine. “I am fond of the King. I just…”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Lady Pinkerton. I’ll admit I’ve grown fond of the King myself, though I haven’t known him long. Nevertheless, I think I understand you.”

It was a kindness, saying it, when Catherine felt wholly treasonous at her lack of affection for the King.

“I’m fond of you too, I think.”

She laughed at the unexpected compliment. Or what she thought might be a compliment. It didn’t seem romantic enough to qualify as a confession. “Me?”

“Yes. You’re different from the other lords and ladies here. I’m sure that any other girl would have screamed and started throwing rocks at me if I showed up at her bedroom window.”