She perked up. ‘No. I haven’t heard anything about him.’

‘Neither have I.’

She furrowed her brow. ‘Cheshire, that is the opposite of a rumour.’

‘Contrariwise. I haven’t the faintest idea who he is or where he came from. It’s all very odd.’ Cheshire licked his paw and cleaned behind his ear, which struck Catherine as impolite, being so close to the table. ‘They say he walked right up to the palace gates three days past, already dressed in fool’s motley, and asked for an audience with the King. He performed a magic trick or two – something about shuffling the Diamond courtiers and asking His Majesty to pick one card out of the set . . . I couldn’t follow the details. In the end, he was given the job.’

Catherine pictured the Joker lounging on that suspended silver hoop, almost as if he expected the King’s guests to entertain him, not the other way around. He had been so poised. Though she hadn’t questioned it before, Cheshire’s curiosity piqued hers. Hearts was a small kingdom. Where had he come from?

‘Have you heard the other rumours?’ continued Cheshire.

‘I’m not sure. What other rumours?’

Cheshire rolled on to his stomach and cupped his face in his furry paws. ‘His Congenial Kingness has chosen a bride.’

Her eyes widened. ‘No! Who is it?’ She glanced around the room. Certainly not Margaret. Perhaps Lady Adela from Lingerfoote or Lady Willow from Lister Hill or –

Or . . .

Her breath hiccupped.

A wash of goosebumps spread down her limbs.

Her mother’s enthusiasm.

The first quadrille.

The King’s flustered grin.

She whipped her head back towards Cheshire. His enormous grin struck her as extra mocking.

‘You can’t mean it.’

‘Can’t I?’ He peered up at the chandeliers. ‘I thought for sure I was capable of that, at the least.’

‘Cheshire, this isn’t amusing. The King can’t—he wouldn’t—’

A trumpet blared, echoing off the pink quartz walls.

Catherine’s head spun. ‘Oh no.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Cheshire! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ cried the White Rabbit, his pitchy voice insignificant after the horn. ‘His Royal Majesty has prepared a special announcement for this evening.’

‘Shall I congratulate you now?’ Cheshire asked. ‘Or do you suppose premature well-wishes could bring bad luck? I can never recall the proper etiquette in these situations.’

A curtain of heat embraced her, from brow to toes. She could have sworn someone was pulling on the staylace of her corset as her breaths grew shorter.

‘I can’t. Oh, Cheshire, I can’t.’

‘You may want to practise a different response before you go up there.’

The crowd applauded. The King stepped on to the stage at the far end of the ballroom. Catherine cast her eyes around, searching for her parents, and when she found her mother beaming and brushing a tear from her lashes, the reality settled around her.

The King of Hearts was about to propose to her.

But – but he couldn’t. He’d never done anything more than compliment her baking and ask her to dance. They hadn’t courted . . . but, did kings have to court? She didn’t know. She knew only that her stomach had tied itself into triple knots and the idea of marrying him was preposterous. She had never once considered that the silly man could want anything from her but sweets and pastries. Certainly not a bride, and . . . oh heavens, children.

A bead of sweat dripped down the back of her neck.

‘Cheshire, what do I do?’

‘Say yes, I suppose. Or say no. It matters not to me. Are you sure orange is my colour?’ He was inspecting his tail again.

Desperation clawed at Catherine’s throat.

The King. The simpleminded, ridiculous, happy, happy King.

Her husband? Her one and only? Her partner through life’s trials and joys?

She would be queen, and queens . . . queens did not open bakeries with their best friends. Queens did not gossip with half-invisible cats. Queens did not have dreams of yellow-eyed boys and wake up with lemon trees over their beds.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth had dried up like stale cake.

The King cleared his throat. ‘Fair evening, loyal subjects! I hope you have all enjoyed tonight’s delights!’

More applause, at which the King clasped his own hands together and bobbed up and down a few times.

‘I wish to make an announcement. A good announcement, nothing to be worried about.’ He giggled at what might have been a joke. ‘It has come time for me to choose for myself a wife, and for my subjects . . . a most adored Queen of Hearts! And’ – the King kept giggling – ‘with any luck, bring our kingdom an heir, as well.’

Catherine stepped back from the feasting table. She couldn’t feel her toes.

‘Cheshire . . . ?’

‘Lady Catherine?’

‘It is my honour,’ continued the King, ‘to call up the lady I have chosen for my life’s companion.’

‘Please,’ said Catherine, ‘cause a distraction. Anything!’

Cheshire’s tail twitched, and he vanished. Only his voice lingered, murmuring, ‘With pleasure, Lady Catherine.’

The King spread his arms. ‘Would the ever lovely, delightful, and stupendous Lady Cathe—’