‘You were wrong. I don’t want to know. Go bother someone else with your gossip and leave us alone, or I’ll bruise much more than your tail.’

The coins turned back into glowing eyes. ‘I see,’ he said, drawing out the words. ‘It appears I was incorrect about you, Lady Catherine. After all these years.’ His gaze shifted to Jest. ‘He’s handsome enough, I suppose . . .’ His ears and eyes and nose vanished then, leaving only his smile – hanging downside up so it became a frown without a body to tether it. ‘If one cares for that sort of thing.’

Then he was gone.

Jest was still looking at her.

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘He won’t tell anyone where we are.’ She didn’t know if it was true, but she hoped they would be far gone before it mattered.

With the cat gone, Raven left his perch in the trees and flew down to join them as Jest pulled open the door.

No longer a tea parlour, no longer a shop – the little room was a messy workspace, a hatter’s studio. The long table was littered with ribbons, feathers, felt, buttons, needles and thread. A dozen mannequin heads were lined up, wearing unfinished hats of varying styles, blinking bored eyes at the newcomers.

The Dormouse slept curled up on the table, wrapped in velvet ribbon like a present.

The March Hare was stringing different-coloured buttons on to a thread and draping them around his neck like a pile of beaded necklaces. There were enough on him that they reminded Catherine of a noose.

Hatta sat on his throne, wearing his plum top hat, one leg strewn over the chair’s arm and his chin propped up on his knuckles. An incomplete lady’s hat sat on a mannequin’s head before him, half done up with yellow rhinestones and half done up with seashells, but his eyes were on Jest and Catherine and Raven.

He scanned Jest’s dark motley and smirked. ‘Still playing the part of the royal idiot, I see. Or maybe that’s an effect of the girl who has you so neatly wrapped around her finger.’

Jest tipped his hat, letting the bells tinkle around his face. ‘Everyone always underestimates the idiot.’

Hatta waved his hand at them. ‘Come in, come in. Haigha, stop mucking with those buttons and put on a pot of tea.’

‘That won’t be necessary. This isn’t to be a long visit.’ Jest tugged Catherine around the table, like he was afraid to release her.

Hatta’s eyes lingered on their entwined hands a beat longer than Cath thought necessary. ‘What’s your hurry? If the rumours are true, the only place you have to be right now is His Majesty’s prison.’ He squinted. ‘Speaking of His Majesty, does he know that you’re about with his lady fair?’

Jest pulled out a chair for Catherine. She felt too anxious to sit, but she did anyway.

‘The King proposed marriage to Catherine tonight,’ he said, claiming the chair between her and Hatta – what would once have been the performer’s chair.

Hatta’s eyes swept towards her and he lifted a teacup from a saucer, like a toast. The rim was stained with long-ago drips of tea, and she wondered how long it had been sitting there untouched. ‘Congratulations must be in order, Your Queenliness.’

She scowled. ‘Are you congratulating me or yourself? I know you wanted to see me become the Queen as much as anyone, though I now understand you didn’t exactly have my best interests in mind.’

There was a moment of silence, the cup hanging in the air. Then Hatta guffawed and slammed the cup back to the table. It was empty.

‘If you know that, then you know I was not alone in the plot.’ He swung his leg off the arm of the chair and leaned towards them. ‘She is a rose, Jest. Lovely on the eyes, yes, but such thorns are not to be ignored. She belongs in a King’s garden, not yours.’ As an afterthought, he tipped his head towards Catherine. ‘No offence meant, milady.’

‘None at all?’ she deadpanned.

He shrugged, a flippant one-shouldered shrug that made her blood run hot.

‘I love her, Hatta,’ said Jest. ‘I didn’t mean to fall in love with her, but I did.’

She squeezed his hand beneath the table.

Hatta slid his gaze back to Catherine. She returned it, though she felt as insignificant before him as she had the first time they’d met. There was little cruelty in his expression, though. More like a mild curiosity. Like he was trying to determine what it was Jest saw when he looked at her. ‘That is a problem, isn’t it?’

‘I love him too, if that’s what you’re wondering.’

He shook his head. ‘Oh no, that much is plain to see.’ He ran a finger along his lower lip. ‘I suspect you didn’t come here to allow me the privilege of sharing in your mutual happiness.’

Jest removed his hat and tossed it amid the table’s mess. ‘Cath is not going to marry the King and we are not going to steal her heart.’

‘I thought that might be where this was heading.’ Hatta cut a quick glance at the March Hare, who was watching them like a fascinating match of lawn tennis. ‘Prepare yourself, Haigha. It will not be any fun informing the White King that our dear Jest has failed.’

‘I have not failed.’ Jest cocked his head towards Raven. ‘Raven has reminded me of the law of promotion.’

Hatta’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. ‘Queening,’ he murmured. His gaze swooped to Cath, studying her with new intensity. ‘Why steal a queen’s heart when you can steal the queen herself?’