‘L-Lady Catherine. Good d-day,’ stammered the King. He scratched his ear. ‘We’ve had word of your unfortunate un-un-w-wellness. It’s so good to see you . . . about.’

‘Your concern flatters me, Your Majesty.’

The King leaned forward. ‘And w-what can I do for you, Lady Pinkerton?’

She stood as straight and sharp as a spade in her engulfing ebony dress.

‘I came to apologize. My reaction to your marriage proposal was appalling. I hope you know it was a result of temporary madness, not any disregard for your proposal. You did me a great honour when you asked for my hand, and I did not respond as a lady ought to.’

She finished her practised speech with another upward turn of her lips.

The King cleared his throat. ‘Er – that’s not necessary, Lady Pinkerton. Of course, your apology is h-heartily accepted.’ His mouth quivered. Still nervous. It was clear that he hoped Cath was done, now. That she would leave.

But she wasn’t.

‘Good.’ Her smile fell. ‘With that unpleasantness behind us, I would like to officially accept your proposal – again.’

The blood drained from the King’s face. ‘O-oh,’ he said. ‘Is that . . . is that so?’ His eyes skittered towards the White Rabbit, as if the master of ceremonies might be able to respond for him.

Catherine had expected this. No man – not even a silly, empty-headed man – would wish to marry a girl after she’d rejected him. Humiliated him, even. A girl everyone was saying had gone quite ill in the head.

But the King was meek and spineless.

So she waited while the King searched the faces of his courtiers and guards, looking for a way out. A way that did not include him having to reject her, for he was not the rejecting sort.

His expression slipped towards helpless. ‘Well. That’s certainly . . . er.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘You see, Lady Pinkerton, the thing is – I . . . um.’

‘I understand, Your Majesty. I would not have expected to earn your favour again after the way I treated you. But I also know that you are a thoughtful, good-hearted man.’

His cheeks reddened behind his curled beard and pointed moustache. ‘Well, I don’t know if that’s—’

‘Which is why I brought you a gift. A symbol of my devotion.’ Her voice cracked, but she shoved the pain down, down, down. Turning to the Queen of Diamonds, she raised an eyebrow.

It took a moment for the startled woman to step forward, box in hand.

Catherine flicked her fingers towards the King.

Flushing, the woman dragged her feet up on to the dais and deposited the gift into the King’s hands, before retreating back to her spot among the courtiers.

The King’s face was tight with dread as he untied the ribbon and peeled the paper back. He moved as cautiously as if he had expected the present to combust in his lap.

He lifted the lid. Everyone in the throne room tilted forward – all but Catherine, who watched with empty eyes.

The King squeaked. ‘L-lime?’

‘Key lime pie, Your Majesty. You told me once that key lime is the key to a king’s heart, after all.’

He licked his lips, eyes filling with hunger. Behind him, the Knave of Hearts surged upward on his toes, trying to see into the gift box with the same overflow of desire.

Cath lowered her lashes. ‘I believe we shall get on quite well, and I shall be proud to bestow upon you many such delicacies. I have always been fond of baking, you see.’

Her chest quivered, but she clenched her jaw. Stayed strong. She knew he was crumbling. She knew she would win.

Down, down, down.

‘Oh. Right,’ said the King. ‘You were – er.’ He gaped at Catherine, then at the pie. Licked his lips. ‘Many such delicacies . . . you say?’

‘As many as you wish.’ She raised her chin. ‘As I see no cause for delay, I suggest we set the wedding for a fortnight.’

His eyes widened. ‘A fortnight?’

She bobbed her head. ‘Your Majesty makes a most excellent point. A single week would be much preferred.’

He stuttered incoherently. The crowd was stirring, concerned glances passing through the courtiers and the guards.

‘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 honoured, Lady Pinkerton.’

Her lips twitched, more with derision than flattery. ‘I do believe the honour 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.