A sneer twisted his once-handsome face. ‘You cannot stop me from coming and going. This is my business. My livelihood. And as soon as Time should find me—’

‘I am a queen, Hatta, and I can do as I like. I will imprison the Sisters. I will destroy the treacle well. I will burn the maze to the ground if I must. Do we have an understanding?’

She held his gaze, letting their wills battle silently between them.

His cheek started to twitch. Just slightly at first, but it continued to flutter until one side of his mouth lifted into a painful grin. ‘Why,’ he whispered, watching her with glossy eyes, ‘why is a raven like a writing desk?’

Shaking her head, Catherine tossed the cane on to the table, satisfied with the crash of porcelain and silver. ‘It’s a shame, Hatta. Truly it is. Madness does not suit you.’

‘Of course it does,’ he cackled. ‘Murderer, martyr, monarch, mad. It runs in my family. It’s a part of my blood. Don’t you remember? I know you remember.’

The watch was ticking so fast now she thought it would burst, crack wide open – gears shattering across the table.

‘Goodbye, Hatta.’ She swung towards the door, but his desperate laughter followed her. A shrill giggle. A sobbing gasp.

‘But why? Why is a raven like a writing desk?’

Her hand fell on the doorknob. ‘It’s not,’ she spat, ripping open the door. ‘It’s just a stupid riddle. It is nothing but stuff and nonsense!’

Suddenly, inexplicably, the pocket watch fell silent.

Hatta’s face slackened. His brow beaded with sweat.

‘Stuff and nonsense,’ he whispered, the words cracking. ‘Nonsense and stuff and much of a muchness and nonsense all over again. We are all mad here, don’t you know? And it runs in my family, it’s a part of my blood and he’s here, Time has finally found me and I—’ His voice shredded. His eyes burned. ‘I haven’t the slightest idea, Your Queenness. I find that I simply cannot recall why a raven is like a writing desk.’

CHAPTER 53

SHE WAS GROWING IMPATIENT. Her hatred was burning a hole through her stomach, and it flared hotter every day that passed. Her fury burbled beneath the surface of her skin, often flaring in bouts of unexpected temper. Servants began to avoid her. The King dwindled into nothing more than a babbling idiot in her presence. All the members of the gentry that had doted on her after the wedding stopped making their calls.

Cath despised court days the most. She was the Queen and she had envisioned her iron word falling down on the people of Hearts. Laws would be executed, wrongdoers punished.

Instead she was trapped in a courtroom of absurdity and pandemonium. The jury, which had no purpose other than to squawk at one another and interrupt the proceedings, was made up of herons and badgers, kiwi birds and otters and hedgehogs, and not one of them with a bit of sense.

Not that it mattered, given the cases. A mouse who thought it was unfair that his brother had got a longer tail, a stork who thought it species profiling that she was forced to be the kingdom’s sole baby carrier, and so on and so forth. Court days were agony.

Catherine spared a sympathetic look for Raven, who was perched on the rail that boxed in the thrones. His head was tucked between his neck feathers, his beak tight with disgust.

The Rabbit blew his trumpet. ‘Calling to the court the Most Noble Pygmalion Warthog, Duke of Tuskany, and Lady Margaret Mearle, daughter of the Count and Countess of Crossroads.’

Cath lifted an eyebrow and watched as Margaret approached, her arm linked with the Duke’s. They both appeared nervous. Margaret was wearing that stupid rosebud hat.

They bowed. Margaret’s eyes darted to Catherine before lowering again.

‘Good day,’ chirped the King, who looked extra absurd wearing an enormous powdered wig beneath his lopsided crown. ‘What is your request?’

‘Your Majesty,’ said the Duke, ‘we wish for you to marry us.’

A rustle of surprise flittered through the crowd.

The King wobbled gleefully. ‘Oh, I love these ones!’ He plastered on his almost-serious face and leaned forward, clearing his throat. ‘Is the lady under the jurisdiction of her father?’

‘I am, Your Majesty,’ said Margaret.

‘And what has he said to your request?’

‘He has blessed the union.’

‘And for what reason do you wish to be married?’ asked the King.

The Duke smiled around his tusks. ‘Because we love each other.’

The King beamed. The crowd swooned.

Cath rolled her eyes.

‘What does the lady say?’

Margaret gripped the Duke’s elbow and lifted her chin. Her eyes were glowing, with nerves, yes, but also joy. In that moment she looked not just pretty, but nearly beautiful. ‘He speaks the truth. I have come to understand that Lord Warthog is the only man I could ever entrust the protection of my most championed integrity to, a man who upholds himself to the same rigorous standards which I deem to be of utmost value, and for this, I love him very much. We love each other very much.’

Catherine scoffed, but everyone ignored her.

The King gestured for Margaret to come closer. When she was close enough, he whispered, ‘You are aware that he’s a pig, yes?’

Her mouth fell open in outrage. ‘Your Majesty! What a crude thing to suggest!’

A long, awkward silence followed, until the King started to giggle, embarrassed. ‘Er – my mistake! Never mind!’ He waved his hands and sent her back to her groom’s side. ‘As I see no reason to deny this request, I now deem you—’