Although that thought, too, made her shudder.

Despite her growing trepidation, as the tea party approached, Cath also started to become fidgety with impatience. She tried to deny it, even to herself, but she was looking forward to the afternoon. Not for the King, or the lawn games, and not even for the mini cakes and sandwiches.

She was anticipating another encounter with the court joker.

Having had no more sightings in her dreams, she was longing to see him again, fantasizing over every potential facet of their next encounter. She wanted to witness another buoyant smile, to be the source of his easy laughter, to feel the brush of his fingers on the nape of her neck.

She paused, lifting the pastry bag away from the baking sheet, where fifteen piped discs of batter were waiting to be baked into almond meringue biscuits. Her skin had a new flush to it that wasn’t from the oven, and her hands had begun to tremble – unacceptable for such a delicate task.

She shut her eyes and tamped the thoughts back down, as she did every time they drifted in the direction of illicit caresses. Her mother would implode if she knew Cath was having such improper thoughts about the King’s Joker.

The King, for goodness’ sake. The one she was supposed to be dreaming about.

Her nerves were in tatters over it all.

Setting down the pastry bag, she swore that she would not allow herself to be carried away during the tea party. She was a lady, and he was a novelty. If she should see him again – which was unlikely in itself – she would entertain only civilized conversation. None of these flirtations that had carried her away before. There could be nothing improper at all.

Though she was curious to know if she would feel as drawn to the Joker again upon a second meeting, there was a part of her that hoped she wouldn’t. Because what options were given to her even if she did feel it again? Her parents would never allow a courtship with him. She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do about the King. And besides, she was supposed to be focusing on how she could persuade her parents to let her have the bakery, the one dream that had consumed her more than all the others . . . until the lemon tree, at least.

‘Good graciousness, what is that delightful aroma?’

She jumped back from the counter. Cheshire – or rather, Cheshire’s head – had filled up the cuckoo clock’s face on the wall, the hands pointing at his left ear and whiskers, indicating it was just past two o’clock in the afternoon.

‘Hello, Cheshire.’ She frowned. ‘You better not have just eaten that cuckoo bird.’

He disappeared in a puff before reappearing, fully formed, on the high windowsill above the counter. The orange tint from the pumpkin pasties had faded from his fur. ‘I’ve done no such thing,’ he said, ‘although I am presently determining how many of those I can eat when your back is turned without your noticing.’

She eyed him suspiciously.

‘Oh, fine. I suppose I don’t care if you notice or not.’

‘They are for the King.’

Cheshire rolled his eyes – the pupils bouncing around like a child’s bouncing ball. ‘They are always for the King.’

Grinning, she picked up the pastry bag, wiped a drip of excess batter on a dishtowel, and resumed her piping. ‘I meant to thank you for causing the distraction at the ball the other night. Your timing was perfect.’

‘Most things that I do are.’

‘Were the guests quite upset over it all?’

‘Lady Mearle did not seem receptive to the distraction.’

‘No, I meant about me leaving. Does everyone know that I was the one the King intended to . . .’ She gulped. ‘. . . to propose to?’

‘I don’t think it’s become widely assumed yet, though only because most people are so very horrid at paying attention.’

She let out a slow breath, finished piping the last biscuit, and thwapped the baking sheet on the counter to level them.

‘Besides,’ Cheshire said, smiling wide as ever, ‘the King’s failed proposal was overshadowed by the horrors that came afterwards. I trust you heard news of the Jabberwock?’

She dabbed a sleeve across her damp brow. ‘I did. I suppose I shouldn’t be thinking about some stupid proposal after what happened. I wasn’t even sure I believed that Jabberwocky existed until now.’

‘It is a dangerous thing to unbelieve something only because it frightens you.’

Cath popped the sheet into the oven. ‘But how long has it been since one was seen here?’

‘Since long before you or I were born.’ His grin never faltered, making for an eerie foil to a dark topic. ‘Perhaps it has been here all along, lying in wait. Or perhaps it came in through the Looking Glass, though it seems an unlikely venture. I doubt we shall ever know the truth of it, but we do know that the beast is here now, and I don’t suppose we’ve heard the last of its brutality.’

Cath swallowed down the bitter taste in her mouth. ‘What are we going to do about it?’

‘We? I have no intentions of doing anything at all.’

‘Fine, not you, then. But someone has to do something. The King should appoint a knight to go after it, like in the old legends.’

Cheshire made a guttural sound in his throat. ‘Know you of any knights here in Hearts?’

She pondered this. The closest thing they had were the Club guards at the castle, and she doubted any of them would fare much better than the Diamond courtiers had.

‘Someone has to do something,’ she repeated, though most of her fire had turned to smoke.