Mary Ann’s lips tightened as she used the poker and wrought-iron tongs to shift the wood around in the flames.

‘I didn’t hear anything outside. I wasn’t going to investigate some mystery.’ She took in a long, slow breath, filled with the scent of char and smoke, and let her memory travel back to the beginning.

A sharp glee began in the pit of her stomach and crawled its way up through her chest and burst as a smile across her mouth. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to contain the giddiness that threatened to burst out of her.

Mary Ann was watching her now, her irritation replaced with confusion. ‘Cath?’

‘Oh, Mary Ann,’ she whispered, afraid that to speak would be to wake and find that it was all another dream. ‘I’ve had such a night. I hardly know where to begin.’

‘At the beginning would be advisable.’

Catherine looked back, past the curtains and the walls and the Crossroads, to a little hat shop filled with revelry and song . . . and also a glen where nightmares had come to life.

She shook her head. She didn’t want to frighten Mary Ann with the truth of all that. She would tell her only the joyous things, so she wouldn’t have to worry.

‘I was invited to a tea party.’ She felt like she was holding a soap bubble in her palms, afraid to say too much, too quickly, or she would frighten it away.

‘A tea party? With . . . the King?’ Mary Ann ventured.

Catherine groaned. ‘No. Good gracious, no. I don’t want to think about the King.’

‘Then who?’

‘The court joker.’ She scrunched her shoulders, protecting her heart. ‘I went to a tea party with the court joker.’

The silence that followed was punctuated by the popping of wood and a tower of kindling collapsing on itself, sending a flurry of sparks up the flue. Catherine stayed hunched over, bracing herself against whatever reaction Mary Ann might have – disbelief or disappointment or a fierce scolding.

‘The Joker?’

‘His name is Jest.’

‘You mean to say . . . I don’t . . . Did you go by yourself?’

Cath laughed again and sat back up, beaming at Mary Ann for a long moment, before melting back on to the ground. She spread her arms out across the carpet and kicked her shoes off so her cold toes could enjoy the fire’s heat. She traced the shadows on the ceiling tiles and wondered when was the last time she’d lain on the floor. It wasn’t proper. It wasn’t done by young ladies.

But this viewpoint seemed just right for recounting her story.

She told Mary Ann everything – at least, everything she dared. Fainting in the gardens. Playing croquet. The rose and the rhyming Raven and the marvellous millinery. The Hatter and his guests. Jest and the dreams and his lemon-yellow eyes.

She did not tell her about the Jabberwock and the brave Lion.

She did not tell her that Jest was a Rook for the White Queen, or that he was on a secret mission that could end a war, or that she hoped maybe she would be his reason to come back to Hearts when it was done.

When she was finished, it felt as though her heart had outgrown her body. It was the size of the house now. The size of the entire kingdom.

But Mary Ann was not sharing her smile. She was making a grid of matches on the floor, her brow drawn.

With that look, all of Cath’s happiness started to crumble. She knew that look. She could bet that it was the same look she’d given to Jest when he’d stood here in this very bedroom and asked if he would see her at the Turtle Days Festival.

No matter how spectacular the night had been, it could not happen again.

Catherine propped herself up on her elbows. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and I know you’re right. The King has asked for a courtship and I’ve agreed to it. I would be ruined if anyone knew about tonight and I . . . It won’t happen again. I’m not a fool. Or . . . I’m going to stop being a fool. Tonight. Now.’

‘That isn’t what I was thinking at all,’ Mary Ann said. ‘Although you’re right. This would cause such a scandal – an embarrassment not only to you, but to the Marquess and the entire household.’

Cath looked away.

‘But what I was really thinking was that you talk about him like . . . like you talk about a piece of decadent chocolate cake.’

A honk of a laugh escaped Cath before she could help it. ‘He is not a piece of cake!’

‘No, but I can tell you’re already anticipating the time you’ll see him again, and you’re flushed and smiling the same way you do when you’re perfectly satisfied. And . . . your mother would forbid them both.’

Cath swallowed, her spirits dampened.

‘It’s a shame you can’t feel this way about the King.’

‘I can’t.’

‘I know.’

Cath sighed. ‘It won’t matter. I can’t do anything until this courtship is resolved.’ She shook her head. ‘And nothing has changed. It was just a single night, one fun night. I wanted to know what it was like to be . . . someone else, for once.’ Reaching over, she took hold of Mary Ann’s hand, and pulled her down to lie on the carpet beside her. Even after all these years she was surprised to feel the calluses on her friend’s palm. ‘What’s most important is that everyone who was there tonight will be avid patrons of our bakery. They loved the macarons, every one of them. So that’s what I need to be focusing on now, and that’s plenty enough to be thinking about without kings and jokers and tea parties getting into the mix.’