She wanted to lean closer and whisper to him that she was glad he was all right, glad that he’d made it to the Crossroads that night when the Jabberwock had attacked, but he seemed already distraught enough to go about reminding him of such horrors.

‘As the years passed,’ her father went on, ‘the Marchioness decided to honour the gathering on the beaches of Rock Turtle Cove, and she declared a day of celebration, a day in which all of Hearts’ creatures were invited to remember the love of two unlikely beasts, and the happiness their love brought to the kingdom.’

As her father finished, the crowd applauded. The Turtle appeared again and tried to pass Cath’s handkerchief back to her, but she smiled and suggested he keep it – just in case he needed it again.

She braced herself for what was to come next, her throat as dry as if she’d eaten a handful of sand. She paced her breaths, trying to calm her jitters.

‘Here to dance the lobster quadrille, our first dance of the day, I present to you all my darling, my dear, my joy – my daughter, Catherine.’

Cath stepped out of the crowd. Excitement thrummed around her, but she did her best not to look at any of the faces she passed. Once she’d climbed on to the driftwood stage, her father held up his hands for silence. ‘Please clear the beach so the dancing can commence! Participating dancers, you may take your places!’

The audience pulled back, making way for the dancers, though most of the sea creatures needed no prompting as they hastened to their places. The orchestra, too, was already set up against the cliffs. That left only the jellyfish to be cleared away, and a team of walruses were there in seconds, shovels in hand, to make quick work of the job.

Catherine loved the festival and the story, but as traditions went, she hated this one. Her mother had passed the responsibility on to Catherine when she was eleven years old, and, as with every year, she and her partner would be the only humans among the seals and crabs and dolphins.

Catherine did not despise dancing, but she did despise being first, being watched, being judged. She was always sure that she was one dance step away from making a dunce of herself. She could still recall how her stomach had tied into knots that first year. How her palms had sweat, despite the cold. It seemed worse every year, especially as her body had matured and she’d been forced to dance with potential suitors, rather than the sweet-meaning gentlemen of the court who laughed like kindly grandfathers as they swung her through the air.

Only a handful of jellyfish remained on the beach when she felt the faint tickle of a fingertip tracing the back of her wrist.

Cath jumped and spun around, but Jest had already pulled back. His attention dropped as he pulled black gloves on to his hands. ‘Good day, Lady Pinkerton,’ he said, too casual. He was dressed in his usual motley, the black heart dripping from the kohl around his eyes. If it hadn’t been for the faintest hint of redness in his cheeks, she would have thought she’d imagined the touch, but she knew she hadn’t. Her entire arm was still tingling.

‘Good day, Sir Joker,’ she said, suddenly breathless.

The corners of his mouth twitched and he met her gaze, before his eyes skipped up to the macaron hat. ‘I take it you’ve been to see Hatta.’

She reached up to give the hat a squeeze, liking the lightness of it more and more as the soft insides contoured to her head. ‘He’s very clever.’

‘He certainly likes to think so.’ Jest inhaled sharply, and she noticed that his eyes were troubled, still looking at the hat. ‘Did he say what it does?’

‘The hat? I’m not sure it does anything.’ She listed her head to the side, but the hat was snug enough that it didn’t shift. ‘Unless you are going to teach me the trick with the White Rabbit.’

He was shaking his head, but it was a subtle movement. ‘Hatta’s creations are far from ordinary. And you look . . .’ He hesitated.

Cath raised her eyebrows and watched his Adam’s apple bob.

‘Today, you seem rather . . .’

She folded her hands patiently in front of her skirt. She could see him biting back his words. Considering and reconsidering before, finally, he said, ‘You are a pleasure to look on, is all, Lady Pinkerton.’ He pointed his chin past Catherine’s shoulder, disappointment clouding his expression. ‘As your beau will no doubt tell you as well.’

‘My b—oh.’

Catherine heard the King first, his giggles loud over the chatter of the audience, and her dread returned. She turned to see the King of Hearts bobbling across the sandy dance floor.

Her pulse galloped. She had not been in the King’s presence since he’d asked to court her. She wanted to turn and run, but she had already been spotted. The King scurried towards her and pulled himself up on to the stage.

‘Good day to the most pretty, precious, and p- . . . p- . . .’

‘Provisional?’ Jest supplied.

‘Provisional lady in all the land!’ Then the King hesitated, not sure if the description was fitting or not.

Cath cast the Joker a cool look. He grinned.

The King shook his uncertainty away. ‘I must say, that is a very fine hat you’re wearing, Lady Pinkerton. Why, you look almost good enough to eat – my sweet!’ His face was full of blushes and frivolity, and all the horrible lines of poetry written into his cards over the past week came whirring back through Catherine’s head.

She curtsied and tried to be flattered. ‘You’re too kind, Your Majesty. Are you enjoying the festival?’