Catherine heard the crinkle of parchment.

‘What is it?’

‘An invitation to join him in his theatre box tonight, if you’d care to, along with your chaperone, of course. He said he would leave a seat available, in hopes you might accept the invitation.’

Margaret let out a delighted oh. The paper crisped some more. ‘I . . . well. I suppose it couldn’t hurt . . . just for an evening . . . after all, I am not the sort of lady to dally about indecisively when faced with a man’s well-intentioned admiration.’

‘I wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing, Lady Mearle. I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of the performance.’

Catherine pressed herself to the pillar, inching around to its far side as she heard Margaret’s footsteps approaching. She ducked beneath the stairs’ banister as Margaret floated past, and was just letting out a breath when a flurry of feathers assaulted her face and a caw blared in her ears. Catherine stumbled away from the pillar, flattening herself against the wall and beating at the ferocious bird.

Raven twisted away and flew upward to alight on the sculptured bust of a stern-looking playwright.

‘Raven!’ Jest scolded. ‘That wasn’t nice at all.’

‘No, no, I’m sure I deserved it,’ said Cath, trying to smooth back her hair. ‘I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.’

Raven turned his head away, his beak stuck into the air, and it became clear that he now shared Hatta’s low opinion of her. She was, after all, the charlatan who had played Jest for a fool while being courted by the King.

‘Regardless, you didn’t need to frighten her, Raven. You should apologize.’

‘Nevermore!’ said the Raven.

‘Raven!’

‘It’s all right. I’m the one who’s sorry, for sneaking around so.’

Cath stepped around the staircase and saw Jest leaning against a wall, holding his hat in one hand and the ebony sceptre in the other. Half his hair was matted to his head and he looked like a vagabond who had claimed the theatre for his own. If it weren’t for the thumping drumbeat coming through the closed doors, the place would have felt abandoned but for them.

‘Thank you for what you said to Margaret just now,’ she said. ‘You didn’t have to help me.’

He tugged the hat back on. ‘Let us imagine I did it not for you, but for true love.’ He shrugged. The gesture wasn’t as nonchalant as she thought he intended it to be. ‘I had the honour of speaking to His Grace at the tea party – the King’s tea party – and I believe he cares a great deal for Lady Mearle.’ His eyes narrowed as he glanced up the staircase where she had gone. ‘I’m not entirely sure why.’

‘It baffles me as well. But . . . what do you think will happen when she finds out the things you said weren’t true? I think your intentions are commendable, but it might do more harm than good.’

Jest cocked his head. ‘What makes you think I said anything that wasn’t true?’

‘Well, only that the Duke . . .’ She hesitated. Brave. Loyal. Always impeccably dressed, though it was sometimes difficult to tell with his girth and awkwardness. Her brow knit together. ‘Would you believe I’ve known him nearly all my life? How is it possible that you have somehow come to know him better, so quickly?’

He turned his focus down to the sceptre, idly rubbing his fingers along the polished-smooth orb. ‘You should go back to your seat, Lady Pinkerton. Go back to your beau.’

‘Please don’t call him that.’

‘What shall I call him?’

‘Just the King, if you would.’

He wouldn’t look at her. Though they stood a mere dozen paces away, it felt like miles and miles.

‘Nothing has gone as I thought it would,’ he said, and she wondered whether he was speaking to her or himself, or even to Raven. ‘I thought this would all be much, much easier.’

‘Your mission?’ she ventured, dropping her voice. ‘From the White Queen?’

Raven let out a surprised squawk, but Jest ignored him. Ignored her question too. ‘His Majesty is going to propose soon, you know. I almost expect him to do it tonight.’

Grimacing, Cath glanced back up to the first tier, glad she wasn’t up in that dark box, pretending to be enjoying herself. Waiting for the King to ask for her hand.

‘If you’re asking me whether or not my feelings have changed,’ she said, ‘they haven’t.’

‘No, that much is clear.’ Jest scratched beneath the brim of his hat. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been cold to you tonight. Even knowing you don’t fancy him like that, seeing you with him makes me uncannily jealous.’

Her heart skipped. ‘Does it?’

His expression turned wry as he finally looked at her. ‘That cannot possibly surprise you.’

She tried not to sway too much from satisfaction.

Raven let out a disgusted choking noise and flew up into one of the chandeliers. He started cleaning himself, as if soiled.

‘You should go back,’ said Jest. ‘In case anyone should come out here. We wouldn’t want them . . . It would seem . . .’

Her lips twitched. It was such an unusual thing for him to be out of words.

‘You’re right,’ she said, backing away from him. She drifted around the banister, placed a hand on the rail, and looked up the long staircase. Her heart began to sink, like an anchor had been chained to it.