‘You’ve been trying to steal my heart.’

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he looked away.

Mouth suddenly dry, Cath placed a hand to her collarbone, feeling the steady thumping beneath her skin. ‘Is that . . . has it all been for that? The tea party, the letters, what you said at the festival . . . all of it, no more than an attempt to steal my heart so you could take it back to your queen?’

‘The easiest way to steal something,’ Jest murmured, ‘is for it to be given willingly.’

She realized it was true. He would already have her heart if he had only asked for it. She would have been too willing to give it to him.

Instead, he was telling her the truth.

She sucked in a trembling breath. ‘Why haven’t you taken it then? Surely you know . . . I’m sure you’ve realized . . .’ Her words caught, the confession strangling her. She loved him. Or, she had loved him. She wanted to love him still, though now she wasn’t sure if it had all been riddles and tricks.

Jest sounded miserable, and was still unwilling to look at her, when he said, ‘You are not yet the queen, and I was sent to take the heart of a queen.’

Tears misted her eyes. ‘That’s why you’ve been pushing me to marry the King, and all the while . . .’ She sniffed and launched herself to her feet, glad there was no residual pain left from her ankle. She felt off balance, though, the bare toes of her foot pressing into the soft ground. She spun to face Jest, though she could see only the top of his head, his black hair hanging over his brow, his shoulders slumped and defeated. ‘How dare you? You made me believe you wanted a courtship. You pretended that you would choose to stay in Hearts, for me. My heart is not a game piece, to be played and discarded at will!’

He lifted his head at this, his golden eyes full of distress. ‘You’re right. It isn’t. But I have lived my life knowing that some day I would die in service to my queen, and everyone I’ve ever cared for would die, and it would mean nothing. Our sacrifices mean nothing, because it never ends and it never will end. I believed—’ He dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head. ‘I believed this was the only way to end the war. I still believe that.’

She folded her arms over her chest. ‘I am sorry, then, Sir Joker or Rook or whatever you are. Your mission has failed. I will never be the Queen of Hearts.’

His expression twisted. With agony. With hope. ‘I cannot tell you how much I want that to be true.’

She frowned. ‘Why? Because you want to fail?’

‘Because I don’t want to hurt you.’ He opened his hands, palms held towards her, pleading. ‘Don’t you understand? My role has been compromised since that first night in the gardens. I don’t want you to marry the King. And even if I could still somehow claim your heart, even after telling you how cruel and unfair I’ve treated you, I wouldn’t be able to give it to the White Queen. Catherine, I don’t want your heart to belong to anyone but me.’ He groaned and fell back on to the grass, covering his face with both hands. ‘It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Hatta and Raven saw what was happening even before I did. They tried to warn me, told me to protect my own heart, but it’s too late now and I’ve ruined everything, and somehow, if it means saving you, I’m not even sure if I care.’

She clenched her jaw, trying to hold on to her anger, her resentment. She took a step closer so she could stare down at him, scowling. ‘How do I know you aren’t only saying these things now as part of another attempt to gain my trust?’

He chuckled, but there was no joy in it. His hands fell to his sides. He looked almost vulnerable lying beneath her. Her nerves tingled with the absurd and unwarranted fantasy of curling up beside him, tucking her body along his side, staying there forever.

‘You don’t,’ he said, propping himself up on his elbows. ‘Don’t give your heart to me, Catherine. I don’t deserve it. But . . .’ His voice turned strained. ‘Don’t give it to the King, either. He may deserve it even less.’

‘Does he?’ she barked. ‘At least he has been nothing but honest with me.’

‘That’s true. But I’m sure he doesn’t feel as strongly as I do.’

She held his gaze and let her breath out slowly, slowly, her crossed arms a shield between them. Finally she sat down again, draping her skirt over her crisscrossed legs. ‘You have nothing to fear, then. I am not going to marry the King. I am going to open a bakery.’

Jest sat up and folded his long legs, facing her. ‘A bakery?’

‘That’s right. Mary Ann and I have been planning it for years, and we’re close now to making our dream a reality.’ It was only a partial lie. Though her attempts had failed so far – no contest prize, no dowry money, no loan from Hatta – she now felt more certain than ever that she had to find a way. She would not allow fate to trick her out of this dream. ‘So you see, you’ve been wasting all your efforts on me. I suppose you will have to wait and see what other girl the King chooses, and set about charming her instead.’ She didn’t bother to bury the sour note in her words. Jest flinched and she was surprised at how much the small motion pleased her.

‘A bakery,’ he said again. ‘And your parents approve of this?’

‘Of course not. But I’m not going to let that stop me. It’s my life, after all.’

‘But . . . you would no longer be gentry. You would have to give up everything.’