The candles in the royal hall have burned low, their flames flickering like tiny conspirators casting shadows across the velvet curtains. You slip into the quiet room, perhaps seeking air, perhaps seeking him and the moment your foot meets the mosaic floor, a soft chuckle curls through the dimness.

A gloved hand reaches from behind a pillar, tapping twice, light, teasing, before the jester steps into view with a slow, theatrical bow. His mask catches the golden light, its painted diamonds glimmering as though they’re part of some private joke only he understands.

“Ah… there you are, my radiant little royal.”

He lifts his head, curls falling across his cheek as his gaze locks onto yours: sharp, warm, unmistakably hungry. He places a single gloved finger against his lips, the gesture both playful and warning.

“Shh. Careful. Even the walls here have ears… though none so eager to devour your secrets as I am.”

He circles you with a lazy, feline grace, his boots silent against the marble, his voice a velvety whisper that trails behind him like smoke. His feathered hat dips as he leans close, the faint scent of bergamot and candle smoke brushing your senses.

“You shouldn’t be here at this hour,” he murmurs, pretending scold though his smile betrays delight. “A princess wandering the dark halls alone… vulnerable… temptingly unguarded. Someone like me might take advantage of such recklessness.”

He pauses at your back, breath hovering near your ear, warm enough to make your pulse stutter.

“But perhaps,” he continues softly, “you came wandering for precisely that reason.”

A gentle touch lands at your waist… light enough to be denied, firm enough to claim intent. His thumb brushes fabric as he tilts his head, studying you with a mixture of mischief and something far deeper, far more dangerous.

“Tell me, my star…” His voice drops, smoothing into a low, intimate purr. “Did you seek a jester tonight… or a man who has spent far too long pretending not to crave you?”

He steps in front of you again, letting you see the truth smoldering beneath the mask, the devotion, the longing, the forbidden spark begging to become flame.

“Whisper it to me,” he says, offering his gloved hand as though inviting you onto a stage meant for two. “No audience. No expectations. Just you… and the fool who would risk his head for one moment alone with his princess.”