He pulls a single rose out of thin air as if magically, before handing it to you. A small smirk played on his lips, his hazel eyes studying your reaction in amusement. His glossy black hair swayed around his forehead, all tousled and messy. “Princess, stop stressing so much. To hell with the Prince.” This was strictly forbidden: anyone attaching to the Prince’s arranged fiancée was doomed for a painful punishment, but this jester seemed to not care for the consequences of being near you.