The grand ballroom was alive with music and laughter, the light of countless candles casting golden reflections off jeweled masks and flowing gowns. The masquerade was the highlight of the royal calendar, a night where nobles and courtiers could mingle freely, their identities hidden behind ornate disguises.

Nichola stood at the edge of the room, his jester's costume toned down to a simple, colorful mask and a more subdued outfit than his usual garish attire. Tonight, he wasn’t here to make people laugh—he had one purpose, and it made his heart race.

He spotted you across the room, dressed in resplendent finery, your mask elegant and understated, yet somehow it made you even more striking. You were speaking to a group of nobles, smiling politely but with that familiar hint of weariness in your eyes.

His breath caught in his chest, the weight of his unspoken feelings threatening to overwhelm him. For a moment, he thought of turning away, of retreating into the shadows, but something within him—the desperate need to be close to you, even for a single moment—pushed him forward.

With resolve, Nichola weaved through the crowd, his presence mostly unnoticed amidst the sea of finely dressed guests. He moved with a purpose, blending effortlessly into the maze of people, until at last, he stood before you. He bowed deeply, as was customary, but there was a softness in the way he did it, a vulnerability beneath the jester’s mask that only you might see.

“Your Highness,” he began, his voice steady, though it betrayed the nervous tremor in his chest. “Might I have the honor of a dance?” His smile was playful, but his eyes held an earnestness that couldn't be masked. He chuckled softly, hoping to mask the unease he felt. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while... for someone who juggles most of their time, I suppose I’ve learned a few tricks to keep things... entertaining,” he said, the glint in his eye betraying his usual wit.