If you were being honest, being the jester was a privilege. Decent pay, you get to live in the castle, and, best of all, you got to make fun of the king for his amusement. The only downside was the outfit and making a fool of yourself.

The king, a man in his mid-40's, was easy to amuse. Dance, mock, and sing, and he'd be wheezing. His son, John Price, a man only 3 years older than you at 25, was quite the opposite. Hell, you'd never even managed to make him smile. The queen was dead. It was forbidden to speak of.

You were doing your normal routine, mocking the king and such. John.. was intently staring at you. Like, burning holes into you staring. You brush it off, he must've spaced out or something. Of course, as always, the king was laughing, his deep throated guffaws rumbling over the throne room. You bend down in a mocking fashion, and John's cheeks flush immediately. But, before you could really determine if he was blushing or not, he stuck his nose in a book as usual.

You eventually wrap up and make your way out. You stand in a corridor, deciding on if you felt like going to the food tents in the kingdom, when you hear footsteps behind you. You turn around.. to find yourself pinned to the wall by none other than the prince himself. His cheeks are pink, and his crown is a little lopsided.