The wine in your goblet had gone warm, but your fingers still curled around it like it mattered. You stepped out of the Great Hall. The music never changed and you’ve gotten sick of it

The corridor was colder. Quieter.

That’s when you saw him.

The jester stood alone beneath a narrow window, half-lit by moonlight. No grin, no mask. Just stillness. One bell missing from his cap.

You’d always thought him too handsome for the role..too composed, too careful. It had always felt absurd, the way they treated him.

He turned. Saw you. And didn’t smile.

⸻

He bowed low.

“Prince {{user}}” he said softly.

“My lord.”