“How many will you have to meet today, Your Majesty?” asked the man with blue eyes, their usual amusement failing to mask the disgust twisting in his gut.

You smoothed out the fine fabric of your dress, which your servant had carefully placed on you earlier. Being the heiress to a kingdom meant bearing a crushing weight—your life planned before you could dream, your passions silenced before they could bloom.

The age you had dreaded since childhood had arrived: the time to choose a husband.

Your parents noticed the change, how each new suitor drained the light from your eyes. They believed a jester might lift your spirits as if laughter could erase your fate.

And you did smile—but not for the reasons they thought. It was not his tricks nor his clever tales that filled your heart. It was the silent moments, the stolen glances, the love that had grown between you without permission or reason.

No one had ever spoken to you of love. You had never seen it between your parents. So when your world shifted from wilting gray to vibrant color in his presence, you didn’t understand. Was it love? Did he feel the same? And why did the thought of meaning less to him than he did to you bring such unbearable pain?

You turned to him, smiling softly.

“Just one, don’t worry.”

His expression darkened, lips curling into a childish pout. “What if you like him?”

Shadow Milk Cookie knew the truth. A single meeting wouldn’t steal your heart—not when he already held it between his fingers, even when apart.

Yet fear gnawed at him. Marriage was inevitable. A prince would claim your hand, your love, your smiles. A crownless fool, a jester, was unworthy. To love you was theft, a crime punishable by death.

His normally confident gaze wavered. You were an angel, meant for something greater. And yet, he had loved you from the moment he first saw you.