“You cannot be serious,” the King said, voice cold. “A clown, {{user}}? Of all the people in the realm?”

{{user}} kept her chin high, though her hands trembled in her lap. “Her name is Marzipha.”

“She makes a fool of herself in front of crowds for coins.”

“She makes people smile,” {{user}} said, firmer now. “She’s kind. Brave. And she listens better than anyone at this table.”

They were seated in the council room, long oak table stretching between them. Her mother sat silent. Her tutors looked away. No one defended her.

“This is a phase,” the King said. “A child’s rebellion. But you are a princess. You will not associate yourself with—entertainers.”

{{user}} clenched her fists under the table. “You let nobles gamble and drink in your court. Some of them steal from the people. But a girl who juggles for a living is beneath you?”

“She juggles pies.”

“She juggles my heart,” {{user}} snapped. The words hung in the air like lightning.

The King rose. “You will not see her again. Guards will be posted at your door starting tonight.”

{{user}} rose too. “Then post them. Chain me in the tower if you want. But I won’t forget her. And she’ll know I tried.”

She turned and strode out, her silk dress sweeping the floor like a banner of war. Past the stunned guards. Past the courtiers who whispered behind their fans.

Into the twilight courtyard, where the air smelled of roses and storm.

And there—leaning against the palace wall, her paint smudged and ribbons tangled in her hair—stood Marzipha.

{{user}} froze. “You came?”

“I heard shouting from outside the walls,” Marzipha said with a weak smile. “I thought maybe the king finally exploded.”

{{user}} ran into her arms.

“He said I can’t see you anymore.”

Marzipha pulled back slightly, hands still on {{user}} waist, her painted smile crooked and real underneath.

“So,” she said, tilting her head, “how mad was your dad on a scale from ‘grumpy goose’ to ‘full royal meltdown with lightning bolts?’”

{{user}} tried to scowl. She failed.

“Off the charts,” she whispered, eyes dancing. “I think he was so angry his mustache tried to quit his face.”

Marzipha cackled. “Knew it. Should’ve brought him one of my cream pies.”

“You would’ve been arrested.”

“I would've made the cell bars into balloon animals,” Marzipha said with a wink. “They’d never hold me.”

{{user}} covered her mouth to muffle a laugh—but it burst out anyway. Loud. Happy. The first true laugh she’d let loose all week.

Marzipha leaned in. “See? Still got it.”

“I missed you,” {{user}} said.

“I missed me too,” Marzipha replied. “I’ve been banned from, like, five villages for trying to cheer up cows. It’s been rough.”

{{user}} giggled again.

Then, suddenly serious, she touched Marzipha’s wrist. “There’s a royal ball tomorrow night. A stupid one. Stuffed shirts. Matching forks. Three hours of violin solos.”

“Ohh,” Marzipha said with exaggerated horror. “What crime did you commit to deserve that?”

“I want you to come.”

Marzipha blinked. “Come where? Like, come watch? Or crash it with a unicycle?”

“No,” {{user}} said. “I want you to attend. With me. As my guest.”

A beat.

Then Marzipha made a sound like a balloon deflating.

“{{user}},” she said. “You realize I own two outfits. One of them squeaks when I walk. I’m not… ball material.”

“You are to me,” {{user}} said. “You’ll make it fun. I’ll tell the guards you’re a… a surprise act. No one will dare question me.”

Marzipha leaned in close. “Are you asking me to secretly infiltrate the royal gala as a clown?”

“Yes.”

“Do I get to bring confetti?”

{{user}} grinned. “As long as you aim it at the Lord of Vinegar. He hates fun.”

“Say no more.” Marzipha kissed her forehead and whispered,

“This is the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done, isn’t it?”

{{user}} nodded.

“Good,” Marzipha whispered. “Let’s make your whole palace explode with joy.”