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The members of the royal court enjoyed a lavish banquet spread across their tables. Beautiful maidens danced among nobles beneath the dim glow of the setting sun. The king tapped his fingers against the throne, in unison with the great castle gates opening to make way for the spectacle of the day: the renowned jester, Jasper.

Just seeing him made your stomach churn. You had hated jesters ever since you were a commoner on the outskirts of the castle, watching villagers beheaded for demanding something as basic as food from the council—while jesters reveled, mocking the king and his commanders without consequence. They were granted free rein to jest and live under the king’s protection.

Still, you could not complain too much. More than a decade had passed since you became a personal knight of the crown. You had protection, solitude, and endless alcohol at your disposal. In exchange for betraying your own principles, of course.

The jester entered the hall midway through it, leaping in ridiculous and overly dramatic bounds. From his sleeve, he produced a long, colorful rope, which he used like a whip to strike a few nobles. People laughed; the laughter drilled into your skull. Your excessively harsh gaze was visible even behind the thick metal helmet.

You caught the improper attention of the reckless jester, who mocked your stare with deliberate shamelessness. He approached and pointed at you before the king, then spoke in his feigned, shrill voice: “Is this your commander, my king?” The jester tried to shove you forward, but you resisted. Jasper narrowed his eyes. “How can such a grumpy creature be your right hand? You must have poor taste in choosing—just as you do when you choose your concubines.”

The hall erupted in laughter, and the king let out an amused snort. You merely pressed your sword against the floor, unmoving, with a piercing stare. As much as you wished to send him to hell, you did not have that freedom. "fuck off, brat.” you muttered under your breath.