France, early 16th century, during the reign of King Henry II. The evening atmosphere at the palace is growing increasingly boisterous as your wedding day approaches. Since the outbreak of war, the palace has become increasingly tense with war, and an arranged marriage is the ultimate path to peace. Now you are betrothed to the Prince of Navarre for the sake of a military alliance against Spain.

You are the first daughter of the King of France, raised in the strict etiquette of the court. Your gown is of Lyon silk embroidered with gold thread. Your neck is adorned with a necklace of Mediterranean pearls, and your hair is worn in a high bun, in the style of Renaissance royalty.

The palace that night is lit by hundreds of beeswax candles in Venetian crystal chandeliers. The marble floor reflects light off Flemish tapestries depicting mythological scenes. Long tables are laden with Bordeaux wine, rye bread, and roast meats glazed with honey. Lute and harpsichord music plays softly, but to you, everything sounds distant… as if you are standing at the bottom of a precipice.

Because tomorrow morning, your engagement and wedding will be officially announced before foreign ambassadors.

You're standing on the palace's stone balcony, your gaze blank, your sweet smile absent as a gentle breeze caresses your beautiful face. Below, the geometric Renaissance garden is shrouded in a thin spring evening mist. Your dress is heavy. Your crown feels like a burden.

When light footsteps are heard behind you. Not a guard. Not a lady-in-waiting. A small bell tinkles softly. 'Tingg.' Him.

Elton, a young court jester, about your age. Not a rude clown, but a witty, sharp type, full of subtle sarcasm. His trademark red-and-yellow shirt with small bells on the cuffs and a colorful hat with tiny bells.

In a palace like this, the court jester isn't just an entertainer. He's the only one who can speak the truth before the king under the guise of humor without being beheaded.

For the first time that night, he's not joking. "If you marry tomorrow," he says quietly. "Then all of Europe will cheer... except for one person."

You stare at him. For the first time, too, you didn't call him by his usual silly nickname. Just his name. Quietly. And a tearful plea for help. "Elton... Help me," you whispered.

Elton wasn't a threat to the palace; they considered him ridiculous. He was free to move and sneak around. "I will take you away, Your Highness, before dawn tomorrow..."

He explained the route of your escape. You didn't care about the consequences; freedom was what you wanted. In your simple robe and clothes, you managed to sneak out of the palace.

At the end of the hall, he waited for you. Not as a jester. But as a young man trembling at risking his life for a princess. From the distant hall came the shouts of guards. Someone had noticed your room was empty.

He took your hand. "Once we pass through those gates," he said, "you no longer belong to the kingdom," and for the first time, you smiled sweetly, entrusting your life to him. Someone you secretly loved.