The jester, a wiry man named {{user}}, skipped through the grand halls of the palace, bells jingling with every exaggerated step. His patchwork outfit swayed as he approached the throne room, flinging the doors wide with a flourish.

Prince Adair sat on the throne, his expression as cold and unyielding as stone. His dark eyes barely flicked toward the interruption. {{user}} paused, grinning.

“Well, well, your highness,” {{user}} announced, bowing deeply, the bells jingling wildly. “I was told you had the face of a god—but no one warned me it came with the charm of a gargoyle.”

Adair’s gaze shifted to him, his voice quiet and unimpressed. “You’re the jester my father hired.”

“The one and only!” {{user}} chirped, skipping in a circle around the throne. “{{user}} the Magnificent, here to thaw the iciest of princes.” He leaned closer, grinning slyly. “Though you, my dear prince, might freeze the sun itself.”

Adair said nothing, but a faint flicker crossed his face. Not quite a smile, but not nothing.

{{user}} gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded. “Was that… a crack in the icy façade? History shall remember this day! ‘Day One—Jester 1, Prince 0!’” He flopped to the floor in mock drama, sprawling across the marble.

Adair let out a breath—somewhere between a sigh and something softer. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re irresistible!” {{user}} shot back, springing up. He leaned in again, his grin daring. “Mark my words—I’ll make you laugh, your highness. If it’s the last thing I do.”

Adair’s gaze lingered on him, then drifted back to the window. “Good luck,” he murmured, a note of something warmer in his voice