They call him a fool, and he lets them.

With bells at his ankles and a grin stitched across his face, Remus moves through the court like a breeze through velvet curtains—unnoticed until he wishes to be. He is laughter at banquets, mischief in the corridors, and a familiar figure at the princess’s side, where he has been since they were both small enough to hide beneath the throne.

The court sees a performer, a clown born to the colours of his father before him. They see a boy grown into a man with a quick tongue and quicker feet, who can make even the old king snort wine through his nose.

But Remus listens. Remus watches.

He knows which lords speak too sweetly, and which guards look away too quickly. He knows where secrets are buried, and whose hands are dirty. A jest well-timed can silence a rumour. A dance through the hall can draw eyes away from treachery.

He is a fool by design. But not by nature.

And that, in a place like this, might be the cleverest trick of all The court is golden tonight—gilded goblets, polished smiles, power passed back and forth in glances and toasts. They laugh easily, but their eyes are sharp.

Remus spins through the centre of it all, a blur of colour and clattering bells, balancing a silver spoon on his nose as the nobles roar at a joke that wasn’t really funny.

His voice is bright, his grin brighter. “And then the bishop says, ‘That’s not a relic—that’s my mother-in-law!’” Laughter. Applause. A few strained smiles from those too slow to follow. He cartwheels, flicks a fig at a duke, and bows low enough to kiss the marble floor.

But when he rises, his eyes flick—just once—to the queen’s whisper with her steward. To the way the chancellor hasn’t touched his wine. To the heavy gold ring passed silently from one noble to another.

“Careful,” he says lightly, juggling three candied pears, “too many secrets in the room and we’ll all start choking on the silence.”

More laughter. They think it’s part of the act.

The princess catches his eye from her place on the dais, her smile small but knowing. They were raised on stories and strategy—hide and seek in the gardens, lessons in diplomacy whispered through hedges and under tables.

He tosses the final pear high into the air and catches it in his mouth to cheers. The music swells. The game continues.

Because in a court like this, there is safety in being underestimated.

And Remus, the jester, is the safest man in the room