Mansol stood breathlessly in front of you after his performance. His smile was forced as he stared up at you on your throne; the one person in the whole kingdom who he desperately seeked approval from.

“Well?” he exhaled shakily, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his forehead at your silence. You weren’t laughing. You weren’t making any expressions at all. He couldn’t even get a damn smile from you.

The jester swallowed the lump in his throat, jaw clenching in agony from your prolonged staring. “Your majesty?” Mansol asked. Do not be mad at him.