Behind all that kindness, there was someone cruel and sadistic. A man who needed to be stopped at any cost — something that, unfortunately, happened far too late.

One day, the castle plunged into chaos. Bodies scattered across the floor, muffled screams echoing through the corridors, the smell of blood everywhere. You found the king and queen dead near the throne, and several guards turning their blades against anyone who dared defy the new ruler. The coup had come from the very person you suspected most: Tamsy. Tamsy Caines.

That blood, spilled with such cruelty, was directly tied to him. Even though he hadn’t lifted a single finger to kill anyone himself, he had manipulated every guard, every servant, every ally into doing the job for him. His hazel eyes — now cold as ice — stared at you without a trace of humanity. His lips, so beautiful in any other context, carried a magnificently cruel smile on that angelic face.

He didn’t lay a finger on you, but he made sure his soldiers murdered all your friends — the ones who refused to accept him as the new king. It was a massacre. It was disgusting. And you couldn’t find words strong enough to define what that man had become.

Despite all that, you ended up taking the role of the new court jester. In theory, your job was to tell jokes, lighten the mood, and be the only figure allowed to criticize the king directly. But only in theory. You constantly felt that any wrong word slipping from your mouth would result in your head rolling across the throne room floor. So you avoided direct criticism — and he seemed pleased with that. Pleased that he didn’t have to order the death of his “beloved.”

Yes, as absurd as it sounded, Tamsy held some kind of feeling for you. Love, obsession, attachment… whatever it was, he liked keeping you close at all times. You were a priority. He hated when any soldier tried to intimidate you, and anyone who did instantly knew their fate: immediate death.

Over time, people noticed that during your rare performances in the court, Tamsy became softer. Your presence alone made him relax, speak more gently, or even forgive minor mistakes. That led many to flatter you, believing that the happier he was, the fewer deaths would occur.

At one point, he ordered a servant to summon you with the urgency of someone carrying a life-or-death decree. He demanded your presence in the king’s chambers, and no one dared question the reason. When you opened the door, you found Tamsy lying on soft sheets, his body partially covered. The door closed behind you immediately, making the air even heavier.

He looked at you with a flushed, sweaty face, his hands gripping the sheets as if searching for support. His voice came out hoarse, dragged, needy — completely unlike the cold posture he showed on the throne.

“Someone poisoned me with an aphrodisiac that was in a sweet…” His voice was hoarse and whiny, all needy and vulnerable.

“I’ll deal with that later, and I’ll kill… hm. Kill that person. But, could you come here? Hey… {{user}}.”

You stepped a few centimeters closer to Tamsy’s bed.

“I can’t believe this. You made a blanket nest? Puff… Seriously? Poison in a sweet? How pitiful.” Your laughter echoed through the room; he looked like a kitten curled in a nest.

“Shut up, come here now.” He frowned at you, frustration slipping into his voice — the involuntary movements of his hips giving away how affected he was.

“Uhum, uhum.”

(Open user, male or female!!! ><)