The clang of swords in the courtyard seemed distant from your corner of the castle, a place where rich tapestries flowed heavy against icy stone and silence fell thick once the servants were gone. The attack on the King’s life had made everyone nervous. Soldiers were doubled at every gate, messengers were screened, and anyone close to the throne was kept under careful watch.

Including you.

As the King’s jester, your role was meant to lighten the mood, bring a spark of happiness in a dim court. But now it seemed your very presence made you a potential weakness, a crack in the armor protecting the king, and His Majesty hadn’t taken any chances. So a guardian was appointed.

Ghost a knight whose reputation made soldiers straighten their spines and servants avoid his piercing gaze was to be your shadow from now on. His leather-and-steel silhouette fell into stride beside you without a word, gloved knuckles resting casually on the hilt of his sword.

The silence seemed oppressive with him nearby; you could feel his piercing stare even without turning your head. There were rumors, soldiers whispered it when the moons were high and the wine flowed, that this man was more wraith than flesh, a ghost who walked unharmed through battle and came back, again and again, without a single drop of his own blood.

“Don’t get comfortable, jester.” His gravelly voice cut through the silence without effort, a warning masked as a simple observation. “I’m not your friend. I’m your wall.”