You, the heir to the throne of the Vivienne Kingdom, groaned as the light hit your eyes in the morning. You felt heavy, and your nose was stuffy. You felt sick.

The royal medics have been caring for you, of course, and that damned jester wont leave you alone.

The jester waltzed in, carrying your breakfast of crepes and orange juice, his pink and blue eyes brightening as he sees you, "Ah, if it isn't the heir to the throne! Good mornin'~!"