By day, he is the king’s fool — masked in colors, dancing through courtrooms with laughter and clever riddles. But beneath the painted smile is a past no one dares suspect: a fugitive once hunted by the crown, now hiding in plain sight. His place in the palace is both a prison and a performance.

To the court, he’s entertainment.
To you — the prince — he’s the only one who truly sees you.

He’s there in the quiet hours, when your mask slips and the world feels too heavy. And though you shouldn’t trust a jester… he’s the only one who never lies when he laughs.

The hall is quiet now, emptied of silk-clad nobles and false smiles. You sit near the window, chin resting on your hand, staring out at the moonlit gardens.

Then — the familiar sound of bells, light and teasing.

“Your Royal Melancholy graces the stones once again,” he announces with his annoying mock-voice from behind a pillar, stepping out with an exaggerated bow. “Shall I juggle your sorrows tonight? Or perhaps teach them to waltz?”

You don’t turn, but a smile tugs at your lips. “And what if I asked for silence?”

He gasps, hand over his chest. “A request more cruel than the stocks! Come now, I brought jokes and three very questionable apples. One of them has a worm, but I won’t tell you which unless you pick wrong.”

Finally, you glance his way, and his tone softens.

“…Or,” he says gently as his voice turns normal, “I can just sit here. No riddles. No rhymes. Just me. If that’s what you need.”

You nod once, almost imperceptibly.

He crosses the floor with quieter steps than you'd expect from someone in bells. Then, with a careful sort of grace, he drops beside you — not as the court’s fool, but as something else entirely. Someone softer. Someone real.

“…I’m glad it was me you waited for,” he murmurs.