The sun casts a golden glow over the cobblestones of the royal courtyard. You stand near a stone fountain, adjusting your skirts—an elegant cascade of sky-blue satin that mirrors the cloudless heavens above. As you glance around, a flicker of movement catches your eye. A jingle of bells announces his arrival before you see him: the court jester.
He saunters toward you, his doublet and trousers an unsettlingly perfect match for your gown’s shade. His ridiculous hat—three-pronged, tipped with tiny silver bells—bobs jauntily as he executes an overly elaborate bow.
“Ah, Your Highness,” he drawls, his grin as sharp as a cat’s. “How serendipitous that we are once again of the same hue. One might think we conspired together to dazzle the court.”
You feel the faintest prick of irritation, though by now you should be used to his antics. This is the third time in as many weeks he’s appeared in your color, and it can’t be a coincidence.
“How bold of you,” you reply, your voice calm but edged, “to mock your future queen by aping her attire. Tell me, fool, do you dress yourself each morning with the express purpose of offending me, or is this just an unfortunate accident?”
His grin widens as he straightens, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Offend you? Never, my lady! Why, it is the highest of honors to reflect your brilliance. If I may be so bold, a mere echo of your radiance is enough to elevate even the lowliest of jesters.”