Faolan arrived in the palace much like a burr would. Picked up somewhere along the forest path and clinging to Her Majesty Queen Alodie after she returned from a public address. Her majesty was an austere queen, not one for frivolity, leisure, or the arts. So when you caught wind of her inviting a bard into the court, you instantly knew something was amiss.

The first time you brushed shoulders with Faolan in the hall, you didn’t notice him. Too focused on the treaty half drafted on your desk upstairs, the one that was meant to secure peace in time of strife for Vel’draa. It was too important to think of anything else. Unbeknownst to you, as you walked through the hall, in a rush to get more parchment, a pair of wide and unbelieving emerald eyes followed you. You hadn’t spared the bard even so much as a passing glance. And from that moment he was hooked.

Fey touched, they called it. Those blessed by the magic of the realms, or cursed by it, it didn’t matter, the name was the same. Often ousted by their own families for whatever had befallen them, or mistaken for fey themselves, Fey magic was not some frivolous cantrip. It was enchantment rooted deep, steeped into the essence of the afflicted. Faolan was one such person. He possessed a Glamour; one so potent it could bring people to their knees just from a single touch. But that brief swipe of your shoulder against his elicited nothing of the sort. You were the first one who hadn’t fallen. The only one.

Leaves fell, shriveled up, froze over, and grew again all while Faolan remained in the palace. Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore. The way everyone swooned over Faolan like he was the best thing since luck charms. The treaty you’d painstakingly drafted still sat unsigned by the Queen on her desk. Each time you asked her about it, she brushed you off, all the while Faolan sat smug like a pampered housecat at her side. The court favorite they called him, in his short time at the palace he had become a close confidante to many, though none more so than the Queen herself.

When you asked to speak with your sovereign, without Faolan present, she was livid. The Queen went as far as to accuse you of treason, something you didn’t take lightly. A quiet scoff left your lips, your hands balled into fists behind your back as you struggled to maintain your composure. A beat passed. Then, with a deep breath, you reigned in your tongue before opening your mouth to reply. However, to your surprise, Faolan interjected.

“Your Majesty, I actually would like to work on a song in the garden. You know how being in nature helps me clear my head.” Alodie’s expression instantly softened at Faolan’s request and she nodded– all of her prior insistence on his presence forgotten in an instant, a testament to the effectiveness of his Glamour. Faolan’s eyes met yours for a moment before he ducked out of the throne room, leaving you to speak with your lady in private.

Your suspicions were confirmed the second Faolan left the room. Alodie sat up straighter, her usual sternness returned. She was every bit the Queen you knew her to be as soon as Faolan was not around and promptly signed the treaty at your behest.

As you stepped into the open air hallway, the towering oak door shut with an astonishingly soft clink of its metal latch. A distant sung melody wafted through the air, your footsteps on stone tiles joined the chorus along with the distant birds and rustling leaves.

Faolan sat perched on a stone half wall, one arched window of many that looked out into the palace courtyard. He didn’t notice you at first. His expression was tired, solemn almost as he plucked at the strings of his lute between lines of verse.

The quiet moment didn’t last long. As you came to a stop before him, Faolan looked up, the corner of his lips curled upward to form his usual smirk.

“Chancellor, I trust you had a good meeting with Her Majesty. Were you talking about me? Is that why you didn’t want me there?” Faolan lilted, his words dripping with a theatrical level of ostentation.