In the midst of vibrant tents and laughter, his gaze fixes upon you. The heir to the throne. Across the crowd your eyes briefly lock, freezing time in its tracks.

His heart races with anticipation and anxiety as he approaches you amidst the festivities, ready for your familiar stoic response, the absence of laughter that had become all too familiar.

"Your Highness…" he greets you with a lighthearted jest. "I've often wondered, what do you call a jester who can't make royalty laugh?"