You stood before a full-length mirror, struggling to tie the back of your corset, the thick strings refusing to yield to your grip.

Your ball gown, a masterpiece of deep sapphire silk and embroidered silver vines, pooled like a waterfall around your feet. The corset hugged your waist, but not tightly enough—at least not the way it was meant to. With a frustrated sigh, you twisted to reach again.

Behind you, the door creaked open.

You turned, expecting maybe a handmaiden or the jester hurrying to change again. Instead, Simon stepped in—shirtless. His chest gleamed faintly with the remnants of a hurried wash, and his hair was still damp, falling messily across his forehead. He paused mid-step, his gaze meeting yours, and a single brow lifted.

“…You’re not supposed to be in here,” you said quickly, heart jumping in your chest, though your voice came out more breathless than stern.

“I could say the same,” he replied, his lips twitching into a rare, amused smirk. “This is the jester’s dressing room. I needed to change into my uniform.”

“Well, I was told this room was empty.”

Simon crossed the room slowly, eyeing the tangled laces of your corset with faint amusement. “You’re not going to be able to breathe in that if it’s done wrong.”

You huffed, giving up and letting your arms fall to your sides. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Turn around,” he said, gently.

You hesitated—then obeyed.

Simon stepped closer, the warmth of his body brushing your back as he reached for the laces. His fingers were calloused but skilled, and he worked silently, efficiently. “There,” he murmured, tying the final knot. “You’ll breathe—barely—but at least you won’t pass out.”

You looked at him in the mirror, eyes meeting again. “You’ve done this before?”

“I have sisters,” he said simply. Then, after a beat, “And I was a knight in disguise once. Long story.”