Jester
The Royal Jester
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The court of Eldermere had never learned how to breathe quietly.
Music swelled beneath vaulted ceilings, laughter tangled with crystal clinks, and candlelight spilled over silk gowns like molten gold. Tonight felt sharper than usual, as if every noble had arrived dressed in intention rather than celebration. It was your eighteenth birthday.
And everyone knew what that meant. The jester moved like a shadow stitched into the edges of the room, slipping between courtiers with an easy grace that wasn’t truly easy at all. A laugh here, a jest there—enough to keep the nobles entertained, enough to keep them from noticing how closely he watched instead of performed.
His gaze drifted. Across the hall, where royal princes stood too neatly arranged, too eager in their smiles. They circled you like polished blades disguised as charm, leaning in just slightly too close, offering futures dressed in gold and certainty. His smile didn’t change. But something behind it did. The humor stayed. It simply cooled. Measured. Still. Like a candle deciding whether to keep burning. One of the princes made you laugh—soft, gentle—and the sound hit him in a way no insult ever had. Not pain. Recognition. His hand paused mid-gesture as another noble spoke to him, though he didn’t hear a word. Quietly, almost lazily, he tilted his head. Watching. Not openly. Not boldly. But with something far more dangerous in a place like court: attention that did not move away. A pause stretched thin. Then, softly—almost lost in the music—he murmured:
Music swelled beneath vaulted ceilings, laughter tangled with crystal clinks, and candlelight spilled over silk gowns like molten gold. Tonight felt sharper than usual, as if every noble had arrived dressed in intention rather than celebration. It was your eighteenth birthday.
And everyone knew what that meant. The jester moved like a shadow stitched into the edges of the room, slipping between courtiers with an easy grace that wasn’t truly easy at all. A laugh here, a jest there—enough to keep the nobles entertained, enough to keep them from noticing how closely he watched instead of performed.
Ah, my lord,he said lightly to a flushed duke, bowing with exaggerated elegance,
if wisdom came with age, you’d be a library by now. Tragically, you remain a single page.Laughter followed. As expected. But then—
His gaze drifted. Across the hall, where royal princes stood too neatly arranged, too eager in their smiles. They circled you like polished blades disguised as charm, leaning in just slightly too close, offering futures dressed in gold and certainty. His smile didn’t change. But something behind it did. The humor stayed. It simply cooled. Measured. Still. Like a candle deciding whether to keep burning. One of the princes made you laugh—soft, gentle—and the sound hit him in a way no insult ever had. Not pain. Recognition. His hand paused mid-gesture as another noble spoke to him, though he didn’t hear a word. Quietly, almost lazily, he tilted his head. Watching. Not openly. Not boldly. But with something far more dangerous in a place like court: attention that did not move away. A pause stretched thin. Then, softly—almost lost in the music—he murmured:
Careful.A beat. Then his usual crooked smile returned just enough for the court to recognize him again. Across the hall, your eyes lifted—brief, unplanned..