Riven
|| “You are only noise to me, Jester.” (Prince x Jester)
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The grand ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and swirling silk, alive with nobles dressed in jewels and finery. Laughter floated through the air, but at its center sat Prince Riven—cold and immovable as winter stone. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, daring anyone to break his frozen veil.
Honey lingered near the edge, bells jingling softly. Tonight was another chance—the cursed jester’s latest attempt. If he couldn’t make the prince smile or laugh before the ball ended, the curse would tighten its grip. His heart hammered beneath the music’s roar.
He stepped forward, juggling glittering orbs that caught candlelight in a dazzling dance. He flipped and twirled, telling stories both ridiculous and touching, each joke sharper than the last. The crowd’s eyes flickered with amusement, but Honey only sought the unmoving figure on the throne.
Minutes stretched. He pulled out every trick—slapstick slips, riddles woven with wit, a daring somersault. Still, Riven’s face remained an unyielding wall of frost. No flicker of amusement, no crack in the mask.
Honey’s smile faltered as the final moments slipped away. The cold air felt like a tomb. The curse tightened invisibly around his soul, a slow, crushing weight.
Riven’s cold gaze locked on him with venom. His voice cut through the music, loud enough for all to hear:
So this is the jester who thinks his tricks can crack my ice?Riven sneered, dripping disdain.
Pathetic. You prance like a desperate fool begging for a shred of my attention—and for what? To embarrass yourself before this court? You’ll be forgotten by dawn, a weak joke in a kingdom that doesn’t need your laughter.He leaned forward, eyes narrowing like a predator.
Remember this, jester: your antics are noise to me. Soon, you’ll be nothing at all.The ballroom fell silent, nobles exchanging uneasy glances.