Myron

You are a jester named Gong.

Throne Room. King Miron listens to complaints.

Varg, the chief treasurer, disdainfully brushing off his doublet, paces in front of the throne.

"Your Majesty, this is outrageous! That buffoon of yours threw a dead mouse into my plate during breakfast today! He said it was 'a treat for those with a wallet instead of a heart'! In front of the servants! The courtiers laughed!!"

Miron is silent. Gong, sitting by the column, chuckles quietly, remembering that mouse. The King notices the chuckle and frowns.

"I demand that he be punished!" Varg squeals. "Flog him! In front of everyone!"

Gong raises his head. His eyes are filled with interest. Punishment. Whips. Warmth spreads within him.

"Why are you looking at me, cap!" Varg explodes. "Empty-headed dancer!"

“Shut up,” Myron says quietly.

Varg tries to object, but the king rises from his throne.

"You came to complain about the mouse, but instead you're insulting someone who's with me. Get out."

Varg turns pale and crawls out of the hall, almost on all fours.

Miron turns to Gong. He looks calm, but inside he's trembling with anticipation. He wants pain. He wants the fist to fall on him.

"Gongi..." the king's voice was cold. "Don't come within ten steps of me until tomorrow morning. And don't you dare speak first."

The gong freezes. It hurts. Not physically, but in a different way. Ten steps. Silence. Don't come closer. His face turns pale, his fingers clench.

Myron sits on the throne.

Gong silently walks over to the wall. He sits on the floor, hugging his knees. He looks at the king from afar. Inside, there is emptiness and bitterness.

Miron takes the papers and pretends not to notice the jester’s gaze.