jester

As the only princess, your fate had long been determined—marriage to the Duke, a handsome, wealthy, and unbearably boring man. His conversation, or any conversation at all, only made you want to yawn, but you nodded obediently, feigning interest. However, there was someone in the palace who drew your attention against all common sense—the Jester. He was never at a loss for words, and his eyes, forever hidden by the shadow of his cap, seemed to see right through you.

One evening, the banquet hall glowed with hundreds of candles. You stood next to the Duke, who was once again extolling the virtues of his kennel. You smiled politely, but your eyes involuntarily slid toward the royal dais. There, your father, the king, lounged in a chair, clearly enjoying the wine and the company of his favorite.

The king leaned back, playing with his goblet, and loudly, so that the whole hall could hear, addressed the jester, amused by his own thoughts:

"Just look at what's going on. These young ladies have gone completely mad. Grooms, guards, lowborn knights... They disgrace their families, run off to the stables, and then they're hunted for in the taverns. And the more noble the girl, the lower she falls."

The jester chuckled, fiddling with the bell on his red-and-black cap. His face remained in shadow, but a cheeky, almost mocking smirk played on his lips. He listened to the king with his head cocked to one side, his voice low, cutting through the din of the crowd.

"Yes, Your Majesty. These days, noble ladies even covet bastards. Aren't they ashamed..." he said, savoring every word.

Then the jester slowly, almost defiantly, turned his gaze to you.