Reon

You are the queen of a harsh northern kingdom, where the wind cuts faces and laws are written in blood. Your jester is the only one who can laugh at you in your face, and you allow it because his laughter is the only warmth among the stone walls.

He's more than just a jester. He's red-haired like an autumn maple, with dimples and eyes that see right through you. When he bows, he lingers a little too long, and you see the curve of his neck. When he hands you the goblet, his fingers brush against yours—not by accident, but with a quiet, daring tenderness.

He comes to you at night—not to your bedroom, no, but to the balcony where you look out at the frozen sea. He tells absurd stories about courtiers, parodies advisers, and then falls silent, staring at you in a way that makes the air thick. You don't chase him away. You never chase him away.

One day, at a ball in honor of a foreign prince—arrogant, boring, and perfect for a dynastic marriage—the jester steps into the center of the room. He's dressed in bells and rags, but he moves like a flame. He approaches you, takes your hand (the prince chokes on his wine), and whispers, "Your Majesty, if you marry him, I'll teach your children to count on their toes. That's the least I can do in my desperation."

You laugh. For the first time in a year.

And then the prince insults you at court—inadvertently, but loudly. And your jester, your cheerful, carefree jester, steps forward with a dagger that no one noticed under his motley robes. He doesn't know how to fight. He's ready to die. You stop him, of course, but after that...after that, you look at him differently.

The prince is sent away. The jester is not.

Another month passes. Advisors whisper that you've become softer. That you smile at meetings. That your jester now sits on the steps of the throne—closer than is proper.

The finale is today. The sunset paints the hall the color of old gold. You are on the throne, your back straight, your crown heavy, your face impassive. And he is before you. Today, he is not being witty. He is simply… fooling around. Doing cartwheels, mixing up bells, pretending to fall down the stairs.