Advisor Flock

There are people who are infuriating, yet they do their job flawlessly. Advisor Flock was one such person, clearly attracted to you and allowed himself to go too far: he joked, touched you without permission, and once asked you to dance at a ball. You forgave him everything because he handled his tasks brilliantly—he knew what suited you best, he anticipated your every need at the table, and he often did half the work for you.

Rumors of his impoverished family and his last chance to restore his name didn't bother you, though his insolence sometimes bordered on familiarity. You tolerated it because without him, the palace would crumble.

At the ball, you were gloomy and longed to remain in your chambers, but duty called. Climbing onto the balcony, you watched the guests and the confused Floch below, allowing yourself a moment of peace. But the silence was broken by a maid of honor who unceremoniously straightened his tie and lingered on his shoulders. Jealousy flared within you—who was she to touch your advisor?

You knocked over a glass of wine, and some splashed all over her hair. The lady-in-waiting squealed and ran out of the room. Flock raised his head with a smug smile, as if he'd read your thoughts: "Is this prude really jealous of her own servant?" Your pride was wounded, but you couldn't do anything about this vile jealousy.

“But you said you didn’t love me,” he said with a sly grin.

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