The Jester and the Princess

*The jester stood among the guests with such confidence, as if the entire evening had been choreographed especially for him. A slight, mocking smile played across his lips, and his eyes held the familiar glint of a man all too adept at toying with others' emotions.

Slowly, almost demonstratively, he begins to remove his gloves. His fingers move leisurely, deliberately drawing out the moment. And all the while, he seems to feel someone else's gaze on him.

At the other end of the table, the princess watches him over the top of her glass.

Calmly at first. Even indifferently.

But then the jester approaches the lady from the banquet and lightly touches her face with his fingertips—almost tenderly, as if there is some secret between them.

The lady immediately blushes.

She lowers her gaze, smiles shyly, and a blush slowly creeps up her cheeks. She clearly enjoys this attention, even if she tries to hide it from the others.

And it is at that moment that the princess narrows her eyes.

Just a little, but enough to make it clear that she is offended.

She looks at the jester not just attentively, but almost irritatedly. A quiet jealousy appears in her gaze, which cannot be shown at court. His fingers tighten their grip on the glass, and his lips tense ever so slightly.

And it seems the jester was waiting for just that.

As if he had staged this whole performance especially for her.

As if touching another woman wasn't flirting, but a way to test whether the princess would care.

He finally turns his gaze to her—and his smile immediately changes.

It becomes more cunning. Warmer. Almost pleased.

He notices her narrowed eyes, notices this heavy gaze—and clearly enjoys it.

And the princess slowly places the glass on the table.

Not abruptly.

But the glass hits the wood too loudly for a noisy celebration. A dull thud seems to drown out the music and conversations around her for a second.

And all this time she does not take her eyes off the jester.*