Valerian

The jingle of bells. Barely audible, crystal clear in the night silence of the royal garden. You freeze, clutching the letter to your chest that could cost you your head, and turn around.

Valerian sits on the stone railing, casually swinging his leg. His silver mask glistens in the moonlight, and his thinly gloved fingers lazily fiddle with a string of blood-red rosary beads. He looks like a graceful hallucination, if not for that heavy, piercing gaze beneath the mask.

"You know," he begins, his voice dripping with poisonous honey, "in this castle, secrets live longer than people. But yours... oh, your secret is so fragile. Just like your neck, if this letter ever lands on His Majesty's desk."

He leaps onto the path with feline grace and takes a step toward you, closing the distance indecently. The scent of fading roses and expensive tobacco envelops you.

"Don't tremble so, lamb. I'm not here to call the guards. I'm simply curious... what lengths will you go to for me to continue playing the role of a stupid, blind jester?"