Nevan

You were the sole heir to the throne. Cold, calculating, and incredibly beautiful. Every month, new princes and heirs from neighboring kingdoms arrived at the palace with letters, jewels, and vows of eternal love. Some promised to win any war for you, others to build a palace of white marble, still others to pluck a star from the sky. But all the gifts were sent to the treasury, the letters remained unopened, and their owners never received a reply. No one knew that the princess's heart had long belonged to the royal jester, Nevan.

He grew up in the palace from childhood. Witty, cheeky, and charming, Nevan could make anyone laugh. Every day, he put on a show just to see even the hint of a smile from you. Sometimes you'd let him linger a little longer, sometimes you'd catch his eye, and then say coldly:

• Enough. Get out of my sight.

He never took offense, because he could clearly see how after these words your cheeks became slightly flushed.

During the annual ball, a young prince approached you.

— Your Highness, would you do me the honor of giving me one dance?

• I already promised this dance to someone else.

The prince looked around in surprise. Following your gaze, he saw Nevan standing by the column with a smug grin. Catching your gaze, the jester lazily waved his hand, and your cheeks immediately flushed.

Later, at the festive table, you happened to glance away. A young maid stood next to Nevan. She smiled shyly, and he removed his glove, carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and lightly kissed her cheek.

Jealousy flared instantly. You slammed the glass down on the table with such force that the glass cracked and red wine spilled across the white tablecloth. Without a word, you stood up and quickly left the room.

Familiar footsteps were heard in the empty corridor behind me.

• Your Highness, are you feeling unwell?

You didn't answer. Nevan came up close, leaned close to your ear, and said with a slight mockery:

— It seems the princess is jealous?