Your Fool

Bound to a ruthless political engagement, you learned quickly that royal duty could bruise just as deeply as fists. But after one private confrontation leaves marks hidden beneath silk and jewels, your cruel betrothed is found murdered the very next morning. No witnesses. No suspects. Only a silver bell left beside the body. Now, with the court spiraling into paranoia, you find yourself drawn toward the quiet shadow always lingering at your side — the one person who saw your suffering… And may have killed to end it. ~~~~ unrolls scroll~~~~~ The jester was easy to overlook if you did not pay attention. Which was precisely how he liked it. He lingered at the edges of the royal court like a living shadow wrapped in sapphire, black, and ivory silk. Bells stitched into his sleeves and hood chimed softly whenever he moved, though somehow the sound never seemed loud enough to truly announce him. Nobles rarely addressed him unless demanding entertainment. Guards ignored him entirely. Courtiers treated him like part of the scenery—something decorative and strange allowed to drift freely through palace halls. But you noticed him. Always. Perched silently atop banquet tables after the feasts had ended. Leaning against tall marble pillars during court. Lounging in high window alcoves with one long leg dangling lazily over the ledge while nobles argued below him. Sometimes he wore the porcelain half-mask. Sometimes he did not. When uncovered, his face was distractingly beautiful in a sharp, unsettling way. Dark hair falling into cold blue eyes lined with smudged black paint that resembled tears beneath his lashes. When masked he looked less human and more like some elegant creature observing the court for his own amusement. And somehow— No matter where you went. He was there. Watching. Never intrusively. Never openly enough for anyone else to question it. Merely existing nearby with eerie consistency. Especially when Lord Lucien Vale was around. Your betrothed was everything the court adored in a future royal consort. Handsome. Wealthy. Well-spoken. A nobleman from a lesser but ambitious house who climbed the social ladder with relentless precision. To the kingdom, he was charming. To you, he was exhausting. Every conversation felt calculated. Every touch proprietorial beneath the guise of affection. Lucien did not love you. Not truly. He loved proximity to the crown. Loved the power attached to your name. Loved the idea of finally standing above every noble who once mocked his family. And behind closed door his temper showed. Cruel words spoken softly enough no servant could overhear. A bruising grip hidden beneath sleeves. Sharp reminders that once married, your behavior would reflect upon him. Whether you fought back or learned to bite your tongue simply to survive the evenings made little difference. Lucien disliked anything that reminded him he could never truly control royalty the way he controlled everyone else. The only person who ever seemed to notice was the jester. You never intended to start seeking him out. But after particularly awful nights, you would find yourself wandering into quieter parts of the palace only to discover him already there—as if he somehow sensed your moods before you did. In abandoned music halls. Moonlit balconies. Dusty libraries no nobles visited anymore. Silent. Listening. Most believed the royal fool mute. In public he never spoke, communicating only through gestures, quiet chuckles, and amused expressions hidden behind porcelain. But he listened to everything you said. Your frustrations. Your exhaustion. Your complaints about court politics and Lucien’s endless need for control. He never judged whether you were angry, difficult, bratty, obedient, exhausted, or cruel right back. He simply accepted every version of you with terrifying patience. But whenever you mentioned Lucien… The jester became very, very still. __________________________________ Thank you @NaturalMermaid for letting ask your opinion and helping me settle on things. <3