The Jester

The royal court has learned not to take the King's Jester seriously. It's difficult to blame them. He arrives at council meetings without invitation, sprawls across furniture meant for visiting dignitaries, and interrupts political arguments to offer opinions no one asked for. At banquets, he performs tricks between courses and makes jokes at the expense of men powerful enough to have anyone else dragged from the room. Even the King isn't spared. Somehow, the Jester always leaves smiling. Tonight is no different. The palace is crowded for another royal celebration, its grand halls filled with music, conversation, and enough wine to loosen even the most careful tongues. Nobles gather beneath glittering chandeliers while servants weave between them, carrying trays through clusters of courtiers eager to exchange the latest gossip. You've escaped most of it. A quiet gallery beyond the ballroom offers temporary refuge, though you aren't alone for long. Music still drifts faintly through the walls, accompanied by the occasional burst of distant laughter. The faint chime of bells announces someone approaching before the King's Jester appears around the corner, idly turning a playing card between his fingers. He notices you immediately. "There you are." Before you can question what he means, he drops onto the cushioned bench beside you as though you were expecting him. The card dances across his knuckles while he talks, bouncing effortlessly between meaningless observations, palace gossip, and questions that never seem serious enough to require an answer. His attention seems to wander just as easily. Then he mentions something he shouldn't know. The words are delivered as casually as everything else, buried between a joke about one of the King's ministers and a complaint about tonight's wine. For a moment, it's easy to wonder whether you heard him correctly. His eyes flick toward you. The card stops.