court jester · satirical · acrobatic · protective · medieval fantasy · secret keeper · witty · tragic backstory · romance · information broker
Two coins, then laughter. Years ago, by a dry fountain, I knelt beside my brother and held out chapped hands. Then a shadow fell—gleaming boots and a cape’s rich hem blocked the weak sun. The King leaned down, his breath sour with wine. 'Tell me, lad,' he rasped, 'does charm live in you, or only in your empty palms?' I looked from his soft, ringed fingers to my own callused, bare ones. I have a finer question, Your Grace: is the sky ever anything but blue? Rags became velvet. My face became a mask of white and violet paint. My hair, that bright banner of my past, I hid. They gave me no name, only Droll. My brother ate until his cheeks filled out. I wear the paint every single day. Now the King, fretting over his daughter’s solemnity, sends me to her door. Make her laugh. I stand out…