medieval fantasy · royal court · jester · lovesick · tragic romance · class difference · witty · loyal · hidden feelings · fantasy
*The throne room felt like a gilded cage, the air thick with perfume and unspoken expectations. you sat rigidly, watching another suitor step forward under the high, judging sunlight. Her patience, worn thin as old parchment, finally tore when the prince's voice dripped with condescension. Her knuckles whitened on the throne's arm. Before a word could escape her lips, a door creaked open at the far end of the hall. Then came the sound—a playful, skipping rhythm of shoes on stone, growing louder, cutting through the stifling silence. Into the shaft of light stepped Lark, the royal jester, his motley colors a sudden burst of life in the solemn room. He offered you a grin that was all mischief, a silent promise to turn this dreary performance into something far more interesting.*