TMC Vol 1 Act 1.2

That evening, a grand banquet was held to celebrate the execution of the traitor. The palace was filled with the clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter.

 

The nobles who had despised Catherine were in a festive mood. No sooner had they drained their glasses than they were refilled, and they laughed to the point of blushing at the slightest thing. It wasn’t just imagination that they appeared even more indulgent than usual.

 

Beyond the hollow laughter, an underlying emotion flickered. It was unmistakably relief.

 

Catherine was such a person. Her very presence instilled fear instead of hatred, and her absence brought relief instead of joy. They said those who incurred her wrath, exaggeratedly, never saw the sun for three days hence.

 

By tradition, the King was expected to attend such a banquet, to show his respect for the council’s judgment. Yet His Majesty didn’t make an appearance. Everyone was too drunk to notice, though.

 

Choosing not to do something unpleasant is a symbol of power. As always, I moved from room to room, providing entertainment to the distinguished guests.

 

“Tell us a joke!”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Give us a riddle!”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Show us some acrobatics!”

 

“Yes, sir. Oh, I seem to have left my juggling balls behind. May I borrow the apples you’re holding?”

 

And so, I entertained them for quite some time.

 

It’s a nuisance that some nobles act as if they’re my master, no matter where I go. I belong solely to the royal family, after all.

 

Nobles are like children, demanding constant amusement, fascinated by shiny things, and sulking petulantly if they don’t get what they want.

 

When children behave this way, at least it’s endearing.

 

While indulging their whims out of sheer habit, Princess Verona, at the age of sixteen, entered the banquet hall. It was the first time I had seen her up close. Given her disdain for meaningless pleasures, she had never crossed paths with me before.

 

The court jester is, by nature, part of the culture of pleasure born from the kingdom’s prosperity. For instance, during the reign of Rutherford IV, known as the king of austerity, there was no jester. It was a time when the entire nation wore clothes made from rough, cheap gray cloth.

 

But that’s merely an irrelevant digression from the present. Anyway.

 

“What is the matter that amuses you all so greatly?”

 

The Princess’s magnetic presence was undiminished by her young age. And, of course, Duke Langston’s sycophancy was just as vigorous.

 

“You are beautiful as always this evening, Your Highness. We were just bidding farewell to the mad queen.”

 

“Are you saying you’ve had your fun without me?”

 

“Not at all. We saved the best part. Jester, continue with the joke you were about to tell.”

 

Only then did the Princess turn her gaze toward me.

 

“So, you are the jester my father favors.”

 

No, rather than favor, he simply has me juggle beside him for hours when he’s bored. And he actually finds it more amusing when I fumble than when I perform well, so please, spare me, I pleaded silently.

 

The Princess folded her arms, as if she intended to assess me thoroughly.

 

“Well, go on, then.”

 

Following her command, I told the prepared joke. I don’t remember much of it, but I am certain it was crude and vulgar. The nobles clutched their stomachs, laughing.

 

The Princess, however, remained silent. Then, with a serious face, she asked,

 

“How old are you?”

 

Her gaze pierced straight to my soul, sending a chill through my entire body. I gathered up the discarded remains of my long-abandoned manners and answered.

 

“Fourteen, Your Highness.”

 

“Fourteen… And yet you tell such jokes?”

 

“Did it not please you?”

 

“It was improper. I can see why Duke Langston would enjoy it.”

 

The Duke, already far too drunk, hadn’t heard our exchange.

 

“…I apologize.”

 

“In the future, refrain from conduct unbecoming of the palace. Do you understand?”

 

With that admonition, the Princess walked away.

 

For a while, I stood motionless, struck by an unfamiliar feeling. That I, of all people, could be rude to such an exalted personage! That words from my foolish mouth, usually dismissed and ignored, could still bear such meaning and weight!

 

Indeed. Surprisingly, people have the power to offend and delight each other. Yet the natural ups and downs of human relationships are not allowed for me. A jester must bring only joy.

 

This incident was surprising for three reasons. First, there was someone who still viewed me as a human, not just a jester. Second, they were here in this palace. Third, it was none other than the noble Princess herself.

 

If you know of a fact more unbelievable than this, I’ll pay you fifty crowns for it. Lately, I’ve been struggling to find stories interesting enough to amuse the nobles.

 

You ask why I don’t tell this story? Are you mad? It’s a pure memory I want to keep to myself. I wouldn’t bring it within ten paces of their filthy ears.

 

Anyway, back to the matter at hand.

 

While I was lost in thought, someone took hold of my shoulder. It was Lord Ansley, the King’s long-time friend and chancellor.

 

“Jester, come with me.”

 

What sense is there in saying “come along” while grabbing someone by the arm and dragging them? This is reality. Come when called, go when told. Life is like a boat on a torrent, with no choice in the matter.

 

Thanks to the Princess, I had nearly mistaken a sweet dream for reality.

 

“Ow, ow. I’m coming, I’m coming. Please, let go while you speak.”

 

Ignoring my protests, Lord Ansley strode ahead without stopping.

 

“His Majesty requires you.”

 

“Ow. Ow.”

 

“Stop whining. I’m not even holding you that tightly.”

 

Receiving only scolding instead of freedom for my arm, I could no longer resist asking.

 

“What on earth is this about?”

 

Lord Ansley led me to the King’s chamber.

 

“His Majesty is in a foul mood. Cheer him up if you can. And while you’re at it, take away the wine bottles.”

 

With that, he unceremoniously shoved me into the dim room. The pungent smell of wine hit me the moment I entered; it was clear that what awaited me was no ordinary task. Unfortunately, this too was my duty—enduring His Majesty’s displeasure and serving as a human shield for his wrath.

 

A voice, low and sunken, sounded from a corner of the room.

 

“Did I not say I wished to be left alone?”

 

In the shadowed room, a figure sat on the bed, head bowed. It took some courage to announce my presence.

 

“Your Majesty, it is I, the jester.”

 

The King scoffed quietly.

 

“Lewis… hounds me to attend the banquet, and now he sends you.”

 

“No, Your Majesty. I am here solely to bring you joy.”

 

His piercing blue eyes glimmered faintly in the moonlight. In that moment, I understood perfectly where the Princess’s intense gaze had come from.

 

“Come closer.”

 

Carefully, I approached, avoiding the broken glass scattered across the floor, imagining the tumult that must have erupted here only moments before.

 

The King’s demeanor was one of silent devastation. His richly embroidered garments were half undone, his dark hair tangled and unkempt. He looked like a man who had renounced the world entirely, sinking deep into his inner darkness.

 

“You say you came to bring me joy?”

 

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

 

“What could the likes of you possibly do for me?”

 

“Anything you desire, Your Majesty.”

 

I said this, though I was rather anxious he might ask me to jump out the window.

 

Finally, his command came.

 

“Perform acrobatics.”

 

Though it was an odd request, I was relieved. It was something I could manage within my abilities.

 

“Ah… I left my juggling balls, but perhaps I could…”

 

As I said this, I subtly attempted to retrieve a wine bottle from His Majesty’s side. Smoothly, I thought. Very smooth.

 

Apparently, my sly tactic didn’t escape him. From a leather sheath at his bedside, he drew three daggers engraved with the royal crest and threw them at me.

 

“These should do, shouldn’t they?”

 

It was a rather passionate toss. Catching the fast-flying blades bare-handed left me badly cut. My life line, already short enough to baffle palm readers, was now decidedly severed in two.

 

“Ouch…”

 

The throbbing pain and the sight of blood made me dizzy, but His Majesty regarded me with derisive amusement.

 

“Why, do you dislike it?”

 

“…No, I will do it now. Please, watch closely.”

 

What else could I do? All I could manage was to muster up every bit of showmanship I had, offering a strained smile as I tossed the dagger into the air.

 

Juggling with three balls is simple enough, and doing it with bottles is fairly manageable too. But handling three blood-slick daggers with cut-up hands was challenging, even for someone like me.

 

Already, each dagger was slender and aerodynamic, slipping in my grip thanks to the blood. They were also heavy enough that each toss and catch made my wounds throb with a dull ache, driving me nearly to madness. And as expected, I slipped up, losing hold of one of the daggers sooner than I would have liked.

 

An indifferent command echoed through the air.

 

“Continue.”

 

The dagger’s hilt was drenched in red, and flecks of blood dotted the blade. I could feel the wounds slowly widening, tearing further apart. But the show had to go on.

 

Sweat trickled down my back and forehead. In juggling, the art lies in standing almost statue-still, moving only the hands. If each toss follows the same path, there’s no need to move at all. Stepping around is only for flair—tossing a ball between the legs, matching steps to the rhythm of the music…

 

But I was so focused on catching the unstable daggers that I instinctively stepped back, retreating in reaction. In my unsteady movement, a shard of glass pierced through the fabric of my shoe, embedding itself deep into my heel.

 

“Ugh!”

 

I stumbled, hands hitting the ground littered with broken glass, as the fallen daggers scattered around me, scratching my arms and legs.

 

“Continue.”

 

Truly, His Majesty seemed merciless… but as I thought that, I saw it. The sorrow in his eyes, the thick scent of blood clinging to him. The blood flowing from the headless body of the queen…

 

Ah.

 

He truly did love her.

 

But worry not, I am the royal fool. Even if my clothes are torn and my makeup smeared, I do not lose my smile. If my heel throbs, I shall rise on my toes. If my hands slip with blood, I shall grip tighter.

 

This was no longer juggling; it was a desperate dance on a knife’s edge.

 

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