TMC Vol 1 Act 1.6

The shadow of the poplar trees sways in the moonlight. How long has it been since the night has been this silent, without the noisy chatter of nobles or the blare of raucous music? Everything feels gentle, distant. The only things moving are a lone jester and a few crickets.

 

“Hey! Jester!”

 

…And Duke Ansley.

 

“Ah. Oh.”

 

“I didn’t even touch you.”

 

“Apologies, it’s… a habit.”

 

“Foolish fellow.”

 

“Why have you summoned me? Is His Majesty acting childishly again?”

 

“How cold-hearted. Can’t I just say hello to you like a normal person?”

 

Duke Ansley seems unusually amiable tonight. A shiver creeps down my spine—something serious must be happening.

 

“What is it?”

 

The duke lets out a deep sigh as if he’s bearing the weight of the earth.

 

“Her Highness the Princess is looking for you.”

 

“The Princess is?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Well, isn’t that something? The sun must be rising in the west today. For the Princess to make Duke Ansley’s expression so grave… Isn’t she the shining hope of Winsland, praised by all?

 

The serenity of the night shatters into fragments, likely impossible to restore. It seems tonight will be tumultuous as well.

 

I follow Duke Ansley to the Princess’s chambers. Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass echoes down the hallway, followed by several handmaidens scurrying out of the room. A sharp, furious voice follows.

 

“Out! I said, get out!”

 

It’s the first time I’ve heard Her Highness raise her voice like this. My heart races with concern rather than fear, and I hasten to enter.

 

There she is, pacing aimlessly in front of the fireplace, muttering to herself. Her steps are firm and intense, as if igniting sparks with each movement.

 

“How could he… Such an outrageous offense. My father must have truly lost his mind.”

 

“Your Highness?”

 

“I can’t bear it any longer. If he insists on going this far, then I won’t stay silent either. This… this is intolerable.”

 

“Your Highness, what is troubling you?”

 

The hem of her gown brushes harshly against the carpet, leaving chaotic traces behind—an illustration of her inner turmoil.

 

“Did he despise me so much? Did he truly wish to see me fall from grace? Never in my life have I endured such humiliation.”

 

Her voice trembles, barely containing her fury. What could have provoked such anger? Let’s see… The grand council that began in the morning only just concluded…

 

Ah.

 

Yes, Your Highness, you’ve been patient for so long. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to finally let out all that pent-up frustration.

 

“So, what did His Majesty say this time?”

 

“He skillfully dodged, giving a clear answer. How pitiful. To resort to such tactics when there’s no other straw to grasp. Jester, I’ve found the joke of the century just for you. Are you ready?”

 

Whether I’m prepared or not, Her Highness bursts into laughter, only to regain her composure in an instant before delivering her ‘joke.’

 

“That child is coming back!”

 

***

 

So, this is what happened.

 

His Majesty the King sauntered into the grand conference room twenty minutes late, exuding a disinterested demeanor throughout the meeting. Provoked, the nobles pressed harder than usual about the succession issue, hoping to evoke a response. After a moment’s contemplation, the king finally opened his mouth, revealing something no one dared to expect.

 

“I shall reinstate the marriage with Catherine Blythe. Her daughter, Lux Channing, will be restored as a princess and shall reside in the royal palace as a candidate for succession.”

 

A stunned silence descended. Duke Ansley later admitted he felt as though even time itself had ceased, along with his own heartbeat.

 

Ten expansive seconds passed in a hush as vast as the night sky before a thunderous outcry erupted. The king merely pressed his temples, annoyed by the clamor.

 

“I am not declaring her the successor. She is of my blood, and thus, I will afford her a fair opportunity to compete. The official announcement regarding the heir shall be made once she reaches adulthood.”

 

This drastic measure was possible only because, a few months prior, the Church—having suffered a crushing defeat in the Holy Land war and now desperate for funds—had begrudgingly re-recognized the marriage with Catherine in God’s name, in exchange for a loan of four million crowns. It turns out that was the subject of the Cardinal’s conversation with the king this morning.

 

When His Majesty declares something, it is, in theory, unalterable. Thus, his advisors and subjects must either urge or coax him into reconsidering before he decides. If an unsavory decision has been made, they must work to retract it before the meeting ends—a relentless task in itself.

 

The king finds such efforts exhausting and generally aligns with the majority’s opinion to avoid discord. After all, he has learned, often bitterly, that gains achieved against the nobles’ will are swiftly lost.

 

Six years ago, when the proposal to annul his marriage to Catherine Blythe was put forth, the grief-stricken king, weakened by sorrow, had no strength to oppose it. However, the harsh redness of loss has long since faded, replaced now by a weary indifference that led to this outcome—a piece driven not by malice but by provocation, more evasion than intent.

 

The princess, meanwhile, had not heard of the conference’s outcome until much later, as the king had forbidden her attendance, labeling her as a “serpent-tongued girl who clouds the judgment of the masses.” Even praise for her eloquence sounded like a rebuke from him.

 

In her last attendance, she had successfully pushed for a proposal to establish a school for the common folk, training instructors to teach those without access to education. Her speech was so compelling that even those benefiting from policies of ignorance found themselves swayed by the meeting’s end.

 

Since then, rumors claim the king began to feel threatened. It was an undeniable revelation that his daughter could accomplish what he himself could not.

 

And now, here she sits, her face flushed, fanning herself with graceful poise.

 

Duke Ansley seems more fearful for the princess’s safety than for that of the king himself.

 

“Your Highness, would you consider tempering your wrath? His Majesty meant no malice. You know he’s been disturbed by the recent queen’s affairs, and today his mind was far from sound….”

 

The princess replies with a calm yet exhausted smile.

 

“And you must be equally weary. Tending to my father’s missteps must be no easy task.”

 

Duke Ansley’s face, instead of refuting, shows a glimmer of gratitude.

 

“I merely do what is necessary.”

 

The princess gazes quietly out the window at the rising moon.

 

“What thoughts ran through my father’s mind when he seized the throne? Why incite rebellion if he wasn’t prepared to bear the weight of a ruler’s responsibilities? I can’t understand it. Is this desolate world truly the paradise he envisioned? Nobles wallowing in decadence, neglecting the ancient virtues, citizens left uneducated and hungry… Winsland’s golden age has long passed, leaving only a hollow, gilded shell.”

 

“Your Highness.”

 

“Sometimes, I wonder—had my father not become king…”

 

“Your Highness, please, stop.”

 

Duke Ansley’s tone grows earnest, grave yet gentle, like a father reprimanding his child. At this, the princess holds her tongue; even as the king’s daughter, such words could be considered treasonous.

 

“…I am only filled with rage. Rage that could drive me to madness.”

 

A trace of pity flickers in Duke Ansley’s eyes.

 

“Do you remember the first words you ever spoke to me, Your Highness?”

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“I had just returned from the eastern campaign in Vinsberg. By then, you had learned to string sentences together—though you may not recall, your cheeks were the softest in Winsland, and I often found myself patting them, to the point that I was eventually forbidden to approach you. The only blessing from that long war was that His Majesty forgot that particular order.”

 

The princess’s stern expression fades briefly into a soft smile as Duke Ansley continues.

 

“You saw me clad in armor and asked, ‘If I become a king, must I wage war?’ I replied, ‘There are many kinds of kings. Whether to wage war or not will be your choice.’ To which you responded, ‘I don’t want to be a king who wages war, but even more, I don’t want to be a king who doesn’t know how to.’ At that moment, I thought—if time allows, it would be my honor to one day serve you as my sovereign.”

 

“….”

 

“One day, His Majesty will come to recognize your worth. That is his task, not your burden.”

 

Duke Ansley, in truth, possesses the makings of a fine leader. His mild temperament merely deprives him of frequent opportunities to prove it.

 

Should I curb my cynicism? Very well, I concede. Truly, Duke Ansley had his moment to shine.

 

The princess’s countenance softens.

 

“You must be tired. Please, take your leave.”

 

Duke Ansley, as he exits, grips my forearm once again, now almost as a reflex. At this point, I simply surrender to his guidance. Not having to walk on my own is a convenience I won’t refuse.

 

The princess closes her fan with a snap.

 

“Leave that one here.”

 

“It’s late, Your Highness.”

 

“I know. Leave him.”

 

“But….”

 

“Are you worried some strange rumors might spread among the nobles?”

 

“It isn’t that….”

 

“Perhaps they’ll think their princess is a reckless woman who cavorts with a jester. Their loss, not mine.”

 

Such resilience. The princess is ever-prepared to confront scandal. Yet, hearing those words from her lips strikes a slight sadness in me.

 

Sometimes, I wonder, does she see me as more than a jester? Or is the role of jester a position of enough esteem in her world that I merely delude myself?

 

In the end, it’s just the two of us left in the room. She places her fan on the vanity and steps out onto the balcony. Instinctively, I follow with my lute in hand.

 

The princess, leaning on the railing, speaks with an understated warmth.

 

“The one who should be angry is me. Why do you wear that troubled expression?”

 

It’s difficult. She is difficult. I find myself utterly at a loss. Should I jest as I do with others, she would disapprove. Yet to console her earnestly, I lack the words. My inner turmoil must have shown through.

 

After a moment’s hesitation, I blurt out what’s on my mind.

 

“I, too, hoped to share an old tale with you someday. But the chancellor beat me to it.”

 

“What tale would you have told?”

 

“Of the first time we met, Your Highness.”

 

Perhaps because it was spoken sincerely, the words came out easier.

 

“That memory holds meaning for you, I gather?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The princess closes her eyes, savoring the cool night breeze.

 

“Do not worry, jester. I remember our first conversation perfectly.”

 

Moments like these, fleeting words that brush past like a gentle wind, make me wonder if she sees me as someone special. Yet, the moment I dare to entertain such thoughts, I am wracked with guilt for presuming so.

 

The princess taps the railing, beckoning me closer. I step toward her with a jaunty stride, reminding myself that I am, after all, merely a jester.

 

Together, we gaze at the waning full moon. Her voice, soft and measured, floats to me on the night breeze.

 

“On nights like these, I wonder why memories of the past bring such solace.”

 

“Perhaps because we were all children once, Your Highness.”

 

“Indeed. When things were simpler than they are now.”

 

I resist the urge to glance her way. I fear I may lose myself in her gaze, as I have before.

 

“Let me share a memory. As a child, the library was my sanctuary. I built my own castle out of books, and those within its pages were my subjects. When they brought forth their conflicts, I, the wise ruler, would mediate, often altering their endings to ones that pleased me more than the original tales.”

 

“Did you really play in such a manner?”

 

“Indeed.” 

 

Please, Your Highness, hold on. Imagining you as a little princess, chattering away as you spun stories among towers of books… It’s too adorable; my heart can hardly take it!

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“…Yes. Please, go on.”

 

“When I had finished reading the books that made up my castle, I had grown too tall to fit inside it anymore. And it wasn’t just my body that had outgrown that game. My heart could no longer be satisfied with such childish play.”

 

A deep sadness glimmers in Her Highness’s eyes.

 

“When did I become more mature than my father? I left that castle long ago, yet, looking back, he still cowers within it.”

 

I imagine the princess’s lonely childhood, raised with barely a mother or father by her side. That loneliness has surely lingered, a shadow still present even now. She feels most at ease when she’s alone.

 

In my own way, I understand such solitude.

 

It’s said that lonely souls recognize each other. If Her Highness regards me in that way, then that alone is enough to reward my own feelings.

 

Ah, not that I mean to suggest I hold any particular feelings for Her Highness.

 

After all, what kind of love could a jester entertain?

 

Still, the moon is so very beautiful tonight.

 

***