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“So. A new king.”
Clown leaned on the wall next to Rekrap, tilting his head playfully, letting bells signal his arrival.
The general glanced over at him, apprehensive, but trusting. Too trusting. Clown wouldn’t make him regret it. Not today.
“Last I heard.” Rekrap smiled, too easily, just edging into insincere. “How’d you find out?”
“The last one died in my arms.” Clown deadpanned, and let the tension build for a second, before cracking a smile, behind his mask. “Kidding. Jumper told me.”
“Right… why do I feel like you’re lying?”
“Probably because I haven’t seen Jumper since last summer.” Clown shrugged, swinging wildly between flat out lying and mockery. “I have my ways, Rekrap. And I’m getting the feeling you don’t trust me.”
“Yeah, no shit. Has anyone ever told you you’re not exactly funny?”
Clown raised his eyebrows, reaching up to adjust his jingling hat without a single note of irony.
“They haven’t. In fact, I’ve been told I’m hilarious.”
“Sure. I’ll take your word for it.”
“So. New king?”
Clown repeated his original question, much to Rekrap’s obvious displeasure. These general types always thought they were too good for the jester. They didn’t know how much blood this costume hid.
“His name’s Branzy. Some long-lost relative, or something.” Rekrap sighed, looking around like he was nervous. “He’s nice. I used to know him. There’s… not many people left to fight him for it.”
Clown would have fought for it. But that wasn’t something he was inclined to share with someone like Rekrap, and besides, it was a long term plan. Whoever this Branzy was, Clown imagined he could carry on with him exactly as he had the last king. Manipulatively.
“You didn’t consider it? King Rekrap has a nice ring, don’t you think?”
“Ha.” Rekrap rolled his eyes, smiling reluctantly at the sheer unlikeliness of that on. “You wish. Get me overthrown, finally get me out of your way. I see your plans, Clown.”
It had been a long shot. But that was Clown. Always trying to sow discontent, even if he was rarely out of the spotlight.
“Alright. Deepest apologies, my general. Haven’t you got a war to fight?”
Rekrap’s expression flickered, and there was real frustration in his eyes as he glared at Clown.
“The war’s over. Not that you’d know, always jingling around here.”
“Hey, I could have helped you guys. That turning point strategy? Way off. If you don’t mind me saying.”
Clown always pushed it a bit too far with Rekrap. He didn’t know why. Maybe because he was a nice enough person there was no risk of overly insulting him.
“I mind. And I think you’d better go meet the king, Clown, before someone else tells him about you first.”
Scowling, Rekrap stormed off, armour clinking as he went. Clown smirked after him, not stooping to his level to yell just for the sake of a parting blow.
That had been informative, if nothing else. Strange, to not have the castle in uproar after another change in hands of the crown. Maybe they were all just happy to have stability.
Also, Rekrap may have made a good suggestion. Impressive, from him.
Humming, Clown wandered down the corridor, letting the sound of bells announce his presence, despite his silent footsteps. It was a military song, he was fairly sure, since they all were right now. He liked them. Upbeat, in a morbid sort of way.
There was a feeling in the air, just after a big war. Something electric, something simmering, like an ember ready to burst into flame again. But for now, it was quiet. Too quiet. It made his bells sound too loud, in the almost empty corridor.
Clown didn’t knock on the door to the throne room. Instead, he turned off the corridor entirely, heading for a narrow servant’s staircase for maintenance.
He ascended the ladder emotionlessly, gloved hand tightening on each rung after the other. He was listening, closely, through the thin wall.
“So… I get all of this?”
“Yep. It’s all yours.”
“Wow. That- that’s a lot. To take in.”
“Hey, you’ve got me too. And everyone else.”
Clown rolled his eyes, pulling himself through into the small, empty corridor that lead into the throne room’s rafters. Hello, Kaboodle. Of course she’d gotten here first.
Then again, of everyone, he’d prefer it to be her. Perhaps not a better general than Rekrap, but she was capable, and she was good when it came to people. Also, she’d probably mention him in a good light. Which would be appreciated, given how Clown was about to make his entrance.
He slid through the small passage, barely a metre long, designed or carved out as a hole through the wall, either from a decades-ago assassination attempt, or some strange servants’ access. Either way, it worked for him.
Clown sat there for a moment, crouched on one knee, one hand bracing himself against a rafter as he looked down on the two of them. Actually- three. There were three of them.
Kaboodle, of course, with her witch-dyed hair studded with metal, and the armour she only wore for the aesthetics, around the castle. A maid, one Clown hadn’t seen before, standing a little too close for them to be treating her as staff.
And, of course, Branzy. Wearing a crown he kept adjusting nervously, fingers running over the gold and rubies and emeralds that didn’t suit him in the slightest, in Clown’s professional opinion. He’d likely say as much. But there were other things to comment on too, and Clown knew how valuable it was to see how someone acted when their guard was down.
Branzy had violet eyes, the same as their last ruler. That would be how he was here uncontested, Clown imagined. His hair was a pure white, slightly wavy, and he kept running his hands through it nervously. His clothes betrayed that he’d hardly come from hardship, but the tremor in his hands suggested there might be more to him than a royal aristocrat.
As a bonus, he was a lot more attractive than their last king. Clown could feel himself smiling, watching Branzy lean over, looking up at Kaboodle nervously as he picked up a map, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. Flirting had always been his second favourite tactic of manipulation. After threats of violence.
On that note. He’d been up here long enough. Clown scanned the room again, noting two guards, who were never fond of him.
Then he caught the maid’s eye. One of hers was scarred, looking half a rose and half a burn. She froze. Opened her mouth, as Clown tilted his head, a soft warning. She closed her mouth again, and nodded, with the barest hint of a smile.
Kaboodle wouldn’t be so generous. Clown climbed down to perch on the ornate doorframe, griping the edge as he pinpointed the best landing spot.
Then he leapt down, landing smoothly to hit Kaboodle lightly around the head, and walk over to Branzy like he owned the place. He did.
Kaboodle hissed, rubbing her ear, but her expression softened when she saw him, and she rolled her eyes with a smirk.
“…And this is Clown, Branzy. He’s an asshole.”
“I’m her brother.” Clown kept his voice smooth, laying on the charm as he addressed Branzy with the full force of his direct and undivided attention. “And your jester. Nice to meet you.”
Clown held out his hand, head cocked in something between a challenge and submission. Branzy had power here. He wouldn’t undermine it, not just yet. He’d let him get comfortable first.
Branzy took it, smiling slightly, and something in Clown’s mind switched, without warning.
In a matter of moments, Clown yanked the king closer, one foot kicking his legs out from under him, and his other arm catching Branzy smoothly around his shoulders.
“Clown!” Kaboodle was trying not to laugh, but there was genuine alarm in her voice. “What the hell are you doing?”
Clown didn’t look at her. Just stared down at his new king, smiling behind his mask, watching quite a variety of emotions play through Branzy’s eyes.
“You- you can let go. Please.” Branzy’s eyes didn’t leave him, and he didn’t make any attempt to twist out of Clown’s almost dancing-hold.
Nodding like this was standard, Clown set Branzy easily back on his feet, giving Kaboodle a wolfish grin she could sense even through his mask. She rolled her eyes at him back, but there was approval in her eyes, along with worry. She should know Clown could get away with far worse than that.
“Uh- cool.” Branzy nodded, still staring at Clown in something approaching wonder, and occasionally glancing to Kaboodle, and the maid. “This- this place is weird.”
“Nah. Just Clown.”
Clown tilted his head, an acceptance of Kaboodle’s teasing, standing directly next to Branzy. Just a little too close to be innocent, but not actively touching him. Personal space was always a fun thing to play with.
“R- right.” Branzy’s cheeks were slightly pink, as he shot Clown another glance. “Wh- what does he- do?”
“Remind you you’re human.” Clown grinned, cracking his knuckles idly. “Tell you how to run this place.”
“In any other kingdom, he’d do juggling and make real jokes.” Kaboodle glared at him with a mixture of affectionate frustration and grudging pride. “Around here, Leo’s scared of him.”
“Hey, me and Leo are friends. I let him use my axes.”
“Why- oh, spirits, why am I asking- why do- do you have axes?”
Branzy’s blush was going nowhere, and he seemed to be getting more and more flustered as Clown patted his shoulder reassuringly.
“Recreationally. What were you two talking about?”
“Showing him the ropes. If you want to take over, though, I’ve got some friends to meet.” Kaboodle glanced over her shoulder, grinning in that way she did when she was doing Clown a favour. “Or I could drag Ash over.”
Clown bristled, and moved his hand away before he dug his fingers into Branzy’s shoulder.
“I can handle it. Ashswagg can barely run trade relations as it is, let’s not stress him with something important.”
“Uh- who’s Ash?”
Branzy sounded almost faint, and Kaboodle gave him a pitying look.
“Trading. Him and Red handle diplomacy.”
“Oh… great… H- how much more do I need to know?”
“Quite a lot.” Clown gave Kaboodle a look, questioning if she was really going to trust him alone. “I’m happy to teach you.”
It was Kaboodle. Of course she trusted him. Skipping around the table, she gave Clown a brief hug, and both of them a bright smile, then hurried off.
“Good luck, boys!”
Then she was gone, and Clown scanned the room again, noting the maid vanishing into another servant’s exit.
“So…” Branzy laughed, awkwardly, eyes flickering from Clown to the table. “Wh- what have you got to- to teach me?”
“Hm… depends what you want to hear.” Clown drew away from him, circling with one hand running across the edge of the table. “I could tell you what you want to hear. I could tell you what I want you to hear. I could tell you what you won’t hear from anyone else. Your choice, Branzy.”
“All of it?”
Clown looked up, fingers resting on the varnished wood, directly opposite his king. Branzy smiled nervously, looking every inch a scared rabbit in a hunter’s sight.
“…Alright. You’re one of the smart ones, aren’t you, Branzy?”
“I- I think so? Maybe?”
He was almost too easy.
“So why would you consider trusting a word I say?”
Branzy’s eyes widened, and he took half a step back, wavering like he wasn’t sure whether to run or plead.
“W- wait, Kab- Kab trusted you. You can’t-“
“Relax. Not armed.” Clown raised his hands, even if that proved nothing. “And I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Branzy should call him on that. Such a prosaic, powerful statement, with nothing behind it but unfounded trust. He didn’t know it was true. He didn’t know that Clown had one rule, and that was that he didn’t hurt his regent. Or his sister, but that was for different reasons.
Instead, Branzy stared him, then let out a soft breath, and nodded in relief.
“Ok. I- I’ll trust you.”
Clown faltered, for half a moment. Branzy wasn’t meant to do that. No one was meant to do that.
Fresh blood, indeed.
Clown smiled, and nodded, dipping his head almost into a bow.
“Good choice, my liege.”
——————
To the outside world, Clown seemed bored.
After all, everyone here would expect him to be bored. A knighting ceremony, no room for him to mock or meddle or cause mischief. Just sat beside his king like a trained dog, fulfilling the most superficial of his duties.
But Clown could entertain himself. He’d already been doing small things, partially to get on Branzy’s nerves, partially for his own reasons. Shifting, to perch on the arm of his king’s throne, heeled boots swinging against the ornate side. Scanning the crowd for potential threats, while all they saw was a masked jester looking more like a sentry beside his king.
He’d only found one so far, much to his disappointment. The guards knew about them too, and were on high alert accordingly, so Clown wouldn’t even have a shot at the action. Very boring.
Branzy didn’t know about that, of course. It had been a few months, and his king was still getting settled. Definitely not experienced enough for Clown to hand him the reins entirely. He was taking it slowly, slipping into the power vacuums Branzy hadn’t had time to fill, smoothly taking over in their new king’s name.
The annoying part, of all his manipulation and plans coming together, was that for the first time, Clown didn’t want to hold on to it.
For as long as he could remember, he’d been the villain of his kingdom’s story. The poisonous, saccharine voice in his regent’s ear, guiding them to act as his hand. He’d been good at it. Clown had orchestrated the battle that had won them almost double their original territory, single-handedly resolved countless uprisings. He wasn’t trying to destroy his own livelihood. Just... control it.
And now, with Branzy, he’d had his golden opportunity. Someone inexperienced, more trusting than his last king had been, more naive than the nobles who always held him back. Clown could have sunk his claws in weeks ago, cut Branzy off from his generals and advisors, truly taken the control he’d been gathering.
Instead, Clown was almost disappointed to say that he’d been more genuinely helpful than he had been to the last king in years.
Look. It was something about Branzy. The way his eyes lit up when Clown explained their diplomatic ties, from across a war table his generals should have been sat at, if Branzy hadn’t specifically requested his jester explain battle to him. The now half a dozen times Clown had found himself dragged from his chambers, only to find Branzy smiling sheepishly, asking for help on some obscure legislation. His genuine delight at Clown’s expertise, the way he never once let on anything less than unwavering trust.
Clown was sure it was an act. Branzy was smart. Smarter than anyone he’d seen in this court for a long time, and what he lacked in regency experience, he made up for with an uncanny ability to read people. There was no way his regent didn’t see the strings Clown pulled, the ones he had wrapped around Branzy’s neck already.
He just… didn’t seem to care. He’d catch Clown quietly reading through letters he had no right to see, smile, and walk on, whistling like he hadn’t seen a thing.
Either Branzy was the most blind, trusting and idiotic regent this kingdom had ever seen, or he was almost otherworldly in his innate intelligence. Clown had found himself playing along, despite his better judgement, slipping into someone else’s tune for the first time in a long time. Branzy had methods.
He let Clown keep his control, in return for transparency. He handled the people, he protected Clown from nobles’ poisonous words, as long as Clown never worked directly against him. And he’d fall in beside Clown, as soon as he understood what the latest power play was, letting himself be guided in a dance Clown controlled the steps of.
It was remarkably, terrifyingly effective.
And it was working. Clown’s own ego was unsurprised to see the steady stream of positive reports, growth and good harvests across the kingdom. But more than that, the court had never been more aligned with each other. Clown had never willingly shared this much with his regent, and didn’t feel like he was talking down to a foolish maggot.
Somehow, Branzy made everything work. As easy as breathing, the people came to him with their concerns, he gave Clown the facts, Clown would map out an appropriate solution, and Branzy would pass it back to the relevant authorities, after a quick vetting.
It most certainly wasn’t what a jester was supposed to do. Sometimes, Clown wondered if Branzy knew that. Knew how much power he’d given the one person in his court who didn’t have to bow to him. But sometimes, he caught himself in positions like this, and wondered if he was the one being manipulated. Conditioned into telling Branzy everything through puppyish smiles and small touches of gratitude.
Honestly, he didn’t care. Everything in his life had suddenly started working a hundred times more smoothly, and Branzy was hardly even a price to pay. More of a bonus, really.
Clown liked Branzy. Enough to swing his legs over the arm of the throne, sliding easily into his king’s lap like anyone else in this room would have been killed for doing.
As it was, Branzy reacted on instinct. He adjusted how he was sitting, and one hand trailed through Clown’s hair, carefully avoiding his mask. He didn’t even flinch.
And, really, that was real power. Clown hardly needed to manipulate him at all, when it was easier and so much more effective to give his king what they both wanted. The feeling of assembled nobles’ eyes fixed on him like a rabid dog they wanted nowhere near their meal ticket, and the feeling of Branzy’s heartbeat where no one else should be able to feel it.
“Clown…” Branzy trailed one hand up his hip, voice soft and shameless in front of the gathered crowd. “I need to get up.”
Clown huffed. Honestly. Couldn’t he humiliate his king in peace?
Grudgingly, he rolled out of Branzy’s lap, landing neatly on his feet and wandering off to the side of the hall without glancing at anyone else. He passed Rekrap, one of the few people aside from him who Branzy bothered to listen to, and gave a friendly nod.
As Clown started climbing the wall with ease, he heard Branzy start talking behind him, some rambling speech about thanking people for their loyalty and fealty. He’d written it himself, and everything. Clown was so proud.
Rekrap’s eyes followed him for a moment, before Clown heard a quiet scoff, and the general gave up watching him. Good plan. Clown carried on climbing, swinging his whole bodyweight around and onto the ledge around the roof.
Branzy always enjoyed watching him do this. Clown had never heard the regent say as much, but it was evident in his wide eyes and disbelieving smile. Rekrap could do similar, but Clown knew this castle inside and out.
Once in the rafters, Clown got to his feet, walking carefully across with utmost concentration on both his feet, and the murmuring voices of those that hadn’t been watching him below.
He paused, halfway across one, and crouched to listen closer.
Leo, by the sounds of it, audibly complaining about something to someone who would probably be anywhere rather than here, listening to him. Clown should put them out of their misery.
Clown sat down on the wooden beam, and pushed himself off smoothly, catching a candle-holder halfway down and jumping down from there.
He landed directly next to Leo, who visibly flinched, eyes narrowing.
“Clown.”
“Hello, Leo.”
Leo stared at him for a moment. The poor, rookie guard he’d been rambling to returned their attention to the front of the hall, where Branzy was still giving some prosaic speech about loyalty. Clown stared back evenly, resolutely not acknowledging the four inches of height between them. It was less than it would be without his boots.
“Fine.” Rolling his eyes, Leo turned away, actually adopting proper posture as Clown nodded in approval.
“Good choice. Wouldn’t want to look more unprofessional than usual.”
Leo shot him a dirty look, but Clown cheerfully relieved him of his halberd and walked off, humming under his breath.
He stationed himself at the wall in line with Branzy, leaning against the stone and running a gloved finger along the sharp edge of the blade.
If this was what it felt like to be the one being manipulated, Clown had never felt freer in his life.
——————
“You’ve been-“
“Sent for, yes, I guessed.” Clown rolled his eyes, standing up from his desk. “You can go.”
The maid nodded, and hurried away, probably gone to tell Branzy he was coming. Ivory. Clown had learnt her name, after Branzy had been incredibly offended he didn’t already know. Ivory, Branzy’s personal maid, the one person who’d come with him to this castle.
It had taken a while, for Clown to coax real details out of Branzy. For the first few months, all he’d been concerned with was keeping the kingdom running, holding onto his own status and control, and making sure Branzy didn’t kill him or himself with idiocy.
But things changed. They were a year into a new reign, Branzy had learnt how to handle a nation that expected nothing less than invulnerability, and Clown was learning to trust.
He was also learning that his unorthodox take on the jester position was nothing compared to what Branzy had slyly started to expect of him. Somewhere along the way, Clown had gone from the puppet master in the shadows, to the unsettling bodyguard always by his king’s side, to the sardonic lapdog given too much free rein for anyone’s good, and now…
Well, now Clown was going with whatever tune Branzy played for him.
Picking up the latest gift he’d quietly arranged for his king, Clown slipped out of his quarters, padding down the hardwood edge of the corridor to Branzy’s bedchambers. He’d shown an interest into the technological advancements recently, so Clown had sent for a miniature model of something the creator had called the solar system. Heresy, of course, but anything for his king.
It was things like that. Clown brought Branzy gifts, like a cat laying mice at its owner’s feet. Branzy explained away his presence anywhere Clown decided he wanted to be, from a war council meeting to the kitchens. He didn’t leave the castle. That was one boundary Clown doubted he’d be allowed to push.
Clown didn’t knock. Just let himself into Branzy’s rooms, shutting the door silently behind him. He’d left his boots back in his quarters, and his socks were soundless against the thick rugs.
Before he had time to turn around, Branzy was on him, draping himself across Clown’s shoulders with a whiny sigh.
“Clown… I- I am so tired…”
Clown smiled. This. This was what he’d wanted, in some abstract way, years ago. His regent, pliant and answering only to him. Except those fantasies had only ended with him on a throne of his own, with a kingdom to his name.
Now, Clown had everything he wanted, and the only thing he did with it was turn around, and let Branzy practically collapse onto his shoulder, moaning softly.
Before he did anything else, Clown set his small gift on a side table, to surprise his king with in the morning. Branzy wouldn’t appreciate it right now.
Then, he turned his attention back to the regent slumped with all his weight on Clown’s shoulders.
Maybe this was what people meant, when they ran away to find their purpose. Clown certainly felt like something in him had changed. His mind worked differently, had rewired itself around the regent half asleep in his arms, his thoughts softer.
“Well, you’re lucky you’ve got me, aren’t you?”
Branzy murmured a vague assent, letting Clown sweep him off his feet, and carry him to the giant bed that always seemed too cold.
As he laid his king gently on the plush sheets, Clown smiled to himself. He didn’t know how much of this was him, finally getting what he’d wanted in an unlikely way, and how much was Branzy, with his cheerful refusal to abide by custom, and shameless affection for his favourite people.
Speaking of which, Branzy caught his wrist as Clown dared to pull away, a sleepy possessiveness in his eyes.
“Hey… Ivory said I- I should get you. That means you- you have to stay.”
Clown raised his eyebrows, even if his expression remained hidden behind his mask.
“Did she… well, what do you want from me then, my liege?”
There was the teasing note of mockery that Clown always added, whenever Branzy tried to give him an order. A little conditioning of his own, undercutting any attempts of Branzy to assert authority, a fair payback for the way he now perked up whenever someone touched his hair.
Unfortunately, Branzy was never subtle about expressing what he wanted, and half sat up, glaring with all the aggression of a wet puppy.
“C’mon, Clown…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to himself. “Sit, or- whatever.”
Ah. So they were going that far, tonight. Sometimes Clown would swear he was the only one who cared about their reputation.
Sighing, he climbed onto Branzy’s bed, kneeling with his head cocked in a sardonic impression of a faithful hunting dog. Maybe not that sardonic. Clown was sure, if he had ears, they’d be pricked up.
But Branzy didn’t bother talking to him. Just shuffled closer, and practically dragged Clown into lying down next to him.
Now, Clown could have resisted. Even if Branzy literally lay on top of him, he had muscle mass on his king easily, even if height might be lacking.
But it was Branzy. And it was late at night. And he’d been sent for, by the only other person in this castle who knew Branzy better than he did.
And it was his job, after all. To make his king feel a little more human.
Maybe Clown felt pretty human too, curled beside Branzy, feeling their heartbeats in sync.