Chapter Text
☆*: .｡. C O R A .｡.:*☆
Glasses clinked, drinks and laughter spilling around the long rectangle table. The air smelt especially rich of wasted wine and of roasted meats. The man at the head of the table bellowed in a series of laughter, taking a gigantic bite out of a plump chicken leg sitting on his plate. He slammed his palm against the pale white oak table until wine glasses tipped over, laughing harder than anyone else.
Silverware clinked and clanked with the entirety of the long table roaring in laughter and gossip. The maids stood off to either side of the table, merely whispering of how imbecilic the royal family truly was. Guards stood at the large double doors, straight and upright. The jingle of bells sneaked in through the sound of laughter. The court Jester was mid performance in front of the table, impersonating a nobleman the royal family came to despise. His vibrant clothes and frantic energy were merely a muse. Cora sat close to her father, watching the drunk laughing mess of a king, holler and cry at the jester’s antics. She sat there straightfaced, she didn’t give the Jester that empty royal smile as the others clearly were. Other nobles sat around the table; ladies carried nervous smiles, awkward and practiced, the men would only laugh when the king did.
As the jester took his bow, bells jingling softly as he tilted his head, the room erupted into mixed applause, the loudest cheers in the room came from the King and Queen. Cora just sat there, absentmindedly giving small applause, she was more interested in the sweat that dripped down the jester's face, she felt like his story was a tragedy if anything. She saw him look up, searching the table for pure amusement. His eyes ended up landing on Cora’s, her brown eyes telling a story of pity for him. The Jester seemed to furrow his eyebrows at her expression, but Cora didn’t pull away her gaze. She didn’t give him that sorry smile either. She just looked at him, acknowledging the Jester's story that wasn’t being told.
The jester’s smile was unchanging, but his eyes told a different tale. It was the first time a playful banter sparked between them. And for the first time since he had started his service to the royals, he had forgotten his next act.
After the final act, Cora decided it was her time to make her exit. The adults were getting far too rowdy, their laughter turning jagged with far too much liquor in their systems. Her father’s voice, usually a source of comfort, now sounded a brass horn, loud, repetitive, and demanding an audience she no longer wanted to provide
She slipped away through a side door, the heavy oak muffling the chaos behind her instantly.
The corridors seemed far too wide and almost liminal, stripped of the tapestries and warmth of the main wing. The candlelight was dim, leaving long lazy shadows behind Cora like dark trailing capes. The air was silent as her heels clicked against the cold tile floors, a rhythmic, lonely sound that echoed the heartbeat of the castle itself.
Her gown was simple — as simple as a royal's clothing could be — a dark pearl ruby red dress that faded into a pale silk gray. She ran a hand along the silk, thinking of her mother’s sharp eyes at dinner. The Queen had spent the evening gesturing toward Lord Aris, a man whose personality was as dry as the parchment he owned. To her mother, Cora’s sleeves were a political statement, the fact they hung low against her arms, wispy and off the shoulder was scandalous.
“A princess should be buttoned up,” her mother’s voice rang in her head, “hidden away, awaiting her suitor to unwrap her.”
The thought made the corridor feel even narrower. She wasn’t a gift. She was a person, though the distinction seemed to matter less with every suitor that entered the lavish castle entrance.
Hearing hushed voices from across the hall — the clear, gravelly tone of the Royal Advisor and the clunk of armor — Cora ducked into an archway. She wasn’t in the mood for the awkward interrogation or lecture on why the King’s daughter was wandering the servant corridors at this hour.
Waiting until the footsteps and voices faded, she decided to take the long way through the library. It was the only room in the palace that didn’t feel like it had all eyes on her.
Books littered the desks there, stacks upon stacks of leather bound books leaned and towered. Scholars and nobles working for her father were clearly busy, maps of the borders between kingdoms were pinned to the wooden tables, covered in ink stains and wax seals, war plans disguised as “strategies.”
As she continued her stroll, the noise of someone scuttering about rang through the quiet library. It wasn’t the heavy step of a guard or the frantic pace of a scholar, it seemed to be hesitant.
As she turned the corner, she witnessed the Jester from the dinner sitting at a table. His jingly hat was thrown off to the side, and he was cleaning his face paint off with a rag.
Without his makeup, he looked much younger. His eyes were a deep, dark brown, and his hair an almost raven black. He just looked tired, exhausted even.
“You missed a spot,” Cora said quietly, “over by your ear.”
Without looking up, the jester froze, answering with playful intent behind his words, “Is that an official decree, your highness?”
“Simply an observation,” tensing slightly, she turned over to him fully, walking towards the table he was sitting at. “You looked… different tonight, at dinner.”
He looked over at Cora, his eyes glittery in the candlelight that lingered nearby. “Everyone looks different when they’re paid to perform. Most people just like what they see in me I suppose. But you’re not most people, are you, princess?”
The silence grew between them, but sparks grew as well. The moonlight filtered through the long, high, arched windows, casting long shadows, rolling around the two who were being surrounded in pure candlelight. Cora reached out for the chair in front of him, drawing it out and taking a seat. Somewhere in the dark of the library, a clock ticked away, feasting on the silence.
“Do you ever stop? The bells and jokes I mean… Does it ever just go quiet in your head?” She asked, breaking the stillness between them. The Jester never stopped staring into her eyes, even if she didn’t meet his gaze.
“Only ever when I’m asleep.”
“They think you’re a toy. They don’t see the way you watch the doors. Or the way you scan through the crowd to calculate your next target.”
“I am the only man in this kingdom allowed to call the King a fool to his face, yet I am the only one who isn’t allowed to hold your hand. It’s a strange sort of freedom.”
She recoiled her head back slightly in surprise, not truly understanding the connotation there. “My father owns your time, and my suitors own my future… but this here… who owns this moment?”
“The gods of comedy, I suppose. Though I have a suspicion they aren’t laughing at this one,” he chuckled at his own joke, continuing to wipe his face.
Cora smiled softly, standing up and walking around the table before she came right up to him. Crouching down, she reached out to his face, “Stay still, you’re smearing the paint into your hairline.”
She gently took the rag and wiped across his face. He seemed to lean into her touch, a long shaky sigh escaping him as if he was holding his breath for the entirety of the interaction. “I’ve tried spending my whole life making people look away from who I am and instead look more towards the costume. But, it seems you’re doing it the other way around.”
“So what if I am? I hate having to act like I’m higher than everyone else.”
“Except you are, princess.”
“Do I have a choice?”
The jester grabbed her hands, holding them tightly, securely. She didn't pull away, didn’t look up into his eyes, instead she stared down at their intertwined hands, her lips curling inward, deep in thought. He seemed like he understood her predicament, even if they were of completely opposite ends of hierarchy.
After several moments of silence, she spoke once more, “You know I can have you thrown for such acts?” She tightened her grip on his hands quickly, trying to brighten up the mood once more.
The Jester released their hands, “Apologies madame.”
Cora stood once more, now looking into the Jester’s eyes, “I should start heading into my bedroom,” she paused, “I’ll see you around Jest.”
“Please, princess, call me Bastian.” He offered a warm smile, lighthearted.
“Bastian…” It rolled off her tongue perfectly, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He smirked, “Meaning you’re going to keep me in mind?”
“Don’t test your luck, Jest.” she gave him an eyebrow raised in suspicion paired with a gentle smile.