#I am but a court jester and I must jingle my bells | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

evaemiel · 9 months ago

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The Jester - Week 10 of #alphabetsuperset

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The wind still wails; its voice fills my ears, but it doesn’t bother me. It’s peaceful here on the ground. Really, if I keep my eyes closed and my mind as quiet as I can, I could just let the stillness envelop me, and I’m sure the air would become motionless around me.

Perfect. If it weren’t for those DAMN BELLS.

Who the hell disturbs my peace with this incessant jingling? I wrinkle my eyes shut harder and try to will the sound to go away. Unfortunately, it seems my efforts have the opposite effect; the sound is now coming towards me. The bells tinkle erratically somewhere on the left, then to the right of me, until they come to a halt unsettlingly close to the top of my head.

“Oh, my Liege, this simply will not do! It will not do!”

It’s only through my cultivated power of denial that I can keep myself from jumping up. I can’t repress the jolt that goes through my body, but I will NOT open my eyes. I refuse.

“Sire, are you still in bed? At this late hour? I would never dare say that you are lazy, never!, so it must be that you are gravely ill, or worse!, extremely comfy.”

Of course, the bells tinkle as he giggles to himself.

I can’t help but glance at the annoying newcomer through half-lidded eyes. My first impression is a smudge of color, an outfit with too much of everything to easily make sense of it, and I can’t see his face at all. I open my eyes fully, and a man in a tight, quilted costume comes into focus. He’s a patchwork of red, purple, cream, and gold fabric; the long sleeves of his jacket dangling precariously close to the ground. He wears an odd hat that has two ears sticking up at the top. Tiny copper bells that chime softly with each movement adorn the cap and sleeves. But despite the crazy getup, what is most remarkable is the beautifully crafted mask that obscures his face; it has the shape of a fox’s head, with fur meticulously carved into what must be wood and then painted with the finest of brushes to an almost lifelike effect. It gives me no idea whatsoever of what this person looks like, aside from a vague flicker of Marigold behind the guise.

“Eh. Who are you?”

“Why, I am your jester, of course! Your Majesty, how could you forget your faithful servant? Oh woe is me; have I been forsaken by my master? Have I been cast out of your magnificent court without a two-week notice?”

“I… what? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please just go; I’m not the person you’re looking for.” I close my eyes again and vaguely wave my hand as a matter of saying goodbye.

“I am dismissed, like a dog! Oh, what a miserable day for a noble, clever fox.” I can hear him sink to the ground next to me. Reluctantly, I look over and see his face — the mask — next to mine.

“Seriously, who are you? And why are you wearing that…” I gesture faintly at his whole deal “…outfit?”

“Oh, could it be that you cannot remember me because my beautiful visage is hidden behind this exquisite mask, Your Grace? Well, let me remedy that posthaste!”

He removes the mask with a flourish while keeping his face hidden with his ridiculously long (and noisy!) sleeve. It’s only when he reveals his eyes — while giving a coy wink — that it dawns on me that he is in fact an actual fox. A black one.

I stare for a minute, but then decide that this might as well happen. Nothing should come as a surprise in your own mind, and yet often that’s exactly what happens. All I manage to say is “I see.”.

“Do you still harbor doubts when gazing upon my snout? I know! I should prove myself to you, My Lady. Prove that I am still your ever-cunning, charming, and handsome jester. Surely you will not deny me then!”

Before I can protest, he jumps up and immediately launches into an intricate dance. He moves his elegant limbs to create a precise beat while simultaneously juggling what look like glass balls that he seems to pluck out of thin air. The longer the dance goes on, the more exaggerated his movements become; the more improbable the juggling act, the more intense the rhythm of the bells. Through it all, he keeps holding my gaze and laughing with a toothy smile. I get the distinct feeling that he’s gauging my reaction to his every move. He’s clearly not satisfied as he tosses the balls into the air, never to be seen again, while he makes increasingly complicated cartwheels and somersaults, never once missing the beat, of course.

I watch with growing astonishment as he suddenly pounces down with an elegant arc—like foxes do in winter to catch prey below the snow. To my horror, I see how he smacks face-first into the ground but somehow shakes off the impact and lets himself fall on his back, roaring with laughter. I can see a trickle of blood coming from his nose, though.

I sit up immediately. “Are you alright?” “Of course, Your Excellency, never better,” he hiccups as he continues to laugh. “You’re hurt!” “‘t is but a light concussion, My Lord, nothing to worry about. But I am very touched by your concern. Could it be?” I don’t know how he manages it, but it feels like he’s blushing. “Could it be…you like me, Ma’am?”

I groan loudly. What was all that for? What does he want from me? What the ever-loving fuck is going on?

Just before I can launch into an exasperated rant, I realize that there hasn’t been any wind here at all. Not since he arrived.

“Wait. Why isn’t the wind pushing you back? I mean. I… I’ve been stuck here for so long. How did you…”

He cuts me off. “It’s profoundly simple, My Queen. You ignore it and dance.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I mean, yes, I’m a jester after all. But it still works! Come. “

He holds out his hand, and I take it. With unsteady feet, I follow his lead, at first unsure about what to do, but he guides me without hesitation. I still stumble; we both do, step on each other’s feet a couple of times, and miss our turns. Not that it matters. We move, and the world becomes a blur; our momentum picks us up and carries us. Carries us beyond the pit.

“So all I had to do was dance?” I’m laughing as tears pour from my eyes.

He nods and says, “All you have to do is dance,” then adds, “My Friend.”

#writing #writeblr #alphabet superset #short story

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sophisticated-creepy · 4 years ago

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Love is Stranger than Fiction by: Melissa Sain

Lola threw her mass of fiery locks into a messy bun on top of her head. She was finishing fastening the last few buttons of her denim smock paired with her brightly floral frock as she entered the sales floor, her manager there waiting at the checkout counter, ready to greet her.

“Perfect timing,” she began. “I just got off the phone with my son’s school. Tommy has the flu and I need to go pick him up. Are you okay if I leave you to watch the store by yourself? My husband can’t get away from a business meeting so I have to be the one to get him.”

“Of course! Go take care of your family,” Lola agreed. She wasn’t afraid to run the business by herself. At most, there had only been three people in the store at once, and the customers were usually amiable. Lola’s manager Stacy was owner and founder of the boutique of finely crafted perfumes and other delicate assortments, wittily naming the store Lotions and Potions. She needed an extra hand once she expanded the product line and happily took Lola on as part-time manager. Now, Stacy could work during school hours and be home in time with her kids and husband in the evenings. The boutique closed at six, so Lola wasn’t robbed of her evenings either.

“Thank you so much! You have no idea how much that helps me,” Stacy exclaimed. “It’s been a super slow day. There’s only one lady here, and she’s just looking,” she informed, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Call if you need me, okay?”

“Go!” Lola laughed, shooing her manager out the door. “I’ve got this.”

“I owe you,” Stacy called back as the door shut behind her. Lola chuckled as she watched her manager scurry to her car and drive away. Turning from the large storefront windows, she set her focus to the customer, a little old lady who was squinting at a shelf of body lotions.

“Hello, there,” Lola greeted in her slightly higher pitched sing-song voice she saved specifically for retail as she made her way to the lady. “My name is Lola. What can I help you find today?”

“Do you have any coupons for me?” the old lady demanded with a biting grumble reminiscent of crunchy gravel.

“Uh…no, I’m sorry, our store doesn’t offer coupons,” Lola responded, taken aback by the customer’s lack of social graces.

“I’m just looking,” and she shuffled off to squint at a different cabinet. Lola let her be and slowly walked away.

And to think, I gave up a day of writing for this, she thought to herself. She walked to the back of the store near the register, where resting on a back counter was a record player used to serve as the ambient music for the shoppers. Lola selected a vinyl of a local band and placed it on the turntable. One of the perks of working by herself was that she could pick the music for the day. Normally she played something folksy, or occasionally she would get a wild hair and play Schubert’s piano concertos. For now, she selected music that best fit her mood, and today, she picked something chipper to go along with the spring in her step. As she was lighting a candle reminiscent of lemongrass and cedar wood, she heard the jingle bell lilt of the front door opening, the chimes above the doorframe signaling the arrival of customers.

“What up, weirdo?” greeted the new voice. Lola smiled at hearing her best friend.

“Hey, Modesta,” Lola greeted.

“I come bearing gifts,” Modesta sang as she made her way to the counter. Her chocolate colored hair bounced off her shoulders as she sashayed across the boutique. In her hands were two large cups of coffee.

“Hand it over!” Lola begged lightheartedly, reaching for the beverage. “Thank you.”

“I see business is booming, as usual,” Modesta joked, looking around the near empty store. “How do you manage these crowds all by yourself?”

“It’s a challenge,” Lola replied, matching her friend’s sarcasm. “Seriously, though, thank you for this,” she added, raising the to-go cup slightly to indicate the refreshment.

“Any time. So, do you have anything for me to read today?” Modesta asked, jumping straight to the point. She smirked mischievously, not hiding her intentions in the slightest, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Not today I’m afraid. Sorry,” Lola apologized. Modesta was the only person with whom Lola allowed to read her stories. Lola wrote with her soul, and trusted few with her words, however, the pair had grown up together, best friends since the sixth grade, more like sisters, if truth were told. Modesta had seen Lola through heartbreak time and time again. She understood that these short little one-offs were a way for Lola to heal and process life’s challenges while at the same time growing her craft as a writer. It was an honor watching her friend develop as a wordsmith, and now that she had hit her stride, Modesta was completely addicted to the wonderfully charming exploits of this make believe marriage. Lola used these free-writes as a way to verbalize her desires in a relationship. One infamous ex in particular, Chad, had clearly shown her what she didn’t want in a lover: an inattentive, complacent, shallow, self-centered coward, and instead, used her imagination to create her heart’s yearnings for a perfected-partnered match, regardless of his fictional status: passionate, intelligent, witty, and a smile with just a touch of magic.

“What’s this next story about? Is it a dueling sword fight? A pirate adventure? Oh! Are you writing a sequel to the picnic at midnight? I absolutely loved that one.”

Lola laughed. “No, nothing like that,” she said. “At the moment I’m trying to figure out how to get my imaginary husband’s dick inside of me.” The little old lady was near the counter where the two were talking, and gave Lola one of the fiercest squints she had ever received before going back to glare at a cabinet of bubble baths. Both Lola and Modesta had the most difficult time stifling their giggles.

“Girl, you know I love you, but maybe it’s time you found the real thing.”

“You know I’m not ready,” Lola reminded. “Ever since Chad---.”

“Ever since Chad, nothing, honey. I’ve read your writings, remember? You’re ready,” Modesta stated. Lola rolled her eyes, sighing exasperatedly. That oh-so infamous Chad was Lola’s first. Her first everything. Her first date, her first real kiss, her first lover. They were high school sweethearts, together even in their early college years, and like all young newly dating couples, they thought their love was strong enough to weather any storm. They believed no matter what obstacle was thrown at them, they could face it together in triumph. Love was on their side, after all, and nothing could stand in their way of happiness. That is, nothing could stand in their way of happiness except a blonde, rail thin, five foot ten Tinder goddess who just so happened to be three miles away from his location.

“It’s been over a year,” Modesta stressed. “I just want to see you happy.”

“I am,” Loa defended.

“I’ll believe it when I actually see you hitting the dating scene once in a while,” Modesta retorted playfully. “It helps if you go outside every now and again too, you know.”

“Rude. It’s not like I’m some basement troll who never sees the light of day. I go outside plenty, thank you very much.”

“All I’m hearing are excuses, Lola. Cut the crap and go on a date for Christ’s sake, please. Jack and I want to double.”

“Well, I am so sorry that my lack of a social life is putting such a crimp in yours,” Lola replied with mock indignation.

“I would settle for you having at least a sex life,” the brunette quipped. “If you’d like, I can give you directions to the specialty shop Jack and I frequent. I’ll even recommend some of the more fun inventory so you can get in some practice before the real deal. Clean out those cobwebs, if you know what I mean,” she waggled her eyebrows lewdly. “Just make sure you’re stocked up on batteries.” The door chimes began tinkling as the front door was pushed open, just as the conversation was taking a turn down a lane that was sure to be glowing in a heady shade of red.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” greeted Jack, Modesta’s boyfriend, as he came sauntering happily into the boutique. “What are you gal pals talking about on this fine afternoon?” he asked, making his way to the counter. He gave Modesta a quick kiss on the side of her head as he approached.

“Batteries,” Lola answered.

“That’s…weird. Anyway, did you ask her yet?” Jack asked the woman whose shoulders were wrapped comfortably under his arm.

“Ask me what?” Lola inquired.

“I was just getting to that. Lola, how would you like to visit the Renaissance faire this weekend with us? Jack has some extra tickets if you’re interested.”

Lola gasped with excitement. “I would love that! Yes! Thank you! God, I haven’t been to the Ren faire since high school.”

“Well, you’re going to want to be there this year,” Jack proclaimed. “I’m playing the part of the royal court jester.”

“Total typecast if you ask me,” Modesta cut in. “He’d be better fit as a jousting knight.”

“Modesta has a part, too,” he continued. “She’s one of the soothsayers.”

“Now that’s typecasting,” Lola interjected, pointing a knowing finger at her friend. “But, wait, does that mean you’ll both be working the whole time?”

“I’m only working the booth half of the day,” Modesta responded, “so, yes, you’ll be by yourself until lunch time. But, I figured you wouldn’t mind. You know, now you can wander the grounds freely, get some inspiration, and maybe do a little writing.”

“That does sound like fun,” Lola agreed. “Okay! I’ll do it!”

“Awesome! Here’s your ticket,” Modesta said, handing over a slip of paper from her purse. “We can drive over together. I’ll pick you up at nine.”

“Thanks again, guys,” Lola said, taking the piece of paper her friend offered. “This is going to be so much fun.”

“There’s just one rule you must abide first and foremost in order to gain entrance: you are to dress in costume.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice to play dress up,” Lola laughed.

“It’s going to be a whole new experience, one that you’ve never seen before,” Jack piped in. “Ever since new management took over five years ago, let’s just say the faire has become a lot more immersive.”

“And, who knows,” Modesta continued, dropping her voice and leaning in over the counter, “maybe you won’t have to resort to batteries by the end of this adventure.”

“A-hem,” came a gravelly cough by Modesta’s elbow. The tiny old lady, who had been forgotten by the women, roughly slammed a bottle of bubble bath onto the counter. She squinted up at Modesta with eyelids so tight one would have assumed they’d been sewn shut. “A hunk of meat is no good unless you have a fine ass to grab onto.” She shot a squint at Jack, who physically flinched from the look. “It seems like you don’t have a problem in either department, dearie.” The old woman cackled, paid for her item, and shuffled out of the store, leaving the three friends in stunned amazement. Lola and Modesta turned to one another and burst out loud in laughter.

“Wait, what just happened?” Jack stood in the middle of the store, scratching his head, confused, while the two women continued to laugh for a solid five minutes.

~~~

#renaissance faire #short story #fantasy #adventure #romance #fun

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unicyclehippo · 5 years ago

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Prompt???? : M9 goofing off in a bookstore while they wait for Caleb to make a purchase. Seeing how many books they can stack in someone’s arms / balance on someone’s head.

the day is beautiful and inviting with expansive blue skies and a playful wisp of a breeze that tugs at skirts and hair and sends children laughing, running after lost hats. it’s the kind of day she should be spending riding, or lazing beneath the endless blue, or doing something fun like starting a fight. but instead she is inside. following caleb around a bookshop.

‘you know you do not have to be here, beauregard. in fact,’ he says, and glances up from the book he is perusing, clearly displeased. ‘i would rather you weren’t.’

‘rude.’

‘you’re sighing. constantly.’

‘i’m bored.’

‘pick a book.’

‘no. fuck you.’

‘beauregard,’

‘caleb,’ she returns, mimicking his tired tone. ‘can’t you just—‘ she lowers her voice, waves a hand. ‘y’know? see if any of them are magical?’

it’s caleb’s turn to sigh. ‘i have done that. not all books regarding magic seem to be that. in fact, some are disguised. and i am looking for books on other topics as well.’

‘smut?’

‘no.’

‘it’s okay if you are. hey, hey!’ beau waves to the bookkeeper, an aging man, human looking, with a kind round face, a mop of dark hair, and a knitted sweater.

‘mornin’,’ he greets her, voice low and kind.

‘got any books about—‘ beau waggles her eyebrows suggestively. ‘for my friend here?’

caleb rolls his eyes. returns his book to its shelf and picks up the next one.

‘oh yes, certainly,’ the knitted sweater man nods. ‘a fairly substantial collection, actually. in the back room, left hand side. please enjoy—and if you need help finding something in particular, i’ll be right here.’

beau blinks. ‘dude,’ she nudges caleb, ‘this guy is nice.’

‘ja, some people are.’

‘like, really good customer service.’

‘ja.’

‘impressive, right?’

‘no,’ caleb tells her. ‘many people are good at their jobs.’

‘hmm. i dunno. seems...suspicious. i’ll be right back.’

caleb must hear something in her tone because he reaches out toward her, surprising her by grabbing onto her wrist before she can leave. ‘please,’ he asks quietly, ‘do not get me kicked out from this store.’

‘mhm, yeah, sure, no worries.’

it’s short work to find jester—she is where beau and caleb had left her, waiting outside the tailor’s shop for the alterations to her cloak and dresses, kicking her feet as she drawing, tongue peeking out from between her lips as it always does when she’s concentrating.

‘jes! jester!’

‘beau?’

‘hey, come on, come with me,’ she calls, running up to her friend. ‘me ‘n caleb went into this bookstore and the owner is really nice—‘ beau grins when she sees the look of mischief, of delight spark in jester’s eyes. ‘plus, there’s smut.’

jester claps her hands. ‘okay, okay, i’ll be right there! hold on!’ she packs up her things quickly, pokes her head in on the slightly frazzled tailor who had banished her so they could work in peace. ‘i’m going to the bookstore! i’ll be back!’

‘wonderful,’ the tailor mutters, and, ‘thank the gods.’

jester hooks her arm around beau’s, dragging her along despite it being beau who had come to fetch her. ‘what kind of set out are we talking about?’ she asks, rapid-fire. ‘are there nooks? do we have to distract the owner before we can move stuff around? what kind of price tags do they have? how many customers are in there? is caleb nearly done? what quality of smut is it?’

beau grabs as many of the questions as she can, trying to answer them, head bent toward jester’s as they plot and scheme.

‘uh...no price tag that i saw, looks like one of those places where he just says a number.’

‘classic.’

‘yeah. old school. haven’t looked at the quality yet, i was hanging with caleb and he was looking at, like, alchemy and herbs, shit like that.’ for a moment, the girls just look at one another, knowing very well that caleb’s interest is in neither of those things but in what scant information they might lend to what nott has asked for. ‘mm. the smut is in the backroom—‘ jester sniggers. ‘and if you need a distraction,’ beau flexes. ‘i can do that for you.’ approaching the bookstore, beau jogs ahead to open the door for jester, waves her in.

jester wiggles her fingers as she steps in, makes the little bell above the door jingle.

‘ah, you’re back!’ the owner notes, with a wide, earnest smile. ‘and with a friend.’

‘hi!’ jester nearly skips forward, eyes shining. ‘i’m jester!’

‘jester, very very nice to meet you,’ he stands, shakes her hand as vigorously as she shakes his. ‘bertram brummen. are you a reader, miss jester?’

‘oh yes, i love to read. i have read tusk love, and the scent of the sea, and shallow breaths, and beau read the courting of the c-crick,’ she stumbles over the word, and even from this distance beau can see the flash of displeasure. ‘she read the good bits out loud for me but mostly it was super boring.’

‘ah yes, a bit of a dry read,’ he agrees. ‘that’s what happens when an historian tries their hand at prose.’

‘i don’t know, maybe just a bad writer.’

‘you may be right. but,’ he removes his hand, finally stopping shaking jester’s, and waves around at the shop. beau is happy to see that she hadn’t been paying much attention and it actually is a bit of a warren once she looks past the large front room. plenty of space for jester to work her mischief. ‘please, take a look around, and if you need help finding something please do not hesitate to ask.’

‘thank you!’ jester nearly squeals, and she reaches back blindly to take beau’s hand and drag her deeper into the store.

for some time, beau is put to work rearranging the books so the spines face in toward the wall, turning them upside down or stacking them in complicated patterns that mean pulling one out will threaten to make the others fall as well. she flushes hot when jester steps up behind her, dark eyes examining her work with a critical stare before beaming, dropping an affectionate and sweet kiss onto beau’s shoulder.

‘good work, beau!’ she hisses, so as to not draw brummen’s attention.

‘thanks. what are you up to?’

jester points and beau follows the line of her finger to where caleb is seated at a small reading table, a near life sized sculpture of him made from stacked books with orange and red and brown covers.

‘holy shit. you did that?’

‘mhm.’

‘amazing,’ beau mutters, earns herself another beaming smile. ‘uh, i’m almost done here.’

‘good! because caleb is picking the books he wants to buy and we should leave.’

‘agreed.’ beau shoves the last few books a little more haphazardly into place—and for a second she swears on the other side of the shelf she sees a green cloak and hood and, within the deep cowl, a smile curling over thin lips.

it’s definitely time to go when they hear a muffled ‘nein, das ist nicht gut, das ist—jester,’ the wizard hisses, scooping up the books he wants. ‘why?’

‘because it’s fun, cay-leb. look—i made a frumpie too!’ she directs them both to the much smaller stack of books on the floor that, despite the squareness of the books, she has somehow managed to arrange just so and it actually does look a bit like a cat.

brummen doesn’t seem to have noticed, at first, taking caleb and jester’s money—who did, somehow, manage to also find a few books for herself—and making polite good-natured chatter as he wraps the books in brown paper and sets them into the haversack at jester’s instruction. something niggles, tickles at beau for her attention and it isn’t until the others are headed for the door that she lifts her eyes to a familiar carving of a road and archway on the shelf behind brummen’s head.

‘she brings him so much joy,’ brummen says, and nothing about him has changed, except that his dark eyes are filled with such affection as beau has never seen before. ‘do you think she had fun?’

‘you—i—yeah, she did.’

brummen’s smile grows. ‘good. i can’t wait to see what she made for us.’

‘oh it’s good. real good. she’s a master at this shit, so,’ beau shrugs, just goes with the oddness of having this conversation.

‘give her this, would you?’ he asks, eagerly, rifling in his desk and holding out to her a pen. smooth dark wood with a delicate warm metal nib. ‘for any masterpieces to come.’

#cr tag #tagging my stories #prompt fill #idk mate i just went with the muse

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leoxerickson · 4 years ago

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At The Beginning || Leo & Rosaline

@thenorthernrose

12 Years Ago... In the Northlands...

It was about half past noon when the young thief made his way down the corridor. A light whistle filling the air as he went. It had been about a month since the first time Leo had returned to Chateau Mer Sereine after his mother’s disappearance. The handmaiden was all but forgotten in the grand Chateau. A thought that seemed to creep its way into Leo’s mind and torment him in the middle of the night. But, today was not the day to dwell on how expendable people like him seemed to be to the nobility. Today was, instead, the day he had planned to swipe some of the Desrochers family jewels.

He had been scouting out the palace for weeks, parading around as the court fool no less. A sight that, more likely than not, would send his father into an early grave. It was almost funny how far the young Erickson had fallen. He used to play in these halls as a kid, imagining what it would be like when he grew up and became a knight. He wondered if it would prestige, pacing around the corridors with the Gold Crown and Red Roses craved into his armor. He used to wonder a lot of things, but he never could have predicted that the armor would be exchanged for a floppy hat and oversized shoes with bells on the ends. Bells which he had removed the bobbles in to stop them from producing any sort of sound. It made it easier for him to sneak around that way.

It was the perfect disguise really. Court jesters were there to be poked fun at and cause a good laugh. They were unpredictable idiots in a way that was amusing to no end. But, they weren’t ones to often be paid attention to during their times off. Leo used the spontaneous nature the court’s fool was known for to his advantage.

Passing a few maids down the hall, Leo waited until he was far enough out of their line of their sight before dipping into what at the time would have been the Crown Princess’s quarters. He had already managed to swipe a look at the future queen’s schedule and was sure she was supposed to be no where near her room for at least another hour or so. It was more than enough time for him to make off with some of the noble’s less valuable possessions.

He wasn’t planning on taking anything she’d miss. He was looking for items such as antique vases or some earrings that never seemed to be worn. Something along the lines of a jewel encrusted pen. Something that would go unnoticed for people whom had everything, but would mean life or death for himself and the few other street kids he kept an eye out for now and again. It would mean a warm meal that hadn’t been dug out of the trash. It would mean a bed and place to rest his weary head. It would mean not having to return home and face how disappointed his older brother must have been of him- how disappointed he was with himself.

Popping off the funny hat, Leo began plucking up the smallest knickknacks and paperweights he could find. Dropping them into oversized material, he continued to rummage around right up until he heard the sound of a creek of a floorboard behind him. Fuck, Leo thought. It was time to run. But, instead of knocking the first thing he saw over and darting towards the nearest window, Leo slowly turned around on the back of his heels to face the other.

“Hey… How’s it going?” Leo let out a low whistle, shooting the Princess as innocent of a smile as he could muster as he placed the hat back on top of his head. Holding it in place so that it wouldn’t spill over with all of his spoils.

Rosaline: The day had not been going well for the Crown Princess of the North. Her schedule had recently been fleshed out with royal duties to attend alongside her parents, and though she had been educated from an early age how to be future Queen, it was more difficult to put into action. Rosaline was good at hiding her mistakes and embarrassment, but it was enough to boil over by the time the sun set.

She had managed to sneak away during teatime, craving the solace of her room to breathe easier and check a welt on her arm from archery practice. Rosaline could already feel the tenseness in her shoulders start to ebb as she hurried down the hall to her bedroom. What she wasn’t expecting was to see the bright stripes of the court jester clashing with her furniture. She slowed and stepped carefully in slippers, eyebrow arched high in suspicion waiting for the intruder to turn and see he was caught red handed.

“These are private rooms.” Rosaline said sharply. “No one in your position…” Her words faded when she recognized the jester beyond the floppy hat and jingling bells. “You.” She had heard the whispered rumors around court when Leo dropped his knight training. It was a rare occurrence for Northern boys born to the privilege. She crossed her arms stiffly, “Why are you poking around my things? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t call the guards on you, Leo.”

Leo: “Oh! Are they?” Leo feigned innocence, blinking around the room as if he had set his sights on it for the first time. “My bad, your highness,” He said, bowing in her gesturing. His hands still glued to the side of his head as he tried desperately to balance the now stuffed hat on top of him. “You know I knew something seemed off, put I just couldn’t put my finger on-“ Leo started to say, but his words cut off as Rosaline recognized him.

Shit! Leo’s brain was practically screaming at him to drop the hat and make a mad dash for it. He could fling himself out the window if he really needed to. It wasn’t that far of a drop down… Or if arrested, he could live a fairly quaint life behind bars. They’d probably feed him better than how he had been eating up until this point, he mulled his options over in his head. “Leo? Leo who? I’m not-“ He tried to argue, before letting out a stiff sigh.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, Rose,” Leo said quietly. His tone growing soft, but serious for the first time since he entered the room. Slowly taking the hat off of his head, Leo placed it down on the vanity table with his stash along with it. “I mean I wouldn’t say it’s a good reason, but… for food mainly? I also owe some guys a whole lot of money and if I don’t pay them off soon, they’re gonna come for head or worse- the last people they saw associate with me which happen to be a couple of street kids. But, that’s not really anything you need to worry about. I mean you’re a princess after all, right? I’m sure you have more important things to do than to be concerning yourself with likes a thief.” Nor did he really think she would. The Desrochers didn’t seem to have a care when his mother went missing and she had devoted her life to serving them, so why would they give a second thought towards a boy who was robbing them blind? And the more he thought about it, the more the window option was becoming a lot more appealing…

Rosaline rolled her eyes as he tried to act clueless and anyone other than he so clearly was. Being taken for a fool was almost the greater slight than being stolen from. She stepped up to the vanity where Leo had placed his hat and the items he’d swiped. It was nothing she would have noticed, at least not for a couple of days. Still, the betrayal stung slightly and Rosaline pouted to herself as Leo slowly came clean.

She wanted to point out, first and foremost, it was Leo’s choice to be living on the streets now. He could still be training as a knight and safe in the barracks, but he’d given that up. But Rosaline had also been visiting the poorer villages and sections of the Northlands, she saw what hungry people looked like. She would not know the strife personally, but she had witnessed it and understood. “I wish you weren’t wearing that stupid outfit.” She murmured, “You stand out like a sore thumb.” Rosaline was already trying to strategize the food issue, at least.

“I’m the princess. It is my concern. They’re still my people.” She scowled at him slightly, “What sort of trouble did you get yourself in to, owing money?” Rosaline looked him up and down, Leo clearly had so little to spare. “If you put my things back, and don’t run away – I’ll help you. We were friends, once upon a time.” Friends for Rosaline were hard to come by.

Leo: At the sight of the slight pout against the young girl’s lips, Leo felt a wave of guilt wash over himself. A feeling he all, but forgotten until that very moment. A sudden urge over came him to reach out and brush his thumb lightly across her lower lip as if to will the pout away, but he resisted. A person like him wasn’t capable of comfort like that anyhow. So, instead, he just stood there. His gaze soaking her in as he watched her debate over in her head what to do with him.

A soft smile traced across his lips at her comment about his ridiculous attire. “You and me both, Princess,” He admitted. Running his fingers through his tangled locks as his gaze fell down to his feet. “But, it worked, didn’t it? Up until now anyhow. It’s hard to imagine anyone would be dumb enough to steal looking like this and yet, here I am,” He let out a low whistle as he gestured to himself. He had fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, he might make her smile? But, as soon as it popped into his mind, he thought better of it.

“I know. But, you’re also a girl. One whom I imagine has a hard day which is why she’s chosen to come back earlier than anticipated, only to be rudely interrupted by some fool,” He met her gaze. Not looking at the scowling girl before him as a princess, but as a person. “How off am I here?”

He didn’t need her to answer, to know that he was right. Playing different parts had already given him a sharp sense when it came to reading people. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll figure it out. I always do. Same goes with the food. I am respectfully relieving you of your duties, even though I would prefer if you didn’t call the guards. I don’t want to take away any more of your time you should spending on you. That and being locked up doesn't exactly sound pleasant... And I um… I didn’t think you’d remember,” He admitted. His hands slipping into his pockets as he gave her another light shrug.

Rosaline: “Just barely.” Rosaline responded dryly, lips still pursed in observation over Leo’s completely changed appearance. It would be easy to miss him if one didn’t give a second glance, and who would give any jester a second glance? The Desrochers had better duties to attend than that. That’s what made the disguise so clever, but then here they were face to face, and there was no mistaking him. “You’re dumb enough to pull it off for as long as you did.” Rosaline jeered him.

But the slight playful attitude was quickly pulled from her when Leo pinpointed her day so perfectly. He’d been gone for so long but could waltz back in and see her better than her parents or close handmaidens. It bothered her. “You’re just a boy.” She shot back defensively, “Have you really come to terms with turning your back on everything your family did before you? Do you think that makes you brave?” She just saw a desperate hungry thief instead.

Even though her words were harsh, she didn’t fully hold them against Leo. Rosaline would be damned if she’d be relived of her ‘duties’ from him though. “I can get you sandwiches and treats from tea.” She answered instead, “Just meet me by the kitchen later.” She took a seat on a stool by the foot of her bed. “Given the chance I could recognize you in a crowd of thousands Leo Erickson.”

Leo: “Aw come on, Rose,” Leo said, taking a small step forwards, just enough to be able to whisper in the girl’s ear, “You’re honestly telling me you don’t find me in this get up amusing? Even in the slightest?” He asked. He cocked his head slightly to the side as he looked her over as if searching for the smallest hint of a smile across her lips. “Not quite the smile that I was hoping for, but I’ll take it,” Leo chuckled at her jest. His tongue running across the front of his teeth as he shook his head lightly in her direction.

But when the Crown Princess reminded him of his place, Leo found himself recoiling back the step he had taken. His eyes zoning in on a spot on the floor as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “I know,” Leo’s words were all but a whisper after a long drawn out pause. He knew he was nobody. He was a criminal and a thief among a long list of other equally negative adjectives. He was on a path of destitute, while she was destined for greatness. He had no right to even be standing there let alone looking at the future Queen to be. That was how things were supposed to be and, yet, here he was.

He lifted his head up towards her. A brow raising at her question. “Brave? No. Foolish? Maybe. But, would that really be anything new for me?” He said with a nonchalant shrug, despite the weight behind his words. “I mean let’s play this out, shall we? Say I did what every other Erickson has done before me? Say I became your dear knight? Then what? Hmm? I take orders I don’t agree with that will inevitable get me killed or have me vanish into the night? No ones gonna send a search party or mourn a guy like me. You said it yourself. I’m a just a boy. While you? You are going to travel the world and forge decisions. You are going change the course of history. You are going to get married to some Prince or Duke or some other guy with a title that, let’s be honest doesn’t actually mean a whole lot other than the fact that they have some whoopididoo prestigious parents and won the lottery at birth,” Leo exclaimed, messing his fingers through his hair as he did. “Everyone acts like being a knight is this prestigious thing, but the truth is, either way? Knight or not, you’re the one who will make the history books, while I’m the one who’ll be forgotten. And if I’m going to be forgotten anyways, then I might as well get live freely while I still can. Is that what you really wanted to hear, Princess? That I’d rather starve than stay in line?” The truth laid buried in between his words; Leo didn’t become a knight because he was afraid to end up like his mother- squandering his life protecting a family that wasn’t his.

“I can’t do that, Rose,” Leo spoke softly. Shaking his head back and forth as he took another step back towards the window ledge. “I can’t meet you in the kitchen, just like you can’t relax around me because you’re a Princess and I’m a prideful nobody and that’s the way it has to be.”

Rosaline: “You act as if every guard and soldier is disposable. The past may lead you to believe so, but that is not how I plan to run my kingdom.” Rosaline spoke with slight breathlessness. If that is how Leo and others looked at her she would prove the opposite if she had to. She didn’t want to be feared or resented. Not even as a princess.

Rosaline shook her head, “I don’t understand how you can believe living off the streets is more prosperous than under Desrochers barracks- but you have made your decision.” A slight against his family, against her, she lifted her chin slightly in her own defiance: Rosaline wanted to scold herself for feeling that ache in her chest, but the emotion was there nonetheless. Leo was only disposable because he believed it, and he’d only be a street urchin as long as he kept himself there.

But then he openly refused her, and her expression turned into a momentary grimace. “If we’re keeping with decorum make your escape. Or I have to turn you in.”

Leo: “Maybe not every guard or soldier, but can you honestly promise me I would not? I have no doubt you will be an incredible leader, Rosaline. But, if a war happens, there will inevitably be collateral. I mean you speak of everything my family did before me, but can you honestly stand there and tell me one of those knights names and what they stood for that was so extraordinary? Because I can’t,” He didn’t mean it in a slight against her family. He understood why his brother and the men before him chose to serve. He just didn’t see the point in it himself and how he could he look her in her eyes and fight for something he didn’t believe in? “I can’t and I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s more prosperous. I just don’t believe being a knight is for me is all. You’re talking to a boy who values his freedom more than anything. Who values the free will I have to stand before you and speak my mind instead of having to bow and refer to you as your highness or your majesty. And sure this freedom could get me locked up or killed, but at least it would be my stupid mistake that brought me here.”

“If I could be my brother, I would. But, I’m not and I know you don’t. But, hey, if it’s any consolation, you’re not the only one,” He admitted quietly under his breath. No one ever seemed to understand why. He was treated like so much of a disappointment from one simple decision that his own father wouldn’t even look him in the eyes. At least Lucan would speak to him, but it wasn’t without a saddened or downcast disposition. Everyone he cared about seemed to see him as a boy who threw his life away while he viewed himself as someone fighting for something bigger; Fighting for a world where a princess and pauper could stand on equal playing fields, where a boy like him might be able to approach a girl like without any false pretenses, and the highest position he could hold in society wasn’t a solider. But, those democratic thoughts of his would be treasonous if he ever dared speak them out loud.

“Always about the decorum, huh Rose?” He asked her cheekily, despite the solemn look in his eyes. Lifting himself up onto the window sill with ease, he glanced back at her once more. “See you around, Princess,” The thief gave her a salute before taking a step backwards. Sliding down the slated part of the roof, he disappeared out of sight.

End.

#rosaline ft. leo #c: leo

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fluffy-marshmallow-heart · 6 years ago

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Drake's Diary ch.9 - Long Live the Apple Queen

Words :1682

Drake x MC (Emma)

It’s the second day of the Apple Blossom Festival. Drake was walking amongst the crowd, when he saw Emma. She looked like a maiden, wearing a colorful blue and white dress, complete with puffy sleeves. Drake couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He kept thinking about the previous night, when he had almost kissed her. The way everyone else seemed to fade into the background when he was with her. He thought about the tight hug she gave him. And when he got back to his room, he may have had a few more thoughts on those things that weren’t exactly…friendly. Nope, those definitely were not the thoughts of just a friend, and he hated himself for it.

The first activity was the pie baking contest. That was extremely boring, watching the ladies bake. But, as usual, Emma impressed everyone. Kiara had taken the pie at one point, then tripped, sending the pie up into the air. Emma, being wonderful as she is, managed to catch it. And then her team won.

Afterwards, Drake saw the Queen taking Emma aside from the others. He noticed at one point, Emma glanced at him with a sparkle in her eye.

What on earth are they talking about that she would look at me like that?

A few minutes later, Queen Regina addressed the crowd. “The Apple Blossom Festival symbolizes the growth vital to keeping our small nation thriving. Now, as is tradition, we will honor one distinguished, best dressed lady as this year’s Apple Queen. This is a ceremonial position for the people to decide. Last year, it was our very own Lady Madeleine.”

Madeleine let out her practiced smile” And I very much appreciated the honor.”

Drake rolled his eyes. When she was apple queen she just bossed everyone around and let them know how good she thought she was. There was nothing “honorable” about it.

Queen Regina continued “As for this year---citizens of Cordonia, who do you wish to honor with this title?”

The crowd erupts into wild cries, a frenzied mix of names, cheers, and boos. He heard Maxwell call out “Emma!!!”

Might as well join in. Madeleine certainly doesn’t deserve it twice.

Drake cheered “Emma!”

Soon the chants for Emma overpower any of the other names.

The Queen smiled “I think we have a clear winner. Lady Emma will be this year’s Apple Queen.”

Maxwell whistled “Woooooo! Go Emma! Party like it’s 1299! All hail the Apple Queen from the Big Apple!”

Queen Regina shot him a look before turning back “Lady Emma, please join me for you Coronation.”

Emma stands before the Queen as she hands her an apple-shaped scepter. “Lady Emma, I pronounce you Queen of the Apples. Long live the apple queen!”

Drake couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked. For a brief moment he let himself think what it would be like to be standing beside her, making sure she knew that he was her biggest supporter.

But that will never happen. Look at her. She was born to be a Queen. Hell, she’d be the best queen there ever was.

Emma smiled “Queen Regina, It’s an honor. Thank you all for electing me to represent you as the Apple Queen. I’m happy to accept this esteemed position, and I will treat it with the utmost respect…” she trailed off. “What now?”

Queen Regina spoke again “My Queen, I will serve as your acting seneschal and guide you through the ceremony. Before we proceed, we must fill out the Apple Court. These are the courtiers who will parade behind you. Who will be your cup-bearer? This person should be a close confidant you’d trust with your life.”

“Drake.” Emma announced, looking straight at him.

What?? I’m her close confidant? How did that happen? When? Oh, God, I have to go up there now, I actually do get to stand beside her and offer my support. The Queen was practically still talking when she said my name. Was it really that quick of a decision?

He cleared his throat as he walks up “You know the cup-bearer tastes drinks for poison, right?”

“You’ll be fine.” She rolled her eyes.

I can’t let her know I’m actually thrilled to be here

He scowled “I am blessed to carry out your agenda, my Queen.” He took his place at her righthand side. Glancing around, he noticed Liam staring at them, an impassive expression on his face. Fuck.

The Queen pulls out a goofy-looking fool’s cap. “My Queen, if you’ll name your court jester.”

“Maxwell”

Maxwell bounded up to them “Step aside, plebeians. Three-time jester MVP, coming through.”

Drake looked at him “You’re not supposed to enjoy this”

Maxwell just grinned “I’m sensing jealousy”

“Forget I said anything” Drake sighed. At least he was keeping up appearances. He wished he could show the real emotion he was feeling: joy. He didn’t even remember the last time he had felt that.

Maxwell plops the jester cap on his head. The bells jingle as they fall down in his face.

“My queen, with your court assembled, it is your right to issue an edict before your people.” Queen Regina told her.

Emma turned towards the crowd “My people. Love binds us together. Whether it is love of country, love of citizen, love of self. Those bonds hold us together.”

Of course, she’s talking about love. She would.

But then as she spoke again, she was looking at Drake from the corner of her eye “Our differences are insignificant compared to the power of love that we share with one another.”

He sucked in a breath. I…I don’t…what just happened? Why did she look at me while she said that?

Queen Regina summons a horse pulling a wagon of apples. “Oh, magnanimous Apple Queen, please show your generosity and share your bountiful harvest with us”

Emma smiled “Let me show you my love. Each and everyone one of you here is the apple of my eye.”

She climbs onto the wagon with Drake and Maxwell and they started to parade past the crowd. When Drake handed her an apple, he felt a spark of electricity when she brushed his hand reaching for it, her eyes searching his. But then she turned and tossed it into the flood of clamoring hands. And just like that, the moment was over. Towards the end of the line, Drake saw Olivia sulking among the crowd. Emma’s faced slowly morphed into a smirk. She threw an apple at her. Olivia frantically attempted to catch it but was unsuccessful. The apple hits her chest with a thud.

“How do you like them apples?” Emma called out “The Apple Queen’s power is absolute!” Drake let out a laugh. The look on Olivia’s face was priceless.

At the end of their parade, stood Madeleine by a potted baby apple tree.

“Your majesty, please honor you ancestor, last year’s apple queen, and plant a tree for the next generation.” Queen Regina announced

Madeleine curtsies “My Queen. Happy wishes for you.”

Emma gave her a nod. “Her former majesty, thank you.” She hopped out of the carriage. Darn it. He should have helped her down.

He heard Madeleine sigh. “The labor of your forebears will help you build a better world.” She lowered her voice, so Drake could no longer hear her. Not until…

“It taught me to appreciate the little things and not be an utter jerk.” Emma was glaring at her.

“Good. I like complacency in a future subject.” Madeleine smirked and stepped back to reveal a hole for the sapling. “The ground is yours, my queen.”

Emma takes the baby apple tree from the pot ad places it into the hole, scooping dirt in around it. “Everyone, the work we do today will benefit future generations. They deserve something worth inheriting.”

The crowd claps and Queen Regina spoke again “Thank you, your gracious Apple Queen. As for your final honor…”

Drake watched as Liam knelt beside her “You are entitled to a kiss, my Queen.”

“Liam, I humbly accept your offer.”

“As my queen wishes.” Prince Liam rises, gently leaning in and kissing her on the cheek.

I want to kiss that cheek. I’m the cup-bearer. I’m the one she trusts. Why can’t that be me? Why must Liam get everything he always wants?

Drake frowned. No. There was no way he was feeling jealousy towards Liam right now. Jealousy was not his thing. He loved Liam, he wanted him happy. But then…when do I get be happy?

With the tree planted and the kiss received, the crowd dispersed. Drake saw the Queen approaching Emma again, so he turned and walked away. He was no longer needed. He no longer had to keep up with the charade of cup-bearer.

Who am I kidding? She trusts me because we became friends. She trusts me because Liam told her to. I don’t have anything to give her. I can’t give her a damn thing but myself. And I’m not good enough.

He was practically back at the manor, when he felt someone grab his arm. He whirled around in surprise.

“Drake! I just wanted to say, I’m sorry I made you do that.”

“Rose, what are you talking about? Do what?”

She bit her lip nervously. “I’m sorry I made you part of the court. I know you hated it, I know you hate doing that type of thing but…when Regina said to choose someone I trusted with my life, someone I felt like I could say anything to in full confidence, it had to be you. It’s only you, and I think…well, I think it always has been.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

Drake’s heart melted in his chest. She gave him a nervous smile, then turned around and walked away.

I should go after her. I should thank her. I should say I feel the same about her. I should tell her I’ll always be there for her.

He swallowed. He couldn’t. He had to let her go. And it killed him.

@blackwidow2721 @sleepwalkingelite @flowerpowell @agent-bossypants @annekebbphotography @carabeth @imaketerriblechoices @notoriouscs

#the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic #trr fanfic #trr drake #drake walker #drake x mc #drake x emma #choices trr #trr #choices the royal romance #choices fanfiction

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jovialyouthmusic · 6 years ago

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Charlotte’s Choice

A Royal Romance AU fanfic

17 The Lord of Misrule Part one

Who is the Lord of Misrule, and what mischief will he cause?

@ao719 @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @sleepwalkingelite @boneandfur @blackcatkita @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicescommunity @darley1101 @drakewalkerrosenberg @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @goirishsunshine @gardeningourmet @katurrade @livingthroughchoices @likethetailofacomet @mrs-nazario @mind-reader1 @ooo-barff-ooo @silviasutton1989 @speedyoperarascalparty @zaffrenotes @missevabean @mrsdrakewalkerblog @cora-nova @missameliep @tanelle83 @endlessly-searching-for-you @jlouise88 @drakenazario @annekebbphotography @tabithacarlisle @furiousherringoperatortoad @notoriouscs @classylady1234 @wickedgypsymoon @carabeth @choices-fangirl @indiana-jr @indiacater

16 The Lord of Misrule Part one

‘Your Lord of Misrule for today is Bradley de Montfort, sponsored by House Nevrakis’ announced Constantine. Brad looked genuinely surprised, and Drake slapped him on the back enthusiastically as the crowd applauded. Maxwell followed suit, and Rashad shook his hand, smiling warmly. Neville shook hands but scowled, Milo did so too, face impassive and Tariq bowed stiffly, looking sulky. Anton made a grand effort, shaking his hand graciously but repeating the strategy he had tried when Drake won the horse race, pulling Brad toward him to unbalance him, but Brad placed his hand on his elbow to neutralise the ploy.

‘Bradley, please step forward and select your Bondsman, Cup bearer and Jester’ Constantine announced. Brad smiled, waved and stepped up to the microphone. Behind him in the centre of the dais were two thrones, one each for himself and for Charlotte.

‘My Lords and Ladies, citizens of Cordonia, I thank you for this honour. I name Sir Drake Walker as my bondsman, and Lord Neville my cup bearer. My jester will be Lord Maxwell Beaumont’ Drake nodded and pressed his lips together approvingly, Neville scowled, and Maxwell gave a whoop and pumped his fist.

Constantine turned to his aide to hand over the ceremonial garb which had been made by local schoolchildren, and motioned Charlotte over. He handed her a bright cape trimmed with a feather boa and smiling warmly she swept it over Brad’s shoulders and fastened the gilt chain around his neck, adjusting it so it laid flat. She leaned forward to speak privately to him

‘Well done Brad, and any differences we have are forgotten – at least for today, and hopefully for longer. I’m happy to be your Queen for the day’

The crown, made from brightly painted papier mache, was handed to Drake and he stood behind Brad to carefully place it on his head. The scowling Neville was handed a sceptre to give to Brad, and the only things left then were the jester’s cap and stick. It was Brad’s task to place it on Maxwell’s head, who immediately started to caper around making the bells jingle. Drake leaned over to Brad, who looked more regal than he should in the garish cloak and crown. He turned to the crowd, Charlotte by his side. She extended her hand – he took it, and together they made a curtsey and bow to the crowd. Brad led Charlotte to the thrones to leave her sitting while he returned to the front of the dais ready to make his speech. Drake stood on one side, Neville on the other. Drake leaned closer.

‘Why didn’t you make Neville the jester, that would have made him really miserable, that’s what I had planned’ he whispered. Brad kept a serene expression as he looked out over the crowd.

‘And that would have made everyone else miserable’ he replied quietly ‘Max was born to be jester’ Drake shrugged in reluctant agreement.

‘Good point’ Drake conceded ‘Make sure you work Neville, and I’ll keep on his case too’

‘What are you two commoners whispering about?’ grumbled Neville. ‘So you made me your cup bearer, big deal. Let’s get this farce over with as quickly as we can. I can’t see how you could possibly win this, you must have fixed the ballot. I demand that it be looked into’

‘By the time it’s been examined this will all be over, Neville, and the vote was by sealed ballot. We have twelve whole hours together’ said Drake coolly ‘And remember, you have to carry out your task to Brad’s satisfaction, or it’s the stocks for you’ Neville snarled disgustedly but didn’t repeat his demand. It was time for Brad to make his speech, so he stepped up to the microphone.

‘Ladies, Gentlemen and ordinary citizens of Cordonia, I’m touched that you would vote me, a stranger to your country to be Lord of Misrule. Your country and mine share this tradition of overturning the establishment, so I feel at home in this beautiful place.’ The crowd cheered, and Brad continued ‘I am honoured to head this celebration and want you to know that the usual conditions will apply. All those of Noble birth will serve the ordinary citizens of Cordonia at the coming feast and all areas of the fair will be open to everyone.’ He paused, looking over the crowd.

‘In addition, I will also overturn generally accepted gender roles. The ladies present will be proposing toasts and asking the men to dance, and I invite everyone to cross dress – women will wear suits and the men will wear dresses.’ There was a ripple of surprise and shock at his words, but he continued ‘The services of the Manor wardrobe mistress will be available for anyone having trouble finding garments, starting from now to accommodate the numbers anticipated, and you will find a number of second hand and exchange clothes amongst the stalls at the Apple Fair along with changing booths’ The marquee was quiet for a while, some faces showing shock, then Olivia started to clap. Slowly people close to her joined in, until the whole room applauded, some laughing and cheering. Constantine looked on serenely, but Drake could see a muscle twitch near to the corner of his eye. Brad made a gesture to quieten down the crowd.

‘This rule is not compulsory, but a prize will be awarded to the best cross dressed couple, generously donated by Lady Olivia. The prize is a week’s stay at Lythikos Lodge to enjoy the skating and skiing facitities, all expenses paid.’ A cheer went up from this implied that the winner would be chosen from outside the Court, who had only just returned from Lythikos.

Brad and the court of Misrule made their way through the crowd. A huge cheer went up as they processed to the staging area where Brad would choose the Apple Queen from assembled schoolchildren. Maxwell capered around making the crowd laugh, jingling the bells on his hat and on the jesters stick that he held. Charlotte was all smiles, her hand on Brad’s arm. Drake walked on Brad’s other side, and Neville walked behind, scowling as he supported the garish cloak to keep it off the ground.

The children, aged between five and seven, were waiting in line and Brad took time to talk to each one of them, kneeling to come to their level and asking them questions, Charlotte following him. The littlest girl was shy and tried to hide behind her teacher’s skirts. Brad held out his hand to her.

‘Hello, what’s your name? Did you help make the crown?’ The little girl nodded, biting her lip. Her teacher leant down to encourage her.

‘It’s all right, you know this man is going to pick the apple queen. Look, Princess Charlotte is with him’ Brad nodded at the shy child.

‘That’s right, Princess Charlotte and I are friends. My name is Brad.’ He took off his crown and looked at it ‘I like this crown, but the Apple Queen’s crown is much nicer. If you tell me your name, I’ll let you wear it’ At last she spoke

‘Me? You’d let me wear it? It’s so pretty’ Brad waved Charlotte over, and she knelt down beside him. The little girl looked more comfortable – she and all the children knew Charlotte, as she regularly visited the school to read Cordonian fairy tales to the children.

‘I think we’ve found our Queen’ he said ‘But she’s too shy to tell me her name’

‘Molly’ said the little girl ‘But I’m too little, nobody will see me wearing the crown’

‘Well Molly, I can let you sit on my shoulders if you like, then everyone will see you. When you have the crown on, you’ll sit on the throne and be carried around like a real Queen for everyone to see’ At last the little girl broke into a smile.

‘Yes please!’ she cried happily, and true to his word, Brad picked her carefully up and put her on his shoulders, carrying her to the Apple Queen’s chair, set on a litter so that it could be carried by the Lord of Misrule and his ‘court’ at shoulder height. Molly giggled and waved at her friends. He put her down in front of the throne where last year’s queen was waiting to put the crown on her head and put the cloak around her shoulders. Molly smiled and waved as she got onto the throne, and Brad, Drake, Maxwell and Neville carried her around the crowd to loud cheers.

By the time they had been round the whole crowd and deposited Molly at the Marquee where the children were eating and would be playing games after, it was time for the banquet. Before they left, little Molly threw her arms around Brad and hugged him.

‘Thankyou’ she beamed ‘are you going to be King when Princess Charlotte is Queen?’ Brad grinned lopsidedly

‘Perhaps, she will pick the person she likes best’ he explained

‘I hope it’s you Brad – you’re nice’ the little girl said and skipped off to join her friends. Outside, benches had been set out for feasting, and folk sat waiting for the Nobles to come around with trays to distribute the food. There was already a smattering of people who had changed clothes, and much hilarity at some of the men wearing dresses.

‘I think it’s time we changed’ said Brad, and Drake groaned

‘Do we have to?’

‘I’m afraid we should set a good example my friend’ Brad replied, and Drake put his hand over his face, dragging his fingers down over his skin ‘I have just the outfit for you, Walker’ The four men started back toward the Manor, Neville trailing behind sulking. As they approached the changing cubicles in the boutique, he stopped dead.

‘I refuse to wear a – a DRESS’ he announced, ‘It’s not dignified’ Drake turned on him.

‘That’s the whole point of the Lord of Misrule’ he said ‘we step out of our roles, so we earn a little humility. I think it’s a great idea to see the world from a different perspective, even if it takes me out of my comfort zone. I’m willing to give it a try – how about you?’ Neville folded his arms and shook his head.

‘Out of your comfort zone? You’re halfway there, commoner’ he spat, and Drake’s fists clenched, his knuckles white.

‘May I remind you that any infringements of the Misrules will result in a period of time in the stocks, with folk lining up to throw wet sponges at you?’ Brad pointed out, and Drake smirked, enjoying seeing Neville squirm.

‘You said it wasn’t compulsory’ said Neville stubbornly

‘I’m afraid it is for my retinue, it’s all written down – if you ask Bastien he’ll show you’ Brad said evenly. Neville snarled back at him as Drake started to grow angry at his refusal to play along.

‘You can’t make me’ Drake stood in front of Neville and screwed his fists into his jacket lapels, pulling him close so he was in his face and scowling.

‘There’s nothing I’d like better than to see you in the stocks, but as Brad said, we need to set a good example. So help me, I’ll rearrange your face if you don’t change right now’ Neville’s features contorted in fury.

‘You threaten me with violence? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised for a commoner to lose his temper’ Drake held him tighter, the skin over his knuckles whitening, his lips tight over his teeth.

‘If I’m not wrong, it was you who got angry first over following Brad’s rules.’ He hissed. Brad put his hand on Drake’s soothingly as Maxwell hopped from leg to leg, distressed at the confrontation.

‘Gentlemen let’s not fight please, its very simple. Neville, either you wear the clothes I picked out for you, or you spend an hour in the stocks. At least take a look at them first.’ Drake let go of Neville reluctantly. He had been looking forward to thumping him in the face but realised that was probably not in the spirit of the Lord of Misrule and would probably get him into deep trouble. Brad was a good calming influence, he observed.

‘Very well, I’ll do as you say – but you’ll regret crossing me, commoner.’ Neville spat. He disappeared into the dressing room allocated to him and Drake stood guard outside. Drake heard a scream of rage from inside, and Neville reappeared holding a lacy pink thigh length dress trimmed with feathers.

‘You want me to wear this?’ He sputtered. Maxwell clamped his hand over his mouth but couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up until he gave up and doubled over with mirth. Drake smirked but didn’t dare laugh in case the outfit Brad had picked for him was worse. Brad was the only one with a straight face. Max cried out suddenly in recognition.

‘Oh – oh! Neville you know that’s one of Ana de Luca’s latest pieces? Nobody’s worn that except the models on the catwalk’

‘If you please Lord Neville’ Brad said evenly. Drake crossed his arms and stood menacingly next to Brad until Neville retreated back into the cubicle. He reappeared in the dress a few moments later and sat outside the cubicle, head in hands. Brad stood over him while Drake vanished into his cubicle. A grunt of approval rang out and Maxwell’s ears perked up.

‘You found something you like, Drake? You must be embracing your inner woman’

‘I’m not entirely sure how to put this on’ came Drake’s answer. ‘I think Brad needs to assist me’ Brad turned to the younger Lord Beaumont.

‘Make sure Neville doesn’t chicken out, Max’ he said ‘This might take some time. Drake and I are going to be wearing similar outfits’ Maxwell looked puzzled

‘I can’t wait to see. I’ll make sure Neville’s still here when you come out – off you go’

From the dressing room came various comments from then on - turn around – and again – now tuck that in – there - and pin that – now pull that up – yes that’s it now – take those off – nope not allowed. Now do me – you tuck it in - ouch - mind the pin - is it straight? How does it look – ready?

At last the two men reappeared, and Maxwell gasped.

‘Oh wow – you look amazing, both of you!’ he exclaimed. The two men were wearing traditional Scottish dress, complete with tartan kilts, sporrans and long socks with a dagger, or ‘dirk’ tucked in to one leg. Neville looked up, his face purple with rage, speechless at the injustice.

‘Wow’ repeated Maxwell ‘I do think it’s kind of cheating though’ Brad grinned.

‘Perks of being Lord of Misrule’ he replied.

‘Oooh I hope you’ve got that for me – tell me you have!’ Maxwell cried, jumping up and down. Brad looked sheepish.

‘Sorry Max, unless you can promise not to do any cartwheels – nothing’s worn under the kilt, you know’ Max’s eyes grew wide

‘Nothing – you mean you’re…’

‘Going commando’ smirked Drake ‘It’s - kind of liberating’

‘You’re deliberately humiliating me’ spluttered Neville, but Brad shrugged.

‘Only if you see it that way. Now Max, go and change’ Max disappeared into his cubicle and let out a loud laugh.

‘Oh my goodness, I don’t believe it’ he chortled. In a trice he reappeared, dressed exactly like Neville, whose eyes bulged with surprise. ‘I LOVE it’ exclaimed Maxwell, turning to look at himself in the mirror.

‘You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, Lord Neville.’ Brad said with a serene expression’ I chose the outfit for Lord Maxwell, and didn’t think you’d mind matching with him, as Drake and I are dressed alike’ By now Neville was in a foul mood and leapt to his feet, storming toward Brad to stand with his face only inches from his. Drake surged forward but Max put a hand on his arm, and he stood back reluctantly, rage boiling just under the surface.

‘You commoners think you can do anything. You don’t have a chance with the Princess, I’m going to enjoy your humiliation when she picks someone of noble birth - it’s only fitting and proper’ Brad didn’t flinch – he was used to dealing with drunks and thugs, and Neville was nowhere near as intimidating as a Scotsman on the rampage after his football team had lost.

‘Actually Neville, I am of noble birth, as my uncle died without an heir to his title in England. I just heard this morning that my application has been approved and I am officially Earl Bradley de Montfort of Rutland’ Brad said coolly. Neville stepped back, spluttering and stammering.

‘I – you – you haven’t heard the last of this. I won’t stand for this humiliation’ Drake stepped forward menacingly, fists clenched by his sides.

‘You can and you will, Lord Neville. Don’t think for a moment that you have a chance with the Princess, but you will behave properly and help the fair run smoothly or look like a fool in everyone’s eyes’ he spat. Neville turned on Drake, real venom in his eyes

‘YOU – you’re the real commoner here, I wouldn’t expect any less of you, you mongrel, you aren’t even pure blood Cordonian, your mother was American. I refuse to take part in this any further. I am going straight to the King to protest the improper…’ Drake lunged toward Neville, fist cocked, but Brad intercepted him, grabbing his arm and twisting it up behind his back.

‘Godammit Brad, what are you doing?’ he raged ‘Let me at that pompous ass’ Brad kept hold of his arm as Neville cowered.

‘Think about it, Drake’ he hissed in his ear ‘What would Charlotte say if she knew you’d punched Neville? He could press charges and you’d be knocked out of the running’ Drake struggled but Brad twisted his arm a little further and he sank to his knees.

‘Gah, Brad!’ he gasped ‘It would be worth it, Charlotte hates his guts. He’s spineless, a worthless sack of shit who doesn’t care about anything but his own damn pride and looks down on anyone who doesn’t have noble blood’

‘I’m sure Charlotte would never utter words like that’ Brad said, teeth clenched ‘and you, my friend, need to calm down before you do something you might regret.’ Drake relaxed, and Brad let up the pressure on his arm.

‘Okay, I’m calm, I won’t hit him’ Drake conceded ‘You can let go now’ Brad did so, and Drake snatched his arm back, rubbing his shoulder and glowering at Neville, but staying out of reach. Maxwell was looking from one to the other, visibly upset. He didn’t like violence and he was usually able to joke his way out of bad situations, but this had him flummoxed.

‘So what now? Drake asked. Brad shrugged

‘Well if Neville is so hell bent on walking out, he forfeits his right as a suitor and loses the opportunity to win Charlotte’s hand’ Neville looked up sharply

‘Wait, what? asked Maxwell in surprise

‘Read the terms Max, we all signed a contract when we decided to compete for Charlotte’s hand’ replied Brad ‘Don’t you read the things you sign? It states that barring injury, illness or family emergencies, each suitor has to fully participate in every event or forfeit their right to continue’ Drake laughed.

‘Well well, looks like you’re on the back foot now Neville. If you want to carry on, you have to follow Brad’s rules’ he crowed.

‘Hence my stopping you from punching him’ said Brad ‘If you’d been arrested for assault you’d have been eliminated’ Drake paled a little

‘Wow – you really saved my bacon, Brad. Thanks’ he mumbled.

‘So’ said Brad, turning to Neville ‘It’s your choice, Lord Neville. Carry on with the day’s activities or withdraw and forfeit your right to be suitor’

‘Fine. I will stay, but I will be lodging a complaint against you, so called Earl Bradley, and I will personally be waiting for corroboration of your claim to nobility’ snarled Neville.

‘Okay, let’s go’ Brad got up ‘I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hungry’ The four men strode back out across the lawn toward the marquee.

Charlotte had decided to change her clothes before serving food and was going toward the manor when she noticed the stalls stocking second hand clothes for folk to wear for the Lord of Misrule’s decree. She smiled at some of the items and picked a few things out before returning to the manor. She met Olivia on the way.

‘Hi Olivia, what do you think of Brad’s dress rule? Did he tell you what he was going to do?’ she asked as they walked together.

‘He didn’t give me a clue’ she replied. ‘It’s no big deal for us, but some of the men are throwing hissy fits’ she laughed. ‘Lord Percival has taken to his guest room with a suspected stomach bug, but I think he just can’t bring himself to put on a dress’

‘Do you know what you’re wearing?’ asked Charlotte, and Olivia nodded

‘Oh yes, I’m going for a uniform – I’m going to wear Army camouflage. I checked with Jasmine, she has just the thing’

‘That’s a great idea Livvy, it will really complement your hair’ she exclaimed. Olivia indicated the package she was carrying

‘Is that your costume? she asked, and Charlotte nodded

‘Yup, I saw something on the way over, I’ve got everything I need here. I’ll come with you and you can be first to see’ The two friends went to the changing rooms where Jasmine, second wardrobe mistress, had Olivia’s clothes ready. She changed and waited for Charlotte to emerge from her cubicle and laughed when she came out.

‘Oh my, Drake will just love that’ she snorted

‘Do you think so? I saw it and thought he’d get the message that I’ve forgiven him for our argument the other day’ she smiled. She wore jeans, a white t shirt and a denim shirt, with the difference that the shirt was oversized and tied in a knot around her waist, accentuating her figure ‘It’s also very practical and comfortable’

‘I think its just adorable’ said Olivia ‘Actually I’m glad to have a quiet moment with you – can we talk?’

‘Of course Livvy, is everything alright? asked the Princess. Olivia nodded and caught her arm, and the two of them left the fitting rooms and went to a nearby drawing room. Olivia shut the door and turned to her friend, taking her arm again and sitting her down.

‘Lottie, you mustn’t tell anyone about this, and I really hope you’re okay with it’ she said in a low tone.

‘Okay with what, Livvy? she asked. Olivia drew a deep breath, patting her friend’s arm

‘I won’t beat around the bush Lottie, Brad was going to tell you but with being the Lord of Misrule he’ll be busy today so it’s better coming from me’ she paused, and Charlotte waited in suspense for her to go on ‘Brad and I – we’re kind of an item. We slept together, and he said he didn’t want to string you along if we’re together.’ she looked pleadingly at her ‘Do you mind Lottie? I didn’t tell him, but this time it’s different. I really like Brad and I – I think I’m falling for him. For starters I stayed with him overnight, and we – well it’s been more than once, not like my usual flings’ She bit her lip and waited for Charlotte’s reaction. After a short while of looking surprised, Charlotte broke into a smile.

‘That’s great Livvy, of course I don’t mind. Brad is great, very likeable despite our falling out, but I can tell you’re really into him, so – yes it’s fine by me’ Olivia gave out a sigh as she had been holding her breath.

‘Oh thankyou Lottie, that means so much to me. You said the other day he was a contender – but you argued with him, and I – are you sure?’ Charlotte patted her hand

‘Like I said, he’s great, but he’s also a foreigner, which wouldn’t be popular with the people. I think he’ll make a good friend, but I don’t think we were meant to be lovers. I’m happy for you Livvy, I hope it all works out for you’ Olivia wiped a tear from her eye.

‘I’m so glad Lottie, I would hate to fall out with you. He caught my eye the moment I saw him – and I know he impressed you too. I half wanted him for you, and half for me when I invited him over. I thought he’d shake things up a bit – and he has, hasn’t he?’ Charlotte nodded but went on.

‘We’d better keep it quiet Livvy, I’d like him to stay on as a suitor, even if only as a friend.’ Charlotte said ‘Father will be wanting me to drop one or two soon. Neville and Tariq are the ones I really can’t see myself with, and they would both make terrible consorts, and even worse Kings’

‘Sure thing Lottie, I’ll tell him as soon as I can – though you’ll probably get a chance this afternoon.’

‘It will be better coming from you, I’m sure’ Charlotte asserted, and stood to give her friend a hug.

#charlotte's choice #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #choices trr #trr choices #trr fanfic #olivia nevrakis #trr

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theresawritesstuff · 7 years ago

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The Bells of Villeneuve

Throwback to a Beauty and the Beast/Hunchback of Notre Dame crossover that I started writing and never bothered to finish. It’s rather silly but I still kind of like it so I thought I’d share. Shake things up from the normal stream of constant Sherlolly that has been my blog as of late (let’s see if any of my BATB fandom followers stuck around ;D) Enjoy! (tagging @lumiereswig because I have the sneaking feeling they just might enjoy this...)

Clopin awoke groggily to the sound of bells ringing. Quasi, must you always be so punctual? he thought as he rubbed his aching head. He sat up and quickly tumbled to the ground. It would seem that he had fallen asleep in an empty horse cart. How did he get there? Clopin tried to retrace his steps through his hazy memories of the night before. There had been a celebration with dancing and wine—so much wine—he was to perform a puppet show��he stepped into his blue booth, though now that he thought about it his booth was red last he recalled… he stepped into a blue booth and then…nothing…

Ah well, it was not the first time he had woken up somewhere other than his own bed, and quite honestly it was unlikely to be the last. He stood and dusted himself off, ready to go about his day. His ears perked up as his mind slowly came back into focus. The sound that had woken him was not the sound of the bells he knew so well. Nor was this the sound of the Paris he knew... He walked along the stone wall and peered into the entryway. Before him lay a very strange, though rather quaint village in the full swing of preparing for a celebration of sorts. At the center of the village square men were hoisting high a pole adorned with ribbons. May Day! What a joyous occasion to stumble upon.

Clopin made his way into the village as he tried to gage where exactly he was. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Sure, there were shops and people like you might see in Paris but everything was just a bit...different. The villagers all seemed a cheerful sort, though he received many a less than subtle confused glance as he strolled by. Honestly, you’d think these simpletons had never seen a gypsy before…

Just then, the face of a small child staring in awe at him from the flower cart caught his eye. She couldn’t have been more than four years old. The perfect audience! He smiled and drew out a puppet of his own likeness, kneeling before her, causing the bells on his clothing to jingle.

“Hello,” he greeted in a comical falsetto for his puppet self. “I am lost. Do you know where we are?”

The little girl grinned happily. “Villeneuve,” the child replied.

That meant absolutely nothing to him.

“Do you know if we are close to Paris?” he asked through his puppet liaison.

The child giggled and shrugged. Clearly ‘Paris’ meant nothing to her.

Clopin sighed, no more enlightened than he was before. Seeing his disappointment, the child sweetly picked a flower from the cart and tucked it behind his ear. Clopin smiled at the gift and rose to his feet, tipping his hat to the little girl.

He turned his eyes to the May pole, pondering the possibilities. Yes, that would do quite nicely. Clopin swiftly climbed to the top of the pole, scanning the horizon for a familiar landmark.

“Bonjour!” a friendly voice called up to him. Standing at the base of the pole was a man dressed in gold with a very strange curly white wig atop his head. “What are you doing up there?”

“Getting a better lay of the land. It would seem that I am very far from the Court of Miracles…” Clopin replied, seeing nothing but trees and valleys beyond the village walls.

“Court? Why of course! That explains you’re strange attire. You are a jester, no? I’m afraid that you are a long ways from home. Please, come down and you can accompany me back to the castle. My master can help get you home from there,” the man replied jovially.

“My attire is strange? Look at what’s on your hea…did you say castle?” Clopin asked, intrigued.

“Oui, monsieur! The finest castle in all of France, if I do say so.”

“Interesting…” Clopin mused before sliding down the pole to his new acquaintance. “Clopin Trouillefou. Pleasure to meet you, monsieur.” He offered the man a friendly handshake.

“Lumière. S'il vous plait—Did you say Trouillefou? I have a cousin who is a Trouillefou!” Lumière laughed. “What are the odds?”

“You don’t say?” Clopin chuckled, removing his mask and studying Lumière’s face. “Hmm… there is something about your nose…possibly a family trait?”

“Oui! My father’s,” Lumière replied.

“And was he a ‘Lumière’ as well?” Clopin asked.

“No. Poor soul had to live with the name Jerome. Can you imagine?” Lumière chuckled.

“No, I don’t suppose I could.” Clopin smiled and clapped Lumière on the back. “Well…family resemblance or not, you have offered me kindness and brightened my day and for that I am happy to claim you as my own! I already like you more than some of my closer relatives. Of course several of them owe me money…but you seem like a man who pays his debts in a timely manner.”

“I certainly endeavor to, monsieur,” Lumière replied with a hearty laugh. “Look at us chatting the day a way when there is a dinner to prepare for! Come, come! Let us be on our way so that we may celebrate this happy meeting. It is not every day that we have long lost family as our guest!”

“It shall be a celebration we shall not forget!” Clopin agreed heartily.

#old wip #batb2017 #the hunchback of notre dame #Beauty and the Beast #there's a hint of doctor who in there somewhere #a small hint

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bananniewrites · 4 years ago

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Jokes and Juggling Lies

Princess Genevieve 13/?

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Clara walked down the hallway lit by the bright morning sun, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls. She could feel the parchment of the letter tucked under the shoulder of her floral dress as it rubbed against her skin. Her heart pounded for fear of one of the guards noticing the letter, but she held her head high to feign confidence.

The king was waiting for her, just like dinner the night before. He stood and bowed. “Princess Clara.”

Clara curtsied slightly. “Your Majesty.” They both sat at their respective meals.

Neither of them spoke a word as they ate their breakfast, but Clara always glanced up at King Ranthum to see if he was ever watching her. He appeared to be busy with his poached eggs and fried bacon. Clara tried to occupy herself with her fried egg with cheese, potatoes, and bacon; the king was quiet compared to dinner, and the silence was somehow more uncomfortable than defending herself when he asked questions.

He finally swallowed and wiped his hands. “I apologize if my reception this morning was a bit chilly,” he started. “I was famished, and to tell the truth, I was hoping you would start the conversation.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was wondering if you had come to a decision about the marriage.”

Clara nearly choked; she hadn’t, too busy trying to figure out exactly what he was planning and how to stop him. She had a feeling that her father was in danger whether she agreed or not, and no knight was expected at this point, so it was up to her to warn her kingdom that a trap may be planned.

Until then, she had to stall for time. “Er… I thought about it,” she faltered, “and I was wondering if I could… take a tour of the kingdom?”

King Ranthum raised his eyebrows in surprise. “A tour of my kingdom?”

“Yes. You see, if I am going to be queen --your queen-- then I ought to know what’s going on around the kingdom. What kind of problems there are, what concerns and worries your citizens have… everything I can learn about and figure out how I can solve these problems once I have official reign as queen. Y-your queen, I mean.” She bit her lip, afraid that she might have asserted herself too high.

He frowned. “Our main problem is between our kingdoms, My Lady.”

“But perhaps that’s the reason for the tension,” Clara speculated. “Perhaps if I solve some of the prob-- er, any problems in this kingdom, then King Omar would soften because he sees that you care about your people. Tensions would then lessen.”

The king leaned back and thought. Clara attempted to appear excited and hopeful, but her real hope was that Ranthum wouldn’t be suspicious or think that she was being rude by assuming he wasn’t a good king. He shrugged. “Alright, why not? After our jester’s routine; I wanted him to break up the ice between us.”

Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she could find someone outside the castle who could sneak the letter to Onirea, and the jester could lift her spirits. If all went well, her father would find a way around the trap and bring her home with her mother and Genevieve. Dear, sweet Genevieve, with that feigning innocent look on her face when she swiped a pastry from the kitchen, and muttered to her sister if she wanted a piece. Clara always would, even when pretending to be mad, and after Genevieve broke off a generous helping, she would shove the whole thing down her gullet while scampering off…

“Princess?” Ranthum asked suddenly. “Why are you crying? Is something wrong?”

Clara snapped out of her memories and realized that her face was tear-streaked. “Oh!” She dried her eyes with the napkin. “No, nothing. Just homesick, I suppose.”

Ranthum slapped his hand on the table with a bang and grinned. “We shall soon remedy that, my dear! BRING IN THE CLOWN!” Two attendants left to inform the performer that he should soon be ready. The king stood up and walked towards the door, but not before stopping by Clara and offering his arm. Clara didn’t want to be rude, so she carefully, tentatively, took it.

They walked together through stone hallways and passages until they came to a small room with another entrance further away in a corner. A grand, tall chair stood against one wall, as did several smaller ones. Clara peeked behind her and found a few Orcish people finely dressed, and surmised that the smaller chairs must be for these nobles. The king held her by the first chair next to him, inviting her to sit. They took their seats, and the nobles filed in, leaving one of the lowliest of nobility to stand.

A mere moment later, the room filled with a cacophony of jingling bells as the famed jester of the court cartwheeled from the back entrance, tumbled in front of the audience, and jumped with his arms wide open. Clara clapped as was the custom back home, but the nobles and the king cheered and stomped wildy on the floor.

“I see we have a guest from out of town tonight,” the jester opened. “My Lady, Princess Clara.” He bowed until his chin touched his toes. “I assume this is yer first time seeing me?” Clara nodded. “Ah. It reminds me of m’ first performance. I’m getting dressed offstage an’ I turn to the costume wench, an’ I says, ‘look, I’m pretty nervous ‘bout going onstage for the king,’ an’ she says, ‘oh don’t be, the worst thing that can happen is gettin’ yer head chopped off.’”

His costume jingled as he stepped back, pretending to be in shock. The audience giggled. “‘How is that supposed to help?’ ‘Fear is hilarious,’ she says. ‘Did you see the look on yer face just now?’” The nobles chuckled.

“But she was right you know,” he continued. “I was in town when I heard about the inspiring captain-- maybe you’ve heard this before.”

The king gave a sly smile. “I’m sure Miss Clara hasn’t.” Clara’s worries of the intimate title were drowned out as the nobles joined in furiously, begging the jester to tell the story.

The jester blushed just a bit. “Alright, well, whenever this captain gets in a fight with an enemy ship, he asks one of the crewmen to bring his red shirt. The reason is this: if he gets hurt in battle, then his crewmen can’t see the blood on his shirt and they keep fighting. So the lookout calls to him, ‘a fleet of twenty ships from the north, Captain,’ and the captain demands, ‘BRING ME MY BROWN PANTS!’”

The audience erupted in laughter, doubling over and gasping for breath. Clara clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling snorts that would only be appropriate in this situation. Her cheeks burned from a frozen smile, and her sides were almost split. But at the same time, the king was right: any tension in the moment fractured, cracked and shattered. It was almost as if Clara could breathe for the first time. When was the last time she was in a situation where she was allowed to laugh?

The jester held his hat sheepishly. “I hope I haven’t offended you in any way, Princess.”

Clara attempted to speak in between giggles. “No, that’s-that’s okay. It’s a good joke.” She caught her breath. “Do you know any more jokes?”

“Do I!” he exclaimed. His face fell. “Do I? I’m getting older you know, so m’ memory is starting to go. So are m’ eyes; I’ll look at my wife in the morning, an’ I say, ‘ugh, how’d I marry someone so ugly?’ an’ my wife says, ‘that’s a mirror, hon.’”

And so it went like this for another ten minutes, and all the while it was clear that the jester was often in town when he heard these wisecracks. If he’s in town, Clara mused, could he hand off the letter? Don’t be ridiculous, Clara, she scolded herself. Why would the king’s own jester betray him? Even if he was willing to hand it off, would it even get to Onirea in time? But what if the king catches me? Can I trick the jester into sending it, then?

When the jester took his final bow, the nobles whooped and stamped before reconvening by the hall. The king joined them, but Clara approached the jester instead. “Excuse me, jester?” She began cautiously. “Do you ever make jokes about the king?”

“Sure do,” he replied, “but only when he’s not around. Why, you got more in that envelope?” He pointed to Clara’s shoulder.

“What! No, it’s- this is… for my sister, Genevieve,” she lied.

“Must be pretty important if it’s got a red seal,” the jester noted. Clara glanced at the king, nervous that he would look their way and notice the envelope too. “Yer Majesty, I can deliver that for ye,” he whispered in her ear, “but not now, he’ll think that you’re trying to reach King Omar. I’ll meet ye in town while you’re on yer trip with King Ranthum. We’ll bump into each other and drop our letters. Pick up an envelope with a white seal and make it look like it was yers. I’ll do the same with the red seal. Agreed?” Clara nodded, and they parted ways.

King Ranthum raised an eyebrow. “What were you two whispering about?”

“I… wanted to know the next time he could perform,” Clara fibbed. “He just told me to ask whenever I felt like it. He’s a great performer, you know. He makes me laugh.”

He rubbed his chin. “A bit of a flirt, if you ask me.”

“I have no interest in him romantically, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” she promised.

He gazed down at her, his face and tone grim. “I can assure you, my marriage will be a happy one.” He turned his glare towards the jester. “The jester will learn to appreciate the wife he has.”

Clara gulped. What kind of trouble had she got the jester into?

#princess genevieve #original story #original writing #writing #bananniewrites

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