Four years a fool, and I'd loved every second of it. The scandal, the rule breaking, the freedom that came from saying that which should never be said.
The king? A buffoon. The queen? A drunken escort?Court of Love? Truly the Court of Broken Hearts.
And the prince? Well, he was so hideously ugly and unloved he feared leaving his chamber.
Jester's privilege rendered me immune to punishment… at least, in this court I could do and say as I pleased. Others courts were far less forgiving. But among the weakest court, the Court of Love, I was untouchable.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the queen stumbling her way through the guests toward me. She tripped on her skirts and fought with their many layers, muttering under her breath. Her golden hair had fallen free of its pinned swirls and spilled unchecked about her flushed face.
Around her, a few of the guests arched eyebrows and curled their lips. I loved a spectacle as much as the rest of them, but if the queen unraveled here on the dance floor, Rowan would place the blame at my feet and I didn't have time for his bluster.
I swooped in and tucked her against my side. "Your Majesty, some fresh air, no?"
"Levi, so thoughtful! Where would I be without my favorite fool?" She leaned against my side and patted my chest, lips pouting.
"Facedown on the floor, my queen."
"Ha, yes." She giggled and hiccupped. Her behavior was partially my doing, considering I'd been topping up her cup all night. But I had my reasons, which would soon become apparent.
We passed through double doors onto a terraced hallway, open along one side toward the ocean. The cool, salt-laced breeze touched my face and lips. A glance over my shoulder revealed several guests watching our departure moments before the doors slammed closed. The disgraced queen, saved by her pet jester.
Whispers would swirl, reinforcing untruths. I'd need to return quickly, so those whispers died on painted lips before they grew too loud to ignore. If Henrietta had a husband who cared, I wouldn't have needed to be her crutch, saving us both from this merry dance. Where was the king? Probably too engrossed in eyeing whatever new serving girl had caught his eye.
"Take me to bed, Levi." Henrietta giggled and grabbed my cheek in an attempt to turn my face toward her, and from there it would descend into far too much touching. She'd begun her seduction early tonight. We had witnesses. A couple sauntered by, laughing and pretending not to notice us.
I brushed off Henrietta 's wandering touch, sweeping her eager hands back into mine to keep control. "Now then, you know the king will have my cock if he sees you so enamored."
"Well then," she scoffed, then plucked her hand free and poked at her ragged hair, trying to fix herself up. "He'd have more of you than I've ever had."
We passed by the prince's gilded doors, always locked, and then the king's. No light flickered from beneath his door. Back in the feasting hall, he was probably aware both I and his wife were missing from the celebration.
The queen's chamber lay ahead. Once inside, her waiting aides would see to it she was cared for. I opened the doors, expecting the fires to be ablaze and the room warm and lit by candles. But the aides weren't here, and the fires were too low. They hadn't been tended in hours. Worse, Henrietta and I were alone.
Henrietta frowned at the gloom and sighed.
I abandoned her side and lit the standing candelabra, keeping the woman in the corner of my eye at all times. "I'm sure your aides will be along."
"More like they've found themselves some fun."
With the candles all lit, I moved on to stoking the fires and tossed on a few more logs. "The room will be bright and warm again soon."
Henrietta still hadn't moved from the door. "Court of Love?" she snarled, marching toward the four-poster bed. "More like the Court of Wrongs." She tore off her shoes and flung them across the room with impressive force. "My husband ignores me, I haven't seen my son in months. I don't know—" Her voice trembled. "I try…" She sniffed.
"Oh yes, you're very trying. Now, forgive me, I must return to the gathering—"
"Levi." Her tone caught me at the door, fingers already wrapped around the handles, freedom so close.
"Stay."
I bowed my head. "My Queen of Hearts, you know I cannot."
"You fuck everyone else."
I turned and all I could see was a woman wrapped in the trappings of royalty. Her colorful dress hung askew from her slim shoulders, while her expression somehow portrayed fury and desperation in equal measure. She could be fierce, but her fire had faded years ago.
"They think we fuck, so what does it matter?" She dropped onto the end of the four-poster bed and stroked the drapes as though they were the lover she so pined for.
"It matters."
"I suppose you're right." When she swept her bangs from her forehead, her fingers trembled. She noticed, and curled them into a small fist. I almost went to her, but I'd made it as far as the door, and any step toward her would be a mistake. She wanted—needed company.
She grinned suddenly and tucked her hand against her heart. "Fine then, go be with your many lovers. What's another night alone in this prison?"
"That's the spirit. Good evening, my queen." I opened the door behind my back and retreated through it. "Sleep well."
She snorted and flopped back.
Good, she'd be asleep in moments and her aides could wrangle her moods while I did what I was good at and slithered among the crowd, gathering courtly gossip while spinning some of my own tales.
I hurried along the hall, passing the king's chamber—still dark— and might have hurried on by the prince's chamber too if I hadn't spotted a shadow glide under the door. I slowed. The hallway was empty. No staff, no guests. No witnesses.
I pressed a hand to the prince's closed door and listened. The crackle of a fire, perhaps the sweep of fabric—someone moving. Well, that someone could only be the Prince of Love. Color me intrigued. It had been so long since I'd seen him, I'd assumed he'd died behind these doors and nobody had noticed.
I plucked a pencil from my jacket's inner pocket and a slip of paper from its opposite pocket—I never roamed the palace without my tools—and scribbled a note:
Why could the prince not see his crown?
I flipped over the note and wrote the answer:Because he was always loo-king in the wrong direction.
Not my best work, but it's far harder to think of jests when I'd exhausted my repertoire months ago. I'd probably left him over a hundred notes. I posted this newest one beneath his door and watched for his shadow again.
The minutes ticked on. Had he kept my past notes? Did he collect them in a bureau? I didn't have the time to waste waiting on the prince. Yet I remained standing at his door, apparently unable to leave. Call it morbid curiosity or perhaps some kind of desperation on my part, because he alone was the only person in the entire Court of Love who hadn't noticed me. Four years, and we'd shared just as many words. It wasn't normal. He wasn't normal. Prince Rafe vexed me. Few in this world had that honor.
It was time to leave. I'd been absent from the feasting hall far too long—long enough to fuck a queen.
I abandoned the riddle of the Prince Behind the Door and swept back into the ballroom's brilliant lights and shrill laughter. I took a breath, filled my lungs and blood and body with the rush of knowing this was my world, and got to work.
The red- and black-clad guests from the Court of War and the blue-clad guests from Justice spoke of illness and affliction among their people, droughts, delayed supplies, and general unrest. I distracted them with card tricks, made them gasp in disbelief and laugh in wonder. For a little while, I had them forgetting their woes. A magic all of its own, making me their magician.
After inserting myself into everyone's evening, all that remained was for me to secure an alibi for my brief exit later. A fool for the fool, as it were. And I had someone in mind. I'd spotted the young warlord earlier in the evening, a delight of a man in loose black clothes and a slash of red silk around his waist. Quinton appeared to be enjoying his debut in the Court of Love, out to prove a representative from the Court of War could behave in public. His dance card was full; everyone loved fresh blood. He was handsome, muscular, with cropped dark hair, an intriguing side plait, an axe-sharp jaw, and arresting eyes. And if my instincts were correct, he wasn't interested in the ladies, at least not while I was nearby. I sympathized. Sometimes, a man needed to rail another man against a wall.
This was the Court of Love after all. If he wanted to get it out of his system, tonight was his opportunity. The Court of War had little time for love. Who better to sample carnal desires with, than the infamous Court of Love's promiscuous fool?
I'd made sure to cast him a few lascivious glances, enough to get his blood flowing south. Several guests had already paired off, some in groups of three or four. On another night, I'd have been among them. There were few better ways to end a social event than some well-managed, slightly intoxicated, free of inhibitions sex. But not tonight.
Tonight, Quinton would be the sole object of my affections.
All gatherings had a heartbeat. Most began slow, building through the night to a crescendo of dancing and delight after which they'd wind down. For all but me, the entertainment was over.
After skirting the ballroom's fringes, I positioned myself behind an arch within eavesdropping distance of Quinton and the young man accompanying him, probably a squire.
After a few moments, he sent his squire away to retire for the night and leaned against my archway, his back to me, just the pillar between us.
"You're somehow loud and quiet, aren't you," he mused aloud, keeping his back to the pillar, and me. "How long have you been lurking behind this arch?"