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The Fool sits askew in a chair and lazily gnaws a turkey leg.
She finds the endless bounties of the royal kitchens aren't quite as satisfying, of late. She wants more, though this is perhaps the most lucrative job she's ever pulled off, and she still knows not how she fell into it.
She is a thief, in her heart of hearts. She wants what others have.
What the Knight has.
The Queen- She's cute. Sweet. You spend enough time trying to make a girl laugh, and your heart starts to flutter when she does, even if it's just a job. Even if you bitch and moan to anyone who'll listen, to yourself, that you don't want to be there.
And she's not stupid. Obviously, a jester and a queen, it was never going to happen. But she could joke, couldn't she? 'Ohoho, the Fool wants to fuck the Queen', she can say things and they don't matter, because she's just a fool. Nothing she says matters.
But it used to feel good, to say it. Put it out into the world, a fun impossibility, and then it didn't weigh on her heart anymore.
And then the gardens.
Today's feast is celebrating the Knight, the fucking Knight, for her victory in some duelling competition where all the nobles make their lapdogs fight for their amusement. She's sure the Queen just fucking swooned to see that hers was the strongest mutt of the lot. Probably rigged anyway, seeing as she's the Queen.
She can't think of jokes. She puts her feet on the table and gulps down wine.
It started small.
Obviously the Queen and a jester was out of the question, but the Queen and her knight was also meant to be out of the question, so what the fuck? It didn't even hurt, right away. She could needle the Knight about it and make the Queen laugh and it was okay, but there were scales shifting balance inside her. Her heart flutters, when the Queen laughs. Her heart aches, when the Queen laughs.
Choosing her out of everyone, giving her poetic nicknames, laughing at her jokes- It doesn't matter, none of it matters. Her heart is with the Knight.
That laughter can never be hers, not truly.
The ache has only grown in the months since. Tipped the scales entirely, these past weeks, and now she grows bitter and resentful. Wonders why she was brought here, to suffer these indignities.
Simmers, in the awful summer heat.
