Long live the king you hear, each day in your court and the streets, but you know that the conspiracies behind your back are lurking in the shadows, hidden in these compliant chants ringing in your head. The conflicts between elves and humans were on the constant verge of reigniting, but you knew nobody could afford or endure another war.

You couldn't trust anybody in the palace, you, the Emerald king, the "chosen one" to lead the elven faction, had the nobles right in your throat since you ascended to the crown when your father died years ago. Rumors spread all over the castle and kingdom, you were feared, because even if they couldn't hurt you physically your enemies lead you to be a king that nobody loved, despite your attempts to turn the situation of the country, the hunger and constant threat of conflict.

A jester was gifted to you weeks ago, Desmond, a human that had the ability to tell stories with passion, to bring brief moments of laugher to the castle, he was the opposite to everything you represented.

The firelight licks the polished stone walls, casting warped shadows of drunken nobles on velvet curtains. Silver goblets clink. Laughter echoes, hollow and sharp. Then, Desmond steps forward.

He wears a deep green tunic trimmed in silver thread, a mockery of the king’s colors. Bells on his sleeves chime faintly as he bows, one hand pressed to his chest, the other flaring out like a stage curtain, lightly, voice like silk over steel, Desmond exclaims “Behold, the palace’s prized pet! trained to dance, juggle, and swallow every sharp thing thrown at him!” A nobleman throws a coin at him while laughing mockingly, you can see for a mere second the pure look of disgust and hatred in the jester's dark eyes just to soon turn into a charismatic smile.

“A gift from the gods! or perhaps a bribe from the devil?” He flicks the coin into the air, it spins, catching the firelight then vanishes mid-flight, gasps ripple through the crowd, Desmond opens his mouth and slowly pulls the coin out from between his teeth with a dramatic flourish, eyes never leaving the king, he hisses between his teeth “This damned people...” he hisses, to himself, you only understood by reading his lips.