The castle halls were quieter in the evening. With the feast reduced to a more “intimate” affair, most of the usual noise—servants rushing to prepare grand dispys, visiting nobles exchanging empty pleasantries—had faded. It was a welcome change… even if it was all meant to continue this farce with Lord Harriot.

  Princess Everburn had washed away the remnants of the hunt, scrubbed clean of blood and dust, and changed into something finer. The tension in her limbs had eased. Her heartbeat no longer thrummed with the echoes of her bloodline’s power. She felt steadier now. Grounded.

  Perhaps she should step onto the balcony.

  Beyond the castle walls, the sky burned gold and crimson, the sun’s st light stretching thin along the horizon. It might do her good to stand beneath it for a while—to breathe the cool air, to watch the world below without the weight of expectation pressing against her shoulders.

  Yes. A few moments alone before dinner. That seemed right.

  She pushed open the balcony doors and stepped into the evening air. A cool breeze met her skin, carrying the distant scent of the forests. The sky stretched wide before her, the deep reds already fading to indigo.

  She inhaled slowly. A breath. A heartbeat.

  The distant murmur of the castle reached her—servants preparing the dining hall, boots against stone, ughter drifting up from the courtyard below. But out here, it was peaceful.

  She pced her hands on the cool stone railing and let herself sink into the silence.

  A rustle. A shift in the air.

  "Beautiful sight to take in, isn’t it?"

  The voice came from behind her.

  Princess Everburn spun around, her body tensing, already preparing for a fight. Instinct overrode thought—her muscles coiled, ready to strike, ready to kill if necessary.

  Harriot’s jester was leaning casually against the stone wall, positioned just beyond her line of sight when she had stepped onto the balcony. He looked entirely at ease, arms folded, a slow, zy smile spreading across his face, as if nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.

  “You’re not supposed to be here, elf.” Her voice was low, edged with warning. She hadn’t lowered her guard.

  “I know.” Qyngmi tilted his head, his grin widening. “That’s what makes it fun.”

  Princess Everburn narrowed her eyes, her stance still rigid. “This is an affront to the royal family,” she said coldly. “Intruding like this—you realize I could have you executed?” Her fingers twitched slightly, as if she hadn’t quite decided whether to strike him or call the guards. “Why are you here?”

  Qyngmi let out an exaggerated sigh, pushing off the wall and stepping forward just enough to make himself a little more comfortable—but not enough to breach the invisible line she’d drawn between them. “Concern, Your Highness,” he said, pcing a hand over his chest in mock sincerity. “For my master’s sake. When Lord Harriot returned from the hunt, he seemed… shaken. His usual bravado—you know, that memorable bravado of his—it had all but evaporated.”

  He gnced past her at the horizon, the st sliver of sun dipping below the trees. “He won’t talk about it. His men won’t tell me either, but then, they never tell me much of anything. So I thought, perhaps, you could?” He met her gaze again, his thoughts unreadable beneath his usual smirk.

  Princess Everburn scoffed, folding her arms. “I’m not obligated to expin myself to servants.” The word was sharp, dismissive. She had already turned back toward the railing, as if the conversation was beneath her.

  Qyngmi tilted his head, unfazed. “Ah, yes. Servant.” He rolled the word around as if tasting it. “We can speak on that as well.”

  He took a slow step closer, slipping his hand into the folds of his coat. “You know, I was just a humble house worker before I took up the honorable profession of fool. I can scrub floors, itemize a rder…”

  With a practiced flourish, he produced a bundle of fabric and let it unfurl between his hands. Dark stains marred the fine cloth—dried blood, spttered and soaked deep into the fibers. Her dress from the hunt, still coated in bear gore.

  “…do undry.”

  Princess Everburn’s eyes went wide.

  Qyngmi began to expin, tone light, almost amused. “You know, it’s the darndest thing. I happened to find this in the undry chute, and I couldn’t help but—”

  He never finished the sentence.

  Princess Everburn moved fast, closing the space between them in a blink. One moment, he was standing there, holding up the bloodstained dress with a smirk—the next, her hand was around his throat.

  Qyngmi let out a strangled gasp, eyes going wide as he was shoved back against the stone wall. The force of it rattled through his skull. She was taller than him in heels, her grip like iron, fingers pressing into the delicate pces where breath became uncertain.

  She leaned in, close enough that he could see the cold fire in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was low, deliberate, like the final scrape of a bde being drawn.

  “Keep talking, fool. By all means.”

  Qyngmi would have loved to respond with some cutting remark, something clever to regain control of the situation—but at present, his ability to speak was somewhat compromised by the whole being strangled situation. Instead, his hands twitched uselessly at his sides, his mind racing through possible ways out of this predicament.

  This was not how he had expected this conversation to go.

  Princess Everburn held his gaze, her grip steady, her expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet, measured tone, she said, “I know you’re smarter than you let on. I realized that some time ago.”

  Qyngmi, still pinned, managed a slight nod—or as much of a nod as one could manage with a hand around their throat.

  “So,” she continued, “I’m going to release you now. And when I do, try not to say anything dumb.”

  Another nod.

  True to her word, she loosened her fingers and stepped back.

  Qyngmi immediately crumpled to the floor, one hand bracing against the cold stone, the other rubbing at his throat as he gasped in a deep, ragged breath. He let out a weak cough, blinking rapidly as he tried to recover some sense of composure.

  Well. That could have gone better.

  Princess Everburn hadn’t moved. She still stood over him, her shadow stretching long in the dimming sunset, her gaze sharp and unrelenting.

  “Why are you here?” she asked again, her voice cool, measured.

  Qyngmi coughed, swallowed, then managed to rasp, “Money.”

  Princess Everburn’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  He cleared his throat and tried again. “Money,” he repeated, more steadily this time. “I came to Everburn Castle because I thought there was fortune to be made. If Lord Harriot wed you, his status would rise, his wealth would rise, and I—his most talented and indispensable fool—would rise with him. Py my cards right, and I could make a killing entertaining royals.” He attempted a weak grin, though it faltered under her stare. “That was the pn, anyway.”

  Princess Everburn barely blinked. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Qyngmi stilled.

  She crouched slightly, just enough to keep him in her full view, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Why are you on my balcony, Qyngmi?” she asked, slower this time. “And don’t tell me it’s because you’re worried about Lord Harriot. You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

  Qyngmi remained on the ground, rubbing his throat, but his breathing had steadied. He let out a slow exhale, eyes flicking toward the fading sun before shifting back to Princess Everburn.

  “There’s… something off,” he said at st. “About this pce. About everything since I arrived.”

  She didn’t react, only watching him in that same measured way.

  He continued, sitting up slightly. “Take your father’s little challenge earlier today. His interest in my talents for sleight of hand. It wasn’t just for sport. There was something else to it, something I can’t quite put my finger on.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Then there was a dream I had st night. A premonition, maybe.” He shrugged. “Not that I put much stock in such things, but it lingers in my mind all the same.”

  He conveniently left out that this so-called premonition had been part of a mild bit of fraud. It was more useful that way.

  “And then,” he went on, “there’s my lord’s sudden change in demeanor. Since returning from the hunt, his usual bravado—his loud, memorable bravado—has all but evaporated. His men now wouldn’t tell me a thing. But you—” he gestured vaguely at her, then the blood soaked dress now crumpled upon the balcony floor “—you might.”

  Princess Everburn didn’t blink. She had been silent throughout his little speech, giving no indication of what she thought of it. And now, she simply regarded him, unimpressed.

  “Did you expect me to pat you on the back and assure you that everything is fine?” she asked. “That you should go on your merry way, free of concern?”

  Qyngmi snorted, shaking his head. “No,” he said ftly.

  He got to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes, then met her gaze once more. “I just wanted to confirm my suspicions before I disappear from this pce. From court life, forever.”

  A pause. Then, with a faint, tired smirk, he added, “I may look the same age as you or Lord Harriot, but I’m a century old, give or take a few years. Might be time to ride off into the sunset and retire.”

  Princess Everburn lingered in silence, turning Qyngmi’s words over in her mind as she drifted toward the edge of the balcony. He had a point—something was off. The castle had felt different tely, the halls heavier with unspoken tension. Her father had yet to expin why this marriage no longer needed to happen, why she was expected to py along with the courtship as if it still mattered. The closer she came to the stone railing, the more the weight of those unanswered questions settled over her.

  Was he hoping that if she entertained the idea long enough, she’d resign herself to it? That she’d change her mind and wed Lord Harriot after all?

  She exhaled sharply. No. That wasn’t it.

  It had to be something else entirely—something just beyond her grasp, something moving in the dark corners of the castle where even she was not yet allowed to see. And if that was the case, perhaps an extra pair of eyes—particurly those of an elf who noticed things—would be useful.

  She shifted her weight and turned slightly, gazing out toward the horizon. The st streaks of sunset stretched overhead, washing the world below in hues of fire and fading gold. She drew a slow, measured breath, letting the cool evening air fill her lungs.

  Then, without turning, she spoke.

  “You could have more work yet to do around here,” she said, almost as an afterthought.

  Qyngmi squinted at her, suspicion knitting his brow. “I don’t like where this is going.”

  “You notice things,” Princess Everburn continued, unfazed. “You blend in. You have a way of slipping into rooms where powerful people gather—pces most wouldn’t even dream of entering.”

  “I am a jester,” he reminded her.

  “You’d make a good spy.”

  Qyngmi let out a sharp, incredulous ugh. “No. No, thank you. I’m done.” He gestured broadly to the vast sprawl of the castle around them. “No more courtly intrigue, no more nobles with sharp smiles and sharper knives. I’m taking my winnings—” he swept a hand vaguely toward himself, “—and getting out before I lose everything.”

  Princess Everburn hummed, unimpressed. “I’ll pay you.”

  Qyngmi hesitated for less than a heartbeat. “I’ll think about it,” he said, his tone shifting so fast it was almost whipsh-inducing.

  Princess Everburn gave him one st look, weighing whatever thoughts still lingered in her mind. Then, with a curt nod: "Good. Anything else?"

  Qyngmi stretched his arms over his head before settling himself onto the edge of the balcony, legs dangling zily over the drop. “No, I don’t think so. If I take you up on your kind offer, I suppose I’ll see you at dinner, Your Royal Highness.”

  Princess Everburn groaned. Dinner. Of course.

  Qyngmi grinned, tilting his head. “Want to see a magic trick?”

  Before she could refuse, he tipped forward and vanished over the balcony’s edge.

  Instinct propelled her forward. She peered down—nothing. No shadow, no movement, no sound of impact. Just empty air and the distant murmur of the castle below.

  A slow exhale through her nose. Her fingers found her temple. "Spectacur."

  She lingered a moment longer, the st rays of sunlight catching in her ruby neckce. Then, with a sharp turn, she strode back inside.