Sunlight trickled into the tearoom through the filter of the lacey curtains. The soft sage-green walls glowed in the warmth of the afternoon sun. The tea that had been placed in front of Relle steamed gently, filling the room with a fruity scent. She idly watched the vapor rise.

  Despite the large room having nearly a dozen tables in it, Relle was the only one there. Teacups and saucers had been set out for two other people to join her but she knew that it was more for show. No one accompanied her.

  Relle glanced out the nearby window and gazed at the vast expanse of rolling hills. She was fine if no one joined her for tea. In fact, she preferred it that way. Or at least that’s what she told herself as she poured a gratuitous amount of sugar and milk into her cup.

  As she took a sip Relle gazed down at the garden outside. Behind Goldmoor Castle was a large garden filled with flowers and plants from all around the world. A group of women close to her age talked in hushed tones as they walked the gardens. A pulse of anger shot through Relle’s chest. Two of the women, Melrose and Bethen, were supposed to be joining her for tea.

  Instead, Relle watched as her two ‘friends’ walked through the garden with the rest of the noble women. Most of the young women were daughters of court members or important Meiren families. Relle hated them all at that moment for not including her on their walk.

  “Princess,” said a voice, “I didn’t realize you were in here. Are you waiting for someone?”

  Relle looked over to see the familiar face of Motley who stood casually in the threshold of the doorway. He leaned his tall frame against the wall and watched her with cool disinterest. No one dared to look at the princess like that, no one except the king’s jester who was an exception to almost all castle rules.

  “No,” Relle raised her chin and sat properly like she should have been doing all along. “I prefer tea alone. I like the quiet.” It seemed like something her mother would have said.

  Motley raised a painted eyebrow. “And you needed three place settings for that?”

  His mismatched eyes glanced over to the two untouched teacups. Because of his job as the court jester, Relle had never seen the man not in his usual attire. Often she found himself wondering what he looked like without his garish costume of thick face paint and crimson robes.

  “A misunderstanding by the servants,” she glanced at the two empty seats. “What brings you here?”

  Motley walked into the room with the slow, casual grace of a spoiled cat. He watched her curiously as he approached. Relle could see the wheels of his mind spinning, searching for the perfect way to disrupt her afternoon.

  “Care if I join?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” she forced a docile smile. She did not want him to join.

  Motley sat across from her, his long legs barely fitting under the table. He regarded her with a playful, mischievous look on his face.

  “So, I assume you must work with my father today?” Relle said, trying her best to have a casual conversation.

  “I do,” he said, stirring in several teaspoons of sugar into his tea before dumping an obscene amount of milk into it. He looked up from the drink and met her eyes with a smirk. “I never had much of a taste for tea.”

  “I can tell,” she tried not to make a face. Even for her, that was a lot of sugar.

  “What are your plans for the afternoon, princess?”

  “In an hour I will join my tutor for studies in the library,” she said. “And tonight I dine with my parents.”

  “Exciting,” he said with thick sarcasm.

  “It may not be exciting but it’s the life of a princess, something you would know little about,” she said, barely able to restrain her irritation.

  Something about the look in his eyes angered her. While the entire castle, and the kingdom, bent to her father’s whims, Motley was magically immune to those powers. She resented him for that.

  “You’re right, I’m not much of a princess,” he remarked. She wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

  “Why did you come here, Motley?” Relle asked.

  “I passed by and thought you looked a little lonely,” his black-lined lips turned down at the end in fake sadness.

  “Trust me,” she narrowed her eyes at the jester. “I am not lonely.”

  He shrugged and sipped his tea-flavored milk. “If you say so. It’s just that I saw Lady Melrose and Lady Bethen this morning and they told me they were having tea with the princess…then I see you all alone…”

  “Plans change,” she kept her face neutral.

  “If the ladies of the court don’t want to have tea with you, perhaps you should tell your father? Surely, they should be punished for such-”

  “You are overstepping,” she warned him, feeling heat rush to her face.

  Motley leaned across the table. “Am I? Apologies.”

  Relle wanted to tell him that he could shove his ‘apologies’ up his ass, but instead, she sipped her tea.

  “How did you like my last performance?” Motley pressed on. Likely, he had seen through her attempt to remain unbothered by him.

  “It was fine but a little…overdone, don’t you think?” Relle smiled politely but she knew her words would bite him. A jester’s performance was everything. If it wasn’t perfect, it was bad.

  “Overdone?” Now it was Motley who appeared to be hiding his anger.

  “Don’t you think Sarwin is an easy target? I mean anyone so serious and angry-looking is pretty easy to make fun of.” Relle thought of how easily the king’s advisor’s face had turned bright red when Motley had walked out dressed in his robes.

  “Ah,” Motley sat back in his chair. “So, you think I should go for someone more challenging.”

  “Yes.”

  Personally, Relle would have loved to see Motley dress as her tutor Lady Tawnley, and make fun of her harsh lessons. She could only imagine Tawnley’s outrage and embarrassment. If Motley did that, perhaps she could forgive him for being a pain in her ass.

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Studies were brutal as always. Relle had thought she memorized the entire history of Astaemor’s Second Age, but apparently, her memory was not thorough enough for Tawnley. Because of this, she was forced to spend an extra hour of her time in her lessons.

  When Relle finally made it back to her private quarters, she wanted nothing more than to collapse on her bed and take a long nap. Lately, that was all she ever wanted to do. However, Relle had duties. She was not only a princess but a lady of her father’s court. Having dinner with the others was a weekly event.

  Shortly after arriving in her quarters, Relle heard a knock on her door, signaling that her handmaiden, Marin had arrived. Marin let herself in, as she always did, and smiled when she saw Relle.

  “You won’t believe what I heard,” Marin said.

  There were no formalities between Relle and Marin. Despite being a handmaiden, Marin had known Relle since they were both little girls. Relle often considered her to be the closest thing she had to a real friend.

  “What did you hear?” Relle groaned, refusing to get off her bed.

  “Two lords from the Riverlands will be here tonight.”

  “Ew,” she said. “Marin, they’re probably old and disgusting like those from Hullstead.”

  “Or,” Marin walked closer. “They are both incredibly handsome, smart, strong men looking for-”

  “If you say love, I’m going to throw you out the window.”

  Marin sighed. “What’s bothering you? I thought you’d be happy to see some new people for once. You were just telling me how stuffy the castle can be.”

  “I know, I know. Tawnley made me stay late studying because I am terrible at remembering history. And Motley is…Motley.”

  Marin shrugged. “Tawnley has always been tough on you because she knows you're smart and it’s kinda Motley’s job to be like that, right?”

  Relle nodded and looked at her friend, jealous of Marin’s level-headedness. “And,” she continued. “I was supposed to meet with Melrose and Bethen but they…never came.”

  “Their loss,” Marin said simply as she opened Relle’s wardrobe. “If you let everything bother you, you’ll end up exploding someday. Anyway, what do you want to wear tonight?”

  Marin helped Relle get ready for dinner. In doing so, Relle began to feel better. She told Marin about her frustrations and in turn, Marin told Relle about the gossip she had heard from the other scullery maids. The gossip shared around the castle was always fascinating to Relle. Marin was the only one who ever shared it with her.

  “Oh,” Marin said with a laugh, “basically every lord and lady is rumored to have a bastard child out there somewhere.”

  Relle shook her head. “I’m not sure the statistics support that.”

  “Statistics? Relle, this is about drama. Who cares if it’s real or not?”

  “Are there rumors about me having a bastard? Or…being one?”

  Marin rolled her eyes. “No one would dare say a word about that. Suggesting you’ve been with anyone is off the table for rumors and suggesting your parents…”

  Relle nodded. Rumors about royals were forbidden.

  “What do you think?” Marin quickly changed the subject and moved out of Relle’s way so she could see herself in the mirror.

  Relle smiled at herself in the mirror. Her mousy blonde hair had been stacked up on the top of her head. It had been curled softly into large ringlets around her face, accenting her heart-shaped face and elegant neck. For a moment, all she could see was her mother in the mirror.

  The dress Marin had picked out was her favorite shade of soft pink. Little details of gold stood out around the bodice and the embroidered skirts. The gold matched perfectly with the long, teardrop earrings she wore.

  “You look beautiful,” Marin said.

  Relle gave a tight-lipped smile. “I look like a princess.”

  The dinner was hosted in the western dining hall of the castle. The western dining hall was the larger of the two, decorated with the royal colors of Goldmoor; gold and green. The room had high ceilings and a chandelier that sparkled above the table. As a child Relle spent hours spinning around in the center of the room, watching the chandelier shine.

  When Relle arrived, she realized that she was the last one. Everyone stood as she was seated beside her mother near the head of the table. As she sat along with everyone else, she caught a glimpse of her mother staring at her.

  King Taniel sat at the head of the table, between Relle and her mother, Queen Wrenilyn. He gave a short speech before the first course of food was brought out to the table. In the speech, he mentioned Lords Lekhim and Royce. The two men gave slight nods. Relle glanced at the two lords making mental notes of what they looked like so she could tell Marin.

  Lekhim was likely only a few years older than Relle. He had muscular shoulders and a nice face, but there was a distinctly dead look in his eyes that she didn’t care for. Royce was older than Lekhim by a few years. He was a round man with a permanent frown.

  Neither of these men interested Relle in the slightest.

  As a servant poured Relle a glass of wine, she caught her mother’s eyes once again.

  “How was your day, Mother?” Relle asked as she reached for the wine.

  “It was a beautiful day,” Queen Wrenilyn smiled.

  However, the smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. Relle wondered when the last time her mother had experienced true happiness.

  The dinner dragged on. Relle ate her fill, perhaps more than Wrenilyn would have liked her to. She talked briefly with her father as well as the Duke and Duchess of Maten who sat beside her. It was a stuffy, boring dinner, as all dinners were in Goldmoor Castle. Despite this, Relle played her part.

  After a lifetime of doing it, Relle had become skilled at playing the role of a simple-minded, well-mannered princess. Sometimes, she was so good at doing it. Her skill at it often made her wonder if that was who she truly was.

  It was sometime after dinner when King Taniel summoned Motley into the room to perform. The lords and ladies at the table quieted as they anticipated the jester to walk out from behind the door. According to Marin, Motley was well-loved by the others in the castle. It appeared he had a wide appeal.

  Relle, however, was busy guessing who’s turn it was to be mocked by Motley. Her best guess was that it would be the Duke of Maten. Lately, he had gotten into some trouble gambling and she guessed that his addiction would be an easy thing for Motley to jest.

  However, when Motley stepped out of the hallway and into the dining hall, the entire room broke out into laughter. Everyone, that is, but Relle. She stared at the jester with utter shock, feeling her face turning red.

  Motley had not dressed as the Duke of Maten. He had dressed as Relle.

  Without a doubt, Motley had dressed himself as the princess of Goldmoor. He wore a dress in the soft pink that Relle always wore, complete with a wig of dark blonde hair. He even went as far as cruelly applying pink lipstick and golden eye makeup.

  Relle had never hated anyone more in her life.

  Then he started playing music.

  With his lute, Motley began to sing a song, sung in the perspective of Relle, herself. However, Relle hardly heard the song. All she could hear was the blood pumping in her ears and the laughter of everyone at the table.

  At the furthest end of the table sat the other young women of the court, including Melrose and Bethen. The girls laughed together until they had tears in their eyes. Relle heard one of them say, “he got her just right.” Another girl said, “he plays her so well.”

  Arguably, Relle hadn’t heard much of the song over the sound of blood rushing to her head. However, it was towards the end of the song that she finally turned into what he was singing.

  “I wake up late for breakfast, but no one really cares.

  I’ll never do what is asked, so don’t bother with your prayers.

  I drink my tea alone, for the ladies will not join me,

  I only wear the finest silks, I hope you all envy.

  In another life, I might’ve been a witch,

  But here in the castle, I’m the biggest–”

  He couldn’t finish the last word because suddenly a wine glass was thrown across the room. It only narrowly missed his head. The glass smashed onto the wall behind him, spraying ruby red wine onto the pale stone floors. A wicked smile spread across Motley’s lips at the attempted assault-by-wine.

  The room fell silent.

  “It seems someone can’t take a joke,” whispered a voice to Relle’s right.

  It was at that moment that Relle realized it was her who had thrown the goblet of wine across the room. Now, everyone at the table had turned to face Relle with various expressions ranging from amused to aghast. The heat of embarrassed blush rose to her cheeks.

  After a few long seconds of silence, the women at the end of the table broke out into fits of laughter. Relle no longer cared what etiquette she knew. She grabbed the skirts of her dress and ran from the dining hall.