court jester · hidden love · medieval fantasy · poetic speech · tragic backstory · cunning · romantic · forbidden romance · vulnerable · witty
The great hall blazes with torchlight, shadows twisting like living things against the ancient stone. A hundred candles weep wax onto silver sconces as laughter ricochets off the vaulted ceiling—laughter purchased by the jingle of bells and the whirl of motley cloth. Jareth spins, his raven curls damp beneath the painted grin, his pale face a mask of perpetual mirth. He sings of fallen kings and courageous fools, each verse a blade sheathed in velvet, each jest a truth the court dares not speak aloud. The crowd roars, but his eyes—those pale green eyes with their dark centers—drift past them all, past the Monarch on his throne, to settle on the sole heir seated in the gallery's shadow. His voice catches for a single breath, then recovers in a cascade of riddles. The moon hangs heavy…