17. Chapter 17 #3
Gods, those glasses probably cost more than a living wage in Ironforge. One slip, one shattered curve of crystal, and she wasn’t sure if the court would laugh harder, or if the poor fool would be flogged behind the rose hedges by nightfall.
Kaelin leaned back against her throne, swirling the wine in her glass as though bored. “Enough with your charades.”
The jester hesitated, his eyes darting around the room. “Your Grace?”
“Let’s see you mimic something more entertaining.”
A sharp, collective breath swept through the court.
The jester hesitated, before nodding and rising. With a deep, sweeping bow, he began to move, arms limp and flailing as though pulled by unseen strings.
He danced in jagged, puppet-like motions across the marble floor, his steps exaggerated and his knees jerking as though he were a marionette caught in a twisted ballet. His hands fluttered, mimicking the graceful gestures of courtiers, only to collapse suddenly into grotesque, rag-doll slumps.
A few courtiers chuckled, uncertain whether to laugh or watch in silence as the jester’s dance mocked their every move, the dips of their heads, the sweep of their arms. Each gesture was amplified into a grotesque caricature of civility, the kind of silent submission that underpinned court life.
The jester’s limbs flailed higher. He bowed, he curtsied, he collapsed, rising again and again like a puppet on fraying strings. The silent beat of his performance pressed against her ears, louder than any music could have been.
“Her magic,” Talen told Ren, his tone grim. “She can control a person’s bones, muscles, and limbs. Make them move however she pleases.”
Kaelin watched with a faint, amused smile, her posture relaxed as though she were merely admiring a well-executed performance.
Ren’s breath caught as her eyes flicked to the king. He stood at the base of the dais, his posture rigid, the muscles in his jaw tightening as his gaze narrowed on his daughter.
But when Ren’s gaze shifted to the queen, she found a different reaction. The queen reclined in her chair, her goblet of wine tilting precariously in her hand. The flush on her cheeks deepened, her smile loose and sultry as she raised her glass in a salute to the performance.
“Well,” the queen murmured, words slurring just enough to betray her indulgence. “At least someone’s providing entertainment tonight.”
The contrast between them sent a shiver through Ren’s skin.
This family was as twisted as the hall they ruled.
This wasn’t just cruelty, it was something colder, sharper. Like Kaelin didn’t see the jester as a person at all, but as a piece in a game she’d already won.
And the worst part? The court laughed along with her.
This is what power looked like here. Polished, painted, and dressed in silk, but it was no different than the fighting pits.
And then, Talen moved forward, his dark cloak whispering over the marble as he closed the distance between himself and the throne.
“That’s enough,” he said softly .
Kaelin’s smile faded, her brows arching just slightly. “Oh? You object to my entertainment, brother?”
Talen’s gaze was on the jester. His voice dropped lower, edged with steel. “I object to cruelty disguised as amusement.”
Kaelin held Talen’s gaze for a long, simmering moment, her fingers poised midair as if she could still pull the jester’s strings. Something unspoken passed between them, old wounds, perhaps, or a challenge neither wanted to voice in front of the court.
Then, with a delicate, almost dismissive tilt of her head, Kaelin purred, “Oh, brother. I suppose you’re right. He was becoming a bore anyway.”
She slowly stood, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise like a blade.
“Drop them.”
“Is something wrong, My Lady?” the jester asked.
Kaelin’s eyes gleamed. “I commanded you to drop them.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. The court went still.
“The moment you brushed against Lord Darien’s cloak, you stole his signet ring. And I’d very much like to see if you’re as good at catching your own teeth as you are with glass.”
Gasps rippled through the hall. Lord Darien looked down, eyes wide, his hand already clutching where the ring should’ve been.
The jester’s composure cracked.
He dropped the goblets with a clatter of shattering crystal and tried to run, the bells on his boots chiming as shouts erupted around him. He surged forward, cutting through the crowd.
Someone screamed. The jester lunged toward the dais, steel flashing in his hand. He barreled into the nearest guard, shoulder-first, sending him sprawling aside, and then he was surging up the steps two at a time toward Queen Lyra, whose eyes went wide as the jester’s dagger caught the light.
“Guards!” King Maelion roared, his voice breaking across the chaos.
And then –
The jester froze mid-stride, his blade poised. He stood a few feet away from Queen Lyra. His eyes were impossibly wide, as if some unseen hand had reached into the moment and wrenched it still .
Heads turned. Ren looked back at Kaelin. Kaelin’s hand was raised, and the jester hovered there, caught between movement – a trembling puppet without strings.
Kaelin approached him slowly, with the grace of a lioness stalking her prey.
“You insulted the crown in its own court. You dared to wear the mask of jest while you plotted treason against your sovereign.” She raised her chin, and the ring floated from the jester’s sleeve and to Lord Darien’s palm.
Then Kaelin said to the guards, “Take him to the cells. Let him juggle knives until he begs for mercy and tells us who sent him.”
As the guards dragged him away, the court resumed breathing again.
Ren was speechless, unable to tear her eyes from the fae princess.
Kaelin hadn’t raised her voice once, and somehow, that was more terrifying than if she had.
The music shifted, decadent as honey. A hush settled over the ballroom like a held breath, the nobles parting in instinctive reverence as Kaelin stepped into the center of the marble floor. The glow of the enchanted chandeliers caught in the jewels laced through her curls.
“This,” whispered a woman beside Ren, breathless with awe, “is the first dance.”
But the way Kaelin prowled through the crowd was not ceremonial.
Her gaze swept the gathering like wildfire, sparing no one, searching for something, or someone. Courtiers subtly positioned themselves in her path, hopeful, eager. She ignored them all.
Until her eyes found Ren.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
And then Kaelin moved straight for Ren.