Chapter Text
He gently caresses your arm with his puppet hand. "A hand so soft. Like cotton. Liiike a kitten's paw."
You barely suppress a full-body shiver as his fingers continue tracing your skin, running up and down, up and down, his touch feather light. Not much more than a tease, and by god, it's working. You channel all your willpower into resisting the urge to close your eyes like a cat and lean into it. That'd be so embarrassing. Silly you, melting into a puddle the second you're shown the slightest sliver of affection, never mind that it's being delivered by an apparently sentient marionette—and at work, no less.
"A form so small… so easily broken… yet somehow brimming with warmth and movement."
You sure hope he isn't expecting you to answer. Fuck, if he intends for you to pay attention to what he's saying, he should really reconsider his approach.
You suddenly wonder if he means for this to be intimidating. If so, he has committed a grave miscalculation.
"A vessel that reacts, trembles, and changes so beautifully…" His voice has an almost hypnotic quality to it. You are certain you could listen to it for hours, get lost in it and never find your way out. His talents are wasted here in this abandoned theater, he should be out there on the sea, luring sailors to their doom. Much more lucrative, you'd wager.
"And that face…" he continues in that same melodic cadence, "always shifting, always telling stories without meaning to…"
God, you shudder to imagine what your face is must be showing now. You're probably red as a tomato. Like those nails on that puppet hand of his. Fuck, the hand. So pretty, so deceptively delicate, yet you don't doubt its danger. And the other hand—the one he's using to hold yours in place. You only now thought to pay attention to it.
Completely dark, as if repelling the light itself—or consuming it. With pointed claws on each fingertip, carefully curling around yours, dwarfing it in size. He is so much taller than you, so it makes sense, but even so the difference is staggering. If you'd ever doubted his supernatural nature, you wouldn't be able to now. You don't doubt that he could squash you like a bug anytime he wished.
If he's planning to, you hope he'll keep caressing your arm just a little while longer.
He grins, revealing a row of pearly white teeth and… oh, those look sharp. "You really are huuuman."
"Y-yeah." Your voice shakes as you try to answer, to your humiliation. "Yep."
Thankfully, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he carries on with his speech. "Seconds passed… then hours… days… weeks… months… years…" He sighs wistfully. "It has been so very long since all of that faded away. A kingdom that was once so lively, so magnificent, so full of joy… has now been reduced to silence."
He tells you more about the kingdom and its history, and you try your best to listen.
And then.
"But now that I have met such a sweet human before me, why don't you indulge me in a little game, Your Majesty?"
You're sitting on a throne.
"…Your Majesty? Me?"
"Yes. Let us play a bit of acting. You shall pretend to be the Queen, and I… will be your jester."
When you'd read the job listing, you had half assumed you were signing yourself up for a job at Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria. Turns out it might be closer to the Seven Kingdoms. To your luck, this is actually right up your alley. You might even end up being qualified for this security guard job. Will wonders ever cease?
'One day, beneath the scorching summer sun, the kingdom was struck by trouble once more. The farmers were filled with sorrow as the relentless heat of summer scorched the land.'
A disembodied voice floats out of the void. Of course. You really shouldn't be surprised at this point, that's on you.
(Still, who would have thought this minimum wage entry level job offered a free Dungeon Master as one of the benefits? Well, you certainly aren't about to complain.)
'Crops withered and failed under the drought, leaving the fields barren. As a result, the farmers suffered great losses, with no harvest left to sell. In the end, the farmers brought their plight before Her Majesty, hoping they might receive aid and relief.'
You tried your best to look kingly. Queenly. Monarch-ly, even.
Quick, channel a Targaryen. What would Prince Baelor do?
'Within the kingdom, Her Majesty sat upon her throne, her expression brow furrowed in thought, when Jestyn the royal jester appeared before her to relay the troubles faced by the farmers.'
"Good evening, Your Majesty." Jestyn appears and bows before you with utmost reverence. "What a truuly beautiful day today is. A day just as fitting to tend to the little troubles stirring within the kingdom… Wouldn't you agree, Your Majesty?"
"What troubles do you speak of, my dear jester?"
He seems to stutter for a second, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. Did you actually manage to catch him off-guard?
He recovers fast, though. "As of late, the townsfolk have begun to voice their worries. The harvests have failed, brought low by the relentless drought of the dry season. And as one might expect, such misfortune has left them… quite lacking in means," he explains solemnly.
'A man who worked as a farmer then entered, after Jestyn granted the man permission to do so.'
Since when do jesters have the authority to do that?
Suddenly, a puppet dressed as a farmer steps forward and kneels before you. "Greetings, Your Majesty. Please forgive my boldness, but we come before you to humbly seek your aid. Due to the failed harvests, we no longer have the means to replace the crops that withered, nor do we have the funds to meet our daily needs…" The farmer bows low, concluding his request. "Thus, we beg you… to grant us your guidance."
The answers come to you easily. You wish it were this simple to solve your own problems. If only you had a kingdom of your own, with gold in the royal coffers and the power of agency to make a difference. (Instead you have a mountain of debt and loan sharks on your ass.)
Maybe this job is the first step towards that goal. A few pieces of copper are hardly gold, but it's better than nothing, right? Right?
First, you gesture towards the farmer. "You may rise," you tell him, trying to convey benevolence in your tone. "You need not bow to me."
The farmer nods gratefully, getting back up to his feet. "Thank you, Majesty!"
You mull the words over in your head, wondering how to best get your thoughts across. "First, I would like to thank you for bringing this to my attention. I also wish to apologize for not having discovered the severity of the situation earlier. The crown should never let things get this dire. You have our sincerest remorse."
"Your Majesty—"
"Now, about the matter at hand. You need not fear, my friend. The crown will provide everything in our power to resolve this issue." Hmm.. You'd once read that a drought could be handled by building water channels. That's a start, isn't it? "I believe it wouldn't hurt to try building water channels, to prevent this happening in the future."
'Upon hearing the Queen's decision to build water channels, the farmer's heart danced with joy-'
"Furthermore, we shall cover the costs of sustenance for the meantime, and possibly some more resilient seeds, so that no one will starve until the more permanent solutions are put in place. Jestyn, would you be so kind and give this farmer enough from the treasury to cover the next few months for his community? Also, could you send out an envoy around the country to stop by all the villages to do the same for them? And inform them that they are always welcome to request more, if it isn't enough."
'Upon hearing the Queen's decision to provide the farmers with as much funding as they needed, the farmer's heart danced with joy.'
Thank you, Mr Narrator.
"Your Majesty! Thank you very much!"
'With a joyful heart, the farmer finally left the palace to deliver the good news.' The farmer leaves the stage, disappearing into the shadows from whence he came. Once more, it's only you and the jester. Your jester..? The thought brings heat to your cheeks, and you abandon the course immediately.
You can feel Jestyn's gaze fixed on you.
"Oh, Your Majesty. Such a truly wise and kind-hearted decision. Providing the farmers with funds to meet all their needs, while also thinking far ahead." He pauses, the smile still on his lips. Somehow, it doesn't feel as warm as the words suggest.
"You're so kind, Your Majesty. And kindness is a beautiful thing… But when given without limits… it turns into expectation." He tilts his head. "Tell me, how many coins does it take to feed a kingdom?"
"Uh.."
"Ah, forgive me. I forgot you are very generous. The kingdom must be quite small… if generosity alone is enough to sustain it."
He's still smiling, and his tone isn't unkind, but you still get the feeling he is mocking you, at least a little. Despite the undeniable fact that it might be unwise to oppose him, the small flame of indignation that has ignited in your chest takes the decision out of your hands. You're already speaking before you can rethink it.
(Yeah, yeah, money doesn't grow on trees, doesn't he think you know that? Ironically, you might know better than most. Jestyn is literally an animated puppet and you might still be more broke than him.)
"I understand your perspective, but I have to disagree. You aren't wrong—but even so, this is an necessary expense, there is no other option in this situation. What else is there to do, in your opinion? Should we let them starve, then?" The jester opens his mouth to retort, presumably, but you are too fired up to stop now. "And what about everyone else whom the crops feed, farmers aside? Even if we couldn't afford it presently, we must make do. Cut corners elsewhere. Sell the damn furniture in the castle if we have to. For the kingdom to thrive, the subjects must thrive, otherwise there is no kingdom to reign over but ashes."
Jestyn is watching you intently, his blood red eye staring straight into your soul. The expression on his face is neutral, unreadable. You should find it unnerving. Instead, you feel something very different.
You brush it aside. Not the time.
"If we allow our farmers to perish, our crops to wither, then we have failed them, Jestyn. What good is a ruler that fails their subjects? Such a ruler is just asking for a revolt, and would have to be replaced, lest the kingdom fall into disrepair and ruin."
When your little tirade is done, you struggle to catch your breath. Once it's all out, clarity washes over you like a cold bucket. Oh god. You really just threw all that at him, didn't you. Way to make a first impression, Jesus. Surely he's about to tell you to fuck off now, or eat you—
Instead, the clown laughs. He's grinning wide, ominous teeth at full display, but it doesn't feel threatening. His eyes appear… full of mirth?
"Of course, Your Majesty. You are quite right. My apologies for questioning your decisions."
So… you are not getting eaten after all?
(Aw, man.)
"No, don't apologize. That's what you're supposed to be doing, right? This is how the optimal outcome is achieved, by considering all angles. Your input is much appreciated, Jestyn." God knows the last thing a leader needs is to be surrounded by yes-men.
You try to ask if that was all but it seems like there is more in store for you yet.
'The day passed slowly within the kingdom. And without her Majesty realizing it, the time that had once shown nine in the morning had already advanced to one in the afternoon.'
Oh, nice. A time skip.
You wonder if there had been lunch. A feast, perhaps? A nice turkey, roasted to perfection, sitting on a silver platter in the center of the high table—
'At that very moment, a formal letter from another kingdom suddenly arrived. Upon learning of this, the butler promptly took the letter and set out to deliver it to her Majesty.'
A puppet dressed like a butler approaches Jestyn and hands him a parchment scroll. Jestyn reads the contents of the letter. You once again wonder what kind of jester he is, to be permitted such liberties. No, he doesn't act like a mere jester at all.
"Your Majesty," he grins wide, "we have received a most astonishing and rather intriguing request from a neighboring kingdom. In short, they wish to purchase a small piece of land along our border, under the pretense of facilitating trade. Should Your Majesty agree to this arrangement, they are prepared to offer compensation in gold coins. An amount I am quite certain would give Your Majesty a heart attack on the spot.." he trails off in a playful, sing-songy voice. "So then, what will you do, Your Majesty?"
Well… is that all the information you're getting? What kingdom is that, what do you know of them? What is your history as neighbors? Who rules it, and what is known of their character? Do you have any spies in the territory? What trade are they claiming to wish to facilitate, and how do they propose to achieve it? Does it sound plausible? What ulterior motives could they have? What area is it even, what is known about that land?
You sure hope actual rulers aren't making decisions based on just that.
(Then again, when you think about the world's politicians… you might not be so sure.)
"That area in question… people live there?"
His grin widens and he nods. "Yes."
"And what do the residents think?"
He stills. "Pardon?"
"I believe I don't possess sufficient information at present, and would never wish to make a rash decision that would inconvenience or endanger the people. I don't want to waste all the day's light inquiring about everything, so for now I will just say—let's ask the people for their opinion. Do they enjoy living there? Would they wish to move further inland, granted that the large sum would be used to build them new residence of their choosing, possibly better than their current one? I would leave it up to them. After all, they would be the ones affected by the decision."
"You wish to leave it to the people?"
"Shouldn't I?"
"Well… you are the Queen, after all. The ruler. The one who decides. One could argue, what do the peasants know about ruling?" His words are serious, but his tone suggests he might be playing the devil's advocate, to an extent. Or maybe that's just how his voice sounds as a default setting.
You huff a laugh. "I know right, what do they know about their home and wishes."
He seems to disappear into thought for a few moments. Then.. "What if the residents aren't united?"
Hmm. "Then no."
"No?"
"Yeah, no. Nobody should be forced to move for others' gain."
He inclines his head again. "...I presume the same applies for if the kingdom requires an answer promptly?"
You nod.
"Very well." He smiles. "To turn down such generosity… how admirable. One can only hope our neighbors share Your Majesty's appreciation for principles."
You frown. "Was it an offer… or a threat?"
He grins wider, but doesn't offer any further reply.
"Very well then," he repeats. "I shall inform our neighbors of Your Majesty's will. And I believe that, for now, the matters Your Majesty was required to resolve have reached the end of today's program."
Oh, thank god. This turned out to be more tiring than you expected. Fun, for sure, but exhausting, too. It probably doesn't help that it must be around three in the morning. This must be the weirdest job you've had to date.
Nice session, though!
"You may rest your head now, Your Majesty~"
(Where? In your lap?
...Where did that come from?)
Just as you are about to relax, the phone rings.
The debt collector.
Ugh.
You have no choice but to sit through what can only be described as a humiliation ritual, as Jestyn is forced to witness the whole thing. You have no doubts he can hear both sides of the call. In the silence on the stage, in the middle of the night, with just the two of you there, even a human could probably make it out. Man.. you'd hoped that maybe, somehow, you could get him to like you. Possibly. Eventually. When he got to know you better.
Not this well. After hearing that call, he'd be under no illusions about yours truly. He is now acutely aware what a loser you are, how you failed at basically everything in life up until now… What a Queen he picked. Probably regretting it just about now.
Fuck.
No, come on, this is fine. This is nothing, you have much bigger things to worry about than… It's not like you thought…
"Oh— Sorry, Jestyn. That was just a personal matter—"
Suddenly, Jestyn's hand gently closes around your shoulder as he looks at you with that wide smile of his.
"Your Majesty, your personal matters are the kingdom's matters." He's so close, your last brain cell fires off desperately. So close he could take a breath and you'd probably feel it. If breathing was something he did, that is. Does he? "And that makes them my concern as well, as the kingdom's jester."
His fingers are burning a hole where they dip into your flesh. His hand doesn't even feel hot, actually. Quite the opposite. And yet, it sets your body on fire, even through the layers of clothing. He should squeeze you tighter, dig the fingers in deeper—
He's still talking. You force yourself to focus on what he's saying.
"—I observed in your conversation through that technology just now, it seems your Majesty is in debt… to another kingdom, am I correct?"
…
No need denying it, is there?
"Yeah…"
His hand on your shoulder gently kneads the tension away. Instantly, you feel yourself relax, even as things get tense elsewhere.
You let out a shaky sigh, and hope the jester interprets it as nerves.
"You may tell me your troubles, Your Majesty."
Bold of him to assume you can speak, right now.
"After all, I am your most loyal and only jester…"
You really aren't helping here, Jestyn.
You take a steadying breath. "I've been thinking about the kingdom's finances for a long time now. They've been dwindling more and more."
"Oh my~" Fuck's sake, stop it. Bad jester.
"Yeah… Back then I… you could say I formed a sort of friendship with the ruler of another kingdom. The kingdom needed help because they were facing a similar problem. But, in the end, that kingdom was only exploiting me and ended up betraying me."
And there it is. Your sad pathetic little tale. Guaranteed to attract many suitors looking to forge an alliance. Perhaps, were they to be in search of a doormat…
"So… I had to borrow funds from other kingdoms. And now, our kingdom is burdened with considerable debt. I've been trying to find other sources of income just to keep things stable."
After you explain, Jestyn says nothing for a while. Silence wraps itself around the air between you.
That's it. He's disgusted by you.
You can't blame him.
"Do you know why the lion is honored as the king of the forest, Your Majesty?"
You frown. What a pivot. Still, you consider the question given. "Because the tiger is elsewhere?"
He stares at you, then barks out a laugh, looking almost surprised at himself.
"But yeah… it's perception, right? The lion is the king of the jungle because he presents himself as such. And because he looks the part, however irrelevant that might be materially. Oh.. are you telling me to fake it till I make it? That's nice of you, I guess," you chuckle.
"Your Majesty! You are just full of surprises, aren't you? That was quite a clever conclusion… But, not exactly. Lions.. are majestic. Fearsome. They are resilient, apex predators, standing at the very top. Now, imagine a rabbit. Why is the rabbit never called the king of the forest?"
Maybe it doesn't want to be?
You bite. "Because… rabbits are too gentle? Small? Not frightening enough?"
"Gentle…" His lip curls… If he had any on that side, that is. "Far too hesitant.. and, ah, tragically human."
You'd heard once that a rabbit's scream sounds like a person being murdered. Maybe there is something to this.
He continues. "And most importantly, trusting others a little too easily. Very noble qualities… for a suffering soul. Less so for a Queen. You thought that by helping others, they would like you. That they would smile at you, stand beside you, and call you a friend. And then boom! What a delightful surprise! You have been fooled! Tricked! Played like a lovely little tune!" He laughs maniacally. "Isn't that just perfectly ironic?"
Jestyn spoke with a smile, each laugh delicate and polite, yet every word felt like a sharp blade against your chest. So he really does think that. You were right. You win, haha. Got it in one!
…He's right, that is pretty funny. Your life is just one big comedy, always has been. Better to laugh than cry about it, right?
You huff out a laugh, much more muted than his but still there. A little self-deprecating, yet amused nonetheless. "Can't say you're wrong there."
Besides, he's only fulfilling his role as jester here. For once. Can't fault him for that.
"You see, Your Majesty, the rules of this world are not some sweet little fable where kindness is always repaid in kind. I believe you already know that. Sometimes the game is far simpler than that. Sometimes, the rule is merely eat… or be eaten."
(Can you be? Is that an option?)
"… Do you mean I should become a lion?"
"Oh no, no, Your Majesty. That won't be necessary." He chuckles. "Why, the look on your face alone, so deprived of sleep, is already quite terrifying." Ha ha. Count your days, jester. Sleep with one eye open.
You shoot him a deadpan look.
"Hehe… forgive me, Your Majesty. I was only joking." It's hard to stay annoyed with him when he's being so cute. Goddammit. "I am not telling you to become a lion. Have you ever considered… combining a rabbit and a lion?"
"A rion. Labbit?"
This time, it's his turn to be the unimpressed one. You bet he thought that was a little funny, though. He cannot fool you. Takes one idiot to know another. And, you're pretty sure you saw his eye twinkle. "Not that sort of combination, Your Majesty. The appearance of a rabbit, yet the heart of a lion. Like a wolf beneath sheep's clothing if you ask me."
He pauses. "And also… trust only those around you whom you truly know. Those who will remain loyal to you, no matter what. Difficult? Yes. But that is simply the truth."
At those words, his face seems to plunge into darkness, only one crimson iris shining through the dark, and those sharp, sharp teeth. (Why do you need to be a lion, when there seems to be a perfectly fine one here already?)
When he speaks, his voice sends chills down your spine. "And after that, perhaps those loyal to you may even help you destroy the ones who have hurt you. Just for you."
Then the fog lifts. "You do understand what I mean, do you not, Your Majesty?"
You do, but. You attempt to lighten the mood a little. "What, do we have assassins in the service of the crown as well?"
Jestyn stays silent.
"That was a joke." His wide grin stays unmoved. "Please don't murder my past friends or the debt collectors, holy shit."
He gives a dramatic sigh. "As Her Majesty wishes." The for now seems heavily implied.
You think about his speech, about lions and rabbits. There is logic in it, undoubtedly, but… "Have you considered that maybe the rabbit is happier this way?"
He inclines his head, a curious smile on his face, the heavy mood from before seemingly long gone. "Hmm?"
"Kindness doesn't need to be repaid to have value, you know. In fact, if given with such expectation, it's no kindness at all, but calculated strategy. It might very well be a dog eat dog world—in fact, it almost definitely is, but not everyone is so willing to inflict suffering on others to prop themselves up, even to survive. Not if it's a zero sum game. Perhaps the rabbit is content with a simple life eating grass, hopping through fields, feeling the sun on its face, just for a while.."
Jestyn opens his mouth, but you press on before you lose your train of thought.
"Besides, if the rabbit had been a lion, you never would have met her in the first place, and we wouldn't be having this conversation. Also, 'the ones that have hurt me', as you say, could be themselves considered lions—is that how you want me to be?"
"Of course not, don't be ridiculous." Jestyn sighs, strangely serious. "Rabbits are my favorite animal, Majesty."
Oh?
"That doesn't mean I enjoy seeing them harmed. Especially not if I can help it."
Aww. Your heart stutters in your chest, skipping a beat. Smooth motherfucker.
He sets the topic aside after that, letting you mull it over. He claps his hands then, snapping you out of your thoughts.
"Now… allow me to present you with entertainment. You must be tired working all day, yes, Your Majesty? Much as I adore that expression of yours, like a bat awakened in broad daylight, I would still rather not see you forever wear a face so utterly devoid of joy…"
Aand he's a dick again. All is right in the world. You can't resist a tiny smile.
"I shall make you smile once more. Melting the chill of your life with the fire of delight I bring."
He's so fucking silly he might just be right. His whimsy is definitely contagious, and so endearing.
"Allow me~" Jestyn snaps his fingers. Instantly, something appears in his hands. (Seriously, how the hell is he doing that? It's insane that before today you didn't believe in anything supernatural, and now you're having the time of your life roleplaying medieval royalty with a sentient puppet with teleportation powers. Nothing like finding out magic is real on a random Monday.)
The object in his hands is small and rectangular, wrapped in a layer of gold and tied neatly with a red ribbon. You peer closer.
"Oh, what is it?"
Jestyn hands it to you, allowing you to open it yourself.
"Chocolate?" Nice.
He nods. "Indeed, Your Majesty. Everyone loves chocolate. Who doesn't? So I hope you like it."
He continues, "And it's not just any ordinary chocolate. I crafted every step of it with all my heart, carefully, gently, and with the utmost devotion."
Ohh okay, not suspicious at all. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Just a jester cooking up handmade chocolate out of devotion to a stranger he hadn't met or been aware of the existence of yet.
"So I hope you'll savor my handmade chocolate and not forget the color of its wrapping, Your Majesty~" he trails off, tone very normal and not akin to your kid cousin handing you a glitter bomb.
You squint. You don't want to be rude. And you'd actually love a little treat right now, you can't lie. But.
"Jestyn?"
"Yes, Your Majesty?" He is still smiling innocently. Yeah, there's definitely something up with that chocolate.
"This isn't ordinary chocolate, is it?" Am I gonna shit myself if I eat this?
His smile doesn't fade in the slightest as he looks back at you.
"Oh, and what makes you say that, Your Majesty? Ah… to be honest, it pains my heart that you would accuse me so. I gave you that chocolate sincerely." Uhuh. Sincerely wishing for a spectacle, maybe.
His smile slowly fades, replaced by the expression of someone deeply wounded.
You snort. "Yeah, I bet. Looking real heartbroken over there."
"Pfft…hahaha—" Jestyn lets out a soft laugh, confirming what you already knew. Little shit. "Heheheheheh…ahahahaha!"
You can't help but join, hearing him cackle like a hyena. It echoes around the empty room. You're sure it would sound terrifying, were he not so cute.
"Ahh… so someone didn't forget the color of the wrapping after all." Yes. The wrapping. Absolutely. That's how you knew. "You're sharper than you look, Your Majesty."
Okay, ouch? Shots fired.
Suddenly, his expression transforms into something menacing, mouth wide with a shark-like smile. You startle, accidentally dropping the chocolate. "Yes. I added something to the chocolate."
"What did you put in there, is it cyanide? Peanuts?"
His face softens again. "Poison? AHAHAHA! Oh, Your Majesty, I am not that cruel. It was merely a prank. And I would never do something so merciless for the sake of a joke." He props his chin up on his hand, striking a pose. "It's chocolate, of course. But I find the usual ingredients rather dull. Nothing new. How boring. And then! A brilliant idea struck me. Why not add something new to the recipe?"
He pauses dramatically.
"So I added chilli powder."
"WHAT."
"Hehehe. Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I'll give you a proper entertainment this time. I promise this isn't another pra— what are you doing?"
You look up at him from the floor where you're frantically dusting the package off with your hands. "Why didn't you say that? I love chilli chocolate!"
Jestyn watches with mild horror as you tear the wrapper up, taking a large bite.
"Oh that's some good shit. Thanks, Jestyn! Oh, you could also try adding some mango next time if you can get any."
"I… are you well, Majesty?"
"Yeah, splendid, why?"
The look of pure perplexion on his face is adorable, and quite addictive. You understand why he feels the need to mess with you.
"You humans can have such strange tastes," muses Jestyn.
You point at him with what's left of the chocolate bar. "Hey, you're the one that made it."
He chuckles. "Fair." There's a new sparkle in his eye. You are suddenly certain he took this as a new challenge.
When the chocolate is finished, you remember that he had been about to tell you something, before you ruined his plans with your culinary savagery. "Ah, sorry, what were you saying before?"
Jestyn bolts upright, back in his element. You feel an intoxicating mix of anticipation and apprehension. Whatever shall it be this time?
He snaps his fingers, and there…
"A collar?"
In his hand appears a red collar, with a golden bell at its center. The colors are so him. But what—
"That is correct, Your Majesty," he says, explaining nothing. Instead, he—removes his tie and loosens his shirt collar?? Wait.
Confused, you can only remain seated, unable to move, watching his every action with pupils wide like saucers. Not unlike a deer in headlights.
The moment he places the collar around his neck, you begin to understand what he intends. At least. You think.
What else could it mean? But… what. He wants…
With you…?
Once it's fastened, he gently places the leash into your hand.
Holy shit. If you had a dick, you would probably be passing out right about now from the redirection of blood flow.
"Please," he says quietly. His voice grows heavy. A small dusting of red blooms on his cheeks. "I am yours to command, Your Majesty. Do with me whatever you wish."
Holy mother of Christ.
How did things end up like this? Just a while back you had been lamenting your chances with him, and now this? Does he truly want… this, with you? Are you understanding the situation correctly?
Or maybe it's another test, the goal of which you are yet to uncover? What should you do??
"J-Jestyn, this…"
He stands there obediently as he elaborates. "You may command me to do anything, Your Majesty. Sit. Lie down. Open my mouth… Whatever you order, I shall obey."
Fuck.
That's quite the blanket permission to give someone that is virtually a complete stranger. He says he would do it, no matter what… but does that mean he would like it as well? That sounds.. statistically improbable.
"Please relax yourself, Your Majesty. And enjoy yourself with me. I will entertain you." His grin is somewhat unhinged now, but you decide to take him up on it.
Ah… okay. Fine, then. Let's give this a try.
You've never done anything like this before. Oh, you've read about it plenty, but… in fiction, everything is easier. There is nothing to fuck up. No real people to hurt.
"Lie down, Jestyn." You're proud of the fact that your voice doesn't shake.
The moment you give the order, Jestyn obediently lies down on the stage floor. After he lies down, you walk towards him. Oh. Only now you remember the fact of how dirty it is. You aren't exactly thinking at full capacity here, okay. Not when—
He looks up at you from below, waiting for your next command. He looks so vulnerable, lying there at your feet, giving you the power to do anything to him. His arms are laid out on both sides of his head, relaxed and pliant—the palm of the puppet hand is open, facing you, and you resist the urge to trace the soft center of it with your own finger. The clawed fingers of the dark hand are curled slightly inward, almost defensively; as if to hide the hand, make it smaller. You wonder how it would feel to intertwine them with yours.
For a second you consider what to do. There's so many options. Most of them feel kind of mean. Maybe, if the two of you knew each other well…
He watches with rapt attention as you drop down to a crouch… then carefully lower yourself to lie down by his side, propped up on an elbow, facing him. Eyes wide, he quickly moves his arm higher, out of the way, to accommodate you as you do, even though he looks bewildered the entire time. Apparently he hadn't expected that. Well… that makes the two of you.
You move the leash to your other hand. Then, with the free one, you gingerly place your hand on his chest—approaching slowly, giving him plenty of time to move away or tell you to stop, gauging his reaction. When he doesn't appear to feel negatively about it, you start running your fingers over his clothed skin.
He sighs softly.
You slowly make your way upwards, your touch gentle, tracing idle patterns on his skin as you go. You wonder if it feels even remotely as good as it did when he touched you, back when you met. It's only been hours, yet it feels like an eternity has passed since. You wonder how sensitive his skin is, being a puppet and all. You really hope he can feel it.
Finally, your hand reaches his throat and the collar around it, bare skin exposed underneath. You begin to stroke his neck, slowly, tenderly. You feel like you're in a trance. Like nothing could be more important than this right now. Than him.
He breathes out shakily. "Your Majesty…"
It's strange.. When you brush your hand along his neck, the texture isn't hard like the surface of a regular puppet probably should be. You hadn't had much time to focus on this last time, and you more than make up for it now. It feels almost like human skin, soft, alive—just colder.
After lingering there for a moment, your hand continues further up to his face. You cup it gently, stroking the apple of his cheek with your thumb, back and forth. His skin is so soft. He is so beautiful with his bright crimson eyes and flushed porcelain skin. The dangerous teeth peeking out from the cracked side only complete the full image, adding to his charm. He is absolutely perfect.
He keeps making these little sounds in response to your touch and your body is on fire. It feels like you're having a religious experience. As if possessed, you use your other hand to tug on the leash—just a tiny bit, barely at all. Even so, the surprised whine that leaves him is instantaneous.
That's it. You're only human, and the apple has been dangling in front of you for too long. You feel like if you don't kiss him in the next second you are going to die—
You tug on the leash again, this time putting more strength behind it, to bring his face closer as you lean forward, down…
But then you hesitate. Irresistible as he is being right now, you truly wouldn't want to violate any boundaries. There is a difference between some innocent touches and this.
"I…" you start, suddenly feeling a little bashful. "What are you comfortable with?"
He smiles at you, looking content. Happy?
"Her Majesty may do anything she desires to me." He says it softly, quietly, and he doesn't sound unaffected at all. He sounds wrecked already, just from that, and you are going to combust on the spot.
"…Can I kiss you?"
He beams. His smile looks like it could power the sun.
So you give in. Tug him closer, leaning over him as he follows your lead, obliging; goes pliantly until finally, finally you meet in the middle. His lips part obediently under yours as you press inside, wanting to be as close as possible, taste every part of him, exploring his mouth with your tongue. His own tongue feels… strangely long, and the discovery makes you bite back a choked sound of your own. The pointy tip dances with your own, playful and eager, more dexterous than a human tongue could be capable of. (You wonder what else he could do with it.)
The hand that was once caressing his face has now moved behind his neck to support his head in this unnatural position. At the same time you swing one of your legs over him for a more practical position, ending up knelt across his stomach.
Your other hand gives in to the urge to intertwine your fingers with his where his hand lays above his head. The razor-sharp tips of his claws rest against your skin, not scratching, barely tickling.
He goes a little still as you do.
You pause too, suddenly worried to have done something he didn't enjoy. Taking the opportunity to replenish your oxygen (something you doubt he needs, lucky him) but unwilling to part with him, you disconnect your lips just enough to take several deep breaths, panting into his mouth, your lips brushing together with every slight move.
After a few moments, you squeeze his hand encouragingly and you feel him relax again. You take it as a sign to pick up where you left off, connecting your lips once more. He melts into it, going boneless, a puddle on the floor of this decrepit theater and you would not trade this for anything. The tips of his claws graze your skin just so, and it never once occurs to you to be afraid. No, quite the opposite.
When you finally disconnect, you take in the sight underneath you. And what a sight that is: Jestyn's eyes look hazy, his face even more flushed than before.
You sit back on his lap almost absentmindedly, then immediately your back goes ramrod straight at the unmistakable bulge you feel beneath you. He cries out as you do and fuck, you just can't resist grinding down against him again, feeling him pressing into you, a desperate little whimper leaving his throat at the additional stimulation. You repeat it a few more times, drunk on the little sounds he keeps making each time you do. It's exquisite — but it's not enough.
You slide out of his lap. He makes a choked off noise of disappointment (though it sounds like he tries to suppress it immediately after it leaves his chest) but lucky for him, you're not going far. You spread his legs instead, just wide enough to fit as you kneel between his thighs… then open them up just a little wider because you can. He's surprisingly flexible for a marionette, and it's hot as fuck.
After a quick glance to confirm this is still okay (and a brief struggle to figure out how his clothing works), you open his breeches, exposing him to the chilly air on the stage.
You pause to admire him for a moment. As expected, this part of him is just as captivating as the rest. About seven inches in length and dark as his hand and cheek (and presumably tongue, fuck, now you really want to see it—sadly you didn't get a good look before), it tapers off from a somewhat regular width into a narrow tip. It seems to emerge from a… hole in the pelvis area of his puppet body? Along with his balls. You suppose that this is his real body, somehow inhabiting the puppet one. Yes, that could make sense. You wonder if there is more of him to see. You wonder if he would ever show it to you.
But you're getting ahead of yourself there.
While you're busy taking in the newly revealed sight, the poor jester just lies there obediently, red as a tomato (or his beloved chilli powder, haha), keeping his hands to himself despite how you can see them twitching. It must be torture to have to lay there, with his length out as you take your sweet time looking—completely exposed, observed but not touched, while the other party is fully clothed at that. You decide to have a little mercy on the man.
He shivers when you run your fingers over him, exploring, touch featherlight. Teasing unintentionally... before finally taking hold of him fully, wrapping your fingers around him, squeezing gently.
"Ah! Your Majesty~" You barely put any pressure on him at all, wanting to feel it out, map out his reactions. He must be incredibly sensitive. More sensitive than any man you've met.
You pump your hand over the whole length, pausing to thumb at the pointy head, playing with it as he cries out and squirms under your hands, as if he can't decide whether to move into or away from the feeling. He sings so beautifully for you. It would be so easy to get addicted to this. You already feel like you never want to stop.
He sounds like he's already quite close. You should get a move on if you want to have a chance to taste him.
You adjust your position, moving down so that you're lying between his legs instead. Looking up at him from beneath your lashes (a calculated move you hope is at least a fraction as attractive as magazine articles claim it to be), you hook one of his legs over your shoulder, then lean down and lick away a bead of precum that has gathered at the tip of his cock.
This time, the resulting moan is louder than any noise he has made before. You immediately dive back in, starting with a few cautious licks along his length.
"Your Majesty, ah— this humble jester should be the one to— give you… pleasure," he tries to protest, but oh, if he doesn't think this is pleasurable for you, he must be genuinely insane. You haven't had time to check, but you just know you're wetter than you have been in ages.
You don't bother responding verbally. You elect to answer by taking him into your mouth fully instead, closing your lips around the sensitive head and sucking. The sound he makes is wrecked, a hoarse cry torn deep from his chest. That's when you remember the existence of the leash and you grasp around for it blindly. When you find it, you tug on it in time with lowering your head as far down as you dare, not wanting to choke.
(He almost finds his release right then and there.
No one has ever— and here you are, his liege, his beloved ruler, debasing yourself like this, purely with the aim to make him feel good, without being asked, not even taking any pleasure yourself…
For him, a mere lowly jester, unworthy of even laying a hand on you—yet you kneel for him, worship this vessel of his.
He has offered you absolute power over him and you used it to lie down with him, immediately putting yourself to his level, to caress him like he was made of glass, despite you being the fragile human, so gentle and kind and— ah— you— you are so—)
"My Majesty," he gasps, infusing as much pleasure as warning into it.
But you do not slow down, increasing your efforts instead. You use a hand to cup his balls, caressing them with your thumb. One of your knuckles brushes the rim of the entrance around his dick, and suddenly, a question forms in your mind. If there is a… Could there, also…
Before you can think better of it, your hand is already moving downwards, past the hem of his trousers around his hips, until eventually… There.
He whimpers pitifully when your fingertip presses against the hidden opening, brushing the sensitive pucker inside the hole. It feels just as cold as his tongue and cock did.
You dip a finger inside; just barely, only the very tip of it, more of a suggestion than anything else—
He spills into your mouth with a desperate cry, loud and raw, coming from deep within his chest. You work him through it, swallowing around him while massaging his entrance gently, not wanting to hurt him. You don't pull away until the last drop is spent and it's quickly hurtling toward overstimulation.
You stroke his thigh with your thumb as he recovers, waiting patiently.
"Your Majesty…" he says finally, watching you with a star-struck look in his eye, "I've never felt anything like this before…"
You freeze. "What do you—wait. Are you trying to say… was this your first time?"
He smiles sheepishly, the expression foreign on his face in contrast to his usual smug and cheeky (and occasionally menacing) grins.
"…Perhaps? Would Her Majesty find it unappealing, if that were the case?" His tone is light, but you can hear hints of real insecurity behind it.
"Unapp—no! What. Of course not! Jestyn, this was perfect, I just… was it good for you, too?" If only you had known…
The look on his face is soft. "How could it not be? My Majesty is so gentle with this jester, so kind… I had expected you to be rough with me in this situation. And yet…"
You frown. "Why would you even… why jump straight into kink, especially with a stranger, if you'd never done this?"
What if it had been someone else in your place? What if they hurt him?
All of a sudden, you're starting to understand his earlier murderous aura.
"Oh, hehe.. I've done that plenty of times before. The collar. Just not…"
Ah. "I see." You wonder who he'd done it with. You hope he might tell you someday. (If you keep this job, that is. You desperately want to keep the job now, even more than before.)
Before you can say more, the jester speaks up again. "..I believe your time in this kingdom has now come to an end." What does he—oh, is your shift over? Already? "My deepest apologies for not finding the time to reciprocate Your Majesty's generosity…"
Oh, does he mean..?
He would've wanted to… make you feel good, as well?
Be it almost any other guy, you might've written this off as empty pleasantries, just a thing to say to be polite. You wouldn't blame him for it, either. For his first time, this was incredibly impressive.
But Jestyn actually sounds serious about it, if you're interpreting his tone correctly. He seems genuinely disappointed.
Hm.
"Say, Jestyn… Are there any daytime security guards?"
He tilts his head. "Not to my knowledge, no.. May I ask why Your Majesty wishes to know?"
"So there is no real downside to staying for some overtime?"
A toothy smile slowly spreads across his face. "Her Majesty wouldn't mind that?"
You rub your chin in an impersonation of a great thinker of old. "Does a king limit himself to working hours? Does a ruler take a break from managing their kingdom? Is the monarch only one when it is convenient? And more importantly, do they let others tell them when to stop attending to their subjects?" You look him straight in the eye. "If you think the answer to any of these is 'no', then please, for the love of god and everything holy, fuck me."
He is on you the very next second, pushing you onto your back. Instead of the hard ground under you, however, there are soft sheets and a pillow. Confused, you look around. You have just enough time to recognize the monitor from the office (oh, that makes sense) before a finger on your chin is turning your head back to look at him.
Gone is the shy little jester from before—the one hovering over you on the bed seems to be anything but. It appears that with the change in position, so did his headspace. Next thing you know, all of your clothes are gone. (You sincerely pray he sent them somewhere they can be retrieved from, otherwise the commute home will be the strangest walk of shame this city has ever witnessed.) Still, even the idea of that doesn't stop the fresh wave of heat the display of his power sends through your body.
Before you can contemplate the irony of now being the one naked before a clothed partner, Jestyn is sliding down the bed, apparently having taken his earlier vow to reciprocate to heart.
He opens your legs wide, brushing his puppet thumb over your entrance, dipping inside just so and spreading the slick around. "My, my… so wet. All of this for little ol' me?"
"Hahh, Jestyn… Stop teasing," you try to plead. It comes out closer to a whine.
Jestyn, the jester who lives to serve, naturally takes your request as the opposite. At least you finally get to see the tongue this time. You were right about the color, it matches the rest of his body—and is also much longer than it felt while kissing. And then you are thinking no more, because the tip of it drags through your folds, up to your clit and back down again. He seems to be monitoring your response closely, every little sound you make, because it takes him no time at all to realize just how sensitive the little bundle of nerves is, and he zeroes in on it immediately. Then, seemingly realizing he still has his hands, his marionette thumb takes its place there while…
"Fuck, Jestyn, oh my god—"
The tongue carefully pushes inside of you. The pointy tip, along with the fact that you're wetter than you'd ever been, make it incredibly easy.
You have no idea how to describe the feel of it inside you. His mouth is pressed to your entrance, which means the whole thing must be inside. It's like it's everywhere all the time, in every direction, every crevice… You might be going crazy, but you could swear you've felt it brush against your cervix a few times. Holy fuck.
All the while, his hand is keeping busy. His movements are slightly uncoordinated, likely due to his eagerness, and he doesn't always manage to hit the best angle on every stroke, but it's him doing it and he is wonderful and you are going to come very soon if he keeps it up.
You want to do it with him inside you. Properly.
You find out that another advantage of having a sentient puppet defying the laws of physics and reality for a lover is that they seem to be having virtually zero refractory period.
He watches you reverently as he enters you—not where you are connected, but your face, always just your face—keeping a steady stream of praise and encouragement and sweet nothings and future promises whispered directly in your ear, his cold lips tickling the shell of your ear, driving you crazy. Somehow you get the feeling that he doesn't fully realize he's even saying all of it.
When you manage to catch his eye, it appears to have gained a slightly manic glint that should absolutely worry you, but in reality only makes you burn hotter for him.
It's been a long, long while for you, so the stretch is significant, especially with his considerable size, although the shape lessens the resistance. It also makes you remember the fact that this is not a human being you are engaging in this activity with right now, this is a sentient puppet whose cock is currently fucking you breathless, and it feels significantly better than any other experience you've had before, and you have to sit with that for a moment. You have absolutely gone insane, but who even cares at this point? Certainly not you, not when his cool length slides so deliciously over your sensitive walls with every thrust, somehow managing to hit the spot that makes you see stars constantly, over and over, and you would say you are going to lose your mind if you weren't certain that has already happened.
"Jestyn?" You interrupt whatever he was mumbling to you—unfortunately you've lost the ability to focus on the fine details long ago.
"Yes—haah, My Majesty?"
"You should… you should take responsibility. Terrible… terrible business for the—kingdom's stability… royal bastards."
"Nghh."
"Better, oh! Rectify that, promptly."
He groans deeply when he catches your meaning, dropping his head on your shoulder. "Must you torture me so, Majesty," he rasps.
"Not… no torture. I—fuck, please, there, don't stop—a ruler needs heirs… and a… royal consort—"
A choked off moan escapes Jestyn's throat, the pace of his thrusts not even resembling anything a human could be capable of anymore, fucking into you desperately before his rhythm stutters and you feel his cock twitch inside, cold release filling you up—
And that feeling sends you over the edge yourself as you clench around him, milking him for every last drop, trapping his cock in place until he's trembling and whining with overstimulation, yet he doesn't pull out, like a good little puppy. Only when he's certain you are done does he slip out of you before promptly collapsing on the bed next to you, careful not to crush you.
Time seems to stop still, and float like a river all around you as you hover in-between consciousness and the sweet embrace of dreams. You're almost asleep, when…
"Seconds passed… then hours… days… weeks… months… years… It has been so very long since all of that faded away." His voice is wistful, lost in thought. "And after so long… I've finally found you. My Queen. Your Majesty… I truly thank you for today. You've made me so unbearably happy.. Ah, but… you will come again tonight, won't you..? Of course.. of course you will. There are still so many things we can do together. I simply couldn't bear it if you didn't."
His clawed hand brushes through a strand of your hair, parting it gently. Tenderly.
"We can play again like we did just now, Your Majesty. I am your loyal jester, prepared to fulfill every one of your desires. Oh, you have no idea how this, being able to be close to my master like this, to have this experience with you, made my heart race… how it made me feel as though I belonged to you… yes, I belong to you, my Queen. We can dine together, sleep together, sing together, dance together… always together, and then… oh, sweet tart and cream, there are simply too many things we could do that I hardly know where to begin… as long as you never leave my side."
He sighs happily. "Truly.. what have you done to me, Your Majesty? I'm beginning to believe you're a sorcerer of terrifying power. Even Wizzy, the royal mage, couldn't twist a heart like this… I feel as though I've been caught in your web, wrapped tightly, unable to escape… simply waiting to be devoured by you.. and yet. I don't think I want to struggle at all. I scarcely recognize myself anymore, Your Majesty… but somehow, I don't wish to go back. The kingdom needs you… I need you."
His hand slides over your arm, caressing, then wrapping around it tightly. Not enough to hurt. Never that. But enough so that an escape wouldn't be easy.
"No. I want you.. I crave you.. My Queen… I've never felt anything this overwhelming before. I want to stay by your side, watch you breathe, carve your image into my mind, touch you… and perhaps, sink even deeper into you, until there's nothing left but us.. If you would have me, I would cherish every inch of you with the utmost devotion."
"You know," you mumble, voice heavy with sleep, "a 'yes' would've sufficed."