A Fool's Paradise

Chapter Three

Isolode crossed into her adjoining dressing chamber, where the air was warm with the faint scent of beeswax, rosewater, and the fresh flowers arranged in a silver vase upon the dressing table. Her attendants had laid out several gowns for the day, each selected to suit the weather, the occasion, and the queen’s particular preferences. A pale ivory dress had been considered, as had a soft grey one, but Isolode's attention settled on the sage-green gown draped over a padded stand. She ran her fingers over its fabric. The material was soft beneath her fingertips, its fitted bodice embroidered with delicate silver vines that climbed toward the neckline. The skirts fell in light, flowing layers, elegant without being so cumbersome that she could not walk through the gardens without needing an attendant to rescue her hem from every rosebush. It would do nicely.

She changed with the assistance of her maid, then dismissed her with a request for the silver earrings on the dressing table. The maid fastened them carefully, taking care not to catch the delicate hooks in the queen's long white hair. Isolode studied herself in the tall mirror. Her hair fell in silken waves down her back, its pale strands catching the daylight until they seemed almost luminous. Her eyes appeared greener against the sage of her gown, the faint silver flecks within them catching the light when she turned her head. The dress softened the paleness of her complexion without diminishing the striking quality of her features. She tilted her chin, examining the line of her throat and the way the embroidered vines drew the eye toward her face.

Perfect.

She had always believed there was something deeply foolish about people who possessed beauty and failed to enjoy it. A face like hers was a gift, and Isolode had every intention of making use of it. She liked fine gowns, expensive jewels, good wine, and the unmistakable pleasure of watching a handsome man forget what he had been saying because she had looked at him a certain way. She liked being desired. There was no shame in that. And if a little flirtation made the burdens of ruling a kingdom more agreeable, then surely the gods themselves could hardly object.

She reached for the silver earrings and fastened them carefully, then stepped back to consider the effect. "Beautiful," she murmured to her reflection.

From somewhere beyond the open doorway came the unmistakable sound of a bell. Followed by Vex’s voice, clear and carrying. "Modest, too!"

Isolode closed her eyes. For one brief, glorious moment, she considered having him executed. Instead, she turned towards the doorway. Vex stood there, leaning against the frame as though he had never left, one ankle crossed casually over the other. His masked face was angled towards her, and his mouth wore an expression of profound satisfaction.

"Have you come back to annoy me?" she asked, her voice laced with a weariness that was more performative than genuine.

"I left my dignity behind."

"How unfortunate. I have not seen it."

"Nor have I. I was hoping you might have found it lying about."

Isolode picked up a small cushion from the dressing table and threw it at him. Vex caught it one-handed. Naturally. He examined the cushion with exaggerated interest, then glanced towards the queen. "An excellent choice of weapon. Soft, harmless, and entirely consistent with your temperament."

"Give it back."

He tossed it onto the nearest chair with casual grace. "Now, now. There is no need to become violent. I am merely here to remind you that your luncheon guest has been waiting in the west gallery for the better part of twenty minutes."

Isolode blinked, her carefully composed expression momentarily fractured. "What?"

"Lord Evander. Handsome fellow. Excellent posture. A little too fond of his own reflection, but I suppose you have that in common."

"He is not supposed to arrive until noon."

"It is noon."

She glanced towards the windows. The sun had climbed higher than she had realized, casting long shadows across the opulent chamber. "Oh."

Vex straightened, apparently delighted by her momentary discomposure. "Shall I tell him you are indisposed?"

"No!"

"That you have been taken ill?"

"Absolutely not."

"That you have suffered a terrible accident involving a mirror and an overconfident queen?"

"Vex, I swear—"

"Ah, there she is. I was beginning to fear I had lost my little goat to the ravages of punctuality."

Isolode swept past him, lifting her skirts just enough to avoid stepping on the hem. "Do not speak to Lord Evander."

"Of course not."

"And do not make any of your ridiculous remarks."

"Certainly."

"And if you so much as hint that I was admiring myself in the mirror, I shall have you confined to the dungeons."

Vex fell into step beside her, his pace matching hers with effortless ease. "My queen, I would never dream of revealing a secret you have announced to an empty room at a volume sufficient to alert the neighboring kingdom."

She stopped walking. Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head. Vex’s mouth widened, the hidden amusement now clearly visible. "Shall I fetch the cushion again? You are a vile creature."

"Yet you keep me."

The words were delivered lightly, almost lazily, as though they meant nothing at all. Isolode looked at him for a moment longer than she intended, her gaze tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the hint of a scar near his temple, the shadowed depths of his masked eyes. Then she lifted her chin and resumed walking. "Someone must keep you from wandering into the countryside and frightening the livestock."

"How thoughtful. I shall endeavor to express my gratitude the next time you call me into your bedchamber."

Her step faltered, a fractional hitch in her stride. Vex continued walking as though he had said nothing particularly remarkable, his bells chiming a soft, lilting melody. Isolode stared at the side of his masked face, a fleeting image of a sharp dagger, a dark, empty room, and a silenced jester flashing through her mind. One day, I am going to murder that man. She had thought it before. She would undoubtedly think it again. And when she caught up with him, she did what she always did when Vex left her with too many thoughts and not enough answers. She reached for his arm.

He glanced down at her hand, then towards her face, his masked gaze questioning. "Yes, little goat?"

Isolode smiled sweetly, a deceptive calm settling over her. "Walk me to the garden."

For a moment, the jester said nothing. Then, he offered his arm with a grand, mocking bow, careful to keep the gesture within the bounds of playful courtesy rather than turn it into a spectacle for passing servants. "Anything for my queen."

She slipped her hand through his elbow, pleased by the warmth of him beneath the velvet and the easy way he adjusted his stride to match hers. Outside, the palace gardens waited beneath the midday sun. The roses were beginning to bloom, their petals heavy with dew, and the fountains cast delicate patterns of light across the marble paths. Somewhere among the hedges, a gardener was singing softly to himself. Beyond the garden walls, the kingdom continued with its ordinary business: carts rattling along the distant streets, merchants arranging their wares, stable hands leading horses toward the outer courtyard, and servants carrying out the endless tasks that kept the palace running. It was an ordinary day. A peaceful one, by the standards of a kingdom in which peace was never something to take entirely for granted.

Isolode leaned a little closer to Vex as they walked, the scent of roses and damp earth filling the air. "Tell me something," she said.

"Something."

She pinched his arm.

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound.

"Must you make everything difficult?"

"Must you make everything so easy?"

"I do not."

"No?" His mouth curved. "Then why do you keep inviting me to accompany you everywhere?"

"Because I enjoy your company." The answer escaped before she could dress it up in something more dignified, more queenly.

Vex’s smile remained in place, but his steps slowed, just for a moment.

Isolode noticed. She always noticed when it came to him. For once, he did not immediately answer with a cutting remark. The pause was small enough that anyone passing them might have mistaken it for a change in pace, but Isolode felt the subtle shift beneath her hand, the brief stillness of his arm against hers.

Then he bent his head towards her, and his voice slipped into its familiar, mocking cadence, a velvet caress with an undertow of playful danger. "How unfortunate for you, my little goat."

She rolled her eyes, a genuine gesture of exasperation, and tightened her hold on his arm. Ahead, the garden path curved towards the rose terrace, where servants were laying a table for the luncheon. Beyond it, the palace rose pale and imposing against the clear sky, its windows reflecting the afternoon light. Lord Evander would be waiting, no doubt wearing his most charming smile and wondering why the queen had kept him so long. Isolode ought to have been thinking about him. Instead, she found herself acutely aware of the jester beside her: the warmth of his arm, the faint chime of his bells, the cedar-and-smoke scent that lingered in the folds of his clothing, and the maddening certainty that he would continue to evade every attempt she made to understand him.

For now, the day was beautiful, her kingdom was peaceful, and the most pressing problem in Isolode's life was a jester who knew precisely how far he could go before his queen reminded him who held the crown. She could hardly imagine a more agreeable existence. And she had absolutely no reason to suspect that anything would ever change.