Pleasured by the Royal Jester

Princess Lilou’s POV I turned twenty-five today, and all I wanted was to disappear. The Golden Sovereign cut smoothly through the dark Montevallo waters, lights sparkling like diamonds across every deck. Music, laughter, and the clink of champagne glasses floated up from below, but none of it touched me. I stood near the railing in my deep violet gown, the crystals heavy on my skin, and forced myself to look interested. Prince Raphael Laurent leaned against the railing beside me, talking without pause. He was handsome. Tall, perfectly styled dark hair, sharp jaw, and elegant black tuxedo with the Laurentian crest on his lapel. Every lady at court whispered about him. They wanted him. I did not. “…and the new yacht club in Laurentia will be finished by next spring,” he said, voice smooth and confident. “Of course, once we are married, you will have full say in the design. Within reason.” I stared at his face. Strong features. Expensive cologne. Cocky little smile that never quite reached his eyes. Nothing. No flutter. No warmth. Just the same polite emptiness I always felt around him. Raphael kept talking. I nodded at the right moments, but my mind drifted far away. “Smile, Lilou,” Mother said sharply behind me. Queen Isolde stepped closer, her emerald gown catching the light. “You look like you are attending a funeral, not your own birthday. Prince Raphael is speaking to you.” I tried. The corners of my mouth lifted, but the smile died quickly. I had never been good at fake happiness. Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Enough of this. You will speak properly to your future husband.” She turned to a waiting attendant. “Go downstairs and bring the Royal Jester. A private performance for the princess. Perhaps some entertainment will fix that dull face of hers.” My stomach twisted. I had only heard stories about the Royal Jester. A tradition in our family for generations. Harmless entertainment. Nothing more. Minutes passed. Raphael continued talking about wedding plans and alliances. I barely heard him. Then the lights on our private upper deck softened. A single spotlight cut through the night. He arrived. The Royal Jester stepped onto the deck from the stairs below, moving with easy confidence. My breath caught. Black and crimson velvet stretched across broad shoulders and a powerful chest. The tunic hung open just enough to show smooth, defined muscle that shifted with every step. Golden bells dangled from the tall points of his hat, catching the light. White paint covered most of his face in sharp theatrical patterns, with bold crimson lines that made his high cheekbones and strong jaw stand out even more. A delicate gold half-mask framed the top of his face. But it was his eyes that hit me hardest. They were a striking amber-gold, bright and piercing against the white and crimson paint. Half-moon shaped, slightly upturned at the corners, they carried a quiet, dangerous charm. When those eyes found mine across the deck, something electric shot straight through my chest. He smirked. A slow, knowing curve of those painted lips. He lifted one gloved hand in a small wave, then brought a finger to his lips in a playful hush. “Hello,” he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. Oh no. Heat rushed into my cheeks. Pink. Hot. Unstoppable. My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted to escape. I had never blushed like this in my life. Raphael was still talking beside me. Something about the guest list. I lifted my hand without thinking and pressed two fingers lightly against his chest to stop him. “Not now,” I murmured, eyes still locked on the Jester. The Jester began his performance. He juggled crystal orbs first, spinning them high into the night air. His arms flexed, powerful and controlled. The velvet stretched across his chest and back as he moved. Every turn showed the sharp lines of muscle along his torso and the easy strength in his thighs. The bells chimed softly, almost teasing. I could not look away. He caught every orb perfectly and bowed toward me. Then he pulled long silk ribbons from his sleeves, crimson and black. He wove them through the air in slow, hypnotic patterns, drawing closer with every step. The ribbons danced around me like living things, brushing my bare shoulders and arms. My skin tingled everywhere they touched. Those amber-gold eyes never left mine. Half-moon shaped and slightly upturned, they held a dangerous charm that made my stomach tighten. I felt stripped bare under his gaze, as if he could see past my perfect princess mask and straight into the bored, lonely girl underneath. My pulse raced faster. I pressed my thighs together under the heavy gown, shocked by the sudden warmth between my legs. This had never happened before. Not with Raphael. Not with anyone. The Jester stopped right in front of me. Close enough that I caught his scent, dark cologne, sharp and expensive, layered over something warmer… like smoke and late nights. He tilted his head, studying me with that quiet, dangerous focus plus beautiful eyes. I swallowed hard. My voice refused to work. “Such a serious princess on her birthday,” he said softly, for my ears only. “All this beauty, yet you look like you are slowly dying inside.” He turned my palm up and traced one gloved finger slowly along the lines. The touch sent heat racing up my arm. “I see fire in you tonight, Princess,” he whispered. His thumb pressed firmer into my palm. “The kind of fire that can ruin kingdoms… if you let it burn.” My breath hitched. Heat flooded my entire body. I stared at his painted face, at the strong line of his neck, at the way his chest rose and fell under the open velvet. My mouth felt dry. Raphael cleared his throat loudly beside me. “This performance is becoming quite… familiar,” he said, his voice tight with displeasure. I didn’t even glance at him. My eyes stayed glued to the Jester. As he stepped back after the final bow, something small and cool brushed against my fingers. I looked down. A tiny, sharp blade no bigger than a hairpin rested in my palm, neatly wrapped in the crimson silk ribbon. My heart skipped. I looked up, startled. He only smiled—slow, wicked, and full of secrets. Bells chiming, his amber-gold eyes lingered on me a second longer before he turned and disappeared. The spotlight faded. Normal lights returned. Mother looked pleased. “There. At least you have some color in your cheeks now.” Raphael took my arm, his grip a little too tight. “We should discuss the wedding date again. It is only days away.” I nodded automatically, but my mind stayed on the upper deck. On his gaze and a painted smirk that refused to leave my head. The party dragged on for another hour. More toasts. More polite conversation. More of Raphael’s elegant, cocky voice. I smiled when I was supposed to. Spoke when I was expected to. But everything felt distant. When we finally returned to the palace in the early hours of the morning, I went straight to my rooms. The heavy door clicked shut behind me. I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the large bed still wearing my gown. The crimson ribbon the Jester had slipped into my hand earlier lay on my nightstand. I picked it up and ran my fingers over the soft silk. Those eyes. That smirk. The way my body had reacted to him in seconds. I pressed the pillow over my face and groaned quietly into it. My heart refused to slow down. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those amber-gold half-moon eyes staring straight into me, like he already knew every lonely thought I had hidden for years. This was dangerous. I was only days away from marrying Prince Raphael Laurent—a man every woman in Montevallo desired. A man who left me completely cold. Yet one painted jester with a wicked smirk and beautiful eyes had made me feel more alive in ten minutes than I had in twenty-five years. I rolled onto my side, still clutching the pillow tight against my burning cheeks. Sleep would not come. All I could think about was when I might see him again. My fingers tightened around the crimson silk he had slipped into my palm. Something small and sharp was hidden inside it, pressing lightly against my skin. A gift? Or a warning? I didn’t know which terrified me more—what he wanted from me… or how badly I already wanted to find out.