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Lord knight Tron the Terrible, paced around the room listening to the newly arrived bard as she played her tunes and songs. Though he took great care to study her every feature, he did not interrupt her performance.



As Pentre walked about the dinning room, terrified gossipers and a new arrival joined in for a warm soup and a talk.

"Did you see that monstruous creature? It was screeching and flying and it had tendrils and floating eyes! It even destroyed a tower. It was the devil himself... I tell you" assured a gobsmacked horrified traveller who had, by chance, caught a glimpse of the Executioner.

"Perhaps a dragon... with this unusually thick fog, he may well be out there to stalk its prey" shrugged another, dipping bread into the broth.

Then came the turn of events, with the spy arriving hastily to Pentre's presence to deliver reports to the lord knight, talking at a low whisper, though it was likely The Jester might overhear them given how close Pentre was to her/him.

"My lord... the prince has yet again escaped from the castle despite the king's orders and defying his room arrest. He is travelling unguarded as we speak. Talking to the maids and drunken royal guards, it seems prince Merthyr left a few days ago in the company of his manservant Taff who was tasked to deliver a scroll to the lady Mancini." reported Albert

"I came as quick as I could to track them down and I even made my way to her mansion hoping to find and kill the pair of them. They were gone by the time I got there... but I overheard some of the brigands gossiping... for a few coin I was told that... two royal messengers arrived at the fortress to deliver a scroll which greatly upset lady Aileen Mancini. She ordered their arrest but the pair of them escaped from her grasp soon after. Given their escape path taken, she believes them to be The Jester and his accomplice." reported Albert trying to catch his breath



"Are you certain of this?" asked Pentre seeking reassurance

"Aye, I was assured that her guard wounded one of them during their hasty escapade. There is even a bounty for them and lady Aileen's men are seeking the two messengers as we speak..." revealed Albert further extending the palm to collect a pouch of silver coins in return for the priceless information.

No sooner Albert had been paid and turned to leave, Pentre gazed at Zerald who went over and killed the spy by stabbing him at the back after covering his mouth, taking the pouch of silver for himself. Tron was not known to leave loose ends and dead men tell no tales after all.

Then Tron looked at Zerald and Prodius talking loud to give out his orders

"Take all your men and search the city, leave no stone unturned or corner unchecked. You are looking for two messengers, one wounded, maybe both wounded. One has black hair and the other is blonde. Go out there and seek them out, do not rest until you have them in your grasp and... as soon as you do... cut off their tongues" ordered Tron Pentre knowing without tongues, Merthyr would not be able to declare his true status and identity

"They have offended and threatened the lady Mancini and such insult upon my betrothed will not go unpunished. Find them quickly and bring them bound and alive that I may deliver them to my bride to please her and earn her favour, that all citizens might learn there will be justice and peace in this region" declared Pentre

"They may well be The Jester and his accomplice, approach with care, do not address them and be armed and ready. The Jester is known to kill quickly...and we must find them, that our beloved lady Aileen may find justice for her murdered husband." added Tron further to spur the men into caution and hatred for the two fugitives.

Then he approached Zerald to talk to him in privacy, yet again.



"If these two cannot talk, they will take their secret to the grave and I will chain and hand them over to the Mancini family and I will watch and let Aileen execute the prince unwittingly, earning her admiration, soothing her thirst for revenge and if the king were to complain... I have her word attesting to the prince being The Jester and thus worthy of execution per royal decree..." smirked Pentre having finally found the perfect plan.

"Now then send your men out... I want either or both found before noon tomorrow" ordered Tron Pentre loudly as if merely sending the captain of the guard and his men to the task, Pentre sitting back to finish his drink, more than pleased with the turn of events so far, unsuspecting that The Jester himself was the female bard, who was likely eavesdropping discreetly.

Merthyr had been sound asleep during most of the night and well into dawn, unaware that Taff Gelligen had left his services and company.

When Merthyr finally woke up and rose a little, he looked around to take in his surroundings.



He turned the head sideways, gobsmacked to find Duke Isidore Steraveste of all people standing right there by his bed, in his quarters, along with his manservant nowhere to be seen.

"Duke Steraveste! What on earth are you doing here?" asked if demanded Merthyr

"And where is my manservant?" asked further Merthyr

"Did my father send you? has he taken my servant captive?" asked hastily the thought causing him shivers already, though he still felt weak and frail from the wound and bloodloss of the last few days.

((Faceclaim for Duke Isidore ))

Stallion, or Isidore Steraveste as he was known as now, looked to Merthyr as he was waking. Strange. The manservant hadn't returned yet, and he couldn't help but absently wonder why. There had been something different about the servant as he'd left. How had the situation changed? There was some vital piece of information that he seemed to be missing here, and that irked him a little.

Nonetheless, he did his best to soothe the Prince of his alarm. "Please, remain calm, Your Majesty, you're injured," he murmured quietly. "Your father doesn't even know I'm here. I have port contacts in this city that I wished to visit when I saw you with your servant," he explained, weaving his story. "Who left in the night. I couldn't tell you where he is now."

The Duke looked at the quickly-wrapped cloth that was the makeshift bandage that covered Merthyr's wound. He made a welcoming and assuring gesture, opening up his arms. "Come sit up if you can, young Prince. Let us change that covering. How was it that you came to be wounded?"

Merthyr took a deep breath feeling relieved that the king had not yet been informed of his escape and whereabouts and the matter could rest between the both of them.

"Seems you find in me in a rather awkward position at present, lord Isidore. I must ensure that no one knows of this event, my identity or my presence here, so, given each man has a price for silence, I wonder what yours will be, lord Isidore..." mused Merthyr trying to make an effort but collapsing of weakness and pain unable to hold up.

"I was shot by a rather well aimed arrow..." muttered Merthyr vaguely reluctant to confess further unless the duke pressed on the matter.

The mask of blissful obliviousness never left her expression; the bard played on, letting her soft voice fill the space. She sang in Italian, the words most foreigners would fail to understand, but it was clearly romantic, a soft and sad ballad that told the story of two distant lovers. Though the woman was missing a pinky, she played as if she didn’t need it, her thin fingers moving easily across the strings.

But of course, inside, Romulus was thinking, and fast. This Prince Merthyr wasn’t a bad man, if his servant wasn’t lying. He’d need some sort of way to distinguish the two, to make it known they weren’t the same. And he of course had to move this nobleman from where he was hidden, in the safety of the old woman’s home. They’d find him eventually, so he had to make a scene....something more pressing than locating this runaway prince.The woman’s eyes opened slowly, her half lidded gaze distant and thoughtful. A pleased smile crossed her face, and as the song ended and she strummed her final chord, and her eyes moved to Pentre, as if seeking some kind of praise or approval for the song she had played. With the ending of her song, The Jester had formed a perfect plan in his mind.

The Mancini’s daughter, the baby who’s birthday had been the downfall of Lord Julius. This would be his next victim.

—————————

Down in the dungeons, Raed’s exit was the entrance of the rather angry bandit; the cut on Iskra’s cheek was patched up and cleaned, the nobleman’s coat she wore draped over her arm. And the woman was seething; she looked at Crow with a glare, though her anger wasn’t directed at him, “Lady Aileen is in nasty mood, I’d vatch out.”

She stomped her way to the small cell she had been assigned, and two of her bandits followed in tow, mumbling to each-other in their mother tongue.

————————

Aileen stared at The Executioner with a pleased smile, “Id rather you not destroy anything more. It’s quite troublesome to explain to the people what happened, let alone repairing the damage you’ve caused. Your orders for now, are to wait. I will have use for you soon.”

The woman rested herself in her seat, sighing gently and drumming her fingers on her cheek. “...Now we all must wait...”

The Duke watched Merthyr, his firm gaze unwavering before it softened a little. It was not every day that an opportunity this interesting had availed itself to him so easily. Romulus had left Merthyr here in the cottage, and now the servant had suddenly left. And then there had been that hideous creature. By the sounds of the night, it seemed to have gone now, but if that thing was pursuing the Prince, he had no doubt that it would come back eventually. Or was it after Romulus himself? Either way, he didn't want to find out.

Should the opportunity be pounced upon to shift location? The illusionist pondered this. He wasn't simply going to leave the Prince by himself, so he may as well take him with him.

Isidore smiled at Merthyr, a warm and almost doting smile like that of a father, and assisted him in sitting up, supporting him into a sitting position before drawing a roll of gauze and beginning to untie the makeshift bandage.

"My price for silence is silence," he hummed. "I have never contacted you. However, my additional price is...trust," he said simply. "Events have occurred whist you have slept, and," he slowly began to peel off the bandage, "I imagine you aren't safe here any longer. We must go, and soon."

"Events have happened since I last saw my father, your lordship. I was there when the death of the lord Mancini was reported to the king.

Lord Pentre took the opportunity and twisted my father's mind by blaming all magic and magic folk for these deaths. He claimed that The Jester is one of the sorcerers and... least magic be banished along with all its wielders... the murders will continue.

He fails to see that those fallen lords were cruel, greedy, ruthless men, with the hands stained in innocent blood and abuses and with more rightful enemies than loyal followers... you can buy a man's service but you can never buy a man's loyalty" explained Merthyr sitting up and letting Isidore replace the bandages, surprised at how quickly it had healed in such short hours.

"Rest assured that my lips are sealed concerning our encounter if it is in my hand to deny this or remain silent on the matter" assured Merthyr with an occasional wince.

"I was delivering a scroll to the widow, the lady Mancini, my father has stripped Aileen and her family of all wealth, noble titles and property, granting them a modest and disused manor in the middle of the countryside. She is now a vassal to a cruel lord, where she used to be ruling consort over the same lands..." sighed Merthyr

"Aileen was rightfully furious and quite literally tried to kill the messenger. Taff managed to leave unscathed but I took an arrow on our way out. We... left by jumping through the balcony, taking the same path that The Jester took following the murder and now she thinks us to be the rascal, understandably so. We are wanted men, Taff and I, hence my worry at his prolonged absence.

Furthermore, when I offered my father to escort Taff on the delivery of this foul message, to ensure his safety and survival, the king warned me that if I were to consider leaving my quarters he would have my manservant hunted, tortured and executed on account of my rebellion. That I was forfeiting his safety and life altogether" sighed Merthyr coming clean on the events as he knew them to be

"Tell me, duke Isidore, how long has been Taff absent for?" quizzed Merthyr concerned at the rising sun, whose rays already illuminated the modest room

"A few hours, as I have said before," the Duke murmured evenly, keeping his expression passive and deferential as he listened to the Prince's story, gleaning much from it. "Long enough that I too have begun to worry. I will leave a message to the lady of the house to instruct him should he return." However, in the illusionist's mind, he knew that his message would be intended for Romulus and not Taff. The Jester was more than aware of Stallion's penchants as a showman, and would probably be able to decipher the hint that would be entirely ambiguous to most.

Interesting. Only by the purest of chance and the most rudimentary of logic had placed Merthyr in a position of peril. And the further irony being that the Prince was unaware that another magical being stood before him this very moment. It was better for it to remain that way.

Isidore finished wrapping the final length of the bandage and tied the end. "Sit up now, Your Majesty," he gently implored as he assised Merthyr in sitting up. "I've taken the liberty to acquire a crutch." He held a crude, wooden support crutch out, holding it steady for whenever the younger man would decide to lean upon it. "We must away, and with haste. Keep your hood on."

Merthyr looked up at the noble man, feeling reassured at his presence and complicity

"Isidore, given the circumstances, you are dispensed from all protocol, royal titles will only make our presence all the more noticeable" murmured Merthyr raising to his feet and accepting the support.

"If we were to be stopped, found, and questioned I will declare myself a servant of yours... and act the part accordingly. You are right, we best leave promptly." mused Merthyr, accepting the proposal and tugging the hood forward, following Isidore out of the building.

Isidore nodded, remaining close enough to reassure that Merthyr was able to gather his feet and walk. Although the wound would slow their speed of their flight considerably, it would be fine. He knew how to disguise the Prince's face to all others so they would not know him. However, before he left the cottage, he approached the woman who owned it.

"Miss, should the pale gentleman ever return, please give him this." Isidore handed the woman a small black and red card. On the underside of it was his own silver handwriting and Romulus would know where the clue would lead. Merthyr would not be able to see what was on the card but would see that it was a simple piece of paper.

The Duke then moved outside to go with Merthyr. The morning was new and the sun was gentle, not yet harsh as it usually became by midday. "Come, then," he mused quietly, his eyes darting about quietly to search for any possible watchers before heading southward along the stone lanes. He knew where he would go, and with a powerful piece such as the Prince in his hands, deep within he was excited to find out how moving such a major piece would change the game in its entirety.

The Hanged Man continued to keep his vigilant post, sitting on the crate while indulging his vices. He rarely smoked, but he needed something to help cut the thick tension in the air. As Iskra stormed past, his brows shot up nearly into his hairline. That news couldn't be good.

He eased himself up onto his feet and followed her. "Wh-what do you mean?" he asked her, offering her the same flask he had offered Raed. "Wh-what happened?" Well, her husband was murdered, he thought. But she has been so cool and collected ...

When her song had ended, the bard got up from her spot on the bartop, whispering into the bartenders ear; he nodded to her and walked her into the back, where the young lady slid out of the back door.

Romulus couldn't risk changing forms now- if that Lord Knight, or any of his men, had followed, they would certainly be surprised to see someone wearing the exact same clothes and carrying the same lute as this 'Alice' had; so begrudingly, the disguised assassin made his way down the foggy cobblestone street, mind occupied with his new plot.

Merthyr. He perked up suddenly as the name sprung into his mind; he had to find that servant and the prince, before the guard got to them first. Tugging his cloak around his head and lifting his skirts just the slightest, Romulus went jogging down the roads this time, headed back towards home.

---

She glared back at him as he followed, but clearly the event had worn the bandit thin- she sighed a bit and just took the flask, waving her men away as she stood against the wall.

"Had me on knees...zhought she vas going to cut head off vhere i knelt." She grumbled, taking a swig from the flask. Iskra hissed lightly, passing it back to him before she let out a deep exhale, "Zhat damned Lord Pentre...and zhe King too. Seized zhe land...Pentre vill take control of zhem. He intends to make her his vife." Iskra grumbled, "She has no choice. Voman is having everyzhing she's known taken from her. Knowing zhat Pentre...not even her child is safe."

Iskra rubbed at her temples, staring down the hallway as if watching for Aileen's guards. Her hand moved to her bandaged cheek, the concern in her expression turning to contempt, "I hope zhis is all vorth it."

The Hanged Man eased his weight off his bad ankle, watching Iskra swig from the flask. He couldn't help but respect her for her scars--it was like an immediate understanding between them, a shared experience, the way two battered women nod at each other behind their husbands' backs.

He tucked the flask away again when she passed it back to him. "His w-wife?" The grizzled knight rocked back onto his heels, his lips thinning into a grim line. He knew of Pentre's plan to rule Mancini holdings in Julius's stead, but wedding Aileen would make it a permanent arrangement. Iskra was right that the babe was in danger, though Pentre would at least have the shame to make it look like an accident. "I w-wish Julius was still alive," he said weakly. The name was bittersweet on his lips. For a moment the blond man looked like a kitten stuck in the rain. "He w-wasn't so bad ... was he ?..."

Taff looked on as the bard left the tavern in haste, his eyes able to see and sense the tinge of dark magic, the curse, that The Jester bore upon himself.

Until Taff stepped into such matter, the boy had traded himself and belonged to the seas, to Elektra. Such was an issue for another day, right now he had a damaged ankle and needed shelter and rest, without that he could pass away from using magic to heal placing himself in further danger

Now, if The Jester had taken shelter at the tavern... then there was no reason to assume that tavern was unsafe for rogues and magic wielders and... with that thought in mind... he limped further and quicker to the tavern, entering and slamming the door shut behind him as if he was being chased, only to find himself surrounded and cornered by Pentre's men ready for the capture and armed to the teeth, causing him to freeze still.

"Out of the pan and into the fire" thought Taff to himself as he winced

Pentre had barely finished addressing Zerald and giving him his orders when the tavern door was slammed shut loudly and harshly.

It didn't take but a moment for Taff and Pentre's eyes to cross one another and immediately recognize their opponent, a sly evil smile drawing upon Tron the Terrible's lips in contrast to Taff swallowing hard, well aware of the grave danger he found himself in

"Well, well, well, what have we got here... if it isn't The Jester himself in the flesh... how good of you to come and surrender... saving us the trouble of having to chase you further around the city..." greeted Zerald smiling sadistic, wildly and broadly

Upon that unflattering remark Taff paused stiff raising a confused and honestly puzzled eyebrow, though Pentre stared at him steadily as if daring Taff to reveal himself, his true identity as the royal manservant which would cause the rest to go out hunt for the prince, whilst Zerald continued to keep up the act.

"Men... seize the murderous sorcerer... and bring him to the lord of the city" barked Zerald watching the guards scramble and jump to the task and close in further on Taff

Taff's swollen ankle was too painful and swollen to stand and bear his weight longer causing him to collapse to the ground, hands raised behind the head in surrender

He let the angry enraged guards roughly manhandle him and drag him to the lord knight, looking up to address Pentre as he pleaded for some mercy in a low voice

"Lord knight, I am worn, weary and wounded... please have pity... grant me some rest...or make it a quick kill" admitted Taff not denying being the Jester, nor protesting his innocence over this confusion of identity

Pentre inclined closer to Taff.

"If you admit to being The Jester, to having and using magic, perhaps we need not look further for your prince... He will be safe as long as Merthyr returns home or stays hidden, but you will be put through public torture and death, without involving... others you care about...." bartered Tron Pentre going silent

Taff nodded in understanding and acceptance, yielding to the grim fate if his death and suffering spared the prince altogether, more so if it protected Romulus too

"Of course... lord knight sounds a most reasonable agreement" murmured Taff lowering the head

Without further ado, Taff was taken away, handed and forced into a ridiculous outfit clearly meant to make him resemble The Jester all the more so.

Taff knew better than to object, though, removing his attire and donning the red colourful outfit without an ounce of complaint or objection, well aware that the least rebellion would place the wounded prince in danger



The outfit had bells around the hem of the short cape, the hem of the blouse, some more strung along the belt and a few more sown on the end of his pointed curly shoes so that they would jingle at every step or move made, attracting more attention, much to Taff's discomfort who was known to be quiet and remain in the background

Once dressed, he was chained with the wrists behind him and taken to lady Aileen's grand manor, well paraded through all the streets in a loud procession of drums for all commoners to see Pentre's might and The Jester's downfall, before reaching the gates of the residence and waiting.

"I am lord Tron Pentre, lord knight of the realm, leader of the royal army. I demand to be granted immediate entrance and to be escorted to my betrothed, lady Aileen's presence, so that I may gift her a unique wedding gift, a captive known as The Jester, the assassin that murdered her husband in cold blood, so that she may avenge his death and find peace" announced and demanded Pentre waiting for the gates to open

Iskra’s eyes moved slightly to his expression, and the woman let out a short chuckle, a sound she didn’t often make as it lacked her usual contempt or malice, “Nyet, not bad man at all...zhat first daughter of his, her death changed him I zhink.” Most knowledge of the Mancini’s first child was hush-hush; the castle servants and guard knew to never mention it where the Lady and especially Lord Julius could hear, and by now the common folk would’ve forgot- it had been twenty years or so. It wasn’t surprising a bandit knew this, given Iskra’s tendency to dabble in nobleman’s gossip; and the birth of this new child was enough to reawaken knowledge of the first.

Iskra probably would’ve stayed down below, comfortably gossiping, had Aileen’s men not descended. She tensed up, eyes narrowing, but it was clear she was not their target, “Lord Knight Pentre has caught The Jester.”

Iskra stared, then practically jumped off the wall, pulling on her coat and whistling for her men as she ran up the stairs.

——————

Perhaps had Romulus had more time, he could’ve made it back to his home; but he had nearly been there when the drum procession started, and he turned off his path, following to the main roads and watching from the shadows as Taff was paraded around.

Really, he couldn’t help but grin; what a silly outfit. Did they really think he’d wear so many feathers? He’d have to remember that really, it was quite flashy, and he was sure using it again would enrage the Lord Knight. But then came the issue of saving Taff; if this Prince was as good of a man as this servant had claimed, he expected Merthyr would be desiring to save him quickly, and so Romulus slid into the shadows once more, running alongside the procession to the Mancini estate. He crossed the river slowly, looking across the water fondly and muttering a thanks to the siren who had gifted him these powers, emerging at the other side and gazing up the walls.

“I want a thank you after all of this.” The young man grumbled, beginning to strip out of his heavy, water-logged skirts now that he was hidden.

——————————

Of course, Pentre would be let in immediately; the Lady of the estate was woken from her sleep and while not exactly even close to being pleased, her opinion seemed to shift when it was said The Jester was caught.

She was dressed quickly and brought downstairs, down to the main ballroom where Lord Pentre and his men would be brought in; by then, she sat at the end of the room, in the seat made for her husband. She wore all black, mourning clothes, a veil over her face doing little to shield the clear murderous rage when her eyes landed on Taff.

“So, you caught The Jester, Lord Knight?” She glanced to Pentre, offering a small pleased smile, “Only one night in this city and you have done so much for us...I think no better man to take over in my husband’s stead, than the one who captured his killer.” She stood calmly, walking towards them; towards Taff, her eyes narrowed once more, until she stood directly in front of him, “...How does it feel, to be caught finally? After you had the audacity to enter my home not once but twice...”

"Thrice, Aileen, thrice" corrected Taff in a brief statement not denying nor acknowledging being The Jester though he knew Pentre expected him to play the part well enough.

"No need to give titles to commoners after all, now that the king callously stripped you of nobility, wealth, home and power... you're one of us until you're married to a lord again.

You should choose wiser next time, least your husband's unjust murders taint your hands in innocent blood too. Think of the people before you accept their new ruler or you may end up a widow yet again.

Julius had his days numbered, with more foes than friends. He was a tyrant and all those who rule by fear and cruelty... always meet an early death... even the lord knight will... sooner than later" assured Taff speaking as a matter of fact, getting struck into silence by Pentre.

"But you won't live to see that day, Jester" assured Pentre

He came forth, leaning forward to greet the lady formally and courteous, taking her hand to kiss it lightly.

"My dearest, here it is... if the dowry pleases you... by our marriage this very noon, within the hour, I will gift you nobility, your lands and title back and this wretched prisoner too, that you may deal with him as you see fit and exact your revenge as you please.

There is a royal decree of execution already signed by the king against The Jester and I have no inconvenience in allowing you to choose his manner of death to your liking, when and how and where you feel appropriate..." Offered Pentre taking his lordly ring and placing it into her hand

"Following our wedding, we shall have a fine dine and hopefully dispose of this unwanted one, if you feel ready for it. If not, you can take him to the dungeons for later. But I must inform you that by sunset I must depart again to be with my men.

You know my duty to the crown, within the royal army, demands my fullest attention and dedication, it demands that I travel often and spend large periods of time away from your most enjoyable company, but I am certain that you will make a fine ruler of the Mancini estate in your own right, during my absences, my lady.

You have but to send a messenger and you will be given funds to hire men to protect yourself and the dominions. If you need my presence or services, you have but to write a message and I will do my earnest to attend" assured Pentre already planning to make himself scarce even before the wedding night took place far preferring to share his nights with men rather than his wife but not about to admit to that openly so as to not cause her offence, resorting to military duty as a perfectly acceptable excuse.

He was quite content with spending his nights at that tavern, gambling and drinking away with his rowdy men, and the tavern wenches than be forced to stay at the grand manor, under scrutiny and the refined burden of protocol and lordly lifestyle, more so when the prince was out there in the city, perhaps homeless or wounded or alone, like a ripe fruit ready for the picking.

"I will see you again to ensure all is well, hopefully in the morning, when I am less burdened. Nightwatch duties are of the utmost importance to ensure your safety and that of our son... and the city and most profitable for capturing rogues" muttered Pentre the tongue almost stuck at the throat as he had to spit the word our concerning the little brat, though it came out smoothly enough that none could tell of his dislike for children, more so than for women, were it not for Taff who grinned at the known struggle

The Hanged Man furrowed his brow and nodded at Iskra's take. He had joined Julius's service twenty years ago as well, and had met the girl before her untimely demise. That had changed Julius--and Aileen too. He was about to say something in return when the guards came down to inform them of the Jester's capture. Crow exchanged glances with Iskra, then took off to his own cell to don the cape of his office. Once it was in place, he made his way upstairs to the throne room.

And there was Terrible Tron Pentre. The Hanged Man's step slowed as he approached, his intense green eyes picking at the lord knight relentlessly. Even Taff went ignored for the moment, despite his flagrant attire, while the grizzled knight scrutinized every inch of Pentre's face and body.

When Crow reached Aileen's side, he bowed, first to her and then to him, though kept his eyes on the man during it. Only then did he finally look to Taff. Surprise rounded his eyes somewhat. "The prince's manservant?" he asked, recalling the boy's face from the other day.

Having meandered through the gardens, the kitchens, and a number of other (completely legitimate) spaces, Raed found herself down a side-hall when the word went out. Jester. Caught. Which sounded fake, but she wasn't one to ignore that kind of news. So off to the grand ballroom she went, approaching from a servant's entrance with a discretion surprising for a woman her size.

When she arrived, she sidled up to the door, pressing close enough to eavesdrop a bit without entering. Which really only helped for... certain voices. Lady Aileen's for one, snippets of this "Jester" for another, but not enough to really know what was going on out there. Damn.

So Raed pushed the door open and, on seeing the spectacle unfolding before her, froze. One eye might have even twitched a little.... She could almost taste the 'bad' concentrating in this room. Beautiful lies and murderous intent typical to politics, and she knew she didn't want to be present when the mess blew up. Thus, she did what any sane rogue might.

She smiled, stepped back into the servant's passage (closing the door behind her), and trotted elsewhere. Anywhere but there sounded like a pretty good idea.