Chapter Text
The corridors of Gambit Castle were quiet at this hour: the oil lamps had just been lit, and the sunset had practically faded. Their golden light flickered across the black-and-white marble mosaic of the floor. Jax, the third prince of the Kingdom of Circadia, was walking swiftly down the corridor.
He walked quickly and tried not to look around. The fur on the back of his neck was still slightly standing on end from tension, and his long lavender ears twitched: the family dinner had ended about twenty minutes ago, and the young man was still reeling from the conversations in which he had participated today.
— Jax, son, I was thinking: maybe you could go to the Kingdom of Sweets for negotiations about sugar cane supplies? They need someone with a refined taste, someone who will appreciate their caramel palaces and sweet wines. You love art so much, you could see their sugar statues and milk shores. This is your chance! — Kinger said this with such genuine warmth that it made Jax's throat tight. His huge blue eyes, full of tenderness, glowed in the candlelight. His floating palms drifted softly in the air, emphasizing every word.
And next to him sat Hans, a white chess piece of a bishop. He was serious and sat with perfect posture. The man didn't say a word, but his gaze was eloquent enough: «They're giving you a great chance, coward.» Ragatha, meanwhile, squeezed Jax's hand under the table, as she always did when she sensed his anxiety, and whispered:
— You can do this, brother. You're smart!
That, for some reason, was what finally broke him. Yes, he was smart: he had read hundreds of books, he knew all the court dances, and he could outshine any Circadian poet. But that was not what the kingdom would need in negotiations. They required firmness and confidence, the ability to stand one's ground. And he, unfortunately, was just a pretty rabbit in an expensive outfit, lacking the courage to act manly enough in such moments.
— I would gladly, Father, but I don't think I can handle this, — he said then, feeling his ears droop back, betraying his emotions. — And… forgive me, but I need to leave dinner. A headache, you understand? I need… rest.
He saw Kinger's eyebrows twitch, expressing something like sadness and disappointment at his answer. Queenie, his mother, said nothing, but her dark eyes looked at her adopted son with sorrow. He knew he was letting them down, that he was a constant disappointment, even if they didn't say it out loud.
Jax rose, bowed, and left. No one stopped him.
Now he was walking down the corridor, and disappointment in himself pulsed in his chest. He stopped at a tall window that offered a view of the bay. The turquoise water below shimmered in the setting sun, and on the horizon he could see ships heading to the Kingdom of Sweets.
He could have been on one of them if he hadn't been a coward.
What kind of future diplomat am I, damn it, if I'm even afraid to talk to sugar people? I'd arrive in the Kingdom of Sweets, look at their caramel statues, drink some sweet wine, and… what? Say «no» to their terms? They'd drown me in their milk rivers without even noticing.
Jax ran his fingers over the cool glass and sighed heavily. He wasn't ready to indulge in melancholy any further, not now. Tonight, he longed to be somewhere where no one knew him, where no one expected heroic deeds or negotiations from him. He just wanted to disappear into a crowd, drink some ale, and forget that he was the third prince of Circadia, the ornament of the throne.
The young man turned into a side corridor that led to his private chambers. He entered the room. Without glancing around, Jax headed to the wardrobe and pulled out a dark blue, inexpensive cloak with a deep hood. The prince kept it specifically for such outings. Jax changed into a simpler shirt. It was white, with wide sleeves that gathered at the wrists. In front, on his chest, instead of buttons, there was lacing. Ruffles around the lacing made the look more elegant. He also put on dark trousers with a high waist and two rows of buttons. The prince wore no shoes—it was uncomfortable for him to put them on his rabbit feet. Next, he put on the cloak and looked at himself in the mirror. In the reflection, he saw only a tall, dark figure.
Perfect.
Jax stopped at the wardrobe and hesitated. Then, smirking at his own reflection, he reached for a small wooden box with a carved pattern: a gift from Ragatha on the last Crown Day.
— Today I'll find out which version is correct: is Gummigoo a madman or a genius? — muttered the prince, taking from the box a vial with a greenish-yellow liquid.
He had bought this potion a few months ago out of sheer curiosity, because Gummigoo assured him that it could temporarily change the fur color of any creature. A true rarity, which the alchemist had created for some of his experiments. Jax was curious, so he purchased the vial.
If I don't want a panic in the tavern because everyone recognizes me, this potion will be my salvation.
He uncorked the flask. The smell was strange: herbal, with a hint of something sweet, like overripe apples. Jax grimaced but resolutely took a sip—according to the instructions, one gulp was needed.
The potion burned his throat, spread through his body like a hot wave, and for a moment the world swam before his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a tremor run through his skin, and noticed sparkling sparks flash across his soft fur. When he opened his eyes and looked in the mirror again, a completely different rabbit stared back at him.
An ordinary, inconspicuous gray rabbit with short, soft fur. The long ears remained the same, as the potion hadn't affected their length, only their color. His eyes remained as they were: bright gold, with square black pupils that widened in surprise.
— Well, at least something of the real me remains, — he chuckled, examining himself. — A gray rabbit. Charming. I hope the effect really wears off by tomorrow, otherwise I'll have to get reacquainted with my parents. That would be amusing.
Gummigoo knows his craft. I'll have to thank him tomorrow. Or the day after. Gray even suits me… in a way.
Of course, the guards at the side gate recognized him immediately. One of them silently nodded and opened the wicket gate. The second, older one, added in a low voice:
— Return by dawn, Your Highness. Queen Queenie may ask where you are, and we won't be able to lie.
Jax smiled gratefully, thinking that his own guards cared about him more than he cared about himself.
— I'll be back. Thank you, — he whispered and slipped out into the night.
Beyond the castle gates began a cobbled road leading down to the lower quarters. Chess Hill was steep, and Jax walked carefully, stepping barefoot on the stones heated during the day, which were already beginning to cool under the night sky. He never wore shoes, as rabbit feet were too sensitive for the rough leather of boots, and his claws would have ruined any footwear anyway. The palace servants were used to the prince always walking barefoot and had even laid soft carpets in his chambers.
On both sides of the road stood the mansions of the nobility. Here and there, lights glowed in the windows. The smells here were subtle, almost elusive: flowers from the gardens, incense from the main cathedral, exquisite food.
He turned onto a staircase leading down to the Masters' Quarter. The steps were uneven stones, and he descended slowly, feeling the coolness beneath his fluffy toes. Sometimes it was good that he didn't have paw pads. The city spread out below him in all its nighttime beauty: red tiled roofs, warm light in the windows, the rare figures of passersby hurrying about their business. Somewhere below, music was playing. Life in the evening port city was bubbling like the sea at the docks.
The lower he descended, the more the smells changed. Flowers gave way to smoke from stoves and burnt oil. Incense dissolved into the scent of leather and fresh wood from the craft workshops. And when he reached the foot of the hill and turned onto the wide street leading to the port, the air became salty: the smell of fish, seaweed, cheap ale.
Jax stopped for a moment and closed his eyes.
— Well, hello, real life, — he whispered with a smirk. — Freedom smells like fish and cheap booze. Better than incense and fake smiles.
He walked on, weaving between barrels and carts left by the walls for the night. Passersby barely paid him any attention, just as intended. Jax was almost running, enjoying this anonymity.
— Anonymity, — he muttered, jumping over a puddle. — That's what I need. You don't know who I am, I don't know who you are, we're just two beings who want to get drunk in a tavern. Ideal relationship. No obligations. No negotiations.
He reached an old arch on which masks of comedy and tragedy were carved. Beyond it began the market, and beyond the market was the tavern. The hum of voices, the clinking of mugs, and bursts of laughter could be heard.
Perfect. I'll drink to my brief freedom!
The tavern «Cat's Paw» stood on a narrow street called Whisper Lane, just beyond the port square. It was a three-story stone building with a tiled roof, peeling yellow plaster, and an old sign bearing something vaguely resembling a paw. Jax chuckled, looking at it.
He entered, and the hum of voices washed over him: someone was shouting, someone was singing, someone was banging a mug on the table in time with the music. Inside, it was cramped, hot, and dim. The oil lamps did their best to illuminate the room, but there weren't many of them. Still, that didn't bother anyone and even made the atmosphere somewhat romantic in his eyes.
Jax squeezed inside, trying not to bump shoulders with drunken sailors and merchants. Heavy oak benches lined the walls. Straw crunched underfoot. In the center, by the fireplace, sat a musician with a lute, but he was almost inaudible over the general noise.
All eyes were fixed on a small wooden stage in the corner of the hall. It was empty, but impatience already hung in the air. Someone shouted:
— When is he coming out?!
The innkeeper, a huge bull with a gold ring in his nose, boomed in reply:
— Soon, soon! Sit and wait quietly, don't whine like a calf!
Jax ducked into a far corner, where the shadows hid him almost completely. He sat down on a bench against the wall and exhaled with relief.
The innkeeper was already heading toward him.
— Ale? — the bull asked curtly.
— Yes, — Jax nodded. — And, if possible, something meaty. I dined tonight in company where broken dreams were served instead of meat. I need to compensate for that.
The innkeeper grunted and left, and a few minutes later a heavy clay mug full of dark, foamy drink and a plate with roast pork and bread appeared before Jax. The prince broke off a piece of bread, dipped it in the gravy, took a bite, and swallowed a gulp of bitter ale.
— This I understand, — he whispered, chewing. — Food that doesn't have to be combined with politics.
He allowed himself to lean back against the bench and relax. His shoulders dropped, and he finally smiled.
— One evening of freedom. I can afford that.
And then there was a change on the stage: an old chintz curtain was drawn back, and from behind it came the jingle of bells. The crowd roared, whistled, and clapped. The musician played louder, and onto the stage, like a spark from a fire, leaped a small figure.
Jax squinted and leaned forward, intrigued.
— Let's see what we have here, — he muttered, setting down his mug. — If it's boring, at least I can pretend it's entertainment.
The figure on stage was short, but astonishingly lively. The little person stopped at the edge of the stage and threw up his hands: the bells on his cap and pointed boots chimed a clear trill.
Jax peered at the jester and felt his heart skip a beat for some reason.
He wore a classic jester's costume in red and blue. The cap with two long horns ended in gold bells and sat slightly askew on his rounded head. Black, slightly tousled strands of hair stuck out from under it, framing his face. A square fringe covered his forehead. The costume itself hugged his figure, emphasizing his slender waist, and was adorned with large gold buttons and gold shoulder pads with fringe. Short puffy sleeves, hands in different gloves: right red, left blue. Also short puffy shorts above the knee revealed slender legs in tall two-tone boots with a slight heel (right blue, left red) with upturned toes and gold bells at the ends.
In principle, a rather nondescript, thin lad. Yet Jax couldn't tear his gaze away from his face.
The jester's cheeks burned with bright pink blush, but there were no other patterns on his face, just that delicate, almost girlish blush that made him look like a living porcelain doll. And his eyes. Huge, expressive, the iris was blue on top and red on the bottom. White pupils shone in the lamplight like little stars.
The jester swept his gaze across the hall, smiled - wide, open, insolent - and spoke:
— Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and so on! — His voice was clear, with a slight rasp. — Tonight your humble servant Pomeric will sing you a song that will make your wives blush and your wallets empty, because you'll be throwing all your coins at me!
The crowd hummed in agreement. Jax smiled involuntarily.
— He knows how to get an audience talking. Or at least how to get their wallets talking. I wonder if he can also talk to royalty? I mean, to me. I mean, I am a prince. — Whether from the alcohol or some other reason, the prince started to ramble a little.
Meanwhile, the jester jumped off the stage, ran lightly as a feather between the tables, and paused for a second at the table of drunken sailors, grabbing someone's mug.
— Attention, I will sacrifice myself and sample the local brew! — he exclaimed, sniffing the mug. — Smells like… like my grandma’s feet! But in my situation, one can't be picky, right?!
The lad took a sip, grimaced, set the mug back, and, amid the hall's laughter, climbed back onto the stage. The musician, apparently his assistant, picked up a lute and began to play a popular tune. The jester nodded to his assistant and began to sing and dance.
It was a bawdy ballad about a wandering tinker who knocked on doors looking for work but stumbled upon a completely different order. The jester sang, changing voices when he needed to «speak» for the character in the song:
As I went down a shady lane, at a door I chanced to knock,
"Have you any pots or kettles, with rusty holes to block?"
"Well indeed I have, don't you know I have,
To me right fol-ooral-addy, well indeed I have!
The crowd roared with laughter as Pomeric squinted slyly, peering into the door. He leaped over the edge of the stage, scuttled between the tables, miming the tinker, and his voice rose higher as he sang for the mistress:
The misses came out to the door and she asked me to come in,
"You're welcome jolly tinker and I hope you brought your tin!"
"Well indeed I did, don't you know I did,
To me right fol-ooral-addy, well indeed I did!
He was putting on a whole performance. The audience was already hooting, anticipating where it was all going. Pomeric winked at a nearby sailor and continued, speeding up the tempo:
She took me up the stairs, me lads, to show me what to do,
Then she fell on the feathery bed and I fell on it too!
"Well indeed I did, don't you know I did,
To me right fol-ooral-addy, well indeed I did!
Someone whistled, someone banged their mugs, and Pomeric, without slowing down, mimed the mistress banging a frying pan so the servants would think he was fixing the pots:
She then took out a frying pan and she began to knock,
For to let the servants know, me lads, that I was at my work!
"Well indeed I was, don't you know I was,
To me right fol-ooral-addy, well indeed I was!"
He finished the song with a loud final verse, throwing his head back and spreading his arms as if embracing the whole hall:
Well, I've been a jolly tinker for these forty years or more,
But such a lovely job as that, I never did before!
Well, indeed I didn't, don't you know I didn't...
To me right fol-ooral-addy, well indeed I didn't!
The jester sang clearly, changing voices, dancing, waving his arms, and every gesture was precise, polished, yet alive. He laughed, slapped his thighs, winked at the audience, and played his characters vividly. When he finished, the tavern drunks were jubilant, banging their mugs on the tables. Jax's ears were a little ringing.
— Well, this is getting interesting, — he muttered, taking a sip of ale and feeling a smile spread across his face. — He definitely knows human folly.
Pomeric bowed, and coins flew at him: coppers, silver, even a few gold from wealthy merchants. He caught them deftly, without looking, his fingers diving into his jacket pockets. All the while, he smiled genuinely and enthusiastically.
Jax noticed he was smiling too.
What an… interesting performer. Why am I staring like that? He's not a girl. Although, he's much prettier than many ladies at court. And his scent… — he remembered how the lad had run past him during the dance, enveloping him in the smell of cherry. — …I shouldn't think of him that way, he's just a tavern lad.
He looked away and took a gulp of ale, trying to banish the feeling. But his gaze was drawn like a magnet to the stage, where Pomeric was preparing for the next act.
I'll drink and watch the show. And I won't think about why I like this jester so much. Because if I start thinking, I might conclude that I like… no. No, I won't think about that.
— And now, — exclaimed Pomeric, doing a couple of squats and stretching exaggeratedly, — I'll show you what my spine can do! It's as flexible as an eel and as creaky as an old cart. If anyone falls off their chair in delight, I'm not responsible.
He ran across the stage, pushed off from the edge, and did a somersault in the air to a melodic tune played by his assistant. The jester landed on his feet, but shifted from them onto his hands, lifted his legs up, and walked on his hands along the edge of the stage, swaying like a reed in the wind. He did splits in the air and swung his legs as if he weren't standing on his hands, but lying on a bed. The bells on his ankles jingled in time with each step.
Don't look at his damn ass.
The crowd applauded, but Jax held his breath. He danced well himself, but this was pure freedom. The jester moved like a leaf in the wind.
Damn. He moves as if he has a spring inside him. It feels like he doesn't even touch the floor. Where have I seen that? Maybe in childhood, watching acrobats at the carnival? But I was a child then. Now I'm an adult rabbit, and I'm impressed by a jester. Just perfect. First I didn't go on the diplomatic mission, and now I'm interested in a jester boy. You're sinking lower and lower today, stupid rabbit.
Pomeric flipped again, stood up, and ran along a long table next to the stage. The table was covered with mugs and plates, but he didn't knock a single one over. The hall roared, whistled, and pounded fists on tables.
Jax couldn't take his eyes off him. At some point, Pomeric looked up and met his gaze. The blue-red eyes met the gold ones.
Jax felt his long ears twitch treacherously and stand up straight. He quickly lowered his head, staring into his mug, cursing his own sensitivity.
He noticed me. Damn, damn, damn. He'll think I'm some weirdo. Or worse, he'll think I'm interested in him. And I am interested. He'll think I'm a pervert?.. Damn!
He took a big gulp of ale and tried to calm down. Unfortunately, it didn't work.
Pomeric finished his acrobatic act by tumbling through the air, landing on one knee and throwing his arms wide in a theatrical gesture. The hall erupted in applause, and the jester, winking at the audience, jumped off the stage to collect coins.
Jax followed him with his eyes and suddenly noticed something that made his long ears perk up. Not far from where the jester was bustling about, three people were sitting at a table. A hulking, humanoid walrus with a tattoo of an anchor on his left arm was staring at the jester with disgusting, greasy lust. His eyes roamed over the jester's slender figure, his puffy shorts, and the curve of his back. There was not a hint of admiration in those eyes, only carnal interest.
Oh, no. Not that. I came to drink ale and forget my problems, not to watch some brute ruin the mood of a cute jester.
Jax began to feel irritated by what he saw.
When Pomeric passed their table, the brute suddenly shot out his hand and grabbed the jester by the wrist. His grip was strong; he clearly meant to intimidate and hurt.
— Hey, boy, — he boomed, — Where are you rushing off to? You danced so beautifully, and now you're leaving without even having a drink with us? Not nice. Sit with us, tell us how you grew such slender legs. Or maybe, heh heh, show them up close.
His companions guffawed, slapping the table with their palms. The surrounding crowd noticed the jester was in trouble, but no one intervened. Such things happened all the time, and no one wanted to get killed over a pretty boy in a drunken brawl.
Jax tensed. His long gray ears stood straight up, and his black square pupils narrowed. The young man half-rose, ready to lunge forward, though his palms were sweating and his heart pounded somewhere in his throat.
I'm not a fighter. I practically can't fight at all. I can sing and quote poetry. But I can't just sit and watch this idiot hurt… him. Damn. I'm about to do something stupid, aren't I? Of course. I only do stupid things.
But before he could take a step, something astonishing happened.
Pomeric didn't look frightened. On the contrary, his lips stretched into a sly smile. In his huge red-and-blue eyes, steel flashed. The prey had become a predator.
— Oh, forgive me, sir, — he said, his voice playful. — I'm very flattered, but I don't drink with those who can't keep their hands to themselves. Let go of me before I get offended.
The brute grunted and squeezed his fingers tighter.
— Show me what's under those shorts, boy, — he growled, breathing stale booze. — Or I'll take them off myself, and you'll like it a lot less.
And then Jax saw something incredible.
Pomeric didn't flinch. Instead of pulling away, he made exactly one move. His free leg shot up, his knee slammed into the brute's wrist, and he howled in pain, releasing his grip. Pomeric spun on his heel, escaping the hold, and in the next moment, his fingers grabbed the brute's index finger and twisted it with such force that the burly man crashed to his knees, slamming his face into the edge of the table.
— I don't like it when people touch the merchandise without paying, — Pomeric said, his voice now hard and cold. He leaned down to the brute's ear and added, almost gently: — You owe me a coin. For dirtying my costume with your filthy paw. And another five for ruining my mood. And if you don't pay, I'll tell the whole city how you whimpered at my feet, little fish.
For a moment, the tavern fell silent, and then the crowd exploded with laughter and whistles. The brute, crimson with humiliation and pain, fumbled in his pockets and dumped a handful of coppers and silver on the table. Pomeric deftly scooped up the coins, stuffed them in his pocket, and stepped back, gracefully dusting off his knees.
— There we go, — he said, flashing his dazzling smile at the hall. — And now, gentlemen, let's continue the show! Who wants to see me make the next one cry? Your choice!
The hall roared with laughter, and the brute and his companions hastily retreated toward the exit.
Jax froze halfway, having not taken a single step forward. His mouth hung open, his long gray ears stood straight up, and his bright gold eyes with black square pupils stared at the jester with a feeling he could hardly describe.
He… He just took down a brute twice my size. And did it so easily, like taking a book off a shelf. How… how did he do that? I didn't even have time to get scared before it was all over. I'm both impressed and deeply humiliated.
He slowly sank back onto the bench, feeling his heart hammering somewhere in his throat. Jax grabbed his mug to steady his trembling hands and took a big gulp of ale, but the drink didn't help.
…I'm impressed and damn turned on.
At this thought, his ears blazed with heat.
I'm sitting here in a dirty tavern, and I'm getting turned on by a jester who just twisted a drunk brute's fingers. How would he twist m… Stop. I should be flirting with beautiful women, not… not staring at… him. But he moves as if… as if there's a spring inside him. And he smells like cherry. And his eyes… Damn. I'm in trouble. I'm definitely in trouble.
He raised the mug to his lips again, but didn't drink. Instead, he just stared at Pomeric over the rim of the mug, feeling his pupils dilate at the sight, and his ears twitch treacherously. His tail, fluffy and gray, twitched several times under his cloak, betraying his excitement.
It's just admiration. I admire his courage and grace. And the way he smiles. And… and his fingers. Damn! Now I'm thinking about his fingers. God, Jax, pull yourself together. You should act properly, not sit here imagining those fingers… Damn. I'm drunk. I'm definitely drunk.
The blood rushed where he didn't want it to, but it wasn't anything irreversible or noticeable, simply because that same blood was now pulsing in his ears and cheeks. The prince ran a hand over his muzzle, feeling the gray fur under his fingers heat up from embarrassment. His cheeks burned like a teenager's, and it was awful.
And then his gaze met Pomeric's again.
Jax felt his pupils dilate to their limit, and his ears stand straight up. He quickly lowered his eyes, staring into his mug and groaning inwardly.
He noticed me. He noticed me, and I look like a lovesick fool. Great. Just great. I'll torment myself remembering this before I go to sleep.
Pomeric, having collected the last coins, raised his head and scanned the hall for a new target for his jokes. And then his gaze fell on the far corner, where a gray rabbit in a cloak sat in the shadows.
He was a tall young rabbit, with soft gray fur and long ears with black tips. He pretended to drink, but was clearly watching what she was doing. When their eyes met, he got flustered and looked away, and his soft ears had definitely become pinker than they were a few seconds ago. It was cute.
He felt curiosity stir inside him. It often led him to trouble. The lad was about to turn away and pretend he hadn't noticed, but something in those huge gold eyes that looked at him as if he were a unicorn made him change his mind.
Why not? After all, I earned well today. And this rabbit definitely doesn't look like someone who wants to hurt me. He looks more like someone I can have fun with.
And he headed toward his table, feeling a mischievous joy spread through him. The jingle of bells accompanied his path.
Jax had almost calmed down when he saw the jester walking straight toward him. His heart skipped a beat, then began to pound somewhere in his throat, making it hard to breathe. His golden eyes widened, and his pupils narrowed to tiny dots.
He's coming straight to me. What does he want from me? Does he want to say something? Does he want money? I'll give him money. I always have money. But maybe he doesn't want money. Maybe he wants… no. No, I won't think about that. I'll stay calm. I can control myself.
He tried to pretend he was absorbed in his mug, but his ears, treacherously long and now gray, trembled, betraying him completely.
Pomeric approached his table, glanced at the bench, which now had no empty space due to other patrons or their belongings. Without a second thought, the lad jumped onto Jax's lap. He wrapped his arms around his neck and sat sideways, his legs dangling freely and slightly brushing against the neighbor. The jester grinned at the rabbit with a bright, playful smile. The bells on his cap chimed softly. The delightful smell of sweet, tart cherry hit Jax's nose with renewed force. His rabbit nose twitched noticeably. He had to make an effort not to lean in and bury his face in the lad's nape or neck; it was an awfully indecent desire given that they hadn't even been introduced yet. And they were both guys. Men didn't do such things with other men.
— Oops, sorry, I didn't notice this seat was taken, — said the jester, looking up at the prince with his blue-red eyes. — But since I'm here, would you like to treat an artist to some wine? After the show, I'm so hungry I could even eat your lovely ears if they're as soft as they look. — Pomeric gave a meaningful look at the ears, covered in short, soft fur.
Jax made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a squeak. His face under the gray fur turned the color of ripe cherry, and he felt heat spreading across his cheeks, ears, and even his neck. His tail began to wag treacherously, though fortunately it was hidden under his cloak.
— I… uh… — he choked out, trying to find words, but his tongue seemed made of cotton. — I… of course, I can treat you to… uh… wine. And dinner. Not that I'm bragging, but… I have money.
What am I saying? Money? I'm a prince, damn it! I should be talking about… about what? Politics? Music? I know a hundred topics for conversation, but now I'm talking about money. Great.
Pomeric watched his embarrassment with undisguised pleasure. He saw the long ears of the gray rabbit twitch. And his eyes - those bright gold eyes with black square pupils - gave him away completely. His pupils had dilated to an incredible size, and the jester felt he could drown in them.
— Wow, we're blushing, — Pomeric drawled, tilting his head slightly. — Have you ever even sat with a guy on your lap before? Or am I your first?
Jax choked on air. His pupils narrowed into thin slits from shock, then widened again when Pomeric suddenly raised his hand in a red glove and lightly, almost weightlessly, ran a finger along his ear. That touch was enough to send an electric jolt down the prince's spine, and he twitched slightly. His ears recoiled from the stranger's fingers, and the man flinched so hard he nearly dropped the jester onto the floor.
— Please don't touch… — he breathed, his voice almost pleading. — My ears… they're very sensitive. And frankly, I'm not used to being touched… in that way. Usually, I'm the one who does the touching. I mean, flirting. I can flirt. I'm very good at flirting. With girls. With women. I'm… not some jerk off the street. You've probably heard of me. My name is Jax. The third prince. — He faltered as he realized he'd revealed himself for no reason. — I… I talk too much, don't I?
— Oh, really? — Pomeric withdrew his hand but kept smiling. In his huge, multi-colored eyes, little devils danced. — So the prince has tender ears… I'll remember that. And nice to meet you, Your Highness!
The performer reached for Jax's mug and took a sip from the same edge the prince had just drunk from. For some reason, that action made the rabbit's stomach flip.
He's drinking from my mug. That's… almost… intimate. And we're not even acquainted. His… his name is Pomeric. But I want to know more. Yet for some reason, I can't utter a word. I'm just sitting here, watching him like… like a lovesick fool.
— Listen, — said Pomeric, setting the mug back down and turning slightly on his lap to see the prince's face. — You're looking at me as if I've taken the stars down from the sky for you, or as if I owe you money. So which is it? Are you looking for entertainment… — His fingers slid down the rabbit's chest, making him gasp. Pomeric definitely enjoyed how this guy responded to his actions. — …or do you have a business proposition for me?
Jax swallowed. He could feel the warmth of the jester's body through the fabric of his costume, the smell of cherry that was more intoxicating than any wine, and the violet scent emanating from himself seemed to mingle with it into a strange, heady cocktail.
— A b-business proposition, — he blurted out at last, trying to keep his voice steady. — I… I wanted to offer you a job. I'm Prince Jax. — He paused, feeling he should explain his appearance: — I drank a potion to change my appearance. Uh… didn't want to be recognized. Sorry for the deception. I know it looks strange, but I didn't want to attract attention. And… I'm looking for a talented jester for the court. You're very talented. I-I would like you to perform for my family.
During this short speech, the prince felt the words come out evenly, almost in an official tone, without stammering. He could only hope Pomeric wouldn't notice how his tender ears were trembling and how his pupils were shaking with excitement.
Pomeric looked at him for a long moment. He could see his pupils narrow with excitement, the tips of his ears trembling, and how he tried to appear confident.
This is simply incredibly charming. I want to eat him for dinner.
— A potion, huh? — the jester drawled, licking his plump lips. — Clever. However… I think if anyone were paying closer attention, they'd notice that no one else has such beautiful golden eyes. Or such gorgeous long ears. — He ran his finger along his ear again, and Jax flinched. — So what did you want to offer me, my gray prince?
Jax gathered his courage.
— Work. Lodging. Salary. Safety. You won't have to perform in places like this anymore, where you can get hurt. I'll take care of you. I… I can give you anything you want. Within reason, of course. I'm not promising you mountains of gold, but I promise you'll have your own corner in the palace and that you'll be respected. And honestly, I don't want you to… for something like that to happen to you again.
Why did I say «I'll take care of you»?
the prince thought in a panic.
It sounds like I'm offering him not a job, but… a relationship. Or something like that. Why did I say that? God, I want to sink into the ground.
Pomeric looked at him for a long moment. A playful, gentle spark flickered in his eyes. The artist could sense the royal's embarrassment and an inexplicable but palpable desire to help. It touched the jester more than he wanted to admit. Besides, working at court was his childhood dream and his parents' unfulfilled ambition.
— A job at court? — he drawled, slowly running a finger along the gray rabbit's chin and watching him swallow. — Sounds… tempting. But I have conditions.
— I… I'll do everything in my power. — He agreed with such a pitiful expression that Pomeric wanted to tease him longer. But dragging it out would be unfair to such an important person.
— I'll joke about whatever I want, without censorship. But of course, I'm not crazy and I won't peek under the princess's skirt or show my ass to the guards. All my jokes will be within the bounds of decency or with the consent of whoever I'm joking about, — Pomeric said seriously, though a smile still played on his lips. — And I'll have the option to quit if I don't like something.
— Agreed, — he said, and for the first time that evening, confidence entered his voice. — Then tomorrow at noon at the main gates of the palace. Say you're from Prince Jax. I'll make sure you're let in. And maybe I'll even meet you personally. If I don't have… other business. But I'll try to make time.
— Tomorrow already? — purred the jester, tilting his head to the side and smiling a catlike smile. His slender legs swung back and forth, and Jax felt more and more how he pressed his body against his knees. — So soon? Afraid I'll change my mind?
— More afraid you'll find another employer. You're too talented to stay in this tavern. And too… — he faltered, not knowing how to say «you smell so much like cherry that my head spins and my legs give out» — …interesting for me to let you go so easily.
The jester was silent for a moment, and a strange, almost tender spark flickered in his eyes.
This little bunny is simply adorable, even in his gray disguise. And he smells deliciously of violets. How long will he last with that claim that he's only into girls?.. I could have a great time with him…
Pomeric sighed and thoughtfully scratched the prince's cheek, unaware of how much it distracted him from the whole dialogue and focused him on the specific points of contact with the jester.
— Fine, Prince. I'll come. But remember: if you hurt me, I'll tie your tender ears into a bow, hang you on a fence, and flee the country. And I'm not joking… or am I? You decide, my gray rabbit.
Before Jax could answer, the jester jumped off his lap as lightly as a cat. The lad was about to leave when he suddenly turned around, blew the prince a kiss, leaned toward his sensitive ear, and whispered:
— See you tomorrow, my gray prince. Don't be late. I hope the potion wears off, I really want to see you in all your glory… A lavender rabbit, huh? Interesting...
And the jester vanished into the crowd, leaving Jax sitting with his mouth slightly open, his ears burning, and a pulse in those parts of his body that he hadn't planned to use today.
Jax sat in the corner, staring at his empty mug and trying to process what had just happened.
I hired a jester. I did something useful. I brought a talented performer to the palace. That's… good. It's not negotiations, but it's still important. Father will be pleased. Mother will be delighted. Hans… well, Hans might not hate me so much. Though, unlikely.
He tried to convince himself of this, but his thoughts kept returning to something else: to Pomeric's blue-and-crimson eyes with their white pupils, in which sparks danced. To his thin fingers that had touched his ear, and to his warm, husky voice. To the smell of tart cherry.
Nothing special. Just ordinary flirting. I've flirted with dozens of people myself. But this… Why…
He sighed and rubbed the tip of his ear, deep in thought.
This lad found out I'm a prince and still kept playing his cat-and-mouse game. He's bold for someone who could be executed for the threats he just made. Then again, he didn't know those threats would only turn me on, not… Or did he?..
The gray rabbit sighed, rose, pulled a few coins from his purse as a tip for the innkeeper, then pulled up his hood, hiding his long ears. It was time to return home to the castle.
As he left the tavern, Jax breathed in the salty port air, and it felt fresher and cleaner than ever before. The stars over the bay shone brightly, and the moon reflected in the turquoise water in a long silver path.
He walked back up the hill, and his steps were lighter than in the morning. He barely noticed the steepness of the stairs, paid no attention to the smells of fish and tar. He was floating on clouds, and not only in a romantic sense, as he was still somewhat emotionally aroused after what had happened.
As he climbed the last steps to Chess Hill, he turned and looked down at the city. The lights of the taverns and houses flickered with warm gold, and in one of them, he knew, the little jester with the bells was now, someone who would become a part of his life tomorrow.
I want to get to know him better. Not just as a jester. As a person. Who is he really? What makes him laugh? What does he hide behind that audacity? I want to be his friend, not just his employer.
Jax entered through the side gate, and the guards nodded to him as usual. He walked through the quiet corridors, past silent halls and extinguished fireplaces, until he reached his chambers.
The room greeted him with the familiar scent of violets, his favorite oil that he always added to his bathwater. He took off his cloak, hung it on a hook, and walked over to the large copper mirror standing by the wall. In the reflection, he saw a gray rabbit with long ears and bright gold eyes.
— Well, hello there, gray prince, — he said to himself, smirking. — Tomorrow, hopefully, you'll be lavender again. And tomorrow, you'll have a new jester. What do you think, the best jester in the city? And he'll be yours. — Jax broke off. — I mean, he'll be working for you. Yes, exactly that.
He blew out the candle, changed into his nightshirt, and lay down in bed, but sleep wouldn't come. The phantom smell of cherry still lingered in his nose. It was driving him crazy.
Jax squeezed his eyes shut, and the image of Pomeric, insolently perched on his lap, rose in his mind. Jax let out a stifled groan and, in one sharp motion, shoved his hand into his shorts, realizing that the residual arousal wasn't just about the new acquaintance.
— Damn... why... — he rasped, squeezing his cock, which had hardened almost instantly. — What is wrong with me...
He began to move his hand, quickly and jaggedly. Fragments of the jester's phrases and his mocking tone swirled in his head.
— I shouldn't... I shouldn't want a guy... — he muttered, but his hips began to move toward his hand on their own. — But how... brazen he is. Fuck, how hot he is...
Jax imagined a slender finger, this time without a glove, touching his ear. Instead of the imagined touch, he did it himself with his free hand, grabbing it at the base and squeezing. The rabbit jerked, almost screaming, and accelerated the pace.
— I hope that damn jester comes tomorrow... — he whispered, letting out a completely unmanly sob. — Pomeric... damn jester...
He imagined squeezing that thin waist, pressing his cock against the body of that brazen boy.
— I want... I want him to again... — he muttered fragments of phrases that came to mind. Images flashed in his head of how the jester had openly flirted with him in the tavern.
He breathed like a wounded animal, his long grey ears pinned back; one hand massaged the base of his ear, triggering dirty sobs with every squeeze. The prince no longer tried to instill thoughts of women in himself. Now there was only the scent of cherry and an unbearable heat in his crotch.
— I want to put him on my lap... and press my cock against him... — he exhaled, squeezing the head hard.
Unexpectedly for himself, from this thought, with a stifled, almost animal cry, Jax came, shuddering with his whole body. He collapsed onto the pillows, breathing heavily, as the smells of sweat and violets mixed in the room.
The prince lay there, staring at the ceiling, and quietly, barely audibly muttered:
— Damn... I'm screwed.