“Oh no,” I whispered. I sank down, the letter weighing heavily in my hand. The news of the loss would be the heaviest blow to The King.

I looked at the letter that had been delivered from a messenger, a harried young man who spoke too fast and left before I could ask him anything.

I read the words, and re-read them again. Too many words to say that the neighboring city has been captured, and to prepare our defenses because we were next.

I happened to know that the defenses were ready already, in case something like this happened.

I also happened to know The King wanted to throw this ball. He had been looking forward to it. It could be a celebration of the defeat of our enemy, or as a goodbye to the life we all had known.

I would need to deliver the news. Fortunately, I knew just how to do this. I had studied pauses, breaths, smiles. I knew when to push, I knew when to retreat.

“Jester, there you are. Are you well?” One of the servants asked.

“I am just fine. Taking a momentary break from the merriment is all,” I said and smiled. I folded the letter and put it in my vest.

“The King is asking for you,” she said.

“Then The King shall have me, hopefully with my head attached!” I said with a slicing motion across my throat and a giggle.

Yes, I know there is a time to deliver this news. It is after the merriment of the night.

Until then, the only thing to be done was to entertain harder than I had before, and let the people enjoy one last night of pleasure and carelessness.

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Fragments: Microfiction for the Gothically Inclined