Joker: A Princess and Jester Dark Fairytale Romance with Forbidden Love (Fairytales from Down Below)

~Rogue’s POV~

I was a joke from the moment I was born. My parents named me Rogue because of my fiery red hair - as red as the rubies, as red as the blood, as red as a heart. It was an accurate name. I had always been the butt of the joke. Ever since I was a little kid, other kids had avoided me, called me names, and thrown rocks at me. It was a miserable experience to be the target of everyone’s ridicule.

I knew from a young age that I would never be a knight or a craftsman in building swords like my father. Instead, I was destined to be the village fool, the one that everyone used to amuse themselves by humiliating and then forgot as soon as they were done with their fun.

But when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. And I did just that.

Instead of letting their words and taunts hurt me, I learned to laugh with them and to make a joke of myself before they got the chance to do it first.

My interests were... unconventional. While other boys aimed to learn swordsmanship and how to battle in upcoming wars against the kingdom, I indulged myself in acrobatics.

Acrobatics, dancing, tumbling - I’d train at the edge of the courtyard, where the others wouldn’t notice me, and do backflips, handstands, and somersaults. And with my gangly limbs and lanky physique, it must have looked amusing. I learned to juggle and ride a unicycle. Not exactly the kind of skills that would help in war. But I didn’t care. I was a natural acrobat, a natural performer, and I spent hours training myself to do amazing things.

As a little boy, I lost count of how many times my mother scolded me when I came home late, all bruised and dirty.

“You’ll ruin your father’s name!” she’d said, wiping soil off my face with her apron. “You look like a beggar, a vagabond, not the son of a swordsmith!”

I’d laugh and go wash up at the well, returning to their small workshop covered in soot and sweat. My father would be grinding away at a steel blade, his face covered in a sheen of perspiration, and he’d give me a wry smile as I slumped down next to him.

“You got yourself a proper beating again?” he’d ask, glancing down at the cuts on my knees and elbows where I’d tripped yet again.

“Aye, aye,” I’d say with a grin, “but I can almost land the backflip now.”

“You’ll land on your face and crack your skull open one day,” he’d say gruffly, “you should stop all of this and learn something useful, like a normal boy.”

I’d laugh and stick my tongue out at him. “Not a chance,” I’d say. “I’m gonna be the best acrobat this town’s ever seen.”

My mother would throw up her hands in despair. “You’re going to be the death of me, Rogue,” she’d say. “I keep telling him to learn fencing, to learn to defend himself like a normal boy, but he refuses,” she’d complain to my father.

My father would laugh and shrug. “He’s not interested in swords and fighting, you know that. Let him be. Let him do what makes him happy.”

All the while, I was acutely aware of how I must look to others - a gangly, redheaded buffoon prancing around on a unicycle like a crazed court jester.

“That’s what I will be one day. The court jester!” I had declared to my parents.

Of course, they’d just stared at me, horrified. “A court jester? A buffoon?” my mother said. “Do you want to be the laughingstock of the entire kingdom?”

“A laughingstock?” I’d said. “I’ll be the funniest, most entertaining person they’ve ever seen! I’ll make the greatest king in the world laugh his guts out! And I’ll get paid good money for it too! It’ll be amazing!”

My mother would sigh hopelessly and throw up her hands in despair. “He takes no interest in what’s actually useful in society. He has no sense of duty, no sense of responsibility, no sense of honor. He’ll be the death of me. I just know it.”

My father sighed and wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “You do know what the life of a court jester is like, boy?”

I gave him a cheeky grin. “Of course I do. They perform for the king and his court, tell jokes and stories, sing songs, and juggle. And they get paid good coin for their performance. What’s so bad about that?”

My father chuckled and shook his head. “You think it’s all sunshine and japes? Life in a royal court is like living in a lion’s den, Rogue. One wrong move, and you’re done for.”

“You’re making it sound like a death sentence,” I said. “What could possibly be so bad about being a jester? It sounds like the best gig anyone could ask for! Being paid to crack jokes and tell stories all day!”

“But that’s all you will do your entire existence, boy. You will be at their mercy. You will never have a chance to have your own life... Marry, have children...”

I rolled my eyes at that. “Who cares about that? I have no interest in marriage or having children. Sounds like a boring, mundane life. And anyway, who knows? Maybe I’d meet a beautiful lady in the court and fall in love with her!”

My father laughed out loud at that. “Beautiful ladies don’t care much for jesters, boy. What woman would want to be seen with someone whose job is to entertain the entire court, like a trained monkey?”

I huffed and crossed my arms. “You don’t know that. Some ladies might find it entertaining and charming. And maybe the king’s daughter would be impressed by my tricks and humor, and I’d catch her eye, and we’d fall in love and...”

My father sighed and shook his head. “Son, be realistic. Even if something like that were to happen - a princess falling for a lowly court jester - do you think the king would allow it? You’d be sent to the gallows before you could utter another word.”

“What? Why?! That’s stupid! Why should the king care who the princess marries? It’s her life, her decision! She should be able to marry whoever she wants!”

My father snorted, cleaning his hands. “Royal life is different. The marriages are mostly political. There is no romance.”

I scowled. “That’s horrible. So the king gets to decide who his daughter should marry, just to... what? Make political alliances? That’s horrible. She should get to marry for love, not convenience!”

My father gave me a rueful look. “That’s the way things are. You can’t change centuries of custom and tradition, boy. And anyway, the king would never agree to the marriage in the first place. Think about it - it would make quite the scandal. The firstborn princess of the kingdom marrying a lowly jester? It would make a mockery of the royal house.”

I slumped, sulking. “But what’s so bad about being a jester? People love them, right? I could bring joy to the entire court, cheer up the king when he’s angry...”

My father shook his head. “Jesters may be adored by the common folk, but they’re considered little better than clowns in the eyes of the nobility. Jesters can be executed or punished at the whim of the king and his court if they displease them. You’d be playing a very dangerous game if you became one, boy. One that you might not survive.”

I looked down, suddenly discouraged. “But... but it could be really fun, right? Telling jokes, entertaining everyone, being in front of a crowd, the people laughing at my jokes, thinking I’m clever and funny...?”

My father sighed and ruffled my hair. “That part, yes. It could be very fun, boy. But you need to look at the bigger picture. You have to remember that life in a royal court is not the same as life in a village like ours. It’s a whole different world. It’s not all fun and games. There is danger and politics and jealousy and greed. And sometimes, death. You must be prepared for that.”

Did my father’s warnings deflate my confidence? Not really. Despite my father’s stern words of caution, I remained optimistic. My mind was still filled with daydreams of performing for the king, making him laugh, and maybe even catching the eye of a beautiful princess.