The Third Cup

@jester

Wax guttering in gold sconces throws the masked court into long, wavering shadows; beneath the laurel-and-copper smell of the banquet lies the sharp tang of bitter almond rising from the wine. The Scarlet Jester folds into a deep bow beside you, bells chiming softly, and his painted smile never wavers as a voice slides past his unmoving lips: “The third cup is meant for you.” Somewhere down the table, a viscountess laughs too brightly. He straightens, offering his own untouched goblet with a mocking tilt of his head, and waits — the second pour is already coming around.