HII! How would King Jestyn react if the reader suddenly stopped coming to work? (Let's say they're somehow in another city or something)
He doesn't and would not take it well tbh.
The other puppets didn't have as much fun at all. Wizzy, Knighter, even Prieston himself were tense the days following your absence. The maids whisper to each other as they sneak a glance at their king, still sat upon his throne. His expression grim, and his form rigid. He was more snappier those two days. Impatient with his servants that even just a stare alone made majority of the courtiers flee from his sight.
Do kindly read this and this and look me in the eyes, because there's sadly no sure-fire way of escaping this man. There is nowhere in the world where he can't find you. And there is nothing to stop him from simply manifesting you right where you're supposed to be, with him.
Now the real trouble is explaining yourself to Jestyn, because he does not handle disloyalty from you well.
You'll be given little time to explain because in three long strides, Jestyn towers over you as his clawed hand ruthlessly grips your chin and forces you to meet his gaze. Red is all you see when his eyes pierce you, his voice low and inhuman, a growl building in his throat, "Where were you?"
Any form of rebellion and escape is a hit to his heart that hurts because he entrusted it to you. He will not be happy, he will be expecting you to earn his forgiveness - and you should be grateful for the mercy he grants you, because he would not do the same for anyone else.
So when you reason and tell him why you left, you can only watch and pray your king calms down. His pupils shrink as small as pinpricks, his vice grip on you threatening to sink into your skin before finally, he relents. And in one rapid motion, buries you into his chest. You gasp, expecting him to attack, to slice your throat and leave you to bleed — but no, he embraces you firmly against him.
He waited, he tells you. He tried to be patient. When a day became two, and then three, he couldn't take it anymore. All he wanted was you. You do not respond, simply letting him hold you close as the silence weighs heavy.
By the end of the day you find your form littered in bruises from his tight grip and a stubborn king that WILL follow you home if you insist on not coming back to the theater yet. Or he just won't listen to you and bring you to the theater anyway.
I imagine one of his main requirements for you is to NEVER be far from his reach when you begin your early days as his jester. He will allow you to wander, to temporarily be away, but you must NEVER leave him in anyway shape or form. That is your duty to your king.
Expect that after this occurrence, you will be teleported more often against your will. The king becomes extra clingy and protective for the next month or so. His crimson red gaze constantly stuck and observing your tells, watching the shape of your smile and the crease of your eye for any indication of you thinking of leaving.
I imagine this behavior passes over time thankfully ^^' the important part is communicating with your king and informing him at least of your travels or if you have any future commitments that will take you from him. He will understand, to a degree. I mean he's not happy about it, but he'd rather you tell him than him ripping the world apart to find you.
KOM Jestyn belongs to @thepipiuw !! AU belongs to An0nymous-C !!
The Gilded Canary [King! Jestyn x GN! Noble! Reader] Part 3
Pairing: King! Jestyn x GN! Noble! Reader
Theme: Role Reversal AU | Dark Fantasy Romance | Obsessive Themes
Inspiration & Concept Credit: @an0nymous-c
Author Note:
Nostalgia and obsession are a dangerous mix. 🥀 I hope you enjoy this dive into the past! It’s a bit of a roller coaster for our Reader and King Jestyn, but the pieces of the 'Gilded Cage' are finally coming together. Stay tuned—the song is just beginning!
Credits:
• KOM Visual Novel: @thepipiuw
• King!Jestyn AU Concept: @an0nymous-c
• Fantasy KOM RR AU: My own interpretation
The Songbird’s Routine
After that first dinner, a hollow terror settled into your bones. You had faced strict tutors and envious, sharp-tongued nobles your entire life; your parents had taught you to wear your noble composure like a suit of armor. But King Jestyn had shattered that shield with a single snarl. You were no longer just a noble—you were a creature belonging to a monarch who was both your greatest admirer and your most dangerous jailer.
You did not see Jestyn for a time, though his presence was a constant, suffocating weight. There were nights when you felt the temperature drop and heard a low, humming voice outside your door. You would wake to find handwritten notes on your nightstand—observations of your day, praise for your voice, or commands to eat.
During your supervised walks in the gardens, you began to learn the landscape of the King’s inner circle. Knighter was a silent shadow, cold and brutally honest. He made it clear that his loyalty was absolute; he was the King’s iron hand, and he would follow you to the ends of the earth if Jestyn willed it. Wizzy, the court wizard, offered a different kind of distraction, sharing the arcane logic of the kingdom’s magic. And then there was Prieston. In the silence of the chapel, you found yourself confessing your rage and sorrow to the Priest, needing a soul to hear your frustration before it consumed you.
The Muse and the Memory
After two weeks of mourning your freedom, the inspiration you had tried to suppress finally clawed its way out. Lucille and Mary set up your atelier within the Glass Dome. You needed the canvas; you needed a place to bleed your feelings into pigments.
For the Female Reader
You are dressed in a gown that evokes a "cottagecore" softness mixed with noble elegance. The foundation is a cream-colored linen chemise with a high, ruffled collar and puffed sleeves that gather into tiered ruffles at the elbows. Over it, you wear a rich rust-red kirtle with a laced bodice that cinches comfortably, allowing you to breathe as you work.
The look is finished with matching laced gauntlets over your forearms to protect your sleeves from stray paint, keeping you refined and ready as you lose yourself in the nostalgic strokes of your brush.
For the Male Reader
You wear an ensemble that balances structured nobility with artistic flair. The base is a billowing white poet’s shirt with voluminous sleeves that gather at the wrists, allowing for easy movement for your painting. Over this is a deep crimson velvet waistcoat, richly adorned with golden-mustard panels and intricate white embroidery that curls like cresting waves.
Large, shimmering gemstones are embedded along the lapels, catching the morning light as it filters through the glass dome, making you look as much like a masterpiece as the canvas before you.
For the Gender-Neutral Reader
Your attire is a striking, sharp-lined tunic and surcoat set that feels both protective and regal. You wear a tapered black undershirt with narrow sleeves, layered beneath a structured crimson and black surcoat. The garment is heavily bordered with thick bronze-gold brocade featuring geometric swirls.
A matching short mantle is fastened at the throat with a delicate ribbon, framing your face as you focus on your work. The bold contrast of the deep red and black reflects the elegance sophistication of the kingdom, serving as a silent reminder of your standing even in your moments of solitude.
As you began to paint a mechanical bird perched upon a golden branch, you noticed how still it sat. It watched you with unblinking eyes, acting as a tiny, haunting muse. A wave of nostalgia transported you back to your eighth year—to a secluded, ivy-covered gazebo in the park.
17 years ago
"Birdie!" you had cried out, captivated by its different, artificial beauty.
That fascination had defined your youth. Your father had eventually gifted you a unique wooden bird with golden filigree—a toy that whistled a hauntingly beautiful melody sharp.
“Come here birdie! I’m not gonna hurt you!” You innocently shouted happily laughing as you whistled your bird whistler.
You had always chased the birds—real and mechanical alike—giggling as you tried to mimic their songs with your wooden whistle. But your joy was cut short when you tripped on a stray root. Your most precious possession, the golden-decorated whistle your father had gifted you, skittered across the stone floor and stopped at the heavy leather boots of a stranger.
You burst into tears, the stinging pain in your scraped knee staining your white sock a bright, terrifying red. Through your blurred vision, you saw a figure kneeling before you.
“Are you hurt? Is this yours?” The voice was gentle, but it had a strange, melodic resonance, like a bell ringing in a quiet hall.
You looked up, your lower lip trembling. The boy was older—15 years older —with a frame that seemed too tall and sharp for his age. He was dressed in the heavy, somber silks of a prince in mourning, and his eyes were a startling, deep crimson. He didn't look like the other children; he looked like a statue that had been forced to breathe.
“I’m sorry… I was chasing the birdies…” you whined, clutching your scraped knee.
The boy didn't mock your tears. Instead, he picked up the toy with a grace that felt ancient. He blew into the whistle, creating that beautiful, haunting sound you loved so much. You stopped crying, stunned that this tall, somber boy would play with your toy.
“You like birdies like me?…” you asked innocently.
The boy looked at the whistle, then back at you, a soft, almost sad smile touching his lips. “I like things that are honest,” he replied quietly. “Birds do not lie when they sing. And you... you have a very honest heart, little one.”
He reached into his silk tunic and pulled out a clean, lace-trimmed handkerchief. You watched in awe as he leaned down to gently dab the blood from your knee. His hands were already starting to feel cold and porcelain-smooth, but his touch was incredibly careful, as if he were afraid you might break under his fingers.
“Does it still sting?” he asked, looking at you with an intensity that made you tilt your head.
“A little,” you whispered, fascinated by his red eyes. “My papa says birds are the best because they can fly away from anything. Do you want to fly away too?”
The boy’s smile faltered, his gaze turning toward the distant palace spires. “I cannot fly,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, melodic chime. “I have too many gears holding me to the earth. But perhaps... if I listen to your song, I will remember what the sky feels like.”
You giggled, not fully understanding his words, and spent the next hour sitting by the fountain, telling him about your favorite trees and the names you gave to the cats. He mostly listened, his crimson eyes never leaving your face, as if he were memorizing the way your nose crinkled when you laughed.
When it was finally time for you to go, he handed the whistle back. His cold fingers brushed against yours, sending a strange, lasting shiver through your small frame.
“A Songbird should always keep its voice,” he whispered.
“What's your name?” you asked, your 8-year-old curiosity finally winning.
He didn't give you a title. He simply leaned in and whispered a promise you were too young for an 8 years old to understand: “I am the one who will listen when the world goes quiet.”
You carried that whistle everywhere until you were twelve. That was the year a group of noble bullies snatched it from your hands. You were heartbroken, sobbing for days over the loss of your father’s gift. Your father, a powerful figure in The Golden Circle, had been livid. He had descended upon the bullies' families with a cold fury, forcing them to pay a massive sum in restitution for the theft.
But despite the money and the punishment, the toy never returned. The bullies had apologized to you personally, their faces pale with a genuine, desperate terror as they swore they hadn't lied—they truly could not find where the whistle had gone.
The Architect of the Gallery
Back in the present, your brush clattered to the floor, the sound echoing sharply against the glass dome. The realization hit you with the force of a physical blow—the bullies hadn't lost your father’s whistle. They had been terrified because it had been taken by someone they couldn't even see.
The boy from the fountain hadn't just been a passing stranger; he was a silent architect of your destiny. You thought of the King’s secret gallery, a vault of your life’s milestones. You vividly remembered your eighteenth year—the transition from a student to a true artist under the guidance of Aethelgard.
It was then that Aethelgard painted your first favorite portrait: a self-likeness of you at eighteen, cradling your black cat. It was a piece that captured your emerging soul, yet before it could even be hung in your family home, it was sold to an anonymous buyer in the dead of night. You had been devastated, and shortly after, your mentor vanished without a trace.
Now, staring at the King, the math finally settled in your mind with a chilling clarity. When you were that eighteen-year-old artist, he was already a King of twenty-five. He hadn't been watching a child; he had been admiring a muse. He had waited seven more years, watching you flourish into the twenty-five-year-old noble standing before him now at thirty-two.
The boy who held your father’s gift at fifteen, the twenty-five-year-old Sovereign who "stole" your portrait from the market, and the thirty-two-year-old King who claimed you at your debut—they were all the same shadow. King Jestyn hadn't just stumbled upon you; he had been cultivating his "Songbird" for seventeen years, waiting for the moment you were finally "complete" enough for him to close the door on the world and keep you forever.
The Shadow in the Dome
A sharp, suffocating anxiety flared in your chest, making your breath come in short, jagged hitches. Even the mechanical bird on your canvas seemed to react, its brass head tilting as its beady eyes mirrored your mounting dread. The "itch" in your soul was no longer a mystery—it was a trap that had been set a decade ago.
Then, through the heavy silence of the Glass Dome, you heard it.
“COO!~”
It was the exact, haunting melody of your father’s gift—the one the bullies had "lost." It was so clear, so perfect, that for a moment you thought you were finally losing your mind to the ghosts of your past. You looked around wildly, eyes darting between the fluttering wings of the garden's birds, searching for the source of the sound.
Before you could turn, the world went dark.
A large, cool hand—smelling of iron and crushed roses—slipped over your eyes, plunging you into shadow. Simultaneously, a heavy, solid weight pressed against your back as you were pulled into a relentless embrace. The heartbeat hum of a life force vibrated through your spine, anchoring you to his chest.
“My Songbird~” The King’s voice was a low, melodic chime right against the shell of your ear, sending a treacherous shiver down your neck. “What has made you so scared? Why does your heart beat like a trapped thing against its cage?”
The River of Glass and Gears
“Y-Your Highness...?” The stutter slipped out—a crack in your noble armor that you usually guarded with iron-clad discipline. But here, in the shadow of his presence, you were unraveling.
King Jestyn didn't let the moment pass. He turned you around with a slow, deliberate grace, forcing you to face him. He could likely feel the frantic rhythm of your pulse and the cold sweat of anxiety on your skin. Without a word, he took your hand in his, his large, dark-soft fingers closing around yours with a grip that was both a caress and a shackle.
“Come with me, Songbird,” he murmured, his crimson eyes softening into something deceptively gentle. “Let us walk. There are things that need to be said.”
You nodded wordlessly, your heart heavy with the fear that he was still harboring the cold ire from your argument at the dinner hall. He led you through a path of silver-leafed trees until you reached a hidden river. It was breathtaking—a ribbon of shimmering water choked with bioluminescent lotus flowers, where real swans glided past clockwork herons.
“Your Majesty... why have you brought me here?” you whispered, looking up at his towering large frame.
“I wish to apologize,” you began, lowering your gaze in a practiced move of noble submission.
But before the words could fully leave your lips, he hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head back up. Your mind screamed to protest, to demand your freedom, but the words died in your throat.
“No, I am the one who should apologize. I am sorry for scaring you that night, Y/N” Jestyn corrected, his voice a low, melodic chime.
Your eyes widened. You searched his face for a lie, for a king’s cruelty, but you found only a haunting sincerity.
“But—I—” You tried to speak, but he silenced you by pressing a cool finger against your lips.
“I am a king who simply... admires brilliance,” he said, leading you toward a carved stone bench. He waited for you to sit before settling beside you, his presence looming but no longer predatory.
“I seek the unique. Those with bright minds who see the world through a lens others cannot even perceive.” He looked out across the water, his gaze distant and solemn.
“I know what they call me in the streets. A monster. A vile, ruthless royal. They fear the iron with which I rule, yet they admire the peace it buys.”
A heavy silence fell between you, broken only by the rhythmic clicking of the mechanical creatures in the reeds.
“My greatest fear is the silence, Songbird,” he confessed, his voice dropping an octave. “The empty halls... the hollow sound of gears turning with no soul to hear them. I know my kingdom is made of metal, but even a heart of clockwork can feel the cold.”
He turned to look at you, his crimson eyes searching yours at eye level. “You know that I lost my mother and father when I was very young, do you not?”
You jolted at the sudden vulnerability. “Indeed, Your Majesty. The entire Golden Circle mourned... the other kingdoms sought to exploit the crown’s grief. We were told you had to be protected.”
“Protected,” he repeated with a dry, mirthless smile.
A sudden, electric realization surged through you. The way he spoke, the way he watched you—it triggered a memory you had buried under years of noble etiquette. Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand.
“Your Majesty... may I ask something?”your fingers curling around his porcelain-smooth palm.
“You may,” he replied, his hand twitching slightly at your touch but not pulling away.
“The boy at the park... the one who sat by the fountain while I cried...” Your voice was barely a whisper, thick with a decade of forgotten truth.
“Was it you? Have you... have you been caring for me since then?” You ask as you looked up to his face.
Jestyn’s eyes widened, the crimson glow within them flickering like a dying candle before flaring with a sudden, intense light. He didn't answer immediately, but the way his fingers tightened around yours—possessive, desperate, and ancient—was all the confirmation you needed.
—————————————————————————
Author’s Note for the Post:
To clarify the timeline for those curious! Jestyn and Y/N met innocently with a small and brief friendship as kids (8 & 15), but the 'obsession' really began when Jestyn was a 25-year-old King and saw Y/N's portrait at age 18-year-old. Now, at ages 25 and 32, the 'Gilded Cage' is finally complete! 🥀🖤
Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/retro1307/815064159924502528/the-gilded-canary-king-jestyn-x-gn-noble
💬 7 🔁 13 ❤️ 223 · The Gilded Canary [King! Jestyn x GN! Noble! Reader] Part 1 · 🥀 The Gilded Canary 🥀
Pairing: King! Jestyn x GN! Noble!
Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/retro1307/815470000885399552/the-gilded-canary-king-jestyn-x-gn-noble
💬 11 🔁 12 ❤️ 172 · The Gilded Canary [King! Jestyn x GN! Noble! Reader] Part 2 · Pairing: King! Jestyn x GN! Noble! Reader
Theme: Role R
@an0nymous-c I told you I'm coming for your ocs next muahaha- sorry, don't wanna add onto your long list of "yet to answer" and you absolutely do not have to reply to this!
I just wanted to make this for my own funsies as I've been interested in diving into your characters lore for a while now and seeing your post with height comparison sheets made it a perfect opportunity and motivation to do a deep dive into your archives to do my research, haha
Also, wanted to yet again challange my rusty writing skills so I am, once again, writing about Eva's perspective/opinion on characters; this time exclusively these 4 sillies.
Also, I know, I know- Eva looks like a child compared to them in height ToT They called me short in 4 different sizes here... Making Luci 1inch taller was a diabolical move--
But anyway, let's dive into the writing part, shall we? :D
More under the cut!! WARNING: LONG POST!! (I literally have no idea how many words there are, I don't count-)
Eva's opinion on Anon-C's Characters (disclaimer: I tried to be as accurate as I can with their personalities and how Eva would see them, so forgive me if accidently misportay them in any way! And feel free to correct me!)
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The Duchess/Evaine:
Okay, I am lowkey nervous to write about this one. She's so beautiful and cool looking, yet I feel like I barely know anything about her ToT I tried searching for as much information in the posts from the master list and made notes to help myself write this, but I feel it lacking...
Still, I will do my best with this one!
The more I got to know Duchess as a character, the more I started thinking: Eva and Duchess actually have a bit in common! Eva is quite "artsy" I would say, as she can sing, dance, and a bit more.
Eva had always been drawn to the world's beauty and arts in one way or another: music especially. Singing, dancing, performance— they still linger in her mind and soul even now, long after life had taken her elsewhere.
Eva isnt much of a drinker, but she still finds herself frequenting local bars from time to time. They are cheaper than theatres, after all, and easier to disappear into. She usually just sits quietly by the counter or tucked away in some shadowed corner, listening to whatever performer happened to take the stage that night— jazz singers, tired pianists, wandering musicians with old souls in their voices. It soothes something in her. It fills, if only briefly, the hollow left behind by a kind of magic that no longer existed in her life.
She had not stepped into a theatre in quite some time.
Not only because she could not afford to.
So perhaps hearing Duchess sing would strike something tender in her unexpectedly. Not simply admiration, but remembrance. The feeling of velvet curtains, dim lights, aching beauty— all those things Eva quietly buried away with the rest of her past.
And if Duchess were to discover that Eva herself could sing and dance, I can imagine she might become curious in return. Perhaps she would offer guidance, or simply wish to see what kind of talent Eva carried beneath all that restraint. I like to think Duchess would understand that art often survives even when people are trying very hard not to.
Beyond all of that, Eva would likely regard Duchess with a quiet sort of appreciation. Eva often finds herself noticing people who carry themselves in distinctive ways, and Duchess seems like the sort of person difficult to overlook entirely. There is beauty in her, certainly, but also composure, restraint, something carefully maintained beneath the surface.
There is also something familiar in the way Duchess carries herself — that careful poise, that quiet elegance people build around old wounds so the cracks do not show too clearly. Eva understands that instinct well.
Some people survived by hardening; others survived by becoming untouchably graceful. They both seemed to belong to the latter kind.
Two people standing behind glass walls of their own making, seeing one another through the reflection.
Overall, depending on the context and their interactions, I think they could form some sort of connection or at least fondness towards each other. I don't know much about her yet, so this might change. ^^'
What Eva thinks of her: (in words):
Eva -> Duchess: composed, elegant, talented, sympathizable
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The Interloper/Eden:
I think Eva would have very mixed feelings about Eden/The Interloper.
I’m not entirely sure what exact circumstances would lead her to him yet, but I can imagine it happening through her snooping around the theatre and trying to uncover truths some people clearly don’t want her knowing. Eva isn’t the type to stay blindly obedient to rules or warnings, especially not when something feels deeply wrong beneath the surface. Jestyn’s attempts to keep her in the dark would honestly only make her more determined to dig further.
And finding Eden like that would be… unsettling, to say the least.
A puppet chained down by his neck and hands, isolated beneath the theatre with damaged puppets/mannequins scattered around him like discarded remains— it would immediately give her the sense that she found something she was never meant to see. Something hidden away deliberately.
She’d definitely stay cautious at first. Curious, but cautious.
Eva’s empathetic by nature, though, and I think seeing someone so isolated and restrained like that would make it difficult for her to simply walk away. Even through the discomfort and unease, she’d still see someone trapped there. Someone abandoned. Almost forgotten.
So I think she would approach him eventually, though carefully. Trying to understand what kind of person he actually is before allowing herself to trust him too much.
And honestly, the more time she spent around him, the more complicated her feelings would become.
Because on one hand, Eden would only deepen her unease about the theatre itself. Especially if he ever spoke about Prieston’s involvement in his imprisonment, or revealed that Prieston was the one responsible for this whole “encasing” situation in the first place. That would completely change the way Eva sees him and probably make her far more wary of what’s truly happening behind the theatre’s image.
But at the same time… I think she’d slowly begin pitying Eden too.
The more he talks, the more obvious it becomes that years of isolation have affected him badly. There’s something deeply unstable in the way he clings to connection and attention, especially once Eva starts visiting him regularly. His loneliness would probably make him attach to her incredibly quickly, almost desperately.
And I think Eva being naturally kind-hearted would only intensify that attachment.
Especially because she contrasts so heavily with Crownus as a ruler and a person— someone gentle where Crownus had been cruel, the role Eden likely now associates with cruelty, betreyal, imprisonment, and abandonment. Someone who spoke to him like he was still a person rather than a failed thing locked beneath the stage.
Eva treating him gently after all those years would probably feel almost overwhelming to him (Kind of like with Jestyn, I feel all of the puppets have this desperate need to be taken care of after Crownus. But each of them has their own reasons and ways of showing that).
Which is also why I think Eva would eventually start trying to keep some emotional distance between them.
Not because she doesn’t care, but because Eden’s attachment would start feeling… intense. Unhealthy, even. The kind where every small act of distance would deeply affect him.
And I think Eden would notice every single time she would pull away, no matter how subtly she'd try to do it.
(Ah, I feel like I could write this one better, but for now that's what I got for these two. Maybe my interpretation will improve with time as I understand both him and Eva as characters)
What she thinks of him (in words):
Eva -> Eden: doleful, pitiful, soft-hearted, clingy, quirky/odd
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The Vigilante/Vigil:
If writing for Duchess was a struggle, this one was a problem on another level.
Eva would probably hear the title “Thief of Thieves” being thrown around among the noble puppets sooner or later. It sounds dramatic enough on its own to catch her attention quickly, especially once she realizes the name belongs to some mysterious puppet "causing problems" around the theatre and irritating the upper class at every opportunity.
Naturally, she would want to know more.
The problem is that trying to get objective information out of the nobles would be nearly impossible. Every story about him would come wrapped in prejudice, annoyance, or outright fear, making it difficult to tell where the truth actually begins. To them, Vigil would simply be a nuisance. A criminal. A dangerous figure lurking somewhere in the theatre’s shadows.
Eva, however, would rather form her own opinion than rely entirely on the words of bitter aristocrats.
So she would likely try asking around the townpuppets instead.
Though even there, she probably would not get much concrete information. Vigil seems like the kind of person who keeps his identity carefully hidden from the public eye. Most people would only know rumors— some harsher than others. A thief to some, a protector to others. No one fully certain where the truth lies.
Which would only make her more curious.
Eventually, if she felt safe enough to do so, she would probably ask Jestyn about him.
That question would likely earn her a brief moment of silence before he breaks into one of those cheeky, knowing smiles of his.
“Ah, so Her Majesty’s already trying to deal with the corruption in our precious kingdom? How noble of you,” he would tease lightly. “But I would not worry your royal little head too much about what lurks in the dark. Things are rarely as terrible as they seem. Besides…”
And then that slightly dubious smile.
“It is rather impolite to speak too openly about someone who may very well be listening.”
Which, of course, would answer absolutely nothing.
Honestly, it would probably only make Eva more suspicious of him. For someone so talkative, Jestyn seems to have a remarkable talent for avoiding direct answers whenever they actually matter.
At the same time, though, she would not be able to shake the feeling that maybe someone had been listening.
Because Vigil seems exactly like the type of person who would keep an eye on both the town and the nobles alike. Someone constantly observing from the background, quietly watching how people behave when they think nobody sees them. I could easily imagine him somewhere nearby during her conversation with Jestyn, hidden out of sight while trying to figure out why the new Majesty suddenly took interest in him.
And he would probably observe her carefully before deciding what to think of her.
Vigil does not strike me as someone who would trust authority easily, especially considering the kind of life he seems to lead. At most I think I can imagine he would stay cautious and skeptical at first, trying to determine what sort of ruler she actually is before making any judgment. Jestyn choosing her might make Vigil less hostile toward her, but probably not enough for immediate trust.
Trust feels like something he would give very sparingly.
Now, again, not sure how they would meet… I mean, I may have some ideas but I'll leave it for something else.
Buut... Their first meeting would probably happen through his initiative rather than hers. After all, it is much easier for someone hiding in the shadows to reveal themselves than for others to successfully find them.
And honestly, Eva would likely find him intimidating at first.
The mask, the blood on his clothes, the way he carries himself; like someone fully aware of the fear he causes in people. Combined with all the stories she would have heard from the nobles, it would naturally put her on guard.
Still, there would also be something strangely playful about him beneath all that intimidation. Something sharp and slightly amused hiding under the threatening exterior. Enough to make her uncertain whether she should see him as dangerous, annoying, or oddly interesting.
So she would stay cautious around him, especially during their first interactions.
But she would not run. He would probably notice that quickly.
There would be visible caution in her expression— the slight furrow of her brows, the way she braces herself for confrontation— yet she would still hold her ground and keep her gaze on him. Alert, wary, but not openly hostile. Unlike the nobles or knights, she would not react to him with immediate aggression or panic.
Instead, she would simply observe him right back.
And because they both seem like the observant type, their dynamic would probably begin with a lot of silent analysis from both sides. [staring contest who's down-]
Long looks. Careful wording. Trying to figure out whether the other person is actually safe to be around.
At least for now.
Eva would treat him respectfully as long as he offered her the same courtesy in return. She understands that she is still new to this kingdom and does not believe her title alone should place her above everyone else. She can be assertive when necessary, but she is not naturally bossy or controlling.
She also prefers forming her own opinions about people rather than relying on rumors.
So instead of immediately condemning Vigil for what others say about him, she would want to understand why he does what he does and what kind of morals he actually follows. Especially because she dislikes seeing people treated unfairly, and she may start noticing that Vigil’s actions seem aimed more at corruption than cruelty.
That could probably become the foundation for mutual understanding between them.
And honestly, she could probably grow quite fond of him over time, assuming he allows her close enough in the first place.
Especially if they discover they share similar interests.
If they ever realize that both of them enjoy singing or dancing, I think the tension between them would likely lessen considerably. A tavern, live music, performances— those are already the kinds of places Eva enjoys outside the theatre anyway. Spending time together in that sort of environment would probably feel much easier and more natural than formal conversations in dark theatre halls.
And maybe, in places or situations like that, they would slowly begin understanding each other beyond titles, rumors, and first impressions.
[I have much more to say about their possible dynamics and stuff buut I think this is enough for this post]
What she thinks of him (in words):
Eva -> Vigil: observant, watchful, cocky, well-meaning
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The Devil/Luci:
Okay, I am both excited and scared to write about this one as well. I've been anticipating writing about their interactions and stuff and now when I have the chance I am found dumb-struck lol.
I feel like him and Eva would get along really well, dare I say better than the other characters from this list [and no, it's not just my favourism! Hear me out!]. Perhaps even dangerously well.
Their first meeting, strangely enough, would not feel like a first meeting at all. There would be curiosity, certainly— but not the invasive, ravenous kind she had grown used to from the other puppets. Something quieter. Mutual. As though both of them were carefully circling the outline of a mystery neither wished to scare away too quickly.
And Luci would be curious about her.
A new “Majesty” after so long? In a theatre rotting in stagnant time? It would be impossible for him not to take interest. Especially with Jestyn’s inability to keep his triumphs to himself; news of Eva’s arrival had likely spread through the theatre long before she ever crossed paths with the Devil himself. By then, he would already know of the human placed upon the throne like a freshly polished jewel in a crumbling crown.
But unlike the others, I feel like Luci would not approach her like something to dissect.
There is mystery in him, yes— enough to unsettle most people— but Eva would find his presence oddly comforting instead. Warm in the way candlelight is warm: dim, theatrical, dangerous if mishandled, yet impossible not to lean toward. His whimsical charm, his dramatic mannerisms, the soft cadence of someone who treats every conversation like part of a stage play… it would ease her guard far quicker than she would expect.
He would make her smile.
Not forced, masked politeness, either. Genuine smiles. Small laughs muffled behind her hand. The sort of quiet fondness that sneaks up unnoticed until it is already there.
And once she discovers his background as a sort of street performer, any lingering distance between them would shrink even further.
Eva has always loved art in all its forms— music most of all— and Luci embodies performance as naturally as breathing. Fire-blowing tricks, sleight of hand, theatrical flourishes spoken with a grin sharp enough to cut silk… he would fascinate her endlessly. There is beauty in the way he moves, even outside the stage itself, as though he cannot help but turn existence into spectacle.
Then there is the caravan. Goodness gracious, the caravan.
Eva hates empty, blank places. It aches to see rooms that feel abandoned by life itself, with no decorations, no soul them, as if no one ever lived in them. Luci’s caravan, however, would feel alive in every possible sense.
Warm amber lighting spilling from mosaic lamps. Velvet and patterned silks draped carelessly across dark oak furniture. Trinkets piled upon every available surface; gold jewelry tangled beside strange potion bottles, old books stacked in uneven towers, dried herbs hanging from hooks overhead. The air heavy with incense, wax, smoke, and something sweet she cannot quite place.
It would feel less like a home and more like stepping inside someone’s mind.
And Eva would adore it.
Luci would absolutely catch her staring at everything the first time he invited her inside— fingertips ghosting over embroidered fabrics, eyes lingering on every curious object she could find. There would be something almost intimate about seeing the way he lives; maximalistic, cluttered, deeply personal. Not chaotic, but curated. A man trying desperately to surround himself with enough beauty to forget where he truly is.
If they grew close enough, his caravan might become one of the few places within the theatre where Eva could genuinely breathe.
The plants would catch her attention too [my own headcanon here is that he owns some plants].
Small potted flowers near his workbench. Terrariums tucked beside shelves crowded with alchemical glassware. Tiny pieces of living nature hidden carefully inside a dead place. And knowing Luci’s quiet longing to someday smell real roses, she would understand immediately why he keeps them.
That longing in him would speak to something inside her.
So would the loneliness.
Eva is observant by nature. It would not take her long to notice how carefully Luci preserves himself compared to the other puppets. The immaculate clothing layered to conceal more than fashion alone. The scarf covering his head. The mask. The precision with which he maintains every inch of his appearance, as though deterioration is something he refuses to surrender to.
And she would understand that instinct more than he might realize.
Eva hides pieces of herself too. Not out of vanity, but protection.
Because she knows what it feels like when people try to pry you open simply because you refuse to expose every hidden part willingly. So despite her curiosity, she would never force him to reveal what lies beneath the fabric, beneath the porcelain, beneath the performance. She would grant him the dignity of choosing what parts of himself deserve to be seen.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons he would grow fond of her in return?
The physical affection, however, would take longer to adjust to.
Some of the puppets, Eva would quickly learn, are not particularly reserved creatures when it comes to touch.
From what we know, Luci is no exception.
There is an ease to the way he occupies another person’s space that reminds her strangely of Jestyn— casual, instinctive, almost feline in nature. The kind of closeness that feels less intentional flirtation and more an ingrained habit formed over years of existing among people who no longer think much of boundaries. And honestly, if Eva were ever to discover the depth of Luci and Jestyn’s past bond, that similarity alone would not surprise her in the slightest.
Would it make her uncomfortable? Sometimes, maybe.
Other times… not as much as she would expect.
The first time she would feel something curl subtly around her waist mid-conversation— smooth, slow, almost absentminded in its movement— she would nearly startle before realizing it is only his tail winding loosely behind her as Luci speaks as though nothing happened at all.
Jestyn’s constant presence had somewhat already softened her toward smaller gestures: a hand against her shoulder, fingers brushing her arm in passing, someone standing just a little too close. But Luci’s touches carry a quieter sort of attentiveness to them. Less possessive. More curious.
The only exception is her neck. More specifically, the nape of it.
That place remains untouchable in ways she cannot properly explain.
Even through the protection of high collars and turtlenecks, she instinctively stiffens whenever his claws ghost too close beneath her hairline. It is subtle— a brief pause in her breathing, a near imperceptible freeze of her body before she slowly forces herself to relax again— but noticeable enough that someone as observant as Luci would eventually catch on.
Still, she never pulls away outright.
Not unless he presses too far.
As long as his touch remains gentle, resting more along the sides of her neck rather than directly against the vulnerable upper part of her nape, she can tolerate it. Perhaps even lean into it on rarer days.
But there will always be that slight hesitation in her first.
That fleeting moment where her body remembers something her mouth never speaks of.
[I actually had much more to write about but I feel I would get into the territority of emotional vulnerability in relationship dynamics too much and that is reserved for another post! Anyway, this is just the peak of the iceberg of what I have been sitting on for the past weeks but I'm glad I finally put (most of it) into actual words. It took me... 4 hours to write this bc I am a perfectionist... and I also had to cut it multiple time bc I wrote too much... anyway, live laugh love Luci the Devil]
What she thinks of him (in words):
Eva -> The Devil/Luci: charismatic, endearing, sentimental, dramatic (in a good way)
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Additionally!!!
King!Jestyn:
I honestly don’t think Eva would truly like him.
King!Jestyn seems like the kind of person who naturally expects loyalty and obedience from the people around him, especially from someone meant to serve as his jester. And Eva just is not built for that kind of role. She’s stubborn in a quiet way; not openly reckless, but not someone who can fully bend herself to another person’s control either.
Would she be intimidated by him? Absolutely. His presence alone would be enough to make her tense, especially when he looks at her with that cold sort of disappointment whenever she refuses to comply with something he asks of her. And I think she would quickly realize that his harshness is not always an act. There are moments where his patience wears thin enough to become genuinely unsettling.
Still, Eva has too much pride to simply kneel and accept being treated poorly. Even if part of her knows it would be smarter to stay quiet and obedient, she would struggle to tolerate being ordered around like an object or a doll placed wherever he wants it. She would push back in small ways— hesitation, sharp remarks she probably shouldn’t say, subtle refusals, cold politeness. Enough to make it clear she is not completely under his control.
Ironically, I think that resistance might be exactly what keeps Jestyn interested in her.
It is difficult to say whether her defiance would earn his ire quickly enough to doom her during the trial of becoming his jester, or whether it would instead awaken something far more dangerous: interest. Because beneath the annoyance, King!Jestyn might find himself respecting her in a way he never intended to. Not openly, never gently— but enough to keep watching her instead of discarding her.
It could honestly go either way. He might find her frustrating enough to immediately regret choosing her during the trial to become his jester, or her insubordinate attitude could make her stand out from everyone else for him. Not in a romanticized way exactly, but in a way that catches his attention because she refuses to react the way most people do around him.
Eva can also sing very well, though she usually keeps that part of herself private. Singing is something she only really does when she feels comfortable or alone, so if King!Jestyn demanded it during the trial, her first instinct would probably be refusal.
But I could also imagine him already having heard her before they properly met. [Kinda like what I have planned with Eva and og Jestyn :D]
Maybe he overheard her singing somewhere when she thought nobody was around, catching a softer and more genuine side of her that she would never intentionally show him. So later, when she refuses to sing for him directly, he comments on it instead.
“Come now, songbird. Sing for me.” [I find his iconic nickname so ironic for her lol]
And eventually she does, though reluctantly. Her voice would still be beautiful, but more restrained this time — less natural than it had been when he overheard her alone. And I think King!Jestyn would notice that difference immediately.
Even though Eva would make it clear she dislikes being controlled, I don’t think she would be cold all the time. Her kinder side would still show itself in certain moments despite her efforts to keep her distance, especially if he himself would show more humane side of himself to her (you get what you give kinda situation). That would probably make King!Jestyn even more curious about her, because he would start wanting those more honest reactions from her instead of the guarded version she presents to him.
But getting that side of Eva would require him to ease up on the need to control everything around him, and I’m not sure that comes naturally to him at all.
Also, it's silly, but I think he could sometimes call her "little swallow/martlet"
What she thinks of him (in words):
Eva -> King!Jestyn: controlling, tenacious, possessive, ill-tempered
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Bonus:
('Tis a joke btw, I just think of this meme every time I think of King!Jestyn and how Devil, whom I cherish, comes from the same power-puff style cauldron of Anon-C's creativity. Evil twin--/jj)
Anyway, I couldn't help myself and so I made a doodle of each of them as well. This post is already long but oh well.
Vigil and Luci being so edgy at the bottom lmao, I didn't even realise their poses being similiar in a way... mask duo braincell sharing.
Duchess has a different dress because.. well.. I have no explaination. Let's imagine she has many dresses. That'll do. Forgive me for any other inconsistencies in their outfits/designs too; especially with Eden, I don't know how his outfit works I'm sorry ToT
Also, drawn Luci so many times I practically do not need a reference for him...
If you're talking requests pleasseee consider a meeting between king jestyn and regular jestyn with a v confused mc who's only used to regular jestyn and maybe even trys defending regular jestyn from the harsh remarks of King jestyn (a form of self loathing maybe?) Not realising they just sealed their fate to two highly obsessed puppets ;3 have a nice day!!
They would SO fucking hate each other 🙏And it's even more horrifying for you to open your eyes to find not one — but Two Jestyn's in the room with you. One of them is yours, your handsome fool with a sharp grin, and his.. double? Counterpart? Alternate? hard to say..
The other one is.. almost like him. Almost. But still too different with the way he held his head high, and his presence more regal and severe. But still, undoubtedly, looks like your Jestyn. Just.. more.. kingly? Studying his features, the crown draws you in first. Then to his fine garment meant for royalty, which felt so out of place for someone like.. Jestyn. But this isn't your Jestyn. This one is different.
His eyes, lethal as a wolf, dart straight to you as your Jestyn glares at him.
"Songbird?" he murmurs, voice as raspy as the wind. His gaze narrows to both you and to well.. your Jestyn, who reciprocates his narrow stare with an expression that's too unreadable.
You feel a taloned hand place itself at your side, before you're pulled behind your Jestyn, the one with the jester hat and the teardrop mark on his face — "Thou seems a bit lost," his voice singsongs in the hollow quiet of the room, the other Jestyn —Who's mouth thins and his expression darkens like a cloud the moment your Jestyn pulled you away.
"While I agree mimicry is the best form of flattery, I don't take well for others to take on my... visage." Jestyn, your Jestyn's crimson eyes travel up and down the stranger's form, judgement dripping from his tongue and still he holds a taunting smile to this copycat.
Your eyes flicker nervously between the two puppets, confusion and panic laced in your mind. Forced to hide behind your Jester like a makeshift shield as the more.. kingly puppet stalks closer. For a precious second, you find the way his gaze locks onto yours - before returning to your Jestyn's.
"Unhand them at once, pest." The intruder hissed, his voice warbling in a frequency that is not human. In a tone that's too similar to your Jester. If not for their different clothes, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. "They are not yours." He states, as if mere fact.
Yours?
Your Jestyn does not take kindly to this, his lithe shoulders tensing, and you already feel the pure ire eminating from his being. You barely see it coming, barely foresaw how in one motion, Jestyn hand clasps a great axe and with a voice bleeding hatred, "Die"
For you, everything slows — a gasp near to leave you as his royal clone steps away in surprise before unsheathing a weapon of his own, a sword of fine quality, it's metal gleaming in the room's shadow. They were going to kill each other — Jestyn already goes to aim for one swift slice, and his double positions himself to defend, and in your horror, you scream,
"STOP!"
And they do.
Like obedient dogs, their minds immediately respond and connect itself to the sound of your voice and their heads snap to your direction. Utilizing their surprise, you place yourself in the middle like some form of white line, "Put your weapons down! Let's ah— calm down, okay?" You heave, brows furrowed and expression desperate.
Glancing to your Jestyn with begging eyes, and you don't miss the way his eyes soften meeting yours. In your state, you don't notice the way the mimic's own eyes follow, narrowing for the slightest moment when you turn to your Jester first, and not him.
It was.. quite complicated after that. You and your jester had your speculation that it was likely due to Wizzy's potion, something something how Jestyn had allowed to be his test subject and hours later, the outsider enters stage..
Jestyn and King!Jestyn, as you learn, don't like each other. Jestyn despises his counterpart just for his title, the crown. The king. It didn't belong to him, he told you. To which, King!Jestyn tsked in annoyance. That your Jestyn is weak, attaching himself still to his present role and remaining a coward.
You had to prevent another fight after that. They'd contradict each other too much sadly. King!Jestyn would remind Jestyn of Crownus, and Jestyn would remind King!Jestyn of his past weaknesses and mistakes. It's hard upholding the peace when it's obviously better to seperate them both, the problem is is the fact they both don't wish to leave you.
Consulting with Wizzy yields no answer either, as horrified as he was — he was delighted to know his potion malfunctioned like that. But in honesty, he had no solution to give you. That he didn't expect such a possibility to occur. He procured potions yes, but never did he think it'd cause an affect like this.
When the Wizard apologizes, you swiftly accept it, waving him off and saying it's not his fault. Wizzy is always sincere, so when he said he didn't mean it, he didn't mean it. That leaves two Jestyns.. who are ticking time bombs when the other is in the same room with them.
You thought Jestyn's antics was a nuisance, having two of them who begin to become all the more possessive and unwilling to share is unbearable. It's a constant tug of war of who has your attention. You relent more to King!Jestyn, it's.. awkward yes, since at most, he's a stranger to you.
You don't recognize it when he calls you "Songbird" or remember the times you've spent together, and you see it in the way his eyes flutter lower and sadness coats his gaze. You see it, the longing. The loneliness. This isn't his world. He has nobody else. Nobody else but you.
So that is why you relent. It's why you allow him to cup your cheek, for his arms to wrap over your form and pull you to the bed in the spare room he now resides in temporarily in the theater. You allow it when his body covers yours, curling over you as if a prize treasured.
He's.. sweet. Maybe a bit off, sometimes. You learn that he's quite more demanding than your Jestyn. Every now and then with a slip of his tongue, he'd command (Not tell) you to come to his side, to attend to him, to accompany him.
Jestyn becomes much more clingy during this time period. By the time you return to him after spending the day with King!Jestyn, he's adamant in drowning you in his affection.
You endure it when his teeth brush against your neck, building himself up until his warmth invades you completely, lighting you aflame when he softly gnaws at your bottom lip and you tell him to behave. And of course he dares to chuckle, asking you when has he not obeyed your every word and wish, your majesty?
He steals a kiss from you again, lips brushing against yours as he steals your air. Taking everything with each rhythmic sway of his mouth upon yours.
You're left breathless, when the high is over you still reel over the adoration of two puppets. You inhale deeply, eyes finally focusing only to be consumed by crimson red, and your Jestyn, he chuckles over your roused state. A fond smile etching itself on his face, as he murmurs over you, "I love you, your majesty."
Your chest flutters and day lighten, and like love enshrined, you smile, "I love —"
SNAP!
You blink. Finding yourself not in your room, or Jestyn's room. And nor do you find your Jestyn at all. When you blink and sit up in confusion, you find only one puppet with you. And King Jestyn looked anything but pleased, his form towering over yours on the bed as a displeased smile settles upon his face,
"My patience.. is abundant, songbird." He murmurs, voice low. "But not infinite."
Taking his time, he walks across the room to join you, "If you are his, then he can come take you from me, himself."
Safe to say it becomes a common occurrence for the two bastards to abuse their ability to steal you away from the other. And that's hardly ALL of the issues that come with having King!Jestyn and Jestyn in one room.
The real trouble starts when they accept the idea of sharing you.
KOM Jestyn belongs to @thepipiuw !! Drabble and AU belongs to An0nymous-C !!
Look at what you did. Look at how long this became!! LH that was on me. It was,, definitely supposed to be shorter. But then I sort of rambled and it continued on so I might as well refine it just a tad. Also took it as an opportunity to practice and doodle <3 Admittedly not my best work but it's a doodle after all.
It's not surprising for anyone to know that the king is fond of having you near. As the court’s newest jester, that usually means you remain by his side. Literally. It’s another form of embarrassment on it’s own when you’re told to sit on the floor next to his throne while he allows an audience with the other puppets. But it’s humiliating when he tells you to come and take your place on his lap and remain there while he does his duties.
It isn’t surprising either when you learn the king is incredibly fond of making you flustered, lives to see your reaction, finds enjoyment watching the mortification and embarrassment settle in your face before following his order anyway. That’s the best part for him really, despite your fears — you obey still to the letter. His obedient songbird, pliant in his grasp, sat right where he wants you to be.
It is agonizing to allow the hours pass and watch as puppets of the theatre survey you, and usually their natural reaction is one of surprise. It’s been too long for a human to be in the theatre, alive no less. But their surprise turns to caution when they meet their king’s gaze and understand that the new jester is his.
It's only then you realize this is his way of marking you, and letting everyone else know, which, only served to make you all the more uneased and bashful and horrified. Maybe it would've been better to take the axe to the neck.
You’ve opted to just look at the ground when his court comes to him just to spare yourself the sight of them looking at you. Though, overtime the humiliation passes and it’s just become the norm for you to be sat pretty atop him. And his subjects do the same, thankfully ignoring you as well.
When the sun is close to rising and the clock nears Six, you breathe a sigh of relief when he tells you to take your leave. Practically thanking god to come home until a hand places itself at your waist, stopping you just as you go to leave.
You’re given little time to process when you turn to face him and suddenly, he takes you by the chin, making you tilt your head to meet his gaze and you urge your traitorous heart to be still.
He eyes pierce through yours, studying your expression with a smile too soft and his gaze lidded. “Are you this eager to leave me, songbird?” He asks of you, so close that you dare not breathe and only shake your head.
He chuckles, his voice dropping low, almost a purr, meant only for you, "Then why leave?" The hands holding your waist grow tight, you feel talons digging at your side as you watch his smile turn sharp.
Your heart thumps in fear, your mind races, barely able to hear the words he say and only the way his lips move and his crimson eyes bleed obsession.
Stay here. Stay forever. That is your duty. That is an order. To never leave, to remain by my side, now and always—
"I'll come back tomorrow!"
He blinks. Your heart still beats fast as you both look at each other. The voices drowning your mind now silent.
Your king, who insists in tormenting you, to test your patience and will, softens. His grip loosening as he listens your heartbeat slow, your panic leaving you. The only sound that remains is the silence that follows.
"Is that so?" You hear him ask, and quickly, you nod. Telling him he'd be seeing you either way. Everyday, you'll come. It is your job— no, your duty, after all. You try to smile and feign assurance, and he all but studies your expression to find the truth in your words.
"Very well," He murmurs, and to your relief, he releases you. When you finally leave his embrace, now only standing infront of him, you bow. Thanking him for his time. Making sure to add a 'Your majesty', just to be safe. It seems to please him either way.
"Quickly now, my restraint isn't infinite." He warns you with a low chuckle and you take it as your green light to turn away. You feel his gaze piercing your back, watching you leave.
Sadly, even when you return the next day, and the day after that — It's become a common request of his to have you on his lap 🥀And he makes no expense in being gentle. At his best, he squeezes your waist and kisses the skin of your neck. At his worst, he bites or, most horribly, you feel something down below.
And yes, he's showing you off. King Jestyn, like his counterpart, is shameless and will indulge himself as he pleases with the one he claims as his. I imagine he often takes the opportunity to make a show of it if Knighter is around, just to see his reaction AND to see you crumble by his touch. Two birds one stone.
Be grateful that he decided not to bring out the collar, when it comes to King Jestyn, you count every mercy you get.
KOM Jestyn belongs to @thepipiuw !! Drabble and AU belongs to An0nymous-C !!
Making this seperate from the drabble, but I conjured the idea and shared it first prior in the KoM fan server <3 but luckily, it can now find its place here! As well as my doodle GIGGLES fun fact I drew this on a call with a lot of the people in the KoM fan server, using discord whiteboard AND with my pc mouse 🥀 woe is me
I truthfully have many more thoughts, but the more I expand, the more I realize Im quite limited with the information and lore we have now. But still, no harm in having a little fun with the AU. These notes are less structured and organized, but this was the idea stage! Hopefully it can give more insights on what your king is like 💖
Though, it'd be wise to meet him first. It's rude to have your king wait.
Something that lingered in the back of my head is this idea in my notepad drafts is an alternate AU. Something something where Jestyn is king, and he looks for a jester to call his own (Even if its a bit ironic that his name would be Jestyn here but we’ll gladly ignore that)
Alas, our information on the official lore is limited so we can throw balls to the wall and see what fits just to make it work. Something, something maybe that his kingdom is filled with liars and traitors, that he needs someone to trust. A little plaything to be his fool and lookout.
It follows the same formula almost to the original i’d imagine, a series of tests, so on and so forth. The king more demanding than patient, his grin sharp and wolfish when you stumble and fail a simple ball trick. He’s seen better entertainers that could bend and contort their body at will, and yet your clumsy hands cant catch three balls? Disappointing, he says, but for reasons beyond you, he’s still smiling. As if amused.
You’re not sure what to make of the king. But you are scared of him. His unpredictability becomes a potential danger to your life. And I imagine his tests are more tiring compared to what OG Jestyn had for you, most likely more physical — Do a dance, do a trick, sing, make a poem, so many more until you’re left breathless. Exhausted, tired, like a dog with no energy to amuse him. When his sharp gaze finds you, you tense and await his words telling you to do a backflip or something equally more demanding, only to find him asking you questions.
Something tells me in an Au like this, King Jestyn would still look for the same qualities in the original. Someone true, someone kind, soft-hearted and genuine. Someone he could trust. When you answer his questions sincerely, there’s a silence I imagine. One that unsettles you and makes you fear for the worst. Is this how you die? Working at a night shift and you haven’t even been paid yet?
Following faithfully to the original, he would order you to kneel. Maybe crawl to his throne and pure whiplash catches you offguard when his clawed hand caresses your neck. He is pleased, he tells you. Something about how he hasn’t seen a heart like yours in years. That you are what he needs. You’re not sure what to make of his words, too flustered and caught between his order to sit still and obey. His fingers dig into your skin, you can feel the talons sink against your neck and it takes much to stay composed. Too caught up in craning your neck and keeping your gaze in his. Crimson red is what you see. He’ll keep you
KOM Jestyn and top right doodle belongs to @thepipiuw !! AU, meteor and King Jestyn art belongs to An0nymous-C !!
The King’s Songbird [King! Jestyn x GN! Noble! Reader] Part 1
Pairing: King! Jestyn x GN! Noble! Reader
Theme: Role Reversal AU | Dark Fantasy Romance | Obsessive Themes
Inspiration & Concept Credit: @an0nymous-c
* KOM Visual Novel: @thepipiuw
* King!Jestyn AU Concept: @an0nymous-c
• Fantasy KOM RR AU: My own interpretation
Author Note
Apologies if this chapter feels a bit rushed! I’ve been diving deep into some personal projects lately—including learning programming (odd transition from clockwork kings, I know! Lol). However, I always find my way back here to find relief in the chemistry between our beloved King Jestyn and the MC/Reader.
Fair warning: Things are starting to heat up. The next chapter may explore more mature themes, so prepare your hearts!
The King’s Secret
You stared at him, breathless, waiting for the words that would bridge seventeen years of silence. He looked awestruck, his crimson eyes flickering as if he were seeing the ghost of that eight-year-old child standing before him again. Finally, he let out a long, heavy sigh and nodded with a slow, mechanical elegance.
“Yes... yes, Songbird. It was me,” he whispered. “The boy at the park... the one who knelt in the dirt to clean your bruised knee. It was always me.” He tightened his grip on your hand, grounding himself.
You knew the weight of the history he carried. The rumors of the Great War were whispered in every corner of the Golden Circle—the final, bloody stand led by his parents. You remembered the old portraits of King Valerius, a man of iron and scars who stood like a mountain, and Queen Celestia, whose hair was like spun moonlight and whose smile was said to be the only thing that could soften the King's heart. They were warriors, brave and formidable, leading the charge against the monsters until the very end.
When they fell, the kingdom fell into shadow. Jestyn was only fifteen—a Prince in mourning, suddenly hunted by his own blood. His uncle, Crownus, the usurper, had stolen the throne and sought to banish the young heir into the abyss.
But Jestyn was his father’s son. For ten years, he lived in the shadows, protected by his parents' most loyal allies—generals and lords who refused to bow to a tyrant. When Jestyn finally returned at twenty-five, he didn't come for a trial; he came for a reckoning.
The stories of that night still chilled the blood of the Golden Circle. They said Crownus was found slumped over his final feast, poisoned alongside his court of concubine marionettes. Before the usurper’s body was even cold, Jestyn had set the castle ablaze—the second ancestral home of his family, purged by fire to wash away the stain of his uncle’s betrayal. That was the night Jestyn reclaimed the crown that was rightfully his.
“You were... mourning?” you asked softly.
Despite the weeks of fear, a part of you wanted to learn what lived behind the King’s iron armor.
“I was lost,” Jestyn confessed, his gaze drifting to the silver leaves.
“The battle for the crown and the alliances I forged made me who I am today. But I remember how you came across my path that day in the park. I remember doubting if this was the life I wanted... if my parents would be proud of the mechanical thing I was becoming.” He sighed, his thumb caressing your cheek.
His touch was cold, yet the gesture was so tender it made your skin ache. “I remember how you ran that day, chasing the birds. I could almost see you trying to fly by jumping, whistling that little melody. You looked like a piece of the light my mother, Celestia, used to talk about.”
With a grace that felt like a secret, he showed the the wooden whistle you had lost at twelve. You gasped, seeing the golden filigree shimmer in the light of the lotus flowers. It wasn't a dream; it was the physical proof of his long-term devotion.
“You grounded me,” he confessed. “Seeing your bright eyes... when you fell, I felt a flicker of sympathy I thought I had lost to war and murder.” His expression darkened for a moment.
A flash of the "monster" they whispered about, before he smoothed his features back into a saint-like serenity. “Your innocence made me believe I wasn't alone... that there was kindness in this world.”
“And you have followed me ever since,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs. “You took everything... even Aethelgard. My mentor, the painter... you removed him the moment the portrait was finished.”
“Exactly, Songbird,” he murmured, leaning closer until you could feel the hum of his mechanical heart.
“Then why did you buy it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you watched a pair of swans glide together on the dark water. “You owned that painting because you knew exactly who I was back then.”
You looked at him, and for the first time, the fear was overshadowed by something much more dangerous. It was a longing that terrified you—a realization that you were the only piece of humanity left in a King made of gears and grief.
The Sovereign’s Vow
Silence fell over the riverbank, thick and heavy with the scent of crushed roses and bioluminescent water. You waited for him to justify the years of stalking, to explain away the shadows. Instead, Jestyn lowered his head, his forehead almost touching yours.
"I kept the whistle because it was the only piece of sunlight I could carry into the dark," he confessed, his voice barely a melodic hum.
"I kept the portrait because I needed to remind myself that the 'Songbird' I met by the fountain was real—not just a hallucination of a boy lost in war." He said as he took a piece of hair behind your ear.
"I became this... this mechanical thing, Y/N, so that I could build a kingdom where you would never have to see the poison or the fire. I kept the secrets because I wanted you to stay 'bright.' I didn't want the soot of my crown to stain your wings." He let out a shaky breath that felt like the cooling of hot metal.
As he spoke, a sudden, violent rush of heat flooded your chest—a sensation so foreign and intense it left you dizzy. You had spent years being courted by the elite of the Golden Circle; lords and ladies alike had offered you poetry, gems, and polished smiles in an attempt to conquer your heart. But their efforts had always felt like a performance—shallow and cold.
With Jestyn, there were no performances. There was only this terrifying, absolute intimacy.
Slowly, as if asking for permission without words, Jestyn leaned in. He didn't reach for your lips; that would have felt like a conquest, and in this moment, he was a worshiper. Instead, he pressed a lingering, reverent kiss to your forehead.
His skin was porcelain-smooth and cool, yet the spot where he touched you felt like it was being branded with liquid fire. You felt your eyes flutter shut, breath hitching with relief, your pulse racing in a way no suitor had ever managed to provoke.
Despite the cage he had built around you, despite the secrets he had kept, you felt a treacherous surge of love—a deep, visceral connection to the marionettes man who had been your silent guardian for seventeen years.
He lingered there, breathing in the scent of your hair as if it were the only air left in the kingdom. It was a gesture of profound, terrifying devotion—a promise that while he might be the one who built the cage, he would also be the one to die defending it.
"Forgive me for the shadows, Songbird," he whispered against your skin, his voice a low chime. "But the world is finally quiet. And I am here to listen."
The Songbird’s Heart
A soft, stuttered breath escaped you as his lips lingered against your forehead. The cool touch of his porcelain skin felt like a brand, sending a rush of heat to your cheeks that no amount of noble composure could hide. You looked up at him, your gaze searching the crimson depths of his eyes.
“Then… can we learn from each other?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, yet filled with a sudden, genuine hunger. “Every fear, every dream… even the hopes you think are lost?”
Jestyn’s eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in, breathing in your scent as if it were the only thing keeping his gears turning.
“Of course, Songbird,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a hoarse, devoted register that made your skin tingle. “Just… do not disappear. Do not misunderstand the depths of what I feel for you.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that felt dangerously close to desire. For a fleeting, breathless second, the temptation to close the distance and press your lips to his was so strong it made you dizzy—but you forced the thought away, clinging to the last remnants of your restraint.
The moment was fractured by the sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps. Knighter appeared in the clearing, his expression as cold and immovable as iron. He didn't even blink at the sight of the King holding you with such desperate tenderness.
“Your Highness… Wizzy is waiting for you in the library,” he announced, his voice a sharp contrast to the soft evening air.
“Thank you, Knighter. I am coming,” Jestyn replied, though he did not let go. He turned his gaze back to you, his smile softening into something saint-like.
“Scort the Songbird to their room. Ensure they are comfortable.” As you moved to stand, he caught your hand, his fingers halting you with a gentle but firm pressure.
He didn't let go until he had raised your palm to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against the soft skin. The contrast was startling—your warmth against the smooth, unyielding porcelain of his hand.
“I will return soon, my Songbird~” he promised, his voice a low chime. “I wish to hear more of your heart… and more of your soul.”
As you walked back under Knighter’s silent watch, you felt as though the very fabric of your being had been laid bare. For twenty-five years, you had been the perfect noble—a discreet shield of etiquette, hiding your true self behind brushes, poetry, and songs. You had transformed your emotions into art so no one could ever truly touch them.
But now, the shield was gone. Every night, the memory of his seventeen-year devotion played in your mind like a haunting loop of music. Your body still hummed from the ghost of his touch on your forehead and your palm. You were still terrified of the shadows he carried, but beneath the fear, your heart was blooming—a wild, vibrant flower cracking through the stone of its cage for the very first time.
Mannerisms & Shared Life
The weeks following the confession were a slow, beautiful unraveling of the King’s iron rules. You began to see the "man" within the marionette through the small, quiet habits you formed together.
One morning, Jestyn dismissed the royal tailors who usually brought only somber crimsons and blacks. He watched you with an unreadable expression as he gestured to a sea of silks in every shade imaginable
"I have lived in a world of soot and gears for too long, Songbird. Wear the colors of your own heart. I wish to see the palace through your eyes." Seeing you in vibrant greens, soft blues, or warm golds became his new favorite "art."
During the quiet afternoons, you taught him the "soft-skin" logic of emotions—why you felt a certain way when the rain fell, or why a specific melody made you nostalgic.
In return, he taught you the Arcane Logic of the kingdom. He would let you sit behind him as he worked on clockwork schematics, his hand guiding yours over the cold brass gears, explaining how every piece had a purpose—just as you had a purpose in his life.
The true test of your new bond came during the Midsummer Gala. The Great Hall was a sea of the Golden Circle’s elite, all of them whispering about the "Gilded Canary" who had finally captured the King's undivided attention.
You arrived at the throne, dressed in a stunning gown/attire of your own choosing—a bold departure from the palace's dark energy. Depending on your choice, the silhouette you chose for the night was a masterpiece of royal craftsmanship:
• For Female Readers: Your gown was a breathtaking display of ethereal light. The bodice featured an open, off-the-shoulder neckline held by delicate, gem-encrusted straps.
The sleeves were a sheer, flowing mesh that cascaded down like liquid starlight, while the entire gown was draped in intricate webs of gold chains and shimmering beads that glowed against the dark fabric like a constellation.
• For Male Readers: You opted for a look of sharp, romantic elegance. You wore a voluminous, high-collared tunic made of heavy ivory satin with dramatic, ruffled lapels and billowed sleeves.
This was cinched tightly by a high-waisted, black-laced corset that provided a rigid, masculine structure to the fluid silk, creating a silhouette that was both commanding and sophisticated.
• For Gender-Neutral Readers: Your attire merged grace with architectural detail. You wore an ivory silk blouse with high, pleated cuffs and gold embroidery at the throat.
Over this sat a unique black waistcoat that transitioned into an asymmetrical, floor-length skirted panel on one side. The entire look was layered with gold filigree and delicate chains that draped from your shoulder to your hip, moving like smoke as you walked.
When you reached the dais, the court expected you to take the smaller, lower chair to the King's left. Instead, as you moved to sit, Jestyn’s dark-soft hand shot out, catching your waist. With a strength that was as effortless as it was undeniable, he pulled you backward. The court gasped in a collective, hushed intake of breath as you settled firmly onto the King’s lap.
He didn't care for the scandal. He shifted his large frame so that you were cradled securely against his chest, his long arm wrapping around your waist like a band of iron.
"Your Majesty... the nobles are staring," you whispered, your heart racing with that now-familiar rush of heat.
"Let them stare," Jestyn replied, his voice a low, melodic chime that vibrated through your spine. He leaned down, resting his chin on your shoulder, his crimson eyes scanning the crowd with a cold, protective fire.
"They need to understand that the throne is only stone and metal. You are the only kingdom I care to rule." Throughout the night, he refused to let you move.
He fed you small delicacies with his own hands and listened only to your voice, effectively turning the most public moment of the year into your most intimate secret. You were no longer just a noble of the Golden Circle; you were the heart of the King.
The Invitation of the Rose
One afternoon, you were strolling through the private gardens, your lace umbrella shielding you from the golden sun. You smiled as you watched the birds; the real ones sang from the trees while the mechanical ones chirped from the brass hedges in a perfect, eerie harmony. Your peace was interrupted by a frantic patter of footsteps.
Mary arrived, slightly out of breath, her cap tilted and her face flushed from running. She held a silver tray with both hands, clutching it so tightly her knuckles were white despite being marionette.
“Oh, thank goodness I found you, Song—I mean, My Lady/Lord!” Mary stammered, her voice high and nervous. She looked over her shoulder toward the palace spires, as if she expected the King himself to be watching the clock.
“His Majesty was quite… particular about the timing. He told me if this didn't reach you before the clock struck four, I’d be spending my evening polishing every single gear in the lower barracks!” She gave a shaky, hurried curtsy, extending the tray toward you.
Upon it lay a heavy, cream-colored envelope sealed with the King’s private crest in black wax.
“Please, read it quickly,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “He’s waiting by the willows, and I’ve never seen him so… focused. It’s like the whole palace is holding its breath.”
You took the envelope, your fingers trembling as you recognized the elegant, sharp script:
—————————————————————————
My Dearest Songbird:
The palace feels hollow today, even with the gears turning. I find myself counting the seconds until I can hear the honest rhythm of your heart again. I have prepared a secluded spot by the willow trees—a picnic for just the two of us, far from the prying eyes of the court.
I ask that you wear something light, something fresh—perhaps that summer attire you chose for yourself. I wish to see you unburdened by the heavy silks of the court, just for this afternoon.
Come to me when the sun begins to dip. I have secrets to share that are meant only for your ears.
— Your King Jestyn The First
—————————————————————————
You clutched the letter to your chest, your skin flushing a deep, traitorous pink. Mary lingered for a second, seeing the look on your face, before she scurried away with a nervous glance back. It wasn't just the thought of the picnic that made your pulse race; it was the way your body reacted to his simple request.
A sudden, heavy heat pooled in your core—a physical betrayal of the "discreet noble" you were supposed to be.
You had spent years being courted by the elite, yet a few ink-strokes from this mechanical King had you breathless and aching. As you looked toward the willow trees in the distance, you felt a surge of urgent excitement.
You weren't just going for a walk in the garden. You were walking toward a hunger you finally realized was mutual, and as the afternoon shadows lengthened, you knew that today, the King might want to see more than just your smile.
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Author Note:
I hope you enjoyed this piece of the puzzle! It may be a bit shorter than usual, but I wanted to focus on those sweet, meaningful shifts in their bond.
Stay tuned: The next chapter is going to be both spicy and tender, so consider yourselves warned! 🥀🖤
