Kitty's introduction is brief, but you're showman enough to know how well-crafted it is. She announces you by name to the assembled multitude with a number of jokes and just enough credentialing to make your reputation sound more elevated than it is.
The fact that your efforts before the appearance of the soup made a favorable impression to many only increase your readiness to excel.
"By your leave, Your Majesties: The good fool Bandochel, from the Court of Duke Ruffino!" Kitty finishes, leading off a round of applause.
You take her place on the stage, taking a moment to look closely at everyone, especially the purple-clad figures on the dais. His Majesty is a man whose prime has only just passed him, but whose careworn face looks far older. His purple robes are sumptuously tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and mostly obscuring his ample stomach. His crown is tall, like a filigreed birdcage with golden wires that weave and intersect in brilliant rococo curlicues. His blandly level expression nevertheless has an unpredictable twist to it around the eyes and the mouth, as if he could burst into laughter, tears, dreamless snores, or a snarling rage at any second. He grips the arms of his throne with velvet gloves as he looks from the dais.
You shake away your observations and immediately leap into your first offering—something flashy and energetic to catch their attention: