#scaramouche fanfiction

Note:Officially on a one week Easter break from work! (Not to say that I don’t have anything to do for work, we’re still busy haha, but at least we don’t have to go in) Also, I actually already finished writing Ch.8 and 9 a week ago haha…. Just editing it.

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: A LOT OF SELF REFLECTION, INTERNAL STRUGGLE AND CONFUSED FEELINGS FROM SCARAMOUCHE, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF GETTING SICK: THROWING UP, SCARAMOUCHE-CENTRED CHAPTER, you only show up for like, 30 seconds, lol, because of that, it might be a slow chapter overall, slow burn, does not exactly follow the genshin lore, AU, swearing

Word Count: 2.6k words

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts:(Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

“It didn’t pierce her heart,” was the first thing the doctor says. The weight on Scaramouche’s shoulders lifted right then and there, only for it to multiply and be dumped back at the doctor’s next words.

“But the arrow wasn’t designed to kill anyway, the finishing blow is the poison-laced tip,” 

What’s that shiver up his back? Goosebumps? 

He was getting frustrated. He didn’t like this feeling. Why were there so many thoughts flitting in and out of his head? Why are there so many questions that he wants answered? Why is he trying so hard to stay still when all he wants is to pace back and forth? He’s never had to try and contain himself like this before. 

“I’m afraid there’s no guarantee. She’ll be sick for days and has to be monitored closely. The only thing I can do at this moment is to prescribe a week’s worth of antidotes,” 

Scaramouche spaced out then, just as the doctor finished talking. Kuni’s eyes glance up at the prince who is lost in thought, rather flabbergasted that he looked so out of it. “Prince?” Kuni gently chides. 

Scaramouche’s head jerks up the tiniest bit, processing the entirety of the conversation. His eyes linger on your unconscious form. You looked peaceful now, but he wasn’t sure what would happen later on.

“…Move her to another room…set Abigail, yourself and the head maids on rotation to watch her…” 

Scaramouche was wary of the incident. They kept the arrow to see if they could determine how it was crafted, where it was from, and he could not bring himself to trust the whole castle under circumstances like this. So, he asked Kuni only to place the longest serving knights to guard your door. Other than that, the whole castle was placed on high alert and the patrols outside had intensified.

Kuni bowed, and started making arrangements for it, walking out of your shared room along with the doctor, leaving Scaramouche in the silence with you. 

Strange. He thought. 

It was already quiet enough the past week, trying to avoid you and vice versa. Yet now…he didn’t think it was possible for it to even be more silent than it already was. 

It was deafening, the absence of sound. Like a ringing in his ears that wouldn’t go away.

He finally lets out that frustrated sigh he’s been keeping in, closing his eyes to calm his still disarrayed nerves. But every time he closed them he gets flashbacks of that arrow pierced through your chest. 

He grimaces, and opts to open his eyes instead. 

What do I do with myself? 

He has his arms crossed only to prevent himself from the impulse of throwing something against the wall. A vase. A chair. A pillow. Anything. And yet, his nails are digging into his flesh from how tight his grip on himself is. 

Where is this anger coming from?

He always knows where his anger is coming from. Be it something that pisses him off, a clumsy maid, things not going his way, too much paperwork, he always knows where it’s from but this time, he’s confused. 

Because it should’ve been for me but she–

Shouldn’t he be happy then? That someone took the hit for him. He should’ve been, because he was definitely saved from the days of agony and pain, but knowing that it was you who took the fall for him…that’s it. That’s where that feeling of wanting to throw up is coming from.

“…She despises me,”

“…I don’t think that’s completely correct, prince. Perhaps if you showed…a little more…support,”

Support?

Unfortunately, Scaramouche didn’t exactly know what that entailed. Was it not support enough that he gave you things that you liked? Well, now that you were bedridden…painting and tea probably wasn’t an option. So what? What would someone count as support? 

“What’s got you so spaced out today?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” 

“Oh, come on, you’ve hardly drank anything up until I shoved this glass to your face. I daresay I’m the better noble tonight,” 

Your expression. The way you tilt your chin up slightly higher to show how “superior” you were to him. The way a smug smile paints your face. He at once gets the sense that you’re trying to cheer him up, to put him at ease, despite possibly wanting to leave the party just as badly as he did.

The interaction echoes in the chambers of his mind. The way such a simple gesture, a simple sentence and a simple smile can give someone a sense of comfort. It was that elementary, that easy for you to offer him support. 

But for him, who didn’t ever have to give it to someone else, it was uncharted territory. 

Would it be foolish to try it? He felt…somewhat embarrassed, thinking of it. 

He shakes his head vigorously with a sigh. His mind had again wandered off to things that were unimportant. What’s important right now was to at least make sure you were going to survive. He’ll worry about this support thing later.

His first chance to practice “support” was given to him three days later. The first time you woke up after the whole ordeal. He hadn’t been in your room. It was Abigail, your etiquette instructor, that witnessed your eyes flying open and your arms pushing you up from the mattress.

She was startled, it had been so sudden, with no indications at all, but she was even more startled when you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed and started retching. Gagging, heaving, choking on air noises were all that Scaramouche heard when he entered the room, after Abigail alerted a maid to call for him and a doctor. 

Did he dare to look at the puddle of mess you made? He did, he had to see what exactly you’d thrown up, knowing that you hadn’t even eaten in days. 

It was mostly blood. The doctor warned that might happen when the antidote starts working the poison out of you. 

You took slow, deep breaths when you thought the sick feeling had passed, but you still stayed on the edge of the bed. You whimpered at all the sensations attacking you at the same time. Fatigue, hunger, exhaustion, pain and just this overall ill feeling in your stomach. 

Scaramouche heard it and turned to you after sending Abigail off to fetch maids for the clean-up. “Y/N,” he barely spoke your name, rolling it on his tongue seemed a little unnatural. “How…How do you feel?” He stumbled over his words. He definitely had not asked anyone that before, let alone be concerned enough to think about asking it. He was still standing tense at the foot of your bed, just watching you hoist yourself up with your arms and taking deep breaths.

Your head lolled towards him, blinking, not really caring what kinds of words left your mouth or his. You were just too out of it. “…Like shit,”

Scaramouche’s eyebrow quirked up, but somehow, that kind of answer was better than anything else you could have said, earning a small, amused grin from the prince. “Get back in bed,” he curtly commanded, strolling to the clean side of the floor as you rolled over to your back. 

“…Can I have some water, please?” you asked after a moment, feeling your throat on fire and just…the foul, irony taste in your mouth. 

Scaramouche obliged. There was no one else there to help you after all. With water already on the bedside table, he poured you a glass and passed it off after you sat up, chugging it down like it was a lifeline. You felt so thirsty. 

You winced though, when all that bad stuff had been washed down your throat, it nearly made you feel like gagging again, but you tried not to think about it as you stretch the glass back over to him. Scaramouche receives it, replacing the glass with a towel. 

You stared at the towel in your hand for a moment, wondering what the hell it was for. “…Wipe your mouth,” was his explanation and you made a sound of sudden understanding, doing as he said, realizing that you probably look like a monster right now. 

“Thanks…” and you throw the towel over to the bedside table, once again plopping down on the bed, only to feel a sharp pain on your chest as you do so, causing your hand to jerk upwards and push on your chest, where you thought the pain was coming from.

Ah, that’s right. You thought. That’s where the arrow entered. Bits and pieces of the incident comes back to you now, but it doesn’t explain why you feel so tired and exhausted. An arrow wouldn’t do so much damage, would it? To top it off, you didn’t even know how long you were out. 

“Scaramouche, are you fine?” you mumble, half delirious in your broken state. Scaramouche barely hears it and he raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

He waits, but he doesn’t get a reply. He realizes you’ve quickly fallen back asleep after that throwing up episode, and who could blame your battered body? He sighed a little, and left the room when the maids and Abigail returned. There was no point in staying there if you weren’t awake. Though he must admit, it was bugging him that you hadn’t eaten anything in 3 days. 

Scaramouche sought Kuni out the same night about that problem, finding him in his own, personal office. “Kuni,” Scaramouche greeted. 

Kuni looked up from the book he had on hand, “Prince,” greeting back naturally. “Can I help you?” 

“Y/N hasn’t eaten in 3 days,” 

Kuni was aware of that, and so was everyone else. Everyone was aware that there was a chance you wouldn’t survive. But for the prince to point it out, it was rather a strange thing to Kuni. It simply meant that he was watching out for someone else other than himself, and that wasn’t something that happened often.

“Yes, we’re hoping she’ll wake up long enough at some point, just enough to get some food into her system,” 

And then…Silence. Kuni peered over his reading glasses over to the dazed prince. It was quite obvious that the prince had been unusually quiet the past few weeks. It told Kuni that something had happened. Where before, the two of you would at least sit together and eat your meals, the prince suddenly took his meals separately from yours.

Kuni noticed it early on, but he wasn’t the least bit concerned. He had guessed that it had been some sort of disagreement, some sort of fight between the two of you. Most people would say that it was a bad thing. But, to Kuni, who had been the prince’s guardian for a long time, seeing him evidently avoid you, was a good thing.

It told Kuni that Scaramouche cared. 

Going through the effort of trying to avoid you meant that the prince was uncomfortable with something. And that was saying a lot when the prince’s usual emotions only consisted of anger and indifference. 

Kuni has to squint, but he sees the distress thinly shadowed over Scaramouche’s expression. It’s barely there, but he sees it. “…Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Scaramouche bristles, awkwardly rubbing his shoulder as he dives into deep thought. There’s so many things he wants to know. Who shot the arrow? Who did it? Why were they trying to kill him? Why am I waiting for her to wake up? 

“I don’t have control over the situation. It’s annoying,” Scaramouche says, translating what he felt into words that he was familiar with.

“…It’s called being worried, prince. Entirely natural,” Kuni took his reading glasses off and folded them atop his table, leveling his gaze towards the prince that he had served nearly his whole life. He watched as the prince’s body language shifts, uncomfortably looking away and off to somewhere unimportant, like the wall. 

Worry? Scaramouche ponders on it. Well, whatever it was, it eats at him, and it just doesn’t go away. The moment he wakes up he wonders if you’ve survived the night. At night, he finds it harder to fall asleep with the questions and what ifs in his mind. When he eats a meal at the table and you’re not there, he finds himself wondering if you’re hungry, and if your body would survive the days without any sustenance. 

All Scaramouche sees it as, isvulnerability, and Kuni sees that too. Sees how the prince struggles to accept the mess of unpleasant emotions he feels. Vulnerability was not an easy thing, not even for the normal, run off the mill guy. 

“What do you know about the princess, prince?” Kuni changes the subject, successfully diverting Scaramouche’s attention towards him, face now painted with confusion.

“What do I know about her?” Scaramouche counters the question back.

“Yes. What does she like, what she reads, what her preferred dishes are,” Kuni lists off and sees the familiar scowl on Scaramouche’s face.

“It’s not necessary for me to know–”

“Is that how you truly feel?” Kuni cuts him off and Scaramouche is rendered silent. “Communicating is not just merely an exchange of words, prince. It’s an exchange of experiences and opinions, both good and bad.” 

Scaramouche gets a flash of you animatedly talking to Kokomi and Tartaglia. The reason why you never showed that side of yourself to him was…because he never shared anything with you. That’s what Kuni was saying, and yet, it takes time for that to fully sink in to Scaramouche’s mind. 

He ponders on it for a moment, then scoffs. “It’s too late to think about that now,” and he truly felt it as well. He’d decided to be a pain in your ass from the beginning. He had no intentions–and still didn’t have any–to be nice to you. He didn’t have that in him. 

But to tolerate you? That. he found that it was something he could do and possibly even enjoy. He didn’t mind it as much as he thought it would, sitting in the art room and spending time with you, even though it was him just sitting and you quietly painting…being in the presence of each other…it was…different, but he couldn’t put a finger to what that feeling was. Comfort? Peace? 

“Why do you say so?” Kuni continues to prod the prince. This was the right time to do it, he thinks. If not now, then there wouldn’t be another time where the prince would let his guard down like this. “For as long as she lives, and for as long as you live, there’s a lifetime between the two of you, my lord. Well, assuming that she agrees to stay married,” Kuni coughed, because divorce wasn’t usually talked about in royal situations. What a disaster that would be. 

A lifetime, huh? 

Scaramouche knew that when he married you. He knew that the rest of his and your life would be bound together, but he didn’t care at that moment. What he cared about was ticking off the checkboxes that his father gave him. 

“I only offer suggestions, my lord, but perhaps, when she’s well and awake again, you might consider learning a bit more about her…She may one day be your greatest ally. Your father is a great king, but there were also many a times he would turn to the queen for guidance and support,”

Greatest ally? Support? Why would he need such a thing and why was everyone talking about it? He was fine by himself, and progressing just fine. Scaramouche was about to say something crass back, but there’s a knock on the door of the study. A maid peeks her head in and bows down a perfect 90 degree before straightening up again.

“The princess is awake. She requests the presence of prince Scaramouche,”

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MASTERLIST

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Note:This will be my last update for a bit, I’ll be focusing on some events for work next week so I’ll be off tumblr. Not to worry, I still am working on everyone’s requests, and I see all your lovely comments and asks! Just need some time to sort them out <3

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: slow burn, does not exactly follow the genshin lore, AU, tw: blood, injury

Word Count: 2.2k words

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts: (Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

A silent week.

If you thought that life had been miserable ever since you came here, it doesn’t compare to this week. You haven’t seen Scaramouche. Not before you sleep, not when you wake up, not even during your meals: breakfast, lunch or dinner. 

The only time you saw him was when you woke up in the middle of the night, groggy with sleep and eyes blurred with drowsiness. All you could see of him was his back, the gentle rise and fall of it. When you woke the next morning, he wouldn’t be there anymore, and wouldn’t show up for breakfast, Kuni would say that he was in his study, busy with papers first thing in the morning.

That was a lie, and you knew it. 

You spent the week painting and drawing in the art room. Not only did you have no events this week, but you even declined Duchess Kokomi’s invitation to have tea with her. Somehow, last week’s events at the ball just left a sour taste in your mouth, you weren’t in the mood to see anyone. 

As you settle in front of the easel on a Friday morning, your hand on the brush making big, upward strokes on the painting you were working on, your mind wanders yet again, causing your hand to stop and stall. 

“What I did back there had nothing to do with you, in fact you can go right ahead and kiss him in private.”

Scaramouche was out of line, or so you thought. It hit you all over again, as you blankly stare forward. 

He.didn’t.care. 

Not one smidgen of understanding and love for you. You never asked for his heart, you knew you couldn’t have it. But, at the very least, some type of companionship, even something less than friendship, just civility towards each other and yet…it was so hard to obtain.

A week ago you were still grasping at hope. You were going to spend the rest of your life with him, there must have been some way to see eye to eye, to understand him a bit better. You thought that all you needed was time and perseverance, and at some point, you’d felt as if you were finally able to reach a little bit of him, finally able to see a part of him that wasn’t callous or self-centred. 

But now, where there was once hope, there was nothing but despair. 

You were wrong. Time or perseverance was not going to change anything. He made it very clear that night, scowling at you, ordering you to play your part, using you as an accessory. 

You sigh, setting your paintbrush down when you notice that you’ve stopped painting altogether. Your head turns towards the large lattice windows, the light streaming through it drawing criss-cross patterns on your canvas. It was such a nice day out, and yet you sat in here on the inside gathering dust just as all the books on the shelves have. 

The door clicking open nearly scared you to death. There was no knock, no announcements whatsoever, and Scaramouche just walks into the art room, arms crossed as your mouth falls agape. You hadn’t seen him in a whole week, and he decides to show up just like that. 

The Ruthless Prince walks over to the armchair that he usually occupied on Fridays, and realizes that the tea you usually brew for him was not ready. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you feel as if you’ve held your breath, wondering if you’re in trouble for not getting it out earlier. You just didn’t think he was going to show up, after all of that. 

“…Where’s the tea?” He doesn’t look at you as he asks this, as if his eyes could only be glued to the table and were allergic to you. You let silence curtain the two of you, your body relaxes, yet it relaxes in a way that shows defeat. Your eyes linger on him, before you finally exclaim. “I didn’t prepare any.”

Quiet, and timid. 

There’s a thin veil of uneasiness between the two of you, an awkwardness that was new. You hadn’t realized that those four weeks of him enjoying tea in the art room was already a glimpse of comfort with him. Now it was back to that painful and glaring silence.

“…You better go and make some then,” he huffs to himself, sinking into the armchair as if it was any Friday beforehand. You stand, with your feet heavy, you drag them all the way to the middle of the room, facing him, a few steps away from the armchair he sat on. “…I’m not preparing it for you,” you started, seeing him tense up a little, and his head finally moves the slightest bit, turning towards your voice, yet not daring to look at you fully. 

“…I don’t feel like preparing it for you…It’s my free and private time so…I’ll do what I want with it,” was it petty? You immediately ask yourself. To take the words he threw at you and throw it back at him? The only difference was the eerie calmness in your tone. Scaramouche recognizes it, and when he turns his head to finally look at you, you can’t read his expression.

There’s no scowl, no glare, no smirk nor a grin. Just him, looking at you and waiting for what else you have to say.

“…I’ll teach Kuni and the maids how to brew it, you can ask them to prepare it for you,” Then, like a mechanical being, you stroll out of the art room quietly, but you walk out with a realization in mind:

I liked brewing it for you, I liked watching you drink it.

And he sits at the armchair, unmoving as the door clicks close, having a thought that he had already known for weeks on end:

I liked it when you brewed it for me.

The following day of Saturday had the two of you struggling to even look at each other during the ball you attended, and still, in front of all the others, you were the stellar conversationalist and everything seemed as it was. 

Play the part, as he said. 

Kokomi had been there, and it was your one saving grace during that ball, having her to really converse and catch up with. You’d left Scaramouche’s side to greet her, and stayed to talk to her for the most part.

Scaramouche didn’t stop you, but he did watch you from one of the various drinks table. You looked so…animated. So different from when you stood next to him. What did he expect, after that tirade last week? Why was it affecting him so much? How did it change your attitude towards him so drastically? Why was he only seeing it now? Was this the cold shoulder? And he thought it was bad before, now it was just…

Unbearable…

He downs the drink he has in his hand, just in time for the arrival of Prince Tartaglia to be announced. He half grunts and half growls under his breath, as if things weren’t bad enough already. He picks up another drink and starts on it, not even bothering to clap or turn around when the Snezhnayan Prince arrives.

Come to think of it, Tartaglia was supposed to be here for a few weeks. It wasn’t often he came around, but when he did, it was usually to check on the trading agreements and to make sure his imports and exports were in order. And of course, Scaramouche had an impression that Tartaglia just loved to annoy him, so, instead of the actual king coming to check, it’d always been Tartaglia. 

When the applause settles down and when a few minutes pass, Scaramouche yet again opts to scan the room for you. As he suspected, Tartaglia now joins your group of two with Kokomi. Nevermind that Kokomi looks just as amused as you at whatever story Tartaglia’s performing, but you looked as if new life had just been breathed on to you, listening to and laughing at the Snezhnayan prince’s comedies. 

Scaramouche catches his own frustrated sigh, holding it in and just…trying to let everything go. 

When did it become like this?

He wonders. 

Not the fact that you had gone cold and wary of him–he knew exactly when that started–but when did he start feeling a sense of unease whenever you weren’t by his side? When did he start wanting for you to look at him like that too? He’s inclined to believe that his outburst last week…was not all that it seemed to be. He felt ridiculed, he felt that his sense of authority was threatened, but…could there be any other reason he felt angered like he did?

It takes seconds for him to realize that you’re back at his side. He blinks, and raises his eyes to look around, seeing Kokomi and Tartaglia still engaged in their small talk, then his eyes drop to you. You looked…absolutely miserable next to him, forced smile and tense shoulders and all. 

How can I make this bearable again?

He suddenly asks himself, then instinctively passes a drink to you. You casually receive it with a small thank you, but other than that, there were no other words from you. 

The night goes on as such, more small talk with the nobles, more of you conversing with people he didn’t even want to look at, up until it was time for the two of you to leave. 

Briefly, just before the two of you depart, you find yourself seeking out Kokomi and Tartaglia again, saying a brief goodbye to the two people who have made the night the slightest bit enjoyable. Scaramouche observes as you do so, but doesn’t say anything about it.

He doesn’t say anything at all, as usual, on the carriage back. You, on the other hand, perhaps because your mood was a little better than it was after talking to Kokomi and Tartaglia, and maybe because you thought that this cold war had been going on for too long, a casual “Are you having dinner with me today?” slipped past your lips. 

Though, there was no expectation laced with it at all. Just a question, no desire whatsoever for him to join you, nor a trace of hope for him to reply nicely. Merely to ask if he was going to leave you alone for the rest of the night. 

His head jerks towards you at the sudden question…the first thing you had uttered to him in a week. Well, the first semi-nice thing, after that incident with the tea. He’s confused as to how to answer. Does he ignore the question, and continue with this strange atmosphere or does he say–

“Yes,” he says it before thinking about it fully, as if it was the only sensible answer. From his peripheral vision, he sees you nod, and that was the only conversation you had with him in the vicinity of the carriage. 

Scaramouche doesn’t offer his hand when you step down the carriage at arrival. He hasn’t done that in a while. However, a strange feeling overcomes you as you step down, a prickling at the back of your neck urging you to turn around, just as the carriage leaves, giving you a clear view of the deep forest surrounding the castle edges. 

What possessed you or told you to turn around, you’d never know. Instinct, you might call it. A gut feeling. You thought that your eyes were playing tricks on you, when you see a slight billow of black among the trees. It’s dark, but there was movement and there was enough moonlight for you to catch it. 

“Scara–” a cloak, that’s what it was. A glint and the sound of something snapping through the air had you clumsily tackling Scaramouche down to the pavement leading up to the castle. He falls on all fours, shocked at the action and finally thinking to himself ‘Are you that mad at me?’ 

He’s had enough. He turns toward you with the same snarl as last week, looking like a lion devouring his prey. “What the hell do you think you’re–”

Blood. 

Soaking through the dress from your left chest, an arrow sticking out from your front. You, just kneeling there and looking at it, startled and unable to grasp the severity of the situation. Everything is so hazy now.

“Y/N–” Scaramouche’s voice mixed into one of confusion and horror, his eyes tacked on to the way the arrow pierces through your dress, sinks into your flesh and blooms red dangerously close to your left breast. 

Scaramouche snaps out of it when you start to fall backwards onto the pavement, he jolts forward and catches you. His eyes dart up towards the trees, purple veins of electricity on his free arm, a loud, thunderous crash of lightning decimating a whole portion of trees, painting the area purple for a split second before the trees caught fire with a raging orange, hoping to catch the perpetrator off guard.

The knights were alerted by now, and Scaramouche doesn’t quite remember what orders he barks at them. 

All he can remember was the trembling of his breath as he hoists you up into his arms.

All he remembers is the unfamiliar feeling of dread introducing itself to him for the first time. 

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MASTERLIST

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: slow burn, does not exactly follow the genshin lore, AU, nasty and mean fight

Word Count: 2.2k words

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts: (Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

“Scaramouche, long time no see,” Tartaglia let out a laugh, waving briefly at the man next to you. You immediately get the sense that they’d known each other for a long time, with Tartaglia not using the proper title for Scaramouche, but your husband doesn’t say anything just as your eyes lock with Tartaglia’s. 

It surely is dazzling. His deep, cobalt blue eyes. Arguably the most stunning you’ve ever seen. 

“And this must be princess Y/N. I heard about the marriage,” Tartaglia picks your hand up in your dazed state, and you can’t break your gaze as he leans in to softly press a kiss against your hand. He withdraws a few inches away, but seems unwilling and reluctant to let go of your hand as he keeps it in his for a few moments more, before releasing it from his hold and standing straight up. 

Scaramouche eyes the interaction second by second. He already had a natural dislike towards Tartaglia, ever since they were little. Tartaglia was quite persistent in several different angles. He irked Scaramouche in ways that he had never been irked before. Though he didn’t say anything about the hand kiss, he was certainly wary of what else the Snezhnayan Prince might pull. 

“You haven’t changed,” Scaramouche’s voice is flat, he’s controlling it rather well while Tartaglia answers with a chuckle. “I could say the same for you,” 

There’s a bit of hidden tension between them, but it gets cut off as you finally come back down to Earth and introduce yourself to the newly arrived prince. You curtsy properly and state your name in accordance with the rules, just as you have with the other guests you’ve talked with before.

“…and it’s nice to meet you, Prince Tartaglia,” the words roll from your tongue easily, having done it almost a hundred times now for the past few months. 

Tartaglia doesn’t show it, but he’s a little surprised. He thought that Scaramouche would have chosen someone who was more timid, more reserved and would only talk when being talked to. That didn’t seem the case at all as he observed you more closely. 

The way you carried yourself was still a little unpolished, but the smile looked almost genuine and was very welcoming. That was possibly part of your charm. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, how’s the weather in Snezhnaya? I hear it’s cold most of the time,” and great at starting conversations too. Nothing like what Tartaglia thought you’d be from the rumors. It didn’t look as if you were caged nor forced into anything, but Tartaglia knew a good actor when he saw one. He was somewhat of a good one himself.

Scaramouche let you talk, or attempt to, at least. It strangely gave him some semblance of normality and authority, to let you talk to Tartaglia as if he was just like anyone else in the party. There was no need to treat the Snezhnayan Prince any differently.

Tartaglia falls into another chuckle, this time directed towards you. “Correct, it’s extremely cold in the winter. Though, there’s no use of me talking about it. Experiencing it yourself is a better answer, princess. You should visit some time,” smoothly, Tartaglia offers his hand out towards you, and you stare blankly at his outstretched hand until he explains. “Care to dance, princess?” his eyes dart at Scaramouche, whose face is still unreadable. “I’m sure Scaramouche wouldn’t mind. It’ll only be a moment,” 

“Oh, uhm–” Dancing. The bane of your existence. Sure you’ve had plenty of lessons by now, but come to think of it, you hadn’t tried it out in an actual ball, mostly because Scaramouche didn’t want to bother with dancing, and perhaps no one dared to ask Scaramouche’s wife for a dance…up until today.

Your hesitation is obvious. Tarataglia and Scaramouche sees it, but Tartaglia, just as Scaramouche thought, had his ways of getting what he wanted. “Don’t worry about the steps, princess. I’ll guide you through it,”

You look up at Tartaglia’s earnest eyes and honest smile, there was no rule against dancing with another prince, in fact, it was like a form of greeting. Yet, you can’t help your automatic instinct to look towards Scaramouche for an answer. 

It was now Scaramouche’s turn to be secretly surprised, you had always done what you wanted to do, regardless of his opinions. Suddenly realizing that you were asking him for permission inflated his ego a little…and he saw an instant flash of himself saying “No,” immediately, only for himself to thwart the feeling and bury it under the depths. 

“Go ahead, what you do doesn’t concern me,” he sounds nearly angry and the voice that he hadn’t used in weeks towards you resurfaces. Your mouth falls slack as you watch him walk away, grabbing a drink from a table while he’s at it. 

‘Oh,’ It’s bizarre, the little dip your heart does. You don’t know the reason for it. ‘I thought for sure that I’ve gotten through to him a little…’

But you weren’t the type to be rude to guests, and so you hide the thought away for later on, smiling towards Tartaglia and taking his hand to accept his offer for a dance. 

The simplest way to describe Prince Tartaglia’s laugh was the word picturesque. The way his eyes crinkled perfectly at the sides, he’s not obnoxiously loud, but anyone looking from a mile away knew that he was having fun. “Well, not bad at all princess! You don’t really have much to worry about when it comes to dancing,” 

You know he’s lying, because you were sure that you’d stepped on his foot at least 4 times now, and you were slightly horrified and yet, Tartaglia was so convincing with the way he complimented you, it was easy to forget that you’d made so many missteps. “M-Maybe we should take a break,” there’s a lopsided smile on you, as if unsure whether you should laugh or apologize to him. 

He’s amused, but relents and escorts you off of the ballroom floor after a few elegant minutes on it. 

The funny thing about royal parties like these, was that there were no chairs in sight. People came away from the dance floor still standing side by side each other, just falling into another conversation, or curtsying towards each other and then moving on to the next person they would want to socialize with. 

Tartaglia had drawn you in with his amusing and exciting stories about Snezhnaya: about the snow, the cold mornings, their special brew of tea. About the way night falls faster and about his family. He has siblings, and he talked of them as if they were his pride and joy. 

A thought suddenly crosses your mind.

Scaramouche and Tartaglia could not have been any more different. 

They were like night and day. The other choosing to be away from people, refusing to socialize with his audience and the other was like a magnet. Even if you didn’t know him, you were drawn to how confident and welcoming he was. 

“I see! I’ve never witnessed snow before, so building snowmen and snowball fights and the like are unfamiliar to me,” you tell Tartaglia as he was discussing how him and his siblings pass the time. 

“Scaramouche used to join us,” Tartaglia thinks that the way your head snaps up, the way your eyes search into his at the mention of Scaramouche’s name was not only because you were curious about your estranged husband. There’s a sort of eagerness mixed in your curious eyes, a longing for you to understand the cold prince.

“He did?”

“He used to visit when we were younger. Back then, Teucer wasn’t born yet. But then…Well, I suppose growing up changes a lot of things,” Tartaglia chuckles, taking a sip of his drink, feeling your eyes still on his form as more questions about Scaramouche threaten to spill out of your mouth. However, he speaks up first. “I’m surprised he hasn’t told you about this, princess. It’s not a secret that we used to be good companions,” He turns his head sideways, watching as your eyes now flicker away from his. Your hesitation is back.

“Oh…Well… He’s…rather busy,” 

“Is he now? Has he told you about his vision, at least?”

Your eyebrows crease together in confusion at the word “vision”. It could have simply been another word for “goals” but the way he says it lets you know that wasn’t what he was talking about. “…You mean, his magical artes?” 

Rumor has it that when a thunderstorm erupted in the country, it was probably because the Ruthless Prince was in a foul mood. That’s how powerful people thought he was and yet you… had seen no sign of this “power” that Scaramouche supposedly held. “No, he doesn’t talk about that,” you confirm and Tartaglia lets out a slight huff mixed in with a laugh.

“Ever the secretive person,” He adds, placing his empty glass down on the table and fully turning towards you, his cloak billowing behind him as he moves. There’s not quite enough time to react to his hand suddenly finding its way under your chin, he tilts it up to get a better look at you, or perhaps to draw your attention fully on him. 

“Though I wonder, princess, is it really because he’s busy…….Or because he would rather not spend time with you?” The hair at the back of your neck stands. Looking into Tartaglia’s unwavering gaze, your eyes widen for a fraction of a moment before getting your bearings back. Before reminding yourself that you have to put on an act, to let everyone else know that you and Scaramocuhe were a perfectly normal couple. 

“H-He’s just busy…”

Tartaglia’s eyes narrows, as if searching for a flaw in your otherwise perfect show. He leans in closer, a whisper already on his lips. “What a pity then, missing out on such beaut–”

The way that Scaramouche grabs Tartaglia’s wrist from your chin and flings it away, and the way that he roughly pulls you backwards by the shoulder. It was rather unprincelike and crass, but you were already used to Scaramouche’s mannerisms. 

There’s a quick flicker of murder in Scaramouche’s eyes, but only Tartaglia sees it, earning an amused grin from the Snezhnayan Prince. “Ah, sorry, I was merely…enamored,” Tartaglia offers easily, as if not perturbed at all by what had transpired. 

It doesn’t help that they were in a public gathering, prying eyes were already turning their way. You take a quick glance around you and back towards the two men in front of you, Scaramouche wedged in between you and Tartaglia, the former with his hand balled up on his side, and the latter pleasantly smiling, as if nothing had happened at all. 

You step up and wrap both your hands around Scaramouche’s fist gently, whispering “…We should… step back,” another way of telling him that escalating would not do anything for anyone. He listens quite readily and unfurls his fisted hand, grabbing yours before exclaiming, “We’re leaving,” and tugging on it, leaving you no choice but to follow.

“I’ll see you next time then, princess,” Tartaglia still waves at you as you pass by, though he didn’t give any greeting towards Scaramouche, you merely give the taller man an apologetic smile.

It’s uncomfortably silent in the carriage. You sit there replaying the short but sudden scene, of Tartaglia nearly nose to nose with you at how close he’d been, and the rage that Scaramouche barely hides. It was not Tartaglia on your mind, or how he’d blatantly flirted with you–somehow you got the impression that he was just that kind of person. Instead, it was Scaracmouche’s rather…unusual reaction that had your mind going back and forth with questions.

Why was he so angry? 

Unbeknownst and sat across from you, the prince thinks the same thing. He watches the scenery outside the carriage, letting the silence fester between the two of you. No one had said a word about it yet. You only had the courage to once the two of you stepped out of the carriage. “…Are you alri–”

“Don’t be disillusioned,” He cuts off, his back facing you. “What I did back there had nothing to do with you, in fact you can go right ahead and kiss him in private.” He swerves around, familiar snarl on his face and yet, it was much, much more menacing. Like staring at the open mouth of a lion, about to tear your face in half. “It was to uphold my authority, what would others think if I let him do that? And you–!” 

He grit his teeth before continuing, “You stood there doing nothing, knowing that the other nobles were watching!” You’re rendered frozen at his words, whatever thought you had that Scaramouche might have been a little jealous, just even the tiniest amount, washed away from your mind. 

“Let me make this clear to you, Y/N. Out in public, you’re married to ME, so act like it!” There’s a harsh comeback on your tongue, about to berate him for the fact that HE doesn’t act like the two of you are married, but he continues first. “Your private time, it doesn’t concern me, you can meet up with whoever you want and do whatever the hell you’d like with them, and I’ll do the same,” he spits his next words out with intensity.

“Play.your.role.”

And he walks, leaving you standing there for a moment longer, numb and blank. It slowly dawns on you that there was nothing in his heart for you. You were a pawn, just like his knights, servants and maids. You were merely a pawn who had the life of a princess. 

“We’ve all come from royal and pure blood, and then you, tainted and filthy like where you came from–there’s no way the prince would ever love you!”

The words echo in your mind as you find your way back to the bedroom, Scaramouche nowhere to be seen. You didn’t have it in you to cry, thinking that when you wake up, these few months had just been a big nightmare, and everything would be back to normal in your quiet and quaint house in the village. 

You fall asleep, more exhausted than you have ever been and the hope in your heart merely a dying and suffering small flame. 

As you slept, the sky rumbles, the beginnings of a terrible thunderstorm covering the country. 

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MASTERLIST

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: not much actually, it’s a pretty slow chapter, just a transition to the next “arc” as I would call it hahahaha, lots of interaction between reader and Scaramouche though

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts:(Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

Were you proud of yourself for causing a scuffle between two princes? No. Well, maybe. Just a little. 

It didn’t last long though. Tartaglia was just as shocked as you were when he realized Scaramouche punched him, but he was up on his feet in the next second and grabbed Scaramouche by the collar managing to scuff his chin before the two of them were pulled apart.

And so here you were, sitting in your shared room with Scaramouche as Kuni retrieved ice for him. There’s still an annoyed look on his face, glaring at nothing in particular, his chin a little red from the contact. Still, it was nothing compared to Tartaglia’s bleeding nose. You were sure it would bruise beautifully. 

“…You didn’t have to punch him, you know,” The whole thing was 100% unprincelike and the two would surely be the talk of the country for the next few weeks. In your normal world, however, guys getting into scuffles wasn’t really an unusual thing. 

“…I didn’t do it for you,” Scaramouche stated rather easily. There he was again with his “this has nothing to do with you” speech. The last time he said that was…

“What I did back there had nothing to do with you, in fact you can go right ahead and kiss him in private.”

You winced a little at the irony because Tartaglia had indeed gone ahead and kissed you. Scaramouche didn’t know that, in fact, you wondered if you should say something about it, but decided that you wouldn’t say anything if not asked. 

You mock glared at Scaramouche’s stubbornness. “Okay? Why’d you punch him then?” you challenged, crossing your arms above your chest. 

“Because he annoys me,” he answers immediately, not even a second after your question.

You pursed your lips because you were sure he was lying. He was clearly irked, he had definitely sensed that something was wrong and that Tartaglia was the culprit. “Liar,” a smirk threatens to appear on your face.

Scaramouche half growls and half grumbles. “Drop it or I’ll punch you next,” He absolutely had no excuse ready, and so opted to get you to stop talking about the incident and move on with it instead. Still, there was a nagging at the back of his mind, he wanted to ask what exactly happened, but your stifled laughter breaks him out of thought. 

“You wouldn’t,” There is an incredibly, loopy, wide grin on your face. One might think that you had too much alcohol, but in reality you were just incredibly relieved and reassured. The incident had proven something about Scaramouche. 

He might threaten people but he wouldn’t actually raise a hand against anyone…Well, not unless necessary. 

The picture of him socking Tartaglia on the face replays in your head. It was rather satisfying to recall. 

Kuni strolls in a second later and hands the ice wrapped in a towel over to the prince. “Unusual that you would get into a scuffle, milord. Highly out of etiquette rules, though you don’t usually follow them,”

Scaramouche lets out an annoyed sigh. Not wanting to talk about it anymore and yet the topic just kept going back to it. “…I’ve always had a personal hatred towards him,” Scaramouche simply explains, to which Kuni hums in understanding. “I suppose that’s true…Though I don’t see why you would choose to attack him now… as opposed to the hundreds of other times you had the chance,” 

You hid a smile behind your hand, pretending that the side of your lip itched when in reality you just couldn’t stop from enjoying Scaramouche dig a deeper hole for himself. Thankfully, Kuni is considerate of the time.

“I’ll leave the two of you to rest, milord.” Kuni bows towards Scaramouche, then towards you. “Milady, have a good evening,” 

You return the sentiment before going back to watching Scaramouche ice his chin. Another curtain of silence falls over the two of you, though, strangely, it was a comfortable one this time. With him sitting back on the armchair and you relaxed on the sofa adjacent to him, it almost felt like a normal morning in a mundane living room.

“I told you, didn’t I? Not as nice as you thought he was, wasn’t he?” Scaramouche’s accusatory tone wasn’t hidden and he had directed it at you. You expected an ‘I told you so,’ from him. He was RIGHT and you were wrong, of course he was going to shove that in your face. 

Scaramouche met your eyes, wanting to gauge your reaction because he had no idea what really happened. Your sudden meekness and the way you reacted to Tartaglia’s presence was enough to tell him something had transpired, but did it mean that it was something displeasing or offending? Scaramouche merely equated your uncomfortable manner to something disagreeable, whether he actually had proof of that was arguable. 

You leaned back into the sofa and played with your fingers, having trouble admitting that you were terribly wrong about the guy. “…No…Not nice at all,” you whispered, replaying the events in fast forward. Just the thought of it made you want to shudder. 

You figured it was also a calculated move by Tartaglia, to have led you away from the crowd. He had most likely thought about the fact that Scaramouche wasn’t around either. All of that piled up told you that the Snezhnayan prince was craftier than you thought. 

“He’s planning something,” Scaramouche changes the angle of the ice on his chin. He realizes he’s actually holding a normal conversation with you and perhaps that was because there was an impending doom that he feels in his veins. Something was about to happen and he didn’t know what it was, just that his gut feeling was telling him that it wasn’t the best time to make enemies or engage in squabbles with you. 

So, at the very least, he took Kuni’s advice.

“I only offer suggestions, my lord, but perhaps, when she’s well and awake again, you might consider learning a bit more about her…She may one day be your greatest ally. Your father is a great king, prince, but there were also many a times he would turn to the queen for guidance and support,”

“So if he told you something you’d better tell me what it is,” though, Scaramouche’s rough way of talking wasn’t something he could change. You’d just have to put up with that. You hesitated, looking away from him icing his chin but relayed to him of what Tartaglia said, leaving out the bits about what he had done to you, and told him only the conversation that you thought was important: Tartaglia thought that he had full entitlement to Scaramouche’s electro vision.

“As I thought, he’s still obsessed with it,” he mutters, loud enough for you to hear. He went inside his head for a moment, wondering if it really was Tartagla who shot the arrow meant for him, or at least if he was the one who plotted it. Scaramouche tried picking up pieces and throwing them together to form some sort of picture, some sort of clue as to what the Snezhnayan Prince was planning. But he couldn’t grasp at a full one, and all he could do was speculate. 

“…He seems to think I’ll help him, or something,” You added after a moment of thinking, recalling that Tartaglia was largely disillusioned–almost like he was hallucinating really–about what you thought of him. Sure you did appreciate his niceness and his stories at one point and even enjoyed listening to him, but… the way he spoke as if you belonged to him, in the same way that he thought Scaramouche’s electro vision was rightfully his…it was a little unsettling.

“What do you mean?” Scaramouche asks, and you falter a little.

“Well…I…” you pause, remembering word for word what Tartaglia said, despite your embarrassment. 

“…Although, I must say…there’s something else of his that’s caught my interest these days…”

“…And you’ll help me, won’t you, dear Y/N?”

Scaramouche would describe the feeling as wanting to gag in his throat. It was such a cheesy line, but he didn’t have any visible or verbal response to you sharing that information.

He was back to pondering things in his own world. You could see it in the way his eyes stared at nothing, yet flickered about from time to time. Scaramouche wondered if Tartaglia had you in some kind of bigger picture, if you were part of his plans or if he was just using you as a decoy. Did the Snezhnayan prince really take an interest in you? Or was he feigning it so that his real motive was hidden? Pretending to be interested in you so that the attention was there, and not on his real goal. 

“It’s late, there’s no use thinking about it right now,” You finally broke his peace and he flicked the cold and damp towel onto the table in front of the two of you, the ice having melted already. He stood, hesitated, but opened his mouth to say “Stop getting into so much damn trouble,” as if you had any control over it. 

You huffed and slightly glared up at him. “Well excuse me for saving your life,” He acted as if he didn’t hear that statement but he continued to stand there as if tossing an idea back and forth in his mind. Finally, he opens his mouth, but is slow when stating his plan.

“You have to learn how to fight,” You thought he was joking, your mouth already forming into a humorous smile, but his eyes held yours and the only thing you could see was seriousness. 

“What? What for?” Your eyes narrow in confusion, head tilting sideways slightly to accentuate it. Scaramouche sighs and darts his eyes towards the curtain covered windows of the room. It seems that there was more going on in that brain of his than you anticipated, and he just wouldn’t let you know what it was. 

“Just… a feeling,” your shoulders slumped, giving him a blank look, letting him know that his explanation was not enlightening at all, but he was frustrated with himself too. There was just something in him that thought things were going to go south very soon. “I told you, he’s planning something.”

“Well, the knights are here to protect me, aren’t they?” Scaramouche winced a little at your hopeful conclusion, but he offers you a fact that you haven’t thought about before.

“My mother and father are away at the moment. They’re accompanied only by our best knights… So the ones left here are…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, and instead starts a new one. “My parents are set to come back in a few weeks…but I suspect Tartaglia will have his plan in motion before then. He’s already made a bold move, trying to shoot me dead with an arrow,”

“That was him?” You immediately ask, and Scaramouche sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“No, I don’t know. There’s no evidence that it’s him, the arrow was analyzed and there was no links to him nor Snezhnaya, I just… and after what you told me about him, who else could it be?” He’s crossed his arms over his chest, and you look him over. For once, he didn’t look angry. Only wildly thoughtful, just as you’ve observed ever since you came back to the castle. Then you realize…maybe, maybe this is what vulnerability looks like on him. 

It’s subtle, he doesn’t give off the fact that he’s worried, but it suddenly registers in your mind that he’s rambled–or at least his version of rambling–he’s talking to you. He’s confiding in what’s bothering him.

Your eyes widen a little as it dawns on you, looking up at him almost with awe in your expression. He doesn’t notice it at all. Your body relaxes and a small smile appears on your lips. “Well, like I said, it’s too late to think about it right now. Let’s talk about it again tomorrow,” You stand and excuse yourself, disappearing into the bathroom to freshen up for a good 20 or so minutes. 

You take turns, and once he’s done, clad in his silk, purple sleeping attire and sitting on his side of the bed, toweling his still damp hair, you lay on your side looking at his back. Pondering on certain things that he said, you ask “…Why would your mom and dad leave the kingdom without its best knights?” 

His arms slow down on drying his hair, “…Because Kuni is here and so am I,” the light shuffling sound of the towel encompasses the room until he speaks up again. “With my vision, I can fight well enough to take down armies…” The towel slips to his shoulders and he moves on to patting his face dry. 

“…Then aren’t you enough to protect me?” From your view of his back, you can tell that he’s frozen up, his arm has stopped moving. Slowly, he drops the towel altogether and tethers his hand to the bed. 

“Battle…War. It gets messy,” he offers a non-answer. “…My obligation is to the kingdom so if a war does happen… I have to be at the front,” that was a clearer answer to you. He had such ways to go around a question, to indirectly tell you that he can’t be guarding you 24/7. But did it mean that he wanted to? That fact was unclear. His answer was largely biased towards his kingdom, and not towards you. 

Then you hear him click his tongue, he turns his head to glare at you. For a moment you think to yourself that you hadn’t seen that glare in a while. “Stop being an idiot trying to get away from combat training. I’ll get Kuni to start training you on the basics so just shut up and do it. Stop complaining,” 

You don’t get offended like the other times, instead you tried not to smile, secretly biting the inside of your lip as he grumbles to himself but gets in bed. You close your eyes and say nothing more of his demands only a simple and slightly mocking “Yes, sir,” to which you hear a slight growl at. 

You must have been more tired than you thought. Closing your eyes was enough to lull you into a comfortable sleep. 

You and him don’t realize it, but it’s possibly the very first time the two of you have fallen asleep facing each other.

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MASTERLIST

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: Tartaglia is the bad guy if you don’t like that idea turn away now, borderline abuse, tw borderline sexual harrassment, kind of some yandere traits, swearing, profanities

Word Count: 4.4k words (extra long cause I was gone for a while :P)

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts:(Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

“Kuni said you’d be here,” 

The first time you actually stroll into his study is today. You can see the way Scaramouche visibly tenses up, the pen in his finger going taut, his eyes darting upwards to look at you. 

Again, it’d been days since you last saw him. He actively avoided you for breakfast, dinner and lunch. Actively avoided your whole recovery process. 

He dumped the shocking information on your head and disappeared like he usually did, unwilling to face the problems he created. Or was it just because he didn’t care?

“…What’re you doing out of bed?” He inquires, his eyes falling back to the paper on his table, but you can still see his shoulders alert and his whole demeanor looks as if someone’s about to attack him the moment he lets his guard down.

“I’m well enough now, thank you. But you wouldn’t know since you haven’t seen me since then,” the sarcastic tone to your voice certainly told him that you were indeed, “well enough” as you say. 

I did visit you, just when you were asleep. Scaramouche thinks to himself.

“What do you need?” He changes the topic fluidly, just as you stop in front of his desk, crossing your arms. He could feel the glare on the top of his head, but he didn’t look up, pretending to be busy with that piece of paper.

“…We have to talk about this,” He’s surprised at the softer tone of your voice, his head glancing up to gauge your expression. He can’t read it. It’s not blank, but he wasn’t good at reading expressions. Your lips were downturned, your brows furrowed in what seemed to be frustration or sadness. He wasn’t sure. “We have to talk more,” you added and that’s when he scoffed, but before he could protest, you cut him off.

“Stop disregarding me,” You could feel a slight burn in your chest, perhaps you were overdoing it a little, but you didn’t give it away. “I’m right here and in case you forgot, it was YOUR decision to pull me into this life. I’m stuck here, so I don’t know why you think avoiding me is something you can do.” He has his eyes tacked on you now. You had never spoken to him this much before, how ironic that it had to be you reprimanding him. 

“I’m not–” avoiding you, he wanted to say, but it quickly died on his lips knowing that it was a lie.

“I’m not afraid of you,” You whispered, your eyes narrowing towards his in a glare. “I hate the way you do things, I hate the way you say things, you’re a downright asshole but I’m not afraid of you,” 

In a split second, a scowl is on his face, as if the only thing he heard through your whole tirade was the fact that he was an asshole. That did it, he abruptly stood up, chair pushing backwards with a screech and his hand snatching your wrist up, the intensity of his glare about to tear a hole on your face. “Maybe you should be,” he seethes through gritted teeth, grip on your wrist strong. 

You didn’t break your gaze from him.

You’re all talk. I know you by now. You thought to yourself. At least, I know you weren’t the one who put this arrow through me, you’re not the one who poisoned me. You gently twisted your wrist away from his hold and despite his grip on it, he easily lets it go. And I know that expression of guilt on your face when you confessed to killing people.

“…I’m not,” you repeated for him, and also for yourself, rubbing your wrist a little. There’s a faint throb on your chest now, as if the brief squabble took a lot out of you. You looked behind you to confirm there was a chair there, hooked it with your leg and plopped down on it as if you were at home. 

Scaramouche bit back a sigh, but he sat down on his chair again, picking up his pen to continue.

A weird silence descended over the two of you, and suddenly the earlier quarrel just seemed stupid. You knew he wasn’t going to start talking, so you had to be the one to initiate again. “Do you remember…anything about that night?”

You could still hear his pen scribble on the parchment. A few seconds of silence passed, up until you heard his pen dropping on the table. “…I remember everything like it was yesterday. Everything…except…” he faltered, his eyes darting towards the suddenly interesting fireplace in the study. “Except the moment I touched the hydro delusion, up until Kuni yanked it away from me,”

That’s what Kuni said as well. That Scaramouche could not recall what he had done but was able to put two and two together when he awoke. You leaned back towards the cushion of the chair to let that sink in. “…I see,” You had planned a list of things to ask him, but actually doing it proved to be harder than you thought. 

In this somewhat awkward conversation between the two of you, you didn’t know how to switch subjects smoothly, didn’t know what to tell him since you knew he wasn’t the type of man to take your pity willingly. “…So…why did you decide…to tell me, then?”

Scaramouche shuffled in his seat, almost as if trying to look for a more comfortable position, knowing that it might be a longer conversation than he thought. “Tartaglia,” he simply said, to which your head snapped up at the mention of the name.

“Huh?”

“One way or another, I suspect Tartaglia’s involved,” Scaramouche now lazily props his head on his hand, leaning on it and lethargically staring at your surprised expression. Pathetic. He thought. How were you that surprised? Were you really that fooled by Tartaglia’s false princely advances? “Back then… Tartaglia and his father had always had their eye on my electro vision,”

“Oh, that’s right! Scaramouche, you don’t have your vision yet, don’t you?” Tartaglia laughed heartily, expertly twirling his bow in his hand. Scaramouche was painfully aware that his vision had not manifested yet. He’d been watching Tartaglia hone his hydro vision for months, refusing to play with Scaramouche now that he had “better things to do”. 

“It’s alright, maybe in another year! In the mean time, you can go and play with my siblings!” Scaramouche had felt so left out, so insignificant. Being a child, it didn’t bother him at first, but the more he saw Tartaglia growing up, growing stronger while Scaramouche was left to play around, he couldn’t help but feel the need to catch up. 

“I’ll get mine soon!” he always said. 

“Well, if you reaaaaallllly wanna try it out, why not try our hydro delusions? It’ll give you cool hydro powers!” They were both young then, they wouldn’t really have known what kind of power a delusion would have. “I can’t give you one though, father said not to. But I’m pretty sure your dad has some!” 

That was the same night Scaramouche snuck into the treasury, took a hydro vision, and went on a rampage. 

It was also the night his electro vision manifested. 

“The electro vision appeared on my hand just as Kuni took away the hydro delusion… I was told that mine was three times stronger than my father’s ever was, that I had the natural talent towards that element. Tartaglia heard about it…” 

You watched as present Scaramouche took his elbow away from the table and leaned back into his chair. “…and ever since then he’s always wanted to “try out” my electro vision but…my father had already cut the close ties between our family and his,” 

“That doesn’t make sense,” you breathed out with a slight laugh, Scaramouche levels his gaze on you, as if scrutinizing your words. “If he really wanted your electro vision wouldn’t he have tried to take it away earlier? Why do it now? I don’t really think Tartaglia is the type of person…”

“Are you siding with him now?” Scaramouche barked out a single breath of laughter, there’s a bit of resentment hidden behind his eyes. You fall silent as he continues. “If you haven’t noticed, my mother and father, the king and queen, are away. It means that if Tartaglia manages to best me here now, he also takes our Kingdom,” Scaramouche stands from his seat, and moves to walk around the table. You stand up when you see this, thinking that your conversation was far from over. You hadn’t gotten all your answers yet.

“But what exactly is the point of explaining to you? Seeing as you believe in that menace more than you believe in the Kingdom you’ve married into,” You stop in your tracks at his words, mind reeling and having a hard time processing the look he’s giving you. You’ve never seen it on him before and you can’t put a word to it. “You ask me not to disregard you. You claim that we need to talk more.” His eyes narrow, and for a split second you think that you see him wince. “And yet you don’t even really listen to what I have to say,”

“It’s not my fault…You haven’t really given me much to believe in, Scaramouche!”

“Oh and I suppose Prince Tartaglia has?” He whirls back towards you, seriously annoyed. You open your mouth to say something, but found that he had caught you speechless. He’s right. You knew nothing about Tartaglia, only that– “He treats me like a human being, at least!” 

“Well suit yourself and enjoy your time with him!” Scaramouche growls it out before turning and stalking off. The door to the study closing did not even register in your mind. It was the silence that knocked you out of your daydream. You slowly sank down on the seat again and sat for a moment thinking to yourself, wondering how exactly things could just keep spiraling down. 

It didn’t get better after that conversation. He continues to avoid you–but now you supposed that he had good reason to–For a good moment you thought to apologize, but part of you didn’t really want to. The way you felt towards Tartaglia and what you thought of him, you think it was justified. He was a nice person, or at least what you’ve seen of him. It wasn’t wrong to feel that he was a good man…blaming him for what happened to you without any proof didn’t sit right with you either. 

Unsurprisingly, at the ball that you attend next…Scaramouche doesn’t even arrive at the same time as you. It was your first time entering the big doors alone, the first time that your name was announced by itself, not alongside his. Kuni said that Scaramouche was busy, but that he’d catch up later into the night. 

Prince Tartaglia, however, was already there. Chatting up nobles and looking like he was enjoying himself. His whole aura, as usual, was rather infectious. He spots you at the corner of his eye approaching him, his face turns towards you with the same handsome smile that could only belong on his lips. He excuses himself from the older crowd and walks over to meet you, bowing for a greeting. “Princess,” then he picks his eyes up again, as if scanning the whole room. “…Scaramouche didn’t come today?” He’s a little surprised, you can tell from the lilt in his voice.

“Oh, he’s a little busy with something, he’ll come later on,” you clarify. You miss the flicker in Tartaglia’s eyes, that quick flick of opportunity, that quick idea that ran through his mind. He offers his hand for a dance instead. 

It isn’t as if you completely disregarded Scaramouche’s warnings. You were cautious at the beginning of the night, you really were. With Scaramouche’s words at the back of your mind you tried to tell yourself that you could not completely trust this man, but the more you conversed and the more you danced you were reminded as to why it was easy to like him. He was just a natural at conversations and at talking. 

When it had simply gotten a little stuffy in the large room he introduced you to the balcony. So that’s where all the seats are, you thought to yourself as he pushed the frosted lattice door, a nice gust of wind hitting your face almost instantly. There were elegant white tables and chairs littered around, the carved stone railing of the venue looking out to a well-kept garden. 

Instinctively, you move towards the railing to get more fresh air, if you had known about this place earlier, you probably would’ve spent most of your time out here. It was a little fairy tale like, with your dress, and with Prince Tartaglia leaning over the stone railing as well, looking up at the stars. 

The sounds of music and chatter from the inside was incredibly muffled, so there’s a sense that there were still others in the area, but out here, it was just the two of you. You glanced sideways at Prince Tartaglia’s peacefulness…there was no harm in conversing a little, and getting some answers, would there?

“…Is it true that you’re interested in…Scaramouche’s vision?” you start, hands that were somewhat dangling over the railing coming together to fumble with each other. Tartaglia shifted with a laugh under his breath, turning to change his position so that his back was resting on the balustrade, elbows resting on it. “Who wouldn’t be, milady?” He nonchalantly lolls his head towards you. “He’s finally told you about it? It’s almost like a natural wonder, his vision. I’ve heard that it was naturally strong, but now…he’s honed it to be even stronger… Of course I’m interested in it,” but he laughs along his statement, and you don’t feel any sense of foreboding in his answer. Just a genuine interest in Scaramouche’s abilities. 

Then there’s a hand atop yours as it lays on the balustrade, your eyes dart downwards to see that Tartaglia had laid his hand there, sliding up to wrap his hand around your wrist. His hold is strong, but not tight, enough for you to look at him questioningly. “…Although, I must say…there’s something else of his that’s caught my interest these days…” a shiver runs up your spine. Almost as if the whisper had gone straight to your ear and shot up to your brain. He’s most certainly referring to you. 

Tartaglia moves swiftly. You’re suddenly trapped between him and the balustrade, his hand on your wrist keeping you tethered to the position, his body is exceptionally close. You’re not sure if its panic or excitement that strikes your spine a second time, but you look up at him, astounded. “Prince?” you hadn’t meant for your voice to come out so meek, but his presence was just too overwhelming. 

“Y/N,” he breathes your name out, and it’s the first time he doesn’t use the title of princess with your name. “Scaramouche is a dangerous man… I don’t know why you choose to stay by him,” There’s an edge to his gaze now, as if his usually bright blue eyes had been shadowed over. He grabs your chin almost roughly, his grip on your wrist is tightening by the second. “You agree, don’t you? I assume he hasn’t been nice to you…It must be torture living with that man.”

“You can’t–”

“I gave that electro vision to him, Y/N,” again his grip on you tightens, as if you aren’t allowed to speak back. Like anything you utter would be false. “I was the one who told him to use our hydro delusion, without that, the vision would have never awakened,” his fingers are starting to dig into your cheeks, its starting to feel like his nails are leaving indents on your skin. In your panic, you pull your head away harshly from his grip, certain that one of his fingers snagged and had probably drawn a line on either your chin or your cheek. You do the same with your wrist, pulling it away from his hold and shoved your way through his press on you, just wanting to get back to the ballroom full of people. 

You didn’t get far.

Tartaglia caught the same wrist, pulled on it and had gripped you by both sides of your arms, “I’m not done talking,” his voice is just above a whisper, and yet the look in his eyes had completely changed, wrath written all over it, as if talking about Scaramouche had unleashed a beast inside of him. “That electro vision is rightfully mine, Y/N…All I’m trying to do is to get it back,” and then…he smiled. 

Pleasantly, like everything he said hadn’t happened at all, and this face of his was the one that you recognized the most. The face that he showed to the other nobles, the face he put on when socializing with others, the confident smile he flashed as he walks into a room. “…And you’ll help me, won’t you, dear Y/N?” He cups your face in his hand, “I’ve seen the way you look at Scaramouche…and I’ve seen the way you look at me… You don’t have to stay with him, milady. Your place, is rightfully next to mine… I’ll take care of your every need…” 

You turn your face away just as his lips descend closer to you, it brushes your cheek, but he’s not happy with that and yet again manhandles your chin to point the way he wanted it to, right at him. He forces his lips onto yours, finally mashing together in an unromantic struggle: Him to keep his lips on you, and you to keep yours away.

A resounding slap echoes through the night when you finally wrench your hand free. You’re looking at him as if you’ve just seen a ghost, disbelief painting every fiber of your being. He just forced himself on you and it slowly descends over your entire being what exactly was happening here. “…Y-You’re..even worse than he is–”

“I’d shut my mouth if I were you,” He turns his head back towards you with a grin, he hated being compared to Scaramouche. Tartaglia’s lips are slightly smudged with your lipstick, and a subtle pink was forming on his cheek where you’d slapped him.

You turned and bolted towards the lattice doors, finally reaching it and throwing it open. You ducked your head, conscious of what you might have looked like and went straight to the restrooms. Despite not feeling safe all by yourself in there, it was better than being out there with him all alone. Besides, you had to freshen up.

You looked at yourself carefully in the mirror. Sure enough, there’s a faint red line starting at your cheekbone, trailing downwards towards your jaw until it tapers off and disappears. Definitely from when you yanked your face away from his grip. You lifted your wrist and there were a few crescent indents on your skin from where he held you, mostly disappearing out of sight, yet a few were red and seemingly not letting up. You looked up to the mirror once again, your lipstick is smudged, and your hair is a little disheveled, you opted to just wipe it off and fixed your hair a little before emerging out again. 

You looked around to see if Scaramouche had arrived, and when you found no sight of him approached Kokomi instead. “Kokomi… Did–Did Scaramouche arrive yet?” You cleared your throat to take away the shakiness out of it, smiling lightly to put up a front. Kokomi suspected nothing. “I’m afraid not princess,” 

You didn’t think the day would come where you would be desperately looking for him. Not only were you wrong about Tartaglia, but perhaps you were wrong about Scaramouche as well. 

Yes, he was harsh. Yes, he was the worst at communicating. Yes, he was rather materialistic and uncaring but he had never done what Tartaglia had just done to you and you knew that he wouldn’t. 

Scaramouche was insensitive and tactless, but he was still dignified in his own ways. 

“Princess?” Kokomi sensed the long pause from you, snapping you out of your reverie and smiling at her apologetically. “Sorry, Kokomi, I have to go for tonight,” you turned away without giving her an explanation, going for the door and thinking that the only thing you wanted to do right now was retreat back to the castle. 

However, just as you were walking towards the grand doors, it opens, and you stop in your tracks as Scaramouche’s presence is announced. He strolls in without a care for his name being called out, not minding the claps sounding through the room. His eyes pass over you, in the middle of the room. You look…a little out of place today, as if not in your usual gait. 

Scaramouche wants to ignore you, still bitter about the conversation the other night, but out in public he has to keep up appearances, and he meets you in the middle of the room, looking at your unreadable expression boredly. “Come on, just a few conversations with some stupid nobles and we can make it quick tonight. You know the drill, I don’t like being here as much as you–” but you catch his sleeve in your hand, slightly tugging on it, your head turns down to the floor. You’re not sure why there’s so much shame surging through you, remembering that unwanted and forced kiss. 

“…C-Can we go home?” Scaramouche’s eyebrows shoot up. “Just this once. I just… I don’t feel too well,” He remains silent as he contemplates your words. He had just arrived. Leaving immediately would be strange, he can’t see the expression on your face, with your head turned down.

“…We came in separate carriages…You can go home by yourself first,” He mutters under his breath, not thinking much of it. Your grip on his sleeve tightens. 

But I don’t want to go alone…

Scaramouche senses your discomfort, and he senses it because you were not usually this way. There’s an air of patheticness around you, as he would call it, and an aura of defeat hanging around, almost as if you’d lost some type of fight and didn’t want to face it. 

And it isn’t the type of fight that the two of you would usually have. The type where the two of you would bicker, ignore each other, talk again after a few days, and then end up in some sort of disagreement…then back to square one. He noticed it too, the uncanny way that the two of you seemed to fight, but this… This was different. 

Scaramouche sighed, “Fine, but let me get a drink, it’s strange for me to enter and leave immediately, you understand?” You only nod your head like a small child. “We’ll go in an hour,” he concluded and you had no choice but to follow. Something in you said that it wouldn’t be wise to leave the ball by yourself. 

You stuck by his side the whole time, eyes darting around as if looking for someone–more like avoiding him. Your conversations with the nobles were not as colourful as they usually were, but Scaramouche said nothing about it. 

It was near the end of the hour that he promised, when he caught sight of the pink line across your cheek. He wasn’t paying attention to you up until then, but he took you aside to an emptier table and instructed, “Look at me,” 

“Hm?” you peered your eyes up but didn’t move your head, so he repeated his command. “Tilt your head up and look at me,” You did, not knowing why you were so worried about what he would see, perhaps the scratch had already disappeared, or that it wasn’t even visible. Besides… This was Scaramouche you were talking about, he probably wouldn’t even care.

But his eyes narrowed at it, the thin line was definitely fresh, the way it was pink and slightly raised told him that. He moves his head closer to get a better look at it. “…What happened there?” you knew what he was talking about, but you didn’t answer. 

That’s when he gives your whole face a once over, realizing that you were in your usual full makeup…except your lips. For some reason, you had decided to wipe it off and your lips were the natural colour that they were. Scaramouche was sensing something awfully amiss right now.

“…You have something to tell me?” There was no anger in his voice, but it was still rather forceful. Your eyes dart away, and as you’re facing him, Prince Tartaglia makes himself known “Ah, Scaramouche, you finally arrived,”

Your whole body tenses up, you can practically imagine the fake pleasant smile on his face. Scaramouche’s eyes doesn’t leave you, even when Tartaglia presents himself. And so, he sees everything. He sees the way you seem to curl up into yourself, the way you don’t turn around to say hi to your supposed “friend”, the way your head drops low again and finally, the obvious way your hand darts out towards his sleeve, the same way as it did earlier, as if you didn’t want to be separated from him. 

Even then, he had to confirm it. He couldn’t just start assuming things without any evidence, specially not at a grand ball like this. So, his eyes travel upwards to Tartaglia, giving him a blank look, before his gaze drops towards you again. “…Was it him?” Scaramouche asks, but he almost already knows the answer. He doesn’t exactly know why you’ve become so meek, but he’s certain that Tartaglia was to blame. 

It was but a slight tip of your head. Barely seen cause it had happened only for a split second, but Scaramouche was sure that it was a nod. He steps away and around you, rubbing his knuckles while walking towards Tartaglia and stopping in front of him for a second. 

Then, Scaramouche pulls his fist as far back as he could and lands a weighty punch right at Tartaglia’s nose, sending him toppling over on his back and on the floor. 

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MASTERLIST

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Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: Just lots of dialogue and retelling in this chapter, not much actual Scaramouche in this story. Little Scaramouche makes an appearance for like, 20 cute seconds, haha. We’re going to the main action plot, so it’s not really sunshine and daisies, tw: death, does not follow the actual genshin lore but takes ideas from it, this is kinda looking more like a royal+fantasyAU hahaha sorry.

Word Count: 2.1k words

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts:(Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

“…and that’s what he said!”

You were clutching the blanket resting on your lap, looking towards Kuni who had a shocked look on his face.

“The prince…he told you this on his own accord?”

“Yes!”

Kuni fell silent. 

There was no one else in the room aside from him and you. 

Yet again, Scaramouche had done a disappearing act. 

It seemed to be his only way of solving things: avoiding them.

Scaramouche saw the horror in your face when he told you, and instantly thought that he had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have told you. He shouldn’t have said anything. He was supposed to be the one to tell you the story, but the look in your eyes reminded him of the ghosts in past. “Just… ask Kuni about it,” then he left. 

You ended up not having an appetite. Confused and rattled at the same time.

“Apologies, princess,” Kuni started with a sigh “…It’s not what it seems, perhaps when you’re all better I can explain the story to you–”

“Kuni,” you looked at the older man, stubborn persistence in your eyes. “I have to know. Right now,” 

Kuni observed you for a moment, then glanced around the room, looking for a chair. He drags one over, closer to your bed, a solemn look on his face. “If at any time you feel unwell, do say so,” he clears his throat. “The prince doesn’t know how to express himself. So I believe he was…not threatening you, but instead he was merely trying to share an incident of long past…”

I never thought I’d talk about this again.

You were getting perturbed. It was like you couldn’t trust anyone around you. Being rude is one thing, but being a murderer was a completely different problem. 

“It’s not what he makes it to be,” Kuni closes his eyes, memory traveling far back into the depths, snatching at tiny snippets to retell. “Simply said, it was an accident. We…have not talked about it in a long time,”

Kuni opens his eyes, wearily smiling, eyes faraway and as if in a realm different from yours.

“The prince was, just as any child was: Jovial, curious and energetic. He ran around like other kids did, and played outside in the sun just the same. I suppose he did have more of a temper than the others did, but it wasn’t anything noteworthy. Just the usual tempers a child would go through,”

“Tartaglia! That’s not fair! You said I could be the seeker next!” A younger Scaramouche stomps his foot on the ground. The surrounding garden is peaceful, and the kids playing amongst themselves are roughly the same age. Tartaglia laughs apologetically. “Ah, yeah! I forgot! It’s okay, you can be next, okay? I promise!” 

Little Scaramouche puffs his cheeks out, but relents and looks for a hiding place while Tartaglia’s sister starts counting.

“Tartaglia’s father and Scaramouche’s father were good friends. The alliance between our two kingdoms were strong, we flourished with trade agreements, shared resources that the other didn’t have…I suppose that’s where the story starts. Snezhnaya ran across a discovery that was all too powerful,”

“…A fake vision?” Scaramouche’s father inspects the trinket. It looked just like the real thing.

“I wouldn’t call it a fake,” Tartaglia’s father hummed. “It works just like the real thing, potentially even more powerful…A delusion, as I call it,”

“…And what are you planning to use it for?”

“Military force, of course! Without visions, our knights are mediocre at best.”

“You mean to say that you’ve given your knights delusions?” Scaramouche’s father asks with an air of worry.

“Hydro delusions. Made from my own hydro vision. You should see them! They’re stronger than they ever were, fueled by a power they never had! My friend, imagine if we could make delusions out of your electro vision,”

“Can I interrupt you for a second there?” Your voice cuts through Kuni’s retelling. “This…vision thing. Only the nobles have them, right?” 

Kuni doesn’t answer immediately. “Back then, we believed so, yes. That only the nobles were presented with such a power. However, times have changed, and we’re more open to the possibility that a vision can be granted to anyone who longed for it,”

“So…Scaramouche, the king and the queen, Tartaglia and his parents, they all have one?”

“Indeed they do. They saw it as a blessing granted to them,”

You tried not to show any apprehension or doubt in your face, but there must’ve been a hint of it appearing. A blessing, huh? You supposed it entirely depended on how people looked at it, because from where you sat and listened, it just sounded like a lot of responsibilities.

You signaled for Kuni to continue.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline, my friend,” Scaramouche’s father hands back the hydro delusion.

“Ah, well if you change your mind, the offer is always here,”

“It turns out that in order to make a delusion, they had to extract the element from a real vision, and so Tartaglia’s father was persistent in asking our king to lend the power of his electro vision…Our king, of course, declined. He was not the type of person to interrupt the natural flow of things…He felt that if humans interfered too much into powers that they didn’t understand, it might cause great disaster…”

You tried to follow where the story was going. From the way Kuni was telling it, it wasn’t difficult to figure out that something had gone wrong along the way. “…But the king was forced to use it, at some point?”

“Yes,” Kuni sighed. In his mind, the story is still fresh as it was yesterday. The happenings as if it just transpired. “Our peace continued, up until the neighbouring kingdom threatened to overtake us. See, we were but a small kingdom back then, milady. There was no possible way for us to fight back, not with our small military power…The King realized this…and took up the offer,”

“He agreed to make electro delusions out of his own vision?” you concluded wrongly for Kuni, who shook his head slowly.

“There was not enough time to produce electro delusions. So Prince Tartaglia’s father lent our king the hydro delusions that he already had on hand. There was no doubt about it, once our knights donned the hydro delusions, the war was over before it even started. The enemies had no chance at all. But…the king discovered a greater tragedy.”

“Accelerated aging…They’re losing their life force far too fast while using the delusions,” the royal doctor broke the news to the king, eyes filled with confusion and worry all at the same time. It was beyond the realm of what he had seen, never had he observed a human deteriorate in such a short time. 

“All of them?” the king asked in horror. Watching as three of his knights remained bed-ridden for days, their hair slowly turning grey. 

“It seems not. Particular people are weaker against the effects. Your captain, for instance, has yet to feel the effects of the delusions, but these three young men have been the hardest hit,” 

“…Take the delusions away. All of it. Return it back to Snezhnaya,” 

……….

Your head tilts up at the silence, eyes questioning Kuni when you realize that he had stopped. He seemed to be struggling with something, the same expression of contemplation appearing on his face just as it did yesterday on Scaramouche’s.

You give him time, and he breathes out a heavy sigh.

“I’m afraid…I still cannot fully explain in words what I experienced and saw that day…but the disaster happened before we could even return the delusions…Prince Scaramouche…managed to get his hands on one of the hydro delusions and…”

There’s a pregnant pause once again, and you finally feel like the story is reaching its peak. Suddenly, Kuni stands up. You sit up from your relaxed position as well, thinking that he was about to walk away and abandon the story, but he lifts his shirt up halfway.

There, on his left abdomen, right at the edge of his waist, was a large puncture wound. New, pink and rubbery skin had tried to cover up the hole that was once there. The scar looked soft to the touch, and it was clear that the deformity would never be the same again. 

Your eyes were tacked on to it, the little pieces that Kuni told you melding together and forming a bigger picture. “That’s–”

“I was the captain of the knights back then,” Kuni suddenly continued, dropping his hold on the fabric. “…but I was called in far too late. When I arrived, the prince…had already taken two lives,” 

You didn’t gasp, nor did you sigh. You didn’t notice that you were holding your breath.

“He was just a child, yet the delusion took to him. He was a completely different being, wrapped in an aura that wasn’t his…I was the only one who managed to wrestle the delusion away from him. When he awoke, he recalled no such events… However, with blood on his hands and the wound on my side, he quickly realized what he had done…”

Fear, or sorrow? The two were battling within you and you hadn’t a clue which one was winning. 

“The prince changed after those events. And the king… took me out of knight’s duty and placed me as the prince’s guardian.”

Never had you heard silence with such an intensity. 

“The incident was covered up easily…Aside from the prince, the king and the queen…Only I knew what truly transpired that day…I suppose it’s one of our kingdom’s biggest sins…to not properly honour those who fell in that tragedy…”

You couldn’t help but place a hand on your mouth and sink back to lean on the bed’s headboard, trying to picture the scene in your mind. Trying to process the entirety of the situation. How to feel about it. What to make of it. What it meant for you and for others.

I can’t pretend that I’m okay with this…

You see a flash of Scaramouche’s glare in your mind.

I can’t pretend that I’m not scared… but…does everything that happened really justify the way he treats people in the present? Shouldn’t he be more…understanding?

“…So he’s got issues to work on,” you manage to mumble out your first thoughts, and to your surprise, Kuni chuckles. 

“I’m glad you think so, milady,” he starts to move the chair back to where it was supposed to be. “But do not be mistaken…it isn’t your job alone to remedy his problem.” Kuni doesn’t give any more explanation other than that. There was still much to say, but he gathered that the conversation had to be between you and the pince.

“I know you have a lot to think about, princess, so I’ll take my leave. The questions and thoughts you have right now, and the one’s you come up with can wait… I suppose the prince may have more answers and insights into it, now that he’s grown up,” 

“Hardly grown up…” you mutter, and melt back down on your bed, closing your eyes to really internalize the story. “Thank you, Kuni,”

He gives a small sound of understanding before you hear him excuse himself, the sound of the door opening and closing indicating to you that he’d left. 

The silence helped.

For a moment you laid in bed. Draped your arm over your eyes and merely let yourself…exist. 

You asked yourself why Scaramouche always had the worst of timings. 

Just when you think everything was going to be okay, he had the uncanny talent of making everything unravel again. 

Why does he have to tell me…Does it have anything to do with the attempted assassination? And why now? Does he think I’m about to die or something, and this is the last chance he gets to confess? 

You huffed to yourself. Thanking the Gods that your body and wound didn’t burn as much as it did anymore, but it still took a lot out of you. Though, you couldn’t completely blame him. It was you, after all, who had a moment of sheer panic in front of him, thinking you were about to take your last breath through that coughing fit. He didn’t offer any kind words, but you remember the feeling of his hand behind your head.

That really happened, I wasn’t imagining it.

That moment of vulnerability you showed. Was that what caused him to reach out? The possibilities and theories of whys and how comes were not decreasing. The more you thought about it, the more questions popped up. 

In some senses, your relationship with Scaramouche was exactly the same.

You learned more about him, yet nothing about him all at the same time.

He was an infuriating mystery. 

And your final thoughts before you decided to leave it for now and focus on your recovery:

That’s what I get for marrying a stranger, I guess.

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MASTERLIST

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: you might feel overwhelmed by this chapter but give it a chance and I promise I’ll cut you some slack in the next one hahahahahhaha, seems yandere but it really isn’t, secrets will be revealed in the next chapter so sit tight (any speculation or theories tho?), does not follow genshin lore, mentions of murder and killing.

Word Count: 2.6k words

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts:(Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

“You didn’t answer my question,” was the first thing you said when he walks in. For someone who had just been struck in the chest with an arrow, with poison still running in her veins, you were feisty as ever. 

He raised an eyebrow at you, watching as you struggled to heave yourself up by your elbows just to look him in the eye. “What question?” he counters.

“I asked if you were fine,”

“And I answered, what do you mean?”

Forget about support, he was already getting pissed. That spunky attitude of yours was coming out despite your condition, even more when you rolled your eyes. The wince that followed a second after didn’t earn you any sympathy from him. Your elbows caved and you ended up lying on your back again. 

“I meant, are you hurt?” Once again, you try sitting up, the maid nearby finally helps you as you do so and props a pillow behind your back. You mutter a quick thanks before turning your head back to Scaramouche, who looked intensely vexed. 

“You’re asking ME if I’m hurt? Have you looked at yourself?” He was actually, seriously angry and you couldn’t understand why he was barking at you despite your concern. 

“Well, prince, if I was going to die I’d like to at least think I died for something.” Sarcasm was evident in your tone.

“You’re not a hero, stop talking like one!” His glare intensifies, donning his signature look. 

“Not a hero? I—cough—literally pushed you out of death’s way,” your voice croaked by the end of it, marking the start of a fit of coughs. The screaming and shouting competition was temporarily on hold.

Scaramouche walks closer to your bed and waves at the maid, dismissing her and leaving the two of you alone in the room once again. “That’s what you get for talking too much, shut the hell up for a minute and lay back down,” he says while pouring you a glass of water for the second time that day, sitting on the edge of the mattress, waiting for your coughing fits to die down before he passed it off to you.

But it didn’t die down. 

You kept heaving and coughing and you could feel your chest giving out, so tired of the constant battering your lungs was taking. The coughs were so severe, sounding as if you were trying to dislodge something from your throat, though there was nothing there. You panicked at some point, you just couldn’t take a proper breath in between those coughs, and Scaramouche was starting to get restless, not sure what to do.

‘What’s happening?’ he thought to himself.

“Scara–cough–” You hack out a choked cough and gasp for momentary air, it was getting hard to breath, and in a herculean effort to hold on to something, anythingthat tethered you to this world, something to give you the illusion that you were going to make it through, you pushed forward with whatever strength you had left and latched on to him.

The glass of water in his hand swished, droplets of it wetting his fingers. Your hands clutched at his cloak, your head pressed against his shoulder, eyes shut tight. 

You’d never been this close to him before, neither had you been so close to death.

“I don’t want to die–cough–” Fear was instilled in your every vein just as the poison was. The horror that dawned on you when you realized you were sicker than you thought. 

What was there after death? Were there stars? Was there anything to be felt at all? Pain? Happiness? Fear? Was it just floating along in the darkness forever?

You didn’t want to know. Not yet. And it was terrifying to think about. Despite how hard it had been for you the past few months, there were still so many things you wanted to experience.

“Not like this–” and you heaved another gasp. Unaware that you were being treated for poison, you were confused as to why an arrow to the chest hurt this much. Your whole being was on fire, every breath you took was like swallowing a handful of lava and the coughs were knocking your breath away. 

“I don’t want to be alone when I go I–I want to see my parents, please,” 

He could hear the labour in your voice, the raspy breaths that sounded shattered. 

“I want to see them–just one last time, please,”

You were convinced that this was it for you. Your mind was not ready to go, yet you could feel the strength in your body dissipate. Tears escape your closed lids, making your breathing much more laboured than it already was.

And then, you felt a hand press on your head. 

Months of not having anyone comfort you, provide you with a touch that was reassuring had you freeze up for a moment before you realized what was happening.

Scaramouche was holding you. 

Connecting with you in a way that was unspoken yet spoke loud enough to soothe your heart and break it all at the same time. 

It’d been so long without someone else.

“Stop crying, you’re making it worse,” He’d put the glass down and used that hand to awkwardly touch your head, wondering if this was the right way to do it. When he felt that it hadn’t done any harm, he relaxed, and let his hand do tiny, barely discernable pats. It felt as if only his thumb was moving, but he was already trying his best.

“And you’re not seeing your parents, you want them to see you all pathetic like this?” he scoffed, looking at your concealed face, hidden on his shoulder. 

You gasped again, this time a mix of a sob and desperate breath of air. You were an utter mess. 

“You just need your antidote. Take deeper breaths so you stop hacking all over me and so you can take it,” he commanded, but neither of you moved. His hand still rested behind your head and you still held on to him for dear life. You did, however, listen to the advice of breathing deeper. 

‘Will the antidote really fix things though?’ Scaramouche is reminded of the doctor’s words. No guarantee.

Your throat was so raspy that every time you breathed in you were sent into a scratchy cough, but it was slowly getting better. 

A comfortable kind of silence wrapped around the two of you when your breathing finally evened out. Though, it seemed to have taken forever. Your hands eventually loosened its hold on his cloak and sleeve, and you finally moved away from your hiding position, eyes turned downwards to look at your hands, somewhat embarrassed at your earlier panic-stricken display.

Your face was tear-stained. On the crinkles of your eyes, on your cheeks, your chin. It quite literally was like water was sprayed on your face. Even your hair was disheveled. 

“Water and this,” he once again commanded and finally handed you the glass along with a small vial. You drank from both of it and returned it to him wordlessly. You’d pieced together what happened. You weren’t stupid. Antidote simply meant that you were poisoned, and when else could that have happened except for when the arrow entered your chest?

“Get back to sleep,” he said, giving out another order as if you were a knight instead of someone sick. His eyes, however, followed your demeanor closely. Watching if anything was amiss aside from your panicked frenzy earlier. 

You sank back down to bed, eyes already heavy and mind wavering, wanting to go back to a state of sleep. Scaramouche merely watched your eyes droop and close, but there’s a mumble on your lips. 

In your mind, you had already drifted away into your dreams. It felt so much better to close your eyes and rest, to not think about things too much, mind in a foggy state. “Are you leaving…?”

Scaramouche strains his ears to hear it, and still he couldn’t make out what you were saying. So, he leans closer to you and asks in his usual gruff way, “What?”

“ ‘r you leavin’” your eyes flutter open a split second, before it slowly caves in on itself again.

Scaramouche stays silent. Perhaps you’ll fall asleep and he wouldn’t have to answer, but curiosity got the better of him. “…Do you want me to leave?”

Your face scrunches up, but your eyes remain closed. On the verge of dreams and far from reality, without the usual insecurities and worries that one had while awake, it was safe to say that the censors you put on yourself were mostly gone. You answer quite truthfully, “no.”

His fist suddenly clenches the bed covers, there’s a warmth in his chest that hits him all too suddenly and without warning. 

She wants me here?

Are you still awake? He asks himself, would it be a stretch to ask you now? “Do you know who you’re talking to?” He blurts out, unable to really comprehend what you said. Perhaps you were imagining that he was someone else. 

Now it was your turn to be silent. Though, unlike him, it was mostly because you were already falling asleep, things were taking longer to process, but your head does a tiny nod and you mumble an easy and muffled “my grumpy husband,”

There was nothing much to it, just the truth. But why did such a simple statement of fact suddenly sound so…satisfying? Was it because you uttered it? Or was it the way you said it?

Scaramouche is certain that you’ve finally fallen asleep, and he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair, sweeping it back and staring at the ceiling. 

When did things become so complicated? She’s just an accessory…

He wasn’t going to change. He knew that and you knew that. You knew exactly what you were getting into, and agreed into a loveless marriage because of the benefits it brought to your family. To your sick mother, specifically. And yet…thinking about the lifetime that Kuni talked of, it would certainly be a very long time.

Try as Scaramouche might to change his so-called “grumpy” ways, it was part of him, and it was just how he communicated, but still…there must be some sort of middle ground where the two of you could meet.

Not to make you or him feel better. Not because he sympathized with you, but it would probably be easier for him if you weren’t so emotional or unwilling to communicate–yes, he really thought you were the one who was difficult to understand, despite watching you easily socialize with the other nobles. 

He went to bed with those thoughts that night. Barely getting any sleep, mostly because he had decided on what to do, yet he wasn’t confident that this was the best action to take.  

It’s too late for her to turn back…

He woke up to a routine that he fell into ever since you got injured: Check your room, then go to breakfast. 

He was surprised to see that you were awake and standing at that, though the maid was trying to coax you back into bed. Looks like he came in at the right time. 

“What’re you doing?” he narrowed his eyes at you and you blinked at him innocently. 

“Going to breakfast, I’m really hungry,” Scaramouche breathes out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not going anywhere, they’ll bring breakfast to you,” and the maid takes that as a cue to leave and to do as he says.

You purse your lips a little, “I’ve been in bed for days, I can walk…”

Scaramouche doesn’t know if he imagines it or if it really happens, but his eye twitches. “This coming from someone who had a coughing fit yesterday? You really think you’re well enough?”

You open your mouth to say something back, but close it again when you realize he’s right. You might feel energetic now, but that could quickly change in a second. You were overestimating your body a little too much. You plop back down on your bed with a simple, “Fine,” like a teen who just lost a bet. 

“I almost forgot how hard-headed you are,” Scaramouche mumbles.

“You’re one to talk…” 

Silence falls over the two of you, just waiting for the maids to come back with your food. You were lost in thought for a moment, finally feeling that your mind was clearing up and your body was healing itself after days knocked out and bed-ridden. It was here that you were able to truly think about what transpired. 

The attack, the arrow, the suddenness of it. 

“…So…What really happened?” You manage to ask, and Scaramouche instantly knows what you’re enquiring about.

“It’s as you said, you played hero and took an arrow that was meant for me,” there’s an obvious condescending tone to his words, but you ignore it and instead continue your line of questions.

“Who was it? And why?” There must have been something bigger in play here, killing a prince was a huge offense, and it would lead to execution of the perpetrator. You see Scaramouche tense up at the question. Shoulders stiffening as if it was cold. 

“…We don’t know…” He simply answers and trails off, his tone indicating that he wasn’t done talking. “…but I have my guesses,” 

“So you know who it is?” you prod.

“No, it’s just speculation,”

With you sitting on the bed and him standing a few steps away from you, you see his head turn away, eyes upon the wide, clear-glass balcony doors. It’s not often you see a thoughtful look on his face. He seemed to be seriously considering something. His brows furrow and though he seems to be staring into space, you had a feeling he was just processing certain information in his mind, and you let him. 

It feels like a long while before he starts talking again.

“There’s…” something about the way he softly whispers his next words draws your full attention towards him. He was always easily heard. Not loud, but always enough to be audible. So when he whispered, it was rather unusual. “There’s something you need to know…”

This isn’t a love confession. You see it in the way he stiffly turns his gaze towards you, the way his face holds a darker expression than usual. He looks at you as if he’s looking at your very soul.

Trying to lighten up the atmosphere a little, you give a small smile and a nonchalant shrug. “Sure?” 

There’s every bit of confidence in you that it isn’t actually something too bad. After all, you’re married to a heartless prince, you’ve been struck by an arrow, you’ve been poisoned. How could it go down from there? 

There’s a heavy stillness. For some reason, you hold your breath as he starts speaking. 

His lips move. 

You expect it to be something about an enemy, something about a war between two kingdoms. You expect him to say that he knows who it is because it had happened before, or something at least to point out who the perpetrator was. 

Instead, the confession he makes is about himself.

“I’ve taken people’s lives,” Scaramouche doesn’t break eye contact with you. You’re not sure what hits you first, the shiver that runs up your spine, or the split second of fear that clenches your chest. 

“…What?” This isn’t good for your body, it feels as if you’re panicking again.

“…Which part do you not understand…?” His whole being changes. Where before, despite his anger and his frustrations, you felt as if he wasn’t much of a real threat. He was just an incredibly insensitive man.

But now, as he walks towards you, his gait is almost intimidating. “…I’ve killed people,” he stops, just an arm’s length away from you. “…Do you wanna know how?”

The maids–oblivious to the conversation that had just transpired–knock on the door and open it as you continue to dazedly stare up at Scaramouche’s face. The cogs in your mind are struggling to work, but it tries to get to a conclusion:

You’re married to a cold-blooded man.

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MASTERLIST

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: NOT PROOFREAD forgive me, longer than usual, a bit of fluff I guess?, medieval Karen alert

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts:(Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

You were distinctly aware that Scaramouche had sat next to you on the carriage enroute to the annual celebration. Before then, he’d always sat across you instead. Why were you paying attention to such details anyway? You’d been telling yourself not to overthink things, but it seems as if your mind just loved to wander,  especially after that small moment yesterday night. 

Try as you might to pretend that last night was nothing, probably just him being moody again, something inside you stirred in a way that had you curious, bordering on wondering if Scaramouche was actually starting to warm up to you…or maybe, possibly, even something more. 

You shook your head vigorously at the thought.

“What’re you doing?” Of course he had to notice and of course he had to give you a weirded out look. 

Your eyes darted towards and away from him all at once. “Uh…Nothing,” and then it was silent in the carriage again, up until the two of you arrived at the venue. 

It was a special one, unlike any other that you’ve been to before it actually looked simpler, yet it was still quite large with intricate ceilings and chandeliers, exotic looking windows and long elegant tables of food and drinks. 

Your arrival had to be announced. It was Scaramouche’s day and his presence was of the utmost importance. For some reason that didn’t bother you too much, though a lot of the attention would be on you for the night. Unlike usual gatherings, much of the guests were younger people. Possibly around your and Scaramouche’s age rather than the older nobles and aristocrats. 

Perhaps it was for that reason that you felt like there were a lot more stares on you than usual. 

“The opening dance will start in a few,” Scaramouche warned you, your arm hooked around his, a standard stance when the two of you enter a venue. 

A somewhat familiar face stops in front of the two of you. You reach back into your mind to look for her name. Ah. Right. Amaya. The young noble who saw you as nothing but dirt under her feet. 

“How can a nobody like you become the princess? We’ve all come from royal and pure blood, and then you, tainted and filthy like where you came from–there’s no way the prince would ever love you!”

You’ve seen her a few more times after that, in the same ladies tea party, but she didn’t speak up as much, seeing as the other nobles started warming up to you, regardless of your background. Amaya, however, you could see in the way she stood in front of the two of you that she was out for trouble.

“Prince Scaramouche,” she curtsied towards him, and completely disregards your presence next to him. Scaramouche’s eyebrows raise up, also noticing the lack of greeting towards you. Amaya wouldn’t even glance at you.

“Happy birthday, I’ve brought an extremely valuable artifact as a birthday present. I’m sure it’ll be to your liking,” Amaya was rather graceful. They all were. She motions her hand towards her left for a server to come forward. A perfect looking square shaped gift wrapped in golden paper was atop the tray he was holding, red ribbon encircling it. 

“If I may be so bold as to suggest something…I don’t believe she’s fit to do the opening dance with you…I heard that she hasn’t had the proper noble upbringing. I’m sure it’s stressful for her too,” Amaya threw you a fake smile as your eyes widened a little. She was really doing this in front of you, JUST as the two of you walk in. The night had barely even started and it was starting out with this, insinuating that you were nothing but commoner trash, and she wasn’t even done talking yet. “If you’d like, I’m confident that I’ll be able to do the dance flawlessly,”

Even the server holding the gift looked uncomfortable with her words. There was no world in which it was appropriate to suggest to the prince that he should do the opening dance with someone else who WASN’T his wife. The beginning was already looking grim for you.

There was a moment of silence, and you were at a loss for what to say, not knowing how far you could go with your words. However, a short snort of laughter cut through the tension, your eyes darted sideways, realizing that it was Scaramouche. There was a wide grin plastered on his face and he was looking at Amaya as if SHE was the trash beneath his feet. His momentary snickering gradually turned into chuckles, and his chuckles bellowed into obnoxious laughter, his head tipped back like a villain.

Your eyes were wide while Amaya was making her declaration, but they were full blown saucers now, watching Scaramouche laugh like a maniac and everyone in close vicinity was looking at him, astounded as well. “S-Scaramouche?” You started, wondering if he had finally gone crazy.

His laughing abruptly stopped and he leveled his gaze towards Amaya. His glare was unlike anything you’ve seen before. Sure, he always had one on his face, but this one was vicious, like you could be poisoned with just one look. And then, with humor in his voice, he asked Amaya “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Amaya was frozen in a second, and you couldn’t help but tug at Scaramouche’s arm with your own, like a mother who was embarrassed. You whispered at him, “Scara, just leave it,” you tugged again, but he didn’t budge. “You’re a great example of why I didn’t marry a noble, conceited witch,” 

“Scaramouche!” You hissed, aware of the eyes that were already turned towards your small group. Amaya was looking paler by the minute but Scaramouche was looking more entertained by the second. 

“Listen carefully, either you apologize or you’re going to leave and count on it that your family will be wiped out of noble existence,” Scaramouche gave his final command and Amaya immediately blurted out, looking straight at Scaramouche “I-I’m sorry! I apologize,” almost as if she didn’t know what was happening. 

But Scaramouche sneered, tipped his head sideways towards you and exclaimed, “to her,”

Amaya was horrified, but she still turned towards you, finally meeting your eyes and curtsied. “I-I-I” she seemed to be having some trouble.

“Now!” Scaracmouche was ruthless in his demands, and Amaya finally breaks.

“I apologize, princess!” you could hear the tremble in her voice. Shamed and embarrassed, she turned around and fled to the restrooms, you could almost see her watery eyes in your mind’s eye. The server was left standing there with the gift and Scaramouche clicked his tongue. “Throw that out, I want nothing from that family,” and finally tugged at you to retreat over to one of the tables with drinks. 

Scaramouche unwound his arm from yours and took one of the champagne glasses flawlessly, taking a sip from it as if nothing had happened and you were left staring at him, jaw slack and open. “Scaramouche, you can’t just–” you blinked, and looked around to see if anyone was staring at the two of you, then your eyes darted between crowds to see if you could catch a glimpse of Amaya again. Strange enough, part of you felt bad, despite the fact that Amaya was the one who struck first.

“Quit looking so worried, I’m the crown prince,” Scaramouche watches as your eyebrows scrunch up in worry. He doesn’t understand what’s got you so riled up or anxious. “Don’t waste your time over that hag.” and he meant it. You knew because his hand flew over to your chin and forced your gaze away from the crowd and towards him. “Stop. Forget about it,” 

Easy for him to say. He must be so used at making people feel like crap. You opened your mouth to say something, but he spoke sooner than you did. “If she isn’t showing respect then she doesn’t deserve it either,” then he dropped his hand away from your chin, but your gaze stayed on Scaramouche. Your shoulders relaxed. He had a point, but it was really strange coming from Scaramouche’s mouth. 

It’s as if when it came to other people he knew what the rules were, but for himself…it’s like etiquette didn’t matter. He could be rude and snappy all day long and yet he wouldn’t expect anyone to talk back to him.

You took in a long breath while closing your eyes and sighed it out just as slow. You kept your eyes closed for a moment longer before opening them with a half defeated and half accepting grin. “Alright, fine…I’ll just…wipe everything over, pretend it didn’t happen and get on with this party,” then you set your hand out to him. “Opening dance?” Suddenly you had the determination to show others that you DID know how to do the opening dance properly. Amaya be damned.

Despite being in close proximity of each other during the actual opening dance, it didn’t have the same intimacy as it did the night before. Perhaps because there were people looking at the two of you, scrutinizing the dance and probably whispering about how the two of you had no chemistry at all, or something. Nevertheless it ended without a hitch, and unlike the night before, you and Scaramouche came apart as soon as the dance finished, but your hands stayed together as you walked off the dance floor and onto another table with food.

He glanced sideways at you. “You were a little stiff,” he commented and you swerved your head towards him with a glare. 

“I was nervous, what do you expect?” It didn’t really feel great to be told that when you were so determined to show others that you had “perfected” the dance. 

“…It wasn’t a poor performance…but being stiff just makes you…heavier,” Scaramouche continued to talk as if he didn’t know he was digging his own grave.

“Oh now you’re calling me heavy! That doesn’t even make sense–I’m the same weight all throughout the dance!” you hissed at him and he turns to look at you with a blank look on his face as the two of you walk, though it looks as if he’s about to say something mischievous.

“…Then maybe you’re just naturally heav–”

“Prince Scaramouche! Princess Y/N!” You fumed at him, though he didn’t finish his sentence, he has a grin on his face. The two of you turn to see Kokomi curtsying towards the two of you. Your mood instantly brightens up. 

“Kokomi!” You can’t help but break away from Scaramouche’s hold on your hand and greeted Kokomi with a hug. She seemed like such a good break from a terrible start of the evening. Kokomi receives it and greets Scaramouche as well. 

“Happy birthday, prince,” she nodded and Scaramouche only let out a hum. “It seems like the two of you are getting along better these days,” Kokomi comments as you slide away from her hug and back to Scaramouche’s side.

“Nonsense.” Scaramouche pipes up right at the same time as you say “Hardly.” with a roll of your eyes. But Kokomi giggles, hiding her laugh behind her hand and moves on to a different topic. She fetches a black box from her sleeve, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand and hands it over to Scaramouche. “It’s done, milord. There should be no issues whatsoever with it,” She sounded so proud, but you had no idea what was in the box, and Scaramouche looked as if he didn’t have an idea too.

So, the first thing he did was receive it, and opened the top. There were two rings resting inside the velvet of the box. One was clearly for a female. A simple, silver band ring with a pearl embedded into the middle. The other was a larger and thicker ring. It was silver as well, but it had a mysterious sheen to it, like it wasn’t completely made of silver. 

Then it hit Scaramouche, a quiet “Oh,” escaping his lips. He closed it back and pocketed the box of rings. Kokomi looked far too pleased with herself. You only blinked, confused. “Is that… a gift?” you asked the two of them. 

Scaramouche doesn’t answer but Kokomi gives you an explanation. “For generations, our clan has been tasked to make pearl rings for the future king and queen. These rings are exchanged during the first birthday in which the prince has been wedded. They’re quite special, you see. The Sango pearls we use are one of a kind, magical properties are infused into the material and…well, you’ll experience it yourself later,” 

“Oh,” you let out just like Scaramouche did earlier. “I didn’t know about that,” your gaze moves to Scaramouche, and he feels it on him, questioning him as to why he didn’t say anything about it earlier. 

“…I forgot,” he simply said, and you buy it but you deflate, wondering if he really was fit for the role of king. He just…didn’t know how to communicate with anyone. 

“Why was it not exchanged during the wedding instead?” You ask Kokomi curiously, who is oh-so happy to answer your questions. 

“Back then the rings were originally simple gifts from the Sangonomiya clan to the crown prince on his birthday. I suppose that tradition just stuck despite some changes on the rings itself. So, in a way, youcould say that it’s simply a birthday gift,” She brought her hands together with a pleasant smile. 

Come to think of it, the wedding rings that the two of you exchanged during the wedding were…fake. Just for show. You exchanged them during the ceremony but they were taken off as soon as the whole thing was over and you didn’t see them again. Perhaps these were like replacements, or maybe the real ones. 

“Perhaps the prince can explain more about the rings if time allows. Now then, I’ll have to catch up with you later, princess,” Kokomi curtsied again, and smoothly leaves the conversation. Without her there it’s as if the two of you are back to your gruff demeanors. 

You cross your arms on your chest and say “Well?” to fish out an explanation from Scaramouche. He lolls his head lazily towards you. “You’ll see later, they’ll make a big show of us exchanging the rings, after we cut my birthday cake.”

Oh great. You thought to yourself. The whole thing was quite literally a show. Scaramouche’s birthday show for all the young nobles to see. It was rather horrifying and just as you thought you didn’t mind the attention, it really did seem like all of it would be on you for the rest of the night. 

Surprisingly, you and Scaramouche seemed to share the same thought. He didn’t like these theatrics either, and so the two of you silently agreed to just hang out on one table together, discreetly eating some food unless a noble disturbed the two of you and engaged in conversation. However, these ones were not that adept at making long conversations. The young ones would say something about the weather, ask how the two of you were and would have nothing else to talk about and leave almost instantly. 

It was like a blessing in disguise. 

When Scaramouche’s birthday cake was rolled out, you had to tip your head up to see the entirety of it. It was a royal lavender colour, and you didn’t bother to count how many tiers there were, it looked as if one poke would tip it over.

The announcer was talking. Something about celebrating Scaramouche’s birthday and it being a joyous occasion. You tuned it all out cause all you were focused on was not making a fool of yourself while the others watched on and clapped in awe at how grand the cake was. 

Scaramouche was passed a knife and he took it. Then, with the knife still gripped in his hand he seemed to offer it to you. “We’re supposed to cut it together,” You blink at him but follow suit, lest you would just stand there like a fool. You placed your hand atop his which was holding the cutting knife and just followed as his hand hovered above the cake. There was a countdown, and both of your hands pushed down through a piece, making a clean cut and perfect slice.

That piece of cake was set aside on a plate, possibly for the two of you to enjoy later. The theatrics didn’t stop there. It was the ring exchange now, and Scaramouche still looked as bored as ever as he fished it out of his pocket. 

“May our hearts always be connected,” Your head jerks up as you hear Scaramouche utter the words. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s picking up your left hand, ring ready on his other. You can’t stop the goosebumps that rise behind your neck, making you shiver. The words seemed out of place in his mouth, with his expression so blank it’s hard to think that he’s sincere, but then his eyes hold yours, there seems to be a slight squeeze on your hand as he slips the ring around your ring finger. “…no matter the distance, you’ll always be protected,” 

He finished just as the ring rests snugly on your finger, and he takes a moment to admire it on your hand, still splayed atop his. 

The sentences he said were your short wedding vows, and though it’s your second time hearing it, there’s something different about it this time around. “I–” You start, when you realize that it’s supposed to be your turn. You remember yours clear as day, because the two of you had practiced it back then, endlessly. 

His eyes follow your every move, from the way you picked up his ring, to the way there was a slight tremble in your hand when you picked up his. “I vow to always be by your side…” Your hands are a little cold, he notes…and yet…why does he feel nothing but warmth, watching your lips move to recite the vows? “…To be your shelter, your strength…and your bride,”

As you place the ring in the correct place on his finger, the two of you move your head at the same time, meeting each other’s gazes. Your lips are slightly apart in wonder. 

When did it become easier to say those words?

“Y/N,” Scaramouche rarely says your name, but when he does it sounds like a delicacy. Something that you only enjoy once in a while. You realize he calls your name to warn you, your heart suddenly leaps out of your chest and starts galloping like a frenzied horse.

You’re supposed to kiss. Why did no one tell you about this?

Scaramouche’s hand easily rests on the side of your face. You don’t think you’re ready for this. You’re slightly panicking and you only hope it isn’t evident as he starts to dip closer–

BANG!

You startle and jump, instinctively clutching at Scaramouche’s coat when the ballroom starts to register that someone had come in rather forcefully. There are sudden whispers all around you and it seemed as if the atmosphere had changed drastically. Scaramouche still has his hand on your cheek when he turns to face the intruder striding towards the two of you. 

Prince Tartaglia approaches. 

In full armor and battle gear, knights following behind him.

You aren’t aware that the pearl on your ring suddenly glows a fiery red.

Scaramouche has time to glance at his, the pearl sheen on his ring turns dark, almost black under the light. Then, as if reading your emotions clearly, he states “Being afraid does nothing,” he drops the hand that was on your cheek, and subtly places himself in front of you as Tartaglia nears. “Besides, I’ll make quick work of this uninvited bastard,” 

Scaramouche grins, and it’s as if an unspoken war had just started. 

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MASTERLIST

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings:decided to dish out one chapter before the week starts again. Brief quarrel/fight (yes, again), no one apologizes, pining?, fluff?

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts:(Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

When Scaramouche woke up the next day, he wasn’t sure what to think when he slowly turned in bed and saw that yet again, you weren’t there. He glared at your side of the bed, already perfectly made.

Does she sleep or what? What’s she even doing so early in the morning?

Scaramouche was not a morning person–nor was he an afternoon nor night person, he was just an all around grump the whole day–but even he knew that sleeping that late and waking this early was something out of the ordinary. He sat up in bed, just as the door clicked open and in you came, already dressed in new clothes, curious look on your face.

“Oh, you’re up,” you scratched your cheek, not knowing why you felt like you were just caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Scaramouche raises an eyebrow at you, but doesn’t say anything and makes his way to the bathroom silently. He’s a little irked at the fact he took the time to get you to bed last night, only to see that you didn’t really learn your lesson and was gone first thing in the morning. Strange thing to be irked about, he thought, but again, it was all about the order of things.

Your eyes silently followed him as he disappeared into the bathroom, eyes blinking a few times before shrugging and waiting for him to finish. The two of you walked to breakfast together as usual, with Kuni relaying the day’s itinerary as you ate.

“…and so the princess will have to stay here while you attend the gathering, prince,”

Scaramouche’s eyes darted towards Kuni sharply. “Repeat that?”

Kuni cleared his throat, aware of the look the prince was giving him. “There’s an afternoon gathering with the aristocrats from the Trade Commission, to talk sanctions and trade policies as well as an update on the numbers,” Kuni looked down at the paper he was holding before continuing. “However the princess has a refresher etiquette class booked with Abigail, since the annual celebration is tomorrow and the dance is a highlight,” Kuni’s eyes darted towards yours, just as Scaramouche stabs his next piece of egg with a lot more vigor than earlier. 

“Could that not have been scheduled another time? You know she’s supposed to be there for trade talks,” Scaramouche glares at the food in front of him while munching, rather than directing his irritation towards Kuni. In actuality he was just annoyed that he had to sit through that boring meeting alone and would be forced to talk. With you there, he probably didn’t even have to open his mouth nor spare the aristocrats a glance. 

“Unfortunately Abigail has had a busy schedule this month, milord. It can’t be helped,” Kuni answers, to which Scaramouche doesn’t respond to. Kuni, making sure that Scaramouche wasn’t looking, threw a grin and a wink your way. You responded with a small smile.

And so later that afternoon the two of you went separate ways. You, cooped up in your art room and him, clad in his usual prince attire on the way to the meeting. 

It was simply horrid. Scaramouche had to sit through the whole meeting and actually had to put in effort to write some notes. He had a frown on his face the whole time and gave one worded responses to questions–unless he really needed to open his mouth to explain, he wouldn’t bother to do so–luckily most of the people in the meeting were smart enough to know that he didn’t want to be bothered. Scaramouche could tell that they were all on edge, as opposed to when you attended last month, where you were at least able to diffuse the tension and have a casual talk about the trade affairs, today was a full blown serious meeting. It was suffocating. 

He audibly sighed when it ended, and hurriedly left the building, only to come face to face with a familiar face. 

“Milord, it’s unusual bumping into you outside the castle,” Abigail curtsies towards the prince as the doors to the grand building opens. Scaramouche blinks, as if wiping his eyes and confirming if his vision deceived him. 

“What’re you doing here?” It came out gruff as usual, but he was already starting to feel a different kind of annoyance bubble in his stomach. Abigail was supposed to be with you, or at least that’s what he was told. That was the whole reason why you couldn’t attend today’s meeting with him. 

It was Abigail’s turn to blink, slightly taken aback at the rough tone the prince took to her. Well, he was usually like that, but there was a bit of an edge to his question today. “Pardon, milord? It just so happens that Baron Michaelis commissioned me for lessons today, for his little girl,” Abigail tilted her head sideways. It’s not as if she was only allowed to give lessons to the main royal family, Scaramouche knew she gave lessons to other nobles too. 

“…You finished with Y/N?” Scaramouche cautiously asked, but he kind of knew the answer already, judging from the way Abigail’s face twisted into confusion. 

“…The princess? I don’t recall having a schedule with her today…though I could be mistaken,” The poor lady was suddenly rummaging through the small handbag she had, like looking for a piece of paper or schedule that she kept. 

Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed at her, but in the next moment he strode off, boots clicking loud as his steps seemed heavier than before. There’s no way Abigail would have forgotten, which only meant one thing.

Kuni lied to him, and so did you. 

That made the annoyance in the pit of his stomach bubble and fester into something close to anger. What were you doing? Why would Kuni do that? Were you just shirking on your responsibilities? Having a lazy day while he went out and had to do this shit by himself? He nearly died of boredom sitting there for almost 3 hours listening to men argue about trade sanctions. He quite literally was nearly at the end of his wits, and to find out that you were NOT having your etiquette lessons, probably just sitting at home doing more of your reading, or whatever it was. 

That was the exact reason why he got off the carriage with a stride that was faster than usual. He went up the stairs almost with the footsteps of an elephant, loud and angry. He demanded one of the maids to tell him where you were, and he burst into the art room furiously glaring at you. “What’re you playing at?” 

You were so startled that you had no time to react, the feathered ink pen in your hand almost slipping off your grip. “S-Scaramouche!”

“What makes you think you can lie to me? Did you have lessons with Abigail or not?!”

In some sheer dumb luck, you realized that Scaramouche had found out the wrong way that there was indeed no lesson for you today. It was a complete cover up. “Well, you see–” You jumped again when his fist slammed against the table you were working on. The table rattled so hard that the already unbalanced jar of murky water with paint brushes submerged in it shook and tipped over, spilling the dirty water onto the table. 

You gasped, your hands darting out to try and steady it, but some of the contents had spilled on the table already, grayish blue water staining the painting you were working on. Still, you quickly stood the jar up and inspected your work, holding on to it while scanning the large splotch it made on the side. You had used water colours, and those were easily manipulated by water itself. 

Scaramouche scoffed, appalled that you weren’t even paying attention to him. “It’s a yes or no question! Did you or did you not have…” His eyes couldn’t help but look towards the direction you were looking at. Why the hell were you not paying attention in this crucial time?

It took him a moment to realize what he saw. It first registered in his mind that it was canvas paper. Thicker than normal, good for sketching and painting. It took him longer to realize that it was already fully painted on. His body shifts towards the table, taking another sweep of the painting with his eyes.

It’s him. 

Him sitting in your art room and drinking tea, and while it was not a full painting of his face, he could see his side profile, his unmistakable hairstyle and his prince attire. In the painting, he was looking off into somewhere faraway, with a teacup brought up to his lips. He knew it was the art room because there were elements that looked like it. The tea shelves on the background, the vase on the coffee table, the biscuits and tea that you used to brew. He didn’t think he’d ever seen himself so relaxed before, though it was only a painting, he could almost feel how carefree he had been in that moment.

His eyes moved down, towards the lower right corner of the painting. There was an unfinished message there, most likely written in ink. “Happy Birthday. From” All at once it’s like he was hit in the gut, even more so when it dawned on him that there’s now an ugly grey splotch of water that messed up the drawn prince attire. His entire midsection on the painting was lost. 

He didn’t have to ask who painted it. It was obvious enough. It was a portrait that was far from the leagues of perfect, but no doubt there was effort in it. He connected the dots of the misunderstanding pretty easily, and he was dumbfounded into silence. 

“…I’m going to wash my hands,” Scaramouche’s eyes darted to your form when you said that. From this angle he couldn’t see your face and there was only silence when you pulled a rag from further down the table to wipe at the still wet surface. 

“Uh…” He wanted to say something, but didn’t really know what to say. You didn’t acknowledge the fact that he had made a sound at all, continuing to wipe at the surface, and that made it more difficult for him to leeway into a change of topic. “It’s still–” 

You suddenly turned towards him, but also quickly walked past him towards the door. He swerved around to watch you walk away and shut the door, but nothing went past his lips. He winced at himself, wondering why he felt so uncomfortable.  

It was such a quick exchange, and it was so quick how things could go wrong. His eyes rested on the painting of him, and he stared at it for God knows how long. Part of him was waiting for you to come back. He thought that you most likely would come back and get pissed at him and berate him for ruining your painting, but when you didn’t, it registered in his mind that you were most likely too tired to care… or were you upset? 

He felt as if he’d preferred it if you raged at him instead.

He left a moment later and hid in his study as per usual and when dinner came around, Scaramouche was certain then that you were not in the best of moods. 

You didn’t show up. 

“…Where’s Y/N?” He asked Kuni, who had no idea as to what had transpired.

“Ah, I sent the maids for her, but it seems as if she’s fallen asleep early today, milord,” There’s a certain mischief in Kuni’s eyes. You most certainly had asked Kuni for help to fabricate your schedule, possibly to gain more time to finish the painting, what else could it have been? Your change in schedule must have primarily been for the painting, and so the late nights and early morning made more sense. 

Just for a painting, why would she even bother? Stupid woman.

He found himself mindlessly standing outside the bedroom door after dinner. For someone who was so tough faced he didn’t actually like confrontations like these. He was extremely uncomfortable and he hated that, but he might have hated it more if he didn’t say anything about ruining your hard work and effort. 

His hold on the rolled up painting tightened, but he pushed the door open, noting that you were awake, reading a book on the couch, but didn’t turn your head when he came in. He stood for a second more before thinking Fuck it and walking over. He smacked the top of your head with the rolled up paper, finally earning a reaction from you. “Huh?” 

He unrolled the painting of him, “You didn’t finish it, you idiot,” and glared at you as if he had done nothing wrong. You saw the splotch on the painting, was reminded of the earlier incident, and glared back at him, but he had pointed at a different area of the painting instead. 

“Here,” he was pointing at the ‘Happy Birthday. From’ part, indicating that you didn’t finish writing your name. 

Without another word he dropped the painting on the coffee table in front of you, and went to a nearby shelf to retrieve a set of ink and feather pen. He placed the ink bottle on the table too and handed the feather pen to you.

You scrunched your nose at the offer, but swiped the feather pen away from him, dipped it in ink and wrote your name just to get it over with. However, you were still slightly upset over his stupid outburst causing the wreckage of your week long effort. “…What does it matter? Who would wanna know who painted such an ugly thing anyway?” 

You muttered, jaw tightening, then going back to reading, ignoring him altogether. 

I would. 

Was his first impulse, but that was not what he said. “Stop being dramatic. So there was an accident and it’s a little smeared. Big deal.” Of course he didn’t apologize for it, and of course he didn’t acknowledge the fact that HE caused the accident. “I’ll have Kuni buy a frame for it, is that better, princess?” he was mocking you now and you were astounded at his audacity. But the truth was, he thought it was a ridiculously beautiful painting that belonged on his study wall, no matter how narcissistic that might have sounded. He wasn’t going to say that out loud though.

“Wow you’re really something else–Wait? You’re gunna hang it up?” Up until it registered in your brain the implication of what he said, looking at him curiously now. He was a little pleased that he got a reaction from you, but he still deadpanned and crossed his arms.

“I’m convinced you have hearing problems,” and then it was back to you glaring at him. Yet…this was better than nothing, he thought. 

“Why do I even bother…” You muttered and huffed, about to go back to your book again when he suddenly stretched an arm towards you, offering his hand. You looked at it, clearly confused. What’s he doing now? He was being so weird today.

“You didn’t have your practice with Abigail, didn’t you? The celebration’s tomorrow, you can’t mess up the opening dance,” He was serious about that, you could tell from the tone of his voice. The change in subject was so abrupt that it was almost awkward, but you brushed it away and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You wanna practice now?” Your eyes darted towards the clock. There was still some time left before the night really descended, but you didn’t take Scaramouche as the type to really care about dances. 

“The amount of times I have to repeat myself around you…” he grumbled, curling his fingers upward for a second to motion for your hand. “It’ll be my first time dancing with a partner, we haven’t practiced and I’m not making a fool of myself tomorrow,” 

Ah, that’s right. You thought to yourself. It was his first birthday with a “wife”. So, you complied. You were rather nervous too, truth be told. As Kuni said, it was supposed to be a big deal. You accepted his hand, and he pulled you up from your sitting position assertively, assuming the waltz position with you. 

“It’s just a normal waltz, probably you’ve practiced it with Abigail before,” That whiff of cinnamon hit you, suddenly conscious of the fact that his arm was around you, hand resting on your back and your other hand was entwined with his. The proximity was dizzying, your bodies nearly pressed against each other. The waltz was a dance that required the man to have a steady hold on the woman, mostly because there were a lot of spins and some lifts. 

It was only hitting you now that this dance required trusting Scaramouche, and you weren’t sure if you were there yet. 

“…Cat got your tongue?” he piped up, a smirk playing on his lips when he saw that you were incredibly nervous. You peered up at him with a mock glare, thinking about how much more of this insufferable man you could handle. 

“I just don’t want to spin out of control or…or something,” or fall, was what you wanted to say, cause that could easily happen if he didn’t do the lifts properly. 

“You won’t,” Something about the way he said it made you look up and meet his eyes, you could feel his hand press firmly against your back, as if to say he had you and he knew what he was doing. Your words were stuck in your throat. It felt as if you were looking at him for the first time and he was actually seeingyou for the first time. 

Is this… his weird way of saying sorry?

“Fine,” you looked away with a whisper, and he led you towards the first step right after. The first part was smooth, like the two of you were playing the imaginary music in your head and synced up nicely. It got a little unsteady by the middle part, when the spins and turns happened. Still, it wasn’t all that bad, though your movements were smaller due to the limited space in the bedroom.

The last parts of it would lead up to a climax of Scaramouche planting his hands firmly on your waist and him lifting you up for one spin, then setting you down firmly on the ground again for the last step of you spinning out and away from him, then back in, ending with his arms around your waist and your hands on his shoulders.

If before, your bodies weren’t really pressed up together, it sure had to be by the end of the dance. You were a little out of breath, and so was he, but for some reason the two of you didn’t break away immediately. “…Told you,” he said, a smug smirk appearing on his features, shoving into your face the fact that he did actually execute the lift perfectly. You were actually surprised, he just didn’t look like he had it in him. 

“You just look so weak I didn’t think you could do it,” you said with a blank look on your face. His grin immediately dropped and a frown appeared, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Who’re you calling weak?” 

“Who’s having hearing problems now?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but was all of a sudden conscious of how close you actually were to him. His eyes couldn’t help but land on your lips. The same ones that were insulting him seconds ago. He didn’t know why his eyes were drawn to it, but he closed his mouth and was at a loss of words for a second, just staring.

The tightening of his arms around your waist was subtle, but you felt it only because there was an immediate silence in the air. That, and he had an intense look in his eyes out of nowhere. 

Suddenly it felt as if your chest was on fire, and it wasn’t just because you were trying to catch your breath. Your eyes just could not look away from his. “…Are you–” the sudden knock on the door jolted the two of you away from each other, both taking a step back and finally unraveling from each other’s hold. He looked as if he was struck by his own electro vision for a moment, until he shouted out, “Come in!” and refused to meet your eyes. 

Maids filed in with a dinner tray. It was for you, but he didn’t explain that he had requested for it to be brought in because you didn’t show up for dinner, and instead turned to go towards the bathroom. “…I’ll use the bathroom first,” he simply said and you nodded even though he wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

…What’s wrong with him?

You asked yourself, knowing that it was uncharacteristic of him to suddenly go silent. But with that question, was a bigger one lingering at the back of your mind, hammering in time with your now slowing heartbeat as you unconsciously placed one hand on your chest. 

What’s wrong with ME?

You wouldn’t have an idea that he was asking himself the same thing, just as he shut the bathroom door to ruminate on his own wild thoughts.

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MASTERLIST

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: cliche training scenes lol, nothing much, very light chapter, light fluff you might not even see it, I guess you should squint a little lol, probably more noticeable in the next chapter after this

Word Count:2.8k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts:(Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

“What happened to training with Kuni?” 

Coming face to face with Scaramouche’s scowling face in the morning was not an unusual thing anymore. It was embedded into your routine, almost like breakfast in the morning. He was, however, clearly in a more sour mood than usual, glaring at you like that.

His jaw tightened at your question, and he grumbled out. “He had other things to do,” or, to put it simply, instead of Scaramouche forcing Kuni to train you, the reverse had happened.

Kuni had somehow put Scaramouche up to do the training instead. 

“Come on,” He didn’t wait for your response and turned to walk towards the lush green training area. It was a large and vast field, squared in by the high stone walls of the castle. You could see the battlements clearly from where you stood, the knights would occasionally walk back and forth from tower to tower on their patrol. 

Over the other side of the field was a large shed and a stable area. The faint sounds of hay being baled together and the subtle grind of hoof to soil was rather comforting. Like you were in the countryside rather than a big, old castle. 

The two of you ended up in the shed, which was actually an armory. It was stale smelling in there, but there was quite the selection of everything. Swords, bows, polearms, shields, light armor, heavy armor–anything you could think of was lined on the walls or propped up on a rack. 

By the time the two of you had returned to the middle of the field, he was carrying a few weapons on him, dumped it on the ground and handed you an arm shield. It wasn’t in the best condition, clearly used for practice purposes but you put it on your dominant arm and looked at him quizically. “I thought I was learning how to fight?” 

“Changed my mind,” he answered easily as he took the bow and arrow into his hands, leaving two swords on the grass, most likely for later. 

“Put your arm up, in front of your face,” Scaramouche instructed as he placed an arrow on the string, pulling back with his arm. His stance was impeccable and you realized that you hardly knew what weapon he was trained in. 

“What–” You immediately followed and shielded your head.

“Don’t move, I’m aiming at your shield. Move an inch and I might actually hit you,” 

You winced at his command, bracing your arm as best as you could. The sound of the string snapping and the arrow whistling into the air made you brace more, but you were still startled when it hit the shield with a PLINK, causing you to recoil backwards a tiny bit. 

There was a lot of force in there, for such a thin weapon, and you looked down at the ground at the arrow, now resting on the grass, stopped short by your shield. 

You didn’t realize that small moment had your heart racing already. You were about to ask what the big deal was, suddenly deciding to shoot an arrow at you, but Scaramouche had cut you off before you could even ask.

“Tartaglia uses a bow, and his stance is unquestionably better than mine,” He drops the bow to his side and looks you up and down, thinking to himself that you’d need to be given custom armor. Nothing in the armory would fit your stature, but you needed that extra layer of protection. “He isn’t going to aim at your shield, and he isn’t going to shoot just one arrow,” he continues.

“…So you want me to practice guarding from arrows,” You slowly concluded, looking down at the shield strapped around your forearm, twisting it to take a better look. There was no dent on it at all, just scratches from previous uses.

“Guarding from it, deflecting it, parrying it, dodging. Whatever.” He picks the bow up again and starts to load an arrow onto the string. “You’ll have to get used to the impact first. Raise it up,” He nods his chin upwards to tell you to guard again, and that’s how training started. 

He was surprisingly amicable during training. Almost as if… he enjoyed it. Like he was familiar with the routine and knew what to do, unlike his social awkwardness, he was at home here on this field, with those weapons in his hands. 

You weren’t quite sure if that was a good or bad thing. 

He imparted tips and gave you certain instructions to do certain maneuvers, some of which you butchered and got a scolding for. He had to “lower the level” so much that he got pissed at some point, but he continued to train with you. 

“…Let’s move on to the sword…” He sounded as if he was disappointed in your performance. The sun was high up in the sky when he decided that, and you, unused to the training regimen, requested for a break. 

“Can we take a short break?” You heaved out, droplets of sweat trailing down your forehead. He looked at you, took a second, and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” again unimpressed at how unfit you were for training.

You, on the other hand, was quite literally dying. Training itself wasn’t all that difficult. It was just really hot, and the lack of wind wasn’t helping today. You trudged up to a nearby tree, leaned against its trunk and sighed at the comfort of the shade. Scaramouche stayed out in the field, but you watched as he raised his hand over to a knight and exchanged words with him. 

You spent the next couple of seconds catching your breath, glancing at Scaramouche as he tried the sword around, hearing the occasional sound of blade cutting through air. A moment later, there was suddenly a maid by your side, holding a pitcher of water and a glass full of it. “Milady,” 

“Oh, thanks,” You were caught off guard, but instantly connected the dots that Scaramouche had requested for it. Water definitely helped and you took a swig of two full glasses before you got out on the field again. 

Scaramouche had been thinking out there on the field while you rested. There was no way you were going to learn how to parry an arrow with a sword at such a short amount of time, but learning some offensive moves might come in handy at some point, and the sword was likely the easiest one to handle with your stature. 

“What weapon do you usually use?” He turns his head to see that you’re back with him, and he stops brandishing the sword. 

“…I don’t have a preference…” it was a strange answer, but it also told you that he had probably practiced with every weapon imaginable. He sure seemed familiar with a sword, but he also knew how to use a bow and arrow. 

He handed you the other sword, and the two of you started again. He stayed on simple moves, because that’s all you could really handle, and you even struggled with it. He didn’t complain much. It was as if he accepted and finally realized that you were a horrid fighter, or just a normal person with no fighting background. 

“That’s not–” He narrowed his eyes at the way you held the sword. It was rather unremarkable, and your grip wasn’t tight enough. He didn’t think much of it when he strode over and corrected your stance. His hand moved above yours and tightened your hold around the hilt, his thumb pressing down on your own. 

“One hand is usually enough, but for you…” His other free hand motions for your other one to come up and around the hilt, and again he places his atop yours, moving it a little to show you the correct way to hold it, and pressing warmly on the back of yours to show you the amount of grip you were missing. “Here, and further up you’re supposed to…” 

He was talking but for some reason you couldn’t quite comprehend what he was saying, like a blur of words in your ear. He was just… so close and you were sure as hell he wasn’t even thinking about it, but his hands were surprisingly strong yet comforting. He smelled a little like cinnamon and you could smell it even stronger when he moved his arm around you to lift your right elbow a little, talking about some type of stance that was not registering in your mind. 

“…Are you even listening?” He lightly growled, snapping you away from your reverie. 

“Yeah! I’m–I’m holding it too low, you said,” You thanked the Gods that you were at least able to catch some parts of his sentences, and he looked at you suspiciously before peeling away from you, his body heat coming off, hands sliding away and suddenly you felt exposed without him circled around you.

“Whatever…You’re too weak. That’s all you can handle today,” which also meant that was the end of training for the day. You didn’t complain, you felt as if you’d done a years worth of exercise already. 

In more ways than one, training with Scaramouche was like seeing him in a new light, like looking into a window of his. There were a lot of things he knew, a lot of knowledge about combat buried deep, but he went through them in a sort of calm. He just knew what he was doing. 

Training continued daily, but two days in and you’d requested for it to be done at night instead, where it would probably be cooler. He relented, and even wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself. He preferred training at nighttime too, but he must have thought that his night training was his alone time, his own thing away from others, including you. 

Though, when you did start coming to his nightly training, he wasn’t too opposed to it. Either he just liked seeing you struggle, or it was entertaining to watch such a weak worm try to wiggle herself out of a bird’s beak.

Life continued as normal, or as normal as it could get with Scaramouche, all up until a week before the annual celebration. 

“Prince, princess, the tailor is here,” Kuni announced while the two of you were out on the field one day. You were confused, mostly because you were not told of a tailor coming to visit today. 

“What for?” You asked. At this point, you had all the dresses you needed already, what with the various balls you attended. But this particular time seemed a big deal. Scaramouche and you were to be measured at the same time, and Kuni was more particular than normal towards the tailor.

“…The annual celebration,” Scaramouche liked to give you answers that were vague, or at least ones that didn’t really explain a lot of things. 

“Annual celebration of what?” You prodded again as the two of you watched Kuni giving instructions to the team of tailors in the meeting room.

“…My birthday, unfortunately,” He sighed as he said it, shoulders finally slumping and your head whiplashed so fast towards him that you were afraid it was going to detach from your neck.

“It’s your birthday next week?”

“Did I stutter?” His half-glare was back on, but the tailors had started to move and went about measuring you and him from head to toe. 

The prince and princess had to have matching outfits. And Scaramouche being the star of the night, it was only right to have you complement his outfit. A fully new dress was in the works after that day. Though, Scaramouche noticed a strange shift in your schedule after.

At night as the two of you trained, you’d usually retire to the bedroom at the same time as him. You’d use the bathroom first, then after when you finished he’d use it next, by which time when he came out, more often than not, you’d already be asleep, exhausted by the day’s events. 

The following days after, however, you approached him after your bath and told him you had some work to do. As if you were getting his permission to be up in the dead of night instead of resting in bed. He only scoffed, “Do what you want,” but he was mildly surprised that he found it strange you weren’t in bed earlier than him. Or was it just your absence overall? Still, he didn’t question it, up until you showed obvious signs of fatigue a few days later.

“What’ve you been doing?” He gruffly asked when you were about to tell him you’re off to another one of your “research” sessions. Apparently you’ve been really interested in a book about teas from the library. “Why not just take them back here?” and you said that the books were far too heavy and plentiful. 

“Can’t you do that in the morning instead?” You were a little baffled at his insistence about your activities. He said to do whatever you wanted but after a few days he didn’t seem to approve of his own words. In fact he seemed to be more irritable about your activities. You shrugged.

“I do some reading in the morning too,”

It was late one night when he woke up with a start and realized you still weren’t next to him that he got fed up and took action. He pushed himself out of bed, noted the time and how it was past the wee hours of the morning and you were nowhere in your shared bedroom. He ventured into the silent hallways and into the library. Surely enough finding you on the first big table, books upon books piled up and paper scattered over the table. On closer inspection, you were reading about paintings, not tea. And there were ironically some books about self defense, which he found really funny. Reading wouldn’t help you with combat, practice and experience would.

“Hey,” you were slumped over the papers, fast asleep, head resting on your folded arms. He reached a hand to clap your shoulder, attempting to shake you awake but was unsuccessful. He merely stared down at your face for a moment, then sighed. “Stupid girl…” He positioned himself in a way that would easily hoist you up in his arms. 

He might have been smaller in stature but years of training did well on his arms and form, it was an easy carry for him, and he was struck by the idea that this wasn’t the first time he was carrying you around in his arms like this. He’d actually done it a couple of other times. 

It was the first time, however, that he looked down at you while walking to observe your face. Mouth slightly open to an unelegant picture of you snoozing away, head cradled against his shoulder . You didn’t budge nor move an inch even when he lifted you up from your previous sitting position. He thought about how easy it would be for anyone to kidnap you in your sleeping state, and he sighed again.

When the two of you were back in the comfort of your room he placed you down on your side of the bed, didn’t bother to change you out of your clothes–because how could he?–and pulled the covers up halfway to your waist. He rounded the bed to go back to his side, but took a moment to notice the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

This feels better. He caught himself thinking. This feels right. He corrected himself in his head. You were supposed to be in bed next to him and that was how the order of things were, was what he tried to reason with in his mind. It wasn’t about thefeeling, he convinced himself, just about how things should be in place, including you. It was about having the correct arrangement.

Still, as he climbed into bed next to you, he wondered if “correct arrangements” was ever such a big thing. Like how breakfast should be in the morning and lunch should be in the afternoon. Or how you should be next to him at all times. When was that determined? 

However, unlike breakfast in the morning and lunch in the afternoon, where he didn’t really care about straying from those rules–one could always have lunch earlier or later–he was less inclined to stray away from the rules he was making around you.

It’s late. She’s tired. It’s only right that she sleeps in a bed. Is the simplest rule he could make. But, he didn’t know when he had added next to me, into the rule. Last week? A few days ago? Just now? 

Well, he didn’t think too much of it. After all, more often than not he always got what he wanted. 

He just wasn’t completely aware that what he wanted was not to impose his “new rules” on you, but for you to willingly want it and come up with your own, following them of your own accord:

Because you wanted to. Not because he told you to.

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MASTERLIST

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Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings:mentions of sex, hints of character death, kind of fast paced, longer than normal, not much of Scaramouche here, but once you finish this chapter you KNOW that the next one is gunna be delicious Scaramouche angst. Aha.

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts:(Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

Scaramouche wakes up the next morning rather peacefully. His eyes flutter open, and it’s still quite dark in the room. The two of you have slipped away from your tight hold of each other, though your head is still resting on his outstretched arm. 

You’re both covered by the blankets, but he’s aware that the two of you are still completely naked under it. He feels a sigh on his lips, knowing that he has to get up, but, for a moment longer he stays by your side and inches the tiniest bit closer. 

His hand lifts up to gently rest on your cheek, careful not to wake you up…not that he thinks you would wake up so easily, after such a tiring night. He gives your cheek a quick stroke with his thumb, before he realizes that he’s just making things hard for himself, so he withdraws his hand back with another sigh. 

He pushes himself up in the next moment, swings his legs to the edge of the bed and gets ready to head out. While freshening up in the shower, he catches a glimpse of his ring, and he vaguely remembers it showing a fiery pink bordering on crimson glow the whole of last night…which only meant that those colours probably hinted on passion and…maybe something deeper. Something that he shouldn’t really think about right now.

He emerged from the bathroom still tired, but more awake and he walks on over to the door, battling with himself whether or not to give you a last glance. He loses the battle quite easily, and turns his head towards your form on the bed. Still peacefully sleeping. His hand on the door knob loosens. He didn’t have to wake you up. In fact it would probably be better if you slept through the whole war, rather than be awake and worry too much.

Still, he wanted to secretly see your eyes one last time before he left. It would give him some sort of comfort, but he shouldn’t ask for too much. One last look, and he turned the knob to the door, silently opening and closing it behind him. His first stop was the throne room, then the fields where the troops would be waiting on horseback and with their weapons ready. 

The atmosphere is instantly heavier the moment he steps out into the hallways. He only had his light armor on at the moment, the royal armor was kept in a separate room at the back of the throne room, along with valuable artifacts for battle. Scaramouche’s armor and artifact set was named “Kuzushi”. Specially crafted for a high level electro user like him, his armor and artifacts had to withstand thunder and harsh weathers, and at the same time enhancing his use of magic. 

In the same room, off to a corner of the royal backroom was a magical pedestal coated with golden paint. The stone column had intricate carvings on it, and on the top, hovered what looked to be a glowing, purple chess piece. Scaramouche gazed at it, almost longingly. It was protected by a small magical barrier, anyone who touches it will be zapped and deflected away, even Scaramouche. The only ones who had access to it was the King and Kuni, both of which would not give the gnosis away to Scaramouche until they thought he was ready. In reality, the magical barrier could probably be broken by a strong enough vision-wielder. 

The electro gnosis.

Once upon a time it was the one thing that Scaramouche had sought after. The electro gnosis could only be used and held by the current king. At the moment, that wasn’t him. His father, being out on business, decided to leave the gnosis in the Kingdom, knowing that it was safer here than out there. It was an infinitely powerful device, with it, he can probably win the war easily but…he wasn’t allowed to wield it yet. That, and he heard that it held immense power, possibly stronger than a delusion…and Scaramouche was cautious around things like that, for obvious reasons. 

His father had given him five conditions before he could take the throne, one was to get married, which he quickly tried to check off his list, thus meeting you. The next was to show that he was ready to lead the kingdom. The third was to have complete reign over his powers demonstrating that he was an able fighter, both physically and mentally. The fourth was just a matter of coming of age, and finally the last, was to understand the importance of companionship. 

The last one…Scaramouche had yet to wrap his head around it and was confused as to how his father could possibly “test” that he understood what “companionship” was. But now was not the time to think about it. Scaramouche pried his eyes away from the electro gnosis and heads to the field. He’s met by Kuni midway, who confirms the plan with him.

“I’m to stay here with the princess by your orders, and if anything were to happen…To take her somewhere safe,” Kuni repeats and Scaramouche nods. “Are you sure about this, milord?” Kuni asks and Scaramouche closes his eyes.

“You also think it’s the best option, don’t you? Besides, if they were to somehow infiltrate the castle, someone who can fight has to be here,” Kuni doesn’t say anything, but deep inside knows that this is the best way to keep you safe. He accompanies the prince to the field, assisting him in the preparations before the knights left with him.

Scaramouche had a war horse ready for him, and he hoisted himself up as everyone straightened up and greeted him. There were lines and lines of knights and horses, all waiting for his command. He swept the entire company with his gaze, he wasn’t much for speeches, but he would never wish death on any of them.

“…I’ll take the front…Their army has delusions…” Scaramouche started. “I’ll weaken them first, and no one moves forward or attacks until I give the signal, is that clear?” 

A chorus of “Yes your majesty!” echoes out in the field.

“Anyone who doesn’t follow will be dismissed from the title of knights immediately,” Scaramouche threatens, making his point that they had to wait for his signal. They HAD to, for their own safety, though the way he snarls out his threat makes it seem uncaring. 

“One more thing,” he adds as his horse turns to go towards the back gate, ready to head out the kingdom walls. “Leave Tartaglia to me,” 

For threatening his kingdom and his peace, Scaramouche would not let him get away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Princess?” There was a light knock on your door, you could barely make it out, what with you still weaving in and out of dreamland. You had a false sense that Scaramouche was still next to you, so you stirred, and ignored the knocks on the door.

Moments later it came again. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Princess?” Your brows furrowed, and your eyes groggily peer open. You blink a couple of times, adjusting to the brightness of the room and took a few seconds to lay there and think. You realize Scaramouche isn’t here, and that’s what makes you sit up on the bed, blanket pooling down on your lap.

You’re bare and naked, your mind starting to work a little clearer, the events of last night coming back to you bit by bit. It’s still quite clear in your mind…Scaramouche’s kisses, the way he caressed you, the way the two of you crossed over to that point of intimacy. It brings a subtle heat to your cheeks, but you finally answer the person at the door.

“Yes, I’m awake,” and it was obvious by your voice that you had just woken up. There’s a pause in knocking, before Kuni speaks from behind it. 

“Good morning, princess…Might I request you to change into your light armor? It’s for safety purposes, you see,” He explains and you do remember that a special light armor was fitted just for you, and you guessed that “safety purposes” meant when things went south… If Scaramouche died, and if you had to flee. 

Scaramouche…

You were suddenly conscious of the ring on your finger, picking your hand up and immediately checking the glow of it. You sigh in relief when you see the pearl shining an incredibly dark red…though you had no idea what it meant. 

“I understand, Kuni. I’ll be out in a minute,” You say, loud enough for him to hear on the other side, your thoughts instantly sliding back to the prince.

How long had he been out? Daylight was already upon you, which means that the battle must have started already. You saunter towards the curtains, pulling it back to reveal the glass balcony doors. 

You try to see if there’s any sign of battle out there, but the kingdom walls were much further than you thought, and it was impossible to see beyond them. You stare for a moment longer, before glancing at your ring again. Still red. 

You already knew you would be constantly looking at it throughout the day. 

You draw the curtains back again and proceed to get dressed into the armor specially made for you. It wasn’t really much of an armor as it was a leather corset and a black cloak. You guessed it was so that it wouldn’t slow you down much, this thing was made for fast escapes rather than a full on battle. 

There’s a subtlePLINK that you suddenly hear, and for a moment you stop pulling up your brown leather boots to listen closely, freezing in place. You don’t hear it anymore, and you think nothing of it, continuing to pull the last piece of the light armor on and making sure everything was in place.

PLINK.

There it is again, and this time, you stiffen when you hear it. Purely because it was not a sound that was familiar to you. It takes a few more seconds before another PLINK follows, and you deduce that it’s coming from the balcony doors. 

You walk over to it just as you did earlier, clutching at the curtain to draw it back, wondering what it was that was making that sound, just as another PLINK reaches your ears.

It’s an arrow, the sharp tip of it knocking into the glass balcony door with a PLINK and falling onto the floor. That’s where the sound was coming from, the arrow tip deflecting from the glass. On closer inspection, a large crack had started to form, and when you pick your eyes up, you’re met with a familiar smirking face, arrow drawn back, ready to pierce the glass door again. 

Tartaglia chuckles from outside, watching the horror dawn on your features. “Oh, princess, I was hoping you were still in dreamland,” he mutters to himself, letting the arrow loose, it flying towards the same glass panel he had been focusing on all that time. “Well, since you’re awake, I suppose I can be a little louder now,” He pulls on his clawed gloves, walks toward the balcony door just as he watches you run away from him, towards your bedroom door, pulling it open to let a flood of knights in. 

Tartaglia totally ignores the sudden surge of knights in your room, he retracts his fist back, and punches through the glass door, effectively shattering it, maneuvering his hand to turn the knob, letting himself in. The knights standing guard outside your bedroom start to attack Tartaglia while Kuni quickly drags you away.

Kuni has his hand tight around your wrist, running with you towards the throne room. “Wh-Why is he here?!” You try to ask, gasping for breath as you ran. Kuni doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know for sure, but he had an inkling and he had to make sure that he took the right steps to keep you and the kingdom safe. 

He pushes the door to the throne room open, then drags you towards the back room, revealing the royal armory to you. The one that Scaramouche had just been in, hours before. And…at the back and far corner of it, was a pedestal coated with golden paint. The stone column had intricate carvings on it, and on the top, hovered what looked to be a glowing, purple chess piece…

The electro gnosis.

“I haven’t a clue how he knows about this,” Kuni fumbled with his breast pocket, “but this is the only thing of value in the castle right now…and if this gnosis falls into the wrong hands…” He retrieves what looks to be a coin, engraved with the Kingdom’s crest. He pushes the coin into a similar sized hole on the pedestal and it gives off a light glow, before Kuni safely snatches the electro gnosis into his hand. “Entire countries could fall,”

He thinks about it, and he thinks about it hard. Scaramouche would not come back in time, he must still be out there in the heat of war. So what were the chances of Kuni beating Tartaglia, a vision-wielder, in battle? 

A mere 10%, he calculated. 15 if he was lucky. Him who had no vision versus Tartaglia who had honed it for years… There was no way. They miscalculated, they didn’t think Tartaglia himself would head straight to the castle, and now they were stuck with a big problem.

“Princess…” Kuni grips the electro gnosis in his hand, but releases it, opening his palm and stretching it towards you. “I’m sorry…but I’ll have to entrust this to you,” 

You stare at the glowing chess piece and slowly shake your head. “What do you mean? I can’t take that! Isn’t it valuable? What do you want me to do with it?” You were near hysterics, you could tell no one anticipated Tartaglia to show up. Neither did you. For all that time you only thought that he was interested in Scaramouche’s electro vision, nothing else. You didn’t even know anything about what this chess piece was. 

Kuni takes your arm and forces the gnosis into your palm, folding your fingers over it, and immediately starts leading you away. “It’s the electro gnosis, princess…It’s complicated to explain right now but it’s important that it’s kept safe…away from the wrong hands…” 

The two of you have gone back to the throne room, steps hurried. “How do you know this is what Tartaglia is after?” You hiss at Kuni, trying to keep up with him.

“I don’t. But it’s possible. Now keep it somewhere safe before we step out into the hallway,” Kuni stops at the the throne room door, watching as you pat yourself down, looking for a pocket on your leather armor, when you find one, you slip the gnosis in, making sure it was snug in there. “Not to worry, princess, we’ll flee together… We’re going out to the field, taking a horse and traveling to the next kingdom over. But if something were to happen… You’ll have to keep going,” Kuni pauses before he finishes his sentence, “By yourself,”

“What do you–How can I go by myself I don’t even know– What about my parents? I can’t do this alone!” When faced with an emergency one just had to do their best to cope with the sudden changes. You were not very good at that, but neither were other people. Thrown into an unexpected and dangerous situation, everything had happened in a span of a minute or two and your mind was still struggling to keep up with the sudden change in plans.

“I’m sorry, your highness. We have no time. For now let’s focus on getting away,” Kuni explained. Yes, he could stay and fight, but he already determined that he wouldn’t be able to best Tartaglia. So the best option was for him to flee along with you, and hopefully keep you and the gnosis safe. 

However, when Kuni pulls the door to the hallway open, stepping out along with you, Tartaglia was already approaching from the end of the hallway, it doesn’t look like he’s hurt at all, and you could guess that the knights were no match for him. That, and he had his own men with him, the penchant on their hips glowing a strong hydro blue colour. Delusions.

“Go!” Kuni pushes you towards the direction of the field, he runs just behind you. It’s still a long run towards your destination, but you had never pushed your legs so hard before. Your gasps for breath and pants are so loud in your ears, along with the whip of wind on your face. 

Arrows suddenly fly past you, and you yelp, ducking your head a little as you continue to run. 

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” A flash of blue is all you see, there’s a big wave of water out of nowhere, suddenly crashing down the hallways, the waves riding up the walls, coming up to devour you and Kuni. You feel your body weight thrown around, weightless with the water and seconds later you’re drenched from head to toe, pushing yourself up from the wet floor, coughing. 

You’re separated from Kuni, he’s closer to Tartaglia than you are, and it’s here that he knows he won’t be able to escape. He doesn’t turn around, but stands up and wields his blade confidently, “Princess, you have to go,” 

Still on the ground, you watch in horror at how the Snezhnayan knights surround Kuni, Tartaglia at their front. “Oh?” Tartaglia chuckles, not making a move to attack. “This doesn’t have to be difficult, my friends, just hand me what I need and we’ll go… Well, when I say that, I mean that I’ll obliterate Scaramouche with his kingdom’s own electro gnosis…and I’ll come back to claim this castle as my own. That includes you, princess. So just sit tight, alright?” 

Kuni clutches the sword tighter in his hand. “How do you know about the electro gnosis?” 

Tartaglia tips his head back a little with a laugh. “Oh Kuni, you underestimate my former friendship with Scaramouche. He talked about a lot of things when he was younger, just an innocent little boy who wanted all the power in the world. He’s been obsessed with that gnosis just as much as I’ve been, of course he’s talked about it.”

Tartaglia then shrugs his shoulders with his arms out. “Pity though…that he seems to have lost interest in it during the past few months. I wonder why… Well, no matter. If he isn’t going to use it…” Then he expertly twirls his bow in his hand, another flash of blue, his bow has morphed into hydro twin blades, excitement in his eyes. “Then, I will,”

He takes a fighting stance, Kuni does too, but he shouts over at you, trying to break you out of your shock. “Princess. Go. Now. Please!” If he was going to die, he at least wanted to know that you got out safely. 

You jerk up, body confused and mind muddled. You had no idea whatsoever what to do but you push yourself up, slightly heavy with the water and continue down the hallway.

Field. Horse. Run away.

You kept repeating that in your mind. You feel that if you stop chanting it, you would forget everything and veer off course, that your brain couldn’t handle so many things right now except 

Field. Horse. Run away.

“…Follow her,” Tartaglia tells his few men, “I’ll deal with Kuni…” Tartaglia didn’t anticipate the fact that you had the gnosis, it was exactly as Kuni planned. At least he’d be able to buy you time. 

In a blink of an eye, the fight starts with a series of clash and clangs. Kuni tries his best to deter the Snezhnayan knights from going after you, trying his best to slow them down and pushing them back. But with five of them and one of him, his focus couldn’t be split in so many ways. All four knights successfully break past Kuni in pursuit of you, and now it was just him and Tartaglia.

“Kuni…you’re not a bad fighter… I’d say better than most of my knights, even… We can still talk this out. How about it, comrade? Pass the gnosis on to me, and I’ll make you my right hand man in the new era of this kingdom.” Tartaglia stretches out his hand, he was quite serious in his offer, but Kuni only scoffed. 

“…You were never very reasonable as a child, Tartaglia… All you wanted to do was to fight, to train, to be strong… You and the prince were power hungry, blind for the pursuit of strength in almost the same ways…but I daresay Scaramouche has changed…” Kuni, despite the situation, smiles. “There are things…people…more important than power. I’m glad the prince is slowly understanding that,” 

Tartaglia drops his hand to his side with a condescending smile. “He’s become weak, that’s what happened,”

Kuni feels that the real battle is about to start, and he can only pray that you were well on your way, that you were fast enough to flee, or else his sacrifice would be in vain. “Not at all, on the contrary… the prince has gained a different kind of strength, a stronger will to protect the things around him,”

Kuni goes back to his fighting stance, “……I only wish I could have seen his transformation through, until the end,” 

In a flash, Tartaglia and Kuni start to meet blades. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rush of wind on your face just spurs you to go faster. The horse gallops at high speed, yet you don’t know where it’s going. You followed a trail into the woods, thinking that it would be the safest way out of the kingdom. At some point the horse broke through the woods and crossed a small drawbridge out of the kingdom walls, a moment later, you’re galloping through a different trail again, this time it seemed to climb up to the mountains. 

You almost fall off when the horse suddenly stops, neighing angrily and becoming confused with the sudden barrage of arrows that whip by the two of you. You hold on to the reins for dear life, almost getting thrown off at the abrupt stop. You look behind you to see the four knights at a distance, still far off, but catching up at incredible speed. They must have taken horses from the stables too. 

“Go, go!” You mutter at the horse, kicking its sides to get it running again. It thankfully obeys, but now you’re frighteningly aware that death is just behind you. You hold on to its mane and reins. It seems to go faster than before, as if feeling your distress and possibly recognizing that the two of you were in imminent danger. You don’t know if you imagine it but it sounds as if the other horses are getting closer, the sound of their hooves reaching your ears. 

You yelp in surprise once again when the horse suddenly stops, yet again nearly throwing you off of it. “What now?!” You panic, straighten up, and see that you’ve reached the end of a cliff. The sound in your ears was not the other horses’ hooves. It was the waterfall. The river below you that sent the sounds of crashing waves buzzing in your ears. It’s quite a drop down, and the river currents are strong because of the waterfall at it’s lip.

You steer the horse away from the edge and will it to go towards the left, to scale the cliff and see if there was another way to get to the other side, but the arrows appear again, this time it nicks the horse’s leg and it neighs in pain, trotting around on itself, kicking its leg to try and get the stuck arrow dislodged. 

You shudder in fear, still holding on to the reins, the Snezhnayan knights are nearing, the sound of the horse’s neighs are deafening in your ears, the waterfall is making your brain ring. 

For a moment, you enter a space where everything seemed to be in slow motion. 

You could hear your heart beating in your chest, hear your stuttered labored breaths. 

You see the knights approaching, your horse panicking, and your head turns towards the cliff, the water droplets spraying from the falls, the crash of strong waves in the river. 

Everything was so clear and slow in your mind. 

The knights were climbing off of their horses, about to seize you, about to jog up and pull you off of your horse.

But you dismount your horse first, both your feet landing on the ground with a soft thump. At a last attempt to keep you safe, to keep the gnosis safe, to keep the kingdom safe; you throw yourself off the cliff, wind whipping around you as everything seemed to go back to normal speed.

You feel yourself crashing through the surface of the river, your body ached at impact, and it sent you far into its depths, tumbling around the water. The intensity of it shocks your entire body and you black out in mere seconds.

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