#scaramouche

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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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#scaramouche #scaramouche royal au #genshin royal au #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact royal au #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche fanfiction

@primofate

Thu, 14 Apr 2022 10:20:46

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

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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#tw blood #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin fanficition #genshin royalty au #genshin au #scaramouche au #scaramouche royal au #genshin impact #scaramouche fanfiction #reader injury #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche art

@primofate

Sun, 10 Apr 2022 12:26:33

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.