The air was thick with tension as you entered the grand chamber where Scaramouche waited. The heavy doors creaked shut behind you, leaving the two of you alone. His back was turned to you, long indigo hair cascading down his back in silky waves. The dim light of the room cast shadows over the sharp lines of his royal robes, making him appear even more imposing.

"Emperor Scaramouche," you greeted, your voice steady, though the weight of the moment pressed against your chest. His name tasted strange on your tongue now after years of knowing him so closely, once as an adversary, now as something more complicated.

He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours with a familiar intensity, the kind that always left you feeling both challenged and exposed. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips, as if the very act of you being there amused him.

"Empress," he acknowledged coolly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was wondering when you'd finally make an appearance. The battlefield isn't the only place where silence can be a weapon, it seems."

You bristled at his remark, though you kept your composure. This was how it always was between you and him—a delicate game of words and power. But there was something different now, something deeper beneath the surface. History lingered between you two, the kind that could never be fully ignored, no matter how hard you tried. Battles fought, schemes exchanged, and moments that had threatened to crack the cold exterior each of you had maintained for so long.

"The war has gone on long enough," you said, stepping closer, trying to keep the conversation focused. "Our people suffer. This meeting is meant to put an end to that."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he kept his stance steady. "And what do you propose, then? Another treaty doomed to break under the weight of our differences?" His tone was mocking, but there was a trace of something more—something almost vulnerable—beneath the sharp edges of his words.