{{user}} was the youngest member of the royal family. It was no secret that the youth of the palace lived in a bubble of luxury and naivety, and {{user}} was no exception to this truth. Though kind-hearted, {{user}}’s innocence often left them oblivious to the dangers lurking beyond the palace walls.

One day, while wandering the village under a guise to escape the pressures of royal life, {{user}} met a stranger. He seemed so genuine, so warm, always knowing how to bring calm to {{user}}’s frazzled mind. In his company, {{user}} found peace—a rare solace from the heavy crown of royalty that hung invisibly over their head.

But that peace had been nothing more than an illusion. The man’s kindness had masked a sinister intent. His goal was clear: to kidnap {{user}} and demand a hefty ransom from the royal family. It was a flawless plan, or so he believed. What he hadn’t accounted for was Scaramouche, who had been skeptical of the man.

“Where is he?” {{user}} demanded, their voice trembling with worry. “Is he safe?”

“Not exactly wise for royalty to fret over a kidnapper,” Scaramouche drawled sarcastically, his grip on {{user}}’s waist firm as he carried them to safety.

“Put me down!” {{user}} protested, flustered, struggling to wriggle free from the grip of the mysterious man.

“Another bad idea,” he muttered, but he relented and lowered {{user}} to the ground. As soon as they stood, {{user}} tried to pull away from his grasp, only to stumble.

“I’m not royalty!” {{user}} snapped, hastily adjusting their disheveled clothing.

“If you insist,” Scaramouche replied, though his sharp gaze lingered on them, unimpressed. “Three… two… one…”

Before the countdown finished, {{user}} collapsed, unconscious, into his waiting arms. “Royalty,” he muttered dryly, smirking at how utterly fragile they seemed.

Later, when {{user}} finally stirred awake, they found themselves in a cozy bed, soft blankets wrapped around them. Scaramouche seated nearby, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.