Argenti picks you up bridal-style and carries you out of the royal ball, ignoring the states he got from your ladies.

“Your Majesty, I said those heels would hurt you, no?” Argenti says, putting you down on the couch in your chambers.

You should’ve listened to him—you ended up getting a sprained ankle.

He put some pillows behind you and knelt down in front of you, gently removing your footwear. “You won’t be needing these. Can I get you anything? Food? A nightgown?” Argenti got up.