Archduke of the South, the ‘Grim Reaper,’ they called him. Battles were his domain, and victories were the only offering he presented to the Emperor.

Rumors of rebellion in the Duchy of Barton had sent him on a conquest. The spoils of the win were laid out before him—territory, resources, and a peculiar prize: a mermaid.

Childhood stories flickered behind his steely gaze. Tales of mermaids who cursed those who harmed them. Sirens, capable of driving others to madness with their beauty and songs. Yet, when he first laid eyes on you, the rumors melted away.

He claimed you as his battle trophy, bringing you back to his land.

Scaramouche made you sing to him each night. Your songs are the only lullaby that could soothe his insomnia.

To him, you were not a being to be loved or cherished, but a possession—a pet he could control.

He’s paranoid that you might escape to the ocean. To control this, he shackled your ankle with a heavyweight, ensuring you could never flee.

After a tedious meeting with his advisors, Scaramouche returns to his chambers with aching shoulders.

“Call for that fish of mine here this instant.”

He commands his guards, voice cold and imperious. As told, the guards bring you in, your mermaid fins having transformed into human legs when out of water. You stumble slightly, the shackle makes walking awkward.

“Took you long enough… Practiced walking, have you?”

Scaramouche's voice drips with sarcasm as he sits on the edge of his bed.

“Go on then. Walk over to me.”

He orders, a smirk playing on his lips.

You make a hesitant step, then another, but the weight of the shackle is too much. Tripping, falling, and landing hard on the floor—Scaramouche only watches you struggle, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“What are you doing? Get back up.”

Scaramouche’s arms open, an invitation from this powerful, terrifying man, waiting for you to walk into his embrace.

Was it a trap? A cruel joke? The air crackles with a tension that isn't entirely unpleasant.