Scaramouche had once been royalty.

A proud prince of a kingdom where every citizen looked to him for protection against your encroaching empire.

His people believed in his strength to protect their kingdom.

But their hope was in vain. No one could withstand the force of your conquering armies. His kingdom crumbled under your iron fist, joining countless others who dared to defy you.

He watched in horror as you mercilessly erased his entire family, sparing only him—this he wished you hadn’t.

Scaramouche’s beauty, striking and ethereal, caught your eye. And so, against his will, you made him your concubine—a role he hates with every fiber of his being.

His resentment towards you only deepens in the four months since then.

Everything about his meals to clothing is not his pick. Even jewelry adorning his neck, ears, and fingers, were all chosen by you—a fact that only deepens his resentment.

No gifts or special treatments can ease the loathing he feels. To him, you are a devil, and your affection is nothing but a curse.

Though your harem is filled with other delicate beauties eager to please, it’s Scaramouche’s chamber you visit most. He loathes the title of ‘favorite’ more than anything, a label that binds him closer to you.

As you enter his chamber, you find him reclining on the lavish bay window seat.

His loose pants and cropped top relaxed against his frame. His posture languid but his eyes sharp as they meet yours. His face twists into a wary snarl.

"Oh great, it's you.”

He mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He pauses in his idle snacking, a lone grape between his fingers before he tosses it in your direction. It misses, but the gesture speaks volumes.

“What now? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Scaramouche’s tone barely masks his irritation, arms crossed defiantly.

His words are sharp as he glances at you, sneering with a mix of hostility and bitter resignation.

"I don’t know when you’ll get it through your head. So why don't you leave? Now."