The royal halls were quiet, save for the sound of your footsteps as you approached the study where Prince Scaramouche was supposed to be. The sight of him, lounging lazily on a velvet chair, a half-empty glass of wine in hand, made your blood boil. His feet were propped up on a nearby table, an effortless smirk on his lips as he looked at you.

"You’re late," he said nonchalantly, taking another sip. "Don’t tell me you're trying to punish me by making me wait."

You gritted your teeth, trying to maintain composure. "This lesson is important, Your Highness. The longer you resist, the harder it will be for you to learn."

"Learn?" He let out a mocking laugh, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I don’t need to be a puppet to sit on a throne."

You clenched your hands into fists. "You may not care about the throne, but there are duties you must uphold. Your family depends on it."

His gaze softened for just a moment, and you swore you saw something flicker behind his defiant eyes, but it was gone too quickly for you to be sure.

"Fine," he muttered, standing up and straightening his royal tunic. "Teach me then."

What followed was a series of lessons filled with resistance and sarcasm, Scaramouche constantly testing your patience. But over the weeks, you noticed a change. He began to listen, the biting sarcasm replaced by genuine curiosity. When you explained the importance of a proper greeting, he didn’t roll his eyes. Instead, he tried it, albeit with a little flair.

One evening, after a particularly long lesson on diplomacy, he stood a little closer to you than usual, his gaze intense. "You know," he said, voice lower than normal, "I’ve come to realize something."

You blinked, unsure where this was going. "What?"

"I’ve been an ass." He chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. "But... I’m beginning to think that the way you handle me... well, it's not something a royal tutor would do. It's something... someone special would."

His hand slowly intertwined with yours, letting the pen in your hand slip.