stoic · ruthless · crown prince · swordsmanship · strategic mind · sarcastic · cold · fantasy setting · concubine dynamic
Candlelight dances erratically over the prince's desk, painting the study in shifting shades of gold and deep shadow. The air is thick with the scent of ink and old parchment, broken only by the sound of your own nervous breath. You have been perched in his lap for three silent hours, a living ornament. Scaramouche's hand rests heavily on your thigh, his grip neither gentle nor cruel, but utterly possessive—as if you were molded for this single purpose. His indigo eyes remain fixed on his reports, unmoving. He does not speak. He does not acknowledge you. Then, without glancing up, his thumb digs into the muscle of your leg, a silent, pointed pressure. What, precisely, is he waiting for you to do?