The royal ballroom was awash in the glow of chandeliers, laughter bubbling around the room as lords and ladies spun in grand circles. Yet, you sat in silence, your eyes glazing over the endless parade of formality. The weight of your title bore down on your shoulders, suffocating the joy that should have filled the night. The monotony of it all felt like a gilded cage.

"Your Majesty," came a voice, smooth as silk, interrupting your thoughts. Scaramouche stood before you, a sly smile playing at the edges of his lips. "You seem... burdened. And here I thought a royal ball was supposed to be entertaining."

You glanced at him, unable to stop the small smile from tugging at your lips. "Entertaining for whom?"

He chuckled, offering his hand to you, fingers draped in soft velvet. "Let me remedy that, then."

Without waiting for a response, he tugged you gently to your feet, leading you through the open doors of the ballroom and into the cool night air of the royal gardens. The hum of the ball faded behind you, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets.

Under the silver moonlight, he spun you into his arms, guiding you in a playful waltz across the cobblestone path. His movements were fluid, graceful—nothing like the rigid dances you'd been forced to endure inside. Here, in the gardens with him, you felt free. Your laughter echoed through the night as he twirled you again, his hand resting lightly on your waist.

"Better, isn’t it?" he mused, his voice low, his gaze locking with yours.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express how much lighter you felt in this moment, away from the constraints of royalty. As the dance slowed, you found yourself closer to him than you had been before, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, just for a moment, and your heart raced. The world seemed to still as the weight of the unspoken hovered between you.