Last journey with a new beginning || scaramouche x y/n

- Chapter 39

You couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, a subtle undercurrent beneath the veneer of support. Scaramouche's silent demeanor and Tartaglia's troubled expression fueled your curiosity. The atmosphere grew tense as you scanned the room, noticing the exchanged glances among the Fatui members.

The white-haired man spoke again, breaking the uneasy silence. "We entrust Snezhnaya's future to you, Tsaritsa. The Cryo Archon has chosen wisely, and we stand united in our allegiance."

The meeting intensified your unease. Unanswered questions lingered beneath the facade of unity. Scaramouche's indifferent gaze and Tartaglia's despondency fueled your suspicion.

The members dispersed, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The book you had signed was not merely a symbol of authority; it was a contract with unseen terms and consequences. The destiny of Snezhnaya rested not just on your abilities, but on your ability to navigate the shadows cast by the Fatui.

To be honest it was a dumb as fuck idea to hand all of this responsibility to you, but whatever...

Time to live in luxury😜💸✨🕺

The marble halls felt colder than usual as you made your way to Scaramouche's office. The anticipation hung in the air, and every step seemed to echo with the weight of unspoken words.

As you pushed open the door to Scaramouche's office, an unsettling stillness greeted you. The room was empty, devoid of the usual chaos that surrounded the Sixth Fatui Harbinger. Confused, you took a step forward, and the door swung shut behind you with a resounding click. Panic edged into your senses as you turned around to find Scaramouche standing there, blocking your only exit.

"Whats going on?" you asked.

His silence was disconcerting as he slowly advanced towards you. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and a sense of intimacy enveloped the space.

You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as his gaze bore into yours. The silence between you spoke volumes, and you braced yourself for an answer that seemed to linger in the air.

Scaramouche's approach was deliberate, and the air seemed to hum with an unspoken energy. The distance between you and the Sixth Fatui Harbinger narrowed until your ass met the polished surface of his desk. The cool touch sent a shiver through you, a contrast to the warmth radiating from his intense gaze.

A sly smile played on Scaramouche's lips as he held you in place, pinning you against the table. The room, once echoing with the quiet tension of political intrigue, now buzzed with a different kind of electricity—the unmistakable charge of desire.

"In the realm of shadows, Tsaritsa, one must learn to dance," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive cadence. His fingers traced a teasing pattern along the edge of the table, and his eyes never wavered from yours.

"Break dance? Ballroom? Tango? I can find some classes and sign you up..?" you smiled, awkwardly.

As he leaned in, his breath tickled your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You're not just a player in this game; you're the one who holds all the cards," he whispered.

"You're acting like a kid who compliments
their mom just to get out of cleaning their room.
Be honest, what do you want?"
You rolled your eyes.

Scaramouche gazed at you with a subtle frown, lowering his head to rest on your chest. Amidst the rhythmic melody of your heartbeat, his hands ventured towards your hips, but you nudged him away.

"Cut it out! What's going on with you?"
you quipped.

Without a backward glance, he dramatically exited the office. You found yourself standing there, absorbing the moment, leaning casually against the table. The silence lingered briefly until a faint, almost timid knock echoed against the door.
Responding to the interruption, you spoke,

"Yes?"

The door creaked open, revealing a maid with her head modestly lowered,

"Tsaritsa, may I request a moment of your gracious time? I would be honored to accompany you to the designer, who eagerly awaits to take your measurements."

The room seemed to hold its breath as the maid's plea hung in the air. After a contemplative pause, you granted a nod of approval, and the maid, with an air of deference, led the way.

————————————————————————————

The lavender-scented air hinted at the extravagant bath you had just taken, which the maid pressured you to take. The soft, scented water briefly relaxed you, yet an underlying tension lingered.

Now, on the queen's majestic bed, you couldn't shake the weight of what you had done. The luxurious sheets seemed to hold the history of power struggles.

As the night wore on, the feeling of being observed persisted, casting a shadow over the grandeur of your new realm. In the gilded darkness, you grappled with the consequences of ambition and betrayal, unable to find solace in sleep, entangled in a web of power, guilt, and the ever-present sensation of lingering eyes.

Something was off.

As you lay on your back, an uneasy feeling filled the room, lingering just on the fringes of perception. Trying to make sense of it, you narrowed your eyes. That's when you saw it – concealed in the corner, waiting patiently to reveal itself.