❝エンゲージメントのルール❞
rules of engagement
HOARFROST LICKED YOUR skin as you exited your carriage. Wenling hobbled out, holding your suitcase and a long trench coat. She immediately draped the coat over your shoulders, protecting you from the frozen winds. You nodded to the driver, thanking him for his work before dropping a bag full of mora into his hands. A brief glance into the inside of the pouch made him realize that you overpaid him by quite a large sum. He hurried off, not another word exchanged.
Most would opt for waypoint as the method of transportation but a Vision was needed to use the waypoint. That of which the gods did not bestow you with one. Visions were the eyes of the gods, sanctioning a part of their divine authority to mortal beings. Something you lacked in this world— and one of the excuses your adoptive father's men would use to remove you from your position as heiress unless you married someone with a Vision. From what you've heard, Harbingers are the prime of all Fatui soldiers. They're ambitious, cunning, powerful, and wealth, all qualities that your adoptive father sought in your future spouse.
"So that would be Zapolyarny Palace?" You asked, eyeing the snow white castle that stood proudly before you. Evergreens surrounded it, snow laying thickly on the ground and a layer of pines. The palace gleamed, like a cut marble. The architecture and structure of which is absolutely divine; the masterful arches, the glorious columns, the intricately designed balusters and bay windows. Such craftsmanship would've been grueling work in such harsh conditions.
"Indeed. Young master, Lord Scaramouche awaits inside." Wenling instructed, carrying your bags up towards the palace gates. You climbed up the frosted staircase up to the castle, examining the features in awe of its marvelous design.
Snezhnaya was not a nation you frequented often. If anything, it was your least favorite nation to visit. The cold is something you detested and the natural subzero temperatures made your skin crawl. Not to mention the contention amongst the other nations with Snezhnaya— the nation was viewed as this cold, barren wasteland that is full of the Fatui.
In other words, a nest of brooding evil.
"Halt! State your business and name."
Standing at the gates of the palace, two masked Fatui agents stood guard with a critical eye, continuing to peruse you and Wenling. A sigh escaped your lips, rolling your eyes at the agents. The left agent is slender, donned short blonde hair with a crooked smile. The right agent possessed a medium build; his height being significantly taller than his partner.
"What? Do you not recognize me?" You sneered in disdain. The two of them looked at one another before turning back to you. Wenling stepped forth, gesturing towards you.
"My master, the heiress of the (l/n) Trading Company had been invited by the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers to come to Snezhnaya." Wenling explained, introducing you to the two guards.
They looked hesitant, exchanging looks with one another before the blonde one spoke up. "Apologies but we cannot permit those without permission to—"
You fetched the letter from your coat pocket, waving it to his face. A frown stiffened your features as you dangled the parchment before him in annoyance. "Do you need more proof? Or will this letter suffice?"
He gulped nervously, stuttering an apology. "S-Still, we have need to cross examine with our official documentations—"
"That won't be necessary."
Amethyst eyes met yours, pools of abysmal heliotrope complimented with flashes of violet lightning. The subtext of acrimony and ire glazed over his sight as he told the agents off. His order was direct, his tone almost draconian in its nuance. Glossing over his features, he looked quite youthful— presumably your age or even younger. Dark red eyeliner contrasted his midnight hair and amethyst hues. His garb was ornament and of Inazuman design. Strings of crimson were tied to his tareginu, a hat of which silk were strung from it, hanging over his features.
"L-Lord Scaramouche...?! There is no need for you to bother with this. We can handle this." Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly upon hearing the name. Your chest tightened, feeling as though your lungs were giving into the frost in his presence.
"Handle this? You seem to be handling this rather poorly." Scaramouche spat at them venomously, glaring at the two soldiers whom had addressed you so crudely.
The tall soldier gulped, nervously breaking into a frenzy of apology in order to remedy the situation. "W-We're terribly sorry! We um—"
Scaramouche cut them off. "Be off. I shall tend to this myself."
hurried away without another word, too afraid of crossing Scaramouche which left you and Wenling in slight shock. He turned his attention to you, glancing at you from head to toe. Displeasure was glazed over his eyes as he examined you with a scowl apparent on his face.
"So, you've arrived—" You interrupted him, cutting his sentence off.
"Forgive me for this, but I didn't expect my future husband to be this short."
"Excuse me?" His eyebrows knitted together in ire, shock and disbelief colored his face. Wenling stifled a laugh at your crude words. You meant no intent of harm with your words, it was just your nature to be blunt and straightforward. This was a matter of your future after all, there was no need to draw this out.
"I'm your future spouse, yes? I prefer directness and candor in this relationship." You responded in a gesture. An innocent smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "I presume you don't need any proof of my identity?"
"No," Scaramouche grimaced. "I don't. I can recognize you with ease. The most sought after bachelorette there is in Teyvat."
"Delighted to know that my future husband recognizes me. Now, are we going to discuss this?" You held the letter to him, smiling triumphantly.
Scaramouche glanced at it, scowling in distaste. "Right, that..." He sighed, shaking his head.
"What?" You raised your eyebrows at him. "Why do you sound so discontent?"
His lips pressed into a thin frown. He folded his arms across his chest. "Though my letter expressed the intentions of marriage, I was coerced to write so. It is my Tsaritsa's belief that we should be wedded. I'm sure you are plenty familiar with the disillusions of love and marriage."
You stiffened, the smile twisting into a frown of confusion. "Pardon my confusion but... what do you mean by that?" You asked hesitantly, eyes scanning his expression to read him.
Scaramouche sighed, rolling his eyes. "It's merely duty. Marriage is just an empty title, only in name. What remains is the reality that we are strangers wedded to one another for the merit." His amethyst eyes flickered to you.
"Though I may be your husband, do not expect me to love you like one."
You expected contentions of this marriage but he laid it out quite honestly. Most would be quite vexed over such a matter but to you, it was an absolute relief.
"That works for me. It's merely beneficial for us both, yes? You don't seem to be the sentimental type." You commented, still trying to read his facial expressions. It was proving to be a rather difficult task.
"No, I'm not. Though I had my presumptions that you'd be more of that type." He retorted back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Follow me, let us talk inside. I'm not too fond of this frigidity."
Scaramouche gestured you in, opening the gates of the palace for you. Graciously, you thanked him and stepped into the white palace with Wenling behind. The pulchritude of the exterior reflected the elegance of the interior, if not, exemplified more within. Chandeliers of golden radiance beamed down in a seraphic glow. Hallways are furnished in carpets of scarlet, the walls adorned with foliage and flowers. Crystal vases sat upon mahogany tables, a variety of florals decorated them. It was rather impressive to say the least.
"The decor is beautiful." You said nonchalantly, turning the corner of the hallway. Twisting and turning, the labyrinthine halls are serpentine and long. Scaramouche led you and Wenling through its winding paths. Despite the palace's grandeur and splendor, you noticed how empty it was. Other than the clicking of shoes, the halls are eerily quiet. The desolation and solidarity of this frozen court clashed against your flamboyant and lively lifestyle. Another reason why you disliked Snezhnaya, life seems so monochrome in this wintery wasteland.
"We're here." Scaramouche ignored your earlier comment, opting to open the door at the very end of the long corridor. The door led to an office space which was just as furnished as the rest of the palace. Festooned with traditional Inazuman fittings and decor, it was a rather welcomed delight in the palace of permafrost.
Wenling set your baggage down, standing by the doorway to give the two of you some privacy. Scaramouche glanced past your shoulders, eyeing Wenling with contention before you spoke up. "She's my closest confidant. Treat her how you would treat me."
"This is a matter of marriage, only those involved should be in this room." Scaramouche stated candidly.
"This is a matter of our marriage." You replied icily, frowning at him.
"Yes, our marriage. But do not expect me to adhere to your wishes." Scaramouche scowled in response. Your future husband truly embodied what you envisioned the personification of Snezhnaya would be like— a cold, distant man.
"Wenling, wait outside." You ordered, brows furrowing at his words. Wenling excused herself, leaving the room with your baggage in tow.
"Are you satisfied, now?" A pleased smile graced his features, nodding in compliance.
As the two of you walked towards the desk, you scanned his appearance in silence. Admittedly, you recognized this the moment you met eyes with him— Scaramouche is undoubtedly handsome. It was within your realm to acknowledge attractiveness and he certainly qualified. This is a subject of appearance and reputation after all and you were young and attractive yourself. It is simply orthodox and a matter of being pragmatic. Though a part of you urged yourself not to say anything openly, you didn't want to risk your own pride.
"You seem rather adamant that we are alone." You pointed out, taking a seat in the comfy cushioned armchair.
Scaramouche walked around, taking a seat behind the desk before responding. "You're more crass than what I expected. It would seem your status and title precede your sarcasm."
"How wonderful of you to catch on. I'm not as callow and innocent as many surmise me to be." You retorted sarcastically, casually crossing your legs. "So do not treat me like some childish heiress. I am well acquainted with business albeit the formalities of it bores me. I do not intend to let you trample over me like some sort of doily but I do intend to make this marriage work between us."
He raised an eyebrow at you. "Oh? Is that so? Well it would seem we're in some sort of agreement." His hand slid under his desk, opening one of the drawers on the side and pulled out a file. "Look over this and sign the bottom line."
"What is this?" You asked, eyeing the manilla folder with scrutiny.
"Our marriage contract."
"You expect me to officiate our marriage through a signed document?" You questioned, opening the folder at its crease and scanning over the inked words.
"Were you expecting a wedding?" He sneered, observing your reaction. "I didn't take you as someone so naive."
You pursed your lips into a frown, his words sinking into your mind. The lines of text were a set of rules and regulatory requirements that you would be obliged to. What was written in ink was not a marriage but a legal contract of union for benefit— it striped you of your authority.
"I am not signing this." You stated firmly, sitting back in your seat.
Scaramouche frowned. "And why is that?" He inquired calmly.
"These are regulations. Terms that would enslave me to you. Not to mention I am to give up a quarter of my company to you?" You shook your head in disbelief. "Don't be absurd."
He blinked twice before laughter escaped his lips but you weren't amused in the slightest bit— if anything, you were rather furious at his blatant disregard of you.
"Glad to know my future spouse isn't a pushover. Here, read this." Scaramouche fetched another leaf of paper from his desk, throwing it atop the wood. Your frown deepened but read the document nonetheless.
To confirm the union between Lord Scaramouche, the Sixth and heiress to the (l/n) Trading Company, (y/n); the following details outline the rules of engagement:
01. An announcement to the entirety of Teyvat to be made regarding the engagement of Lord Scaramouche and heiress (y/n).
02. Heiress (y/n) is to receive an honorable Fatui rank upon marriage to Lord Scaramouche.
03. The Fatui will oversee the Snezhnayan branch of the (l/n) Trading Company.
04. By signing this document, heiress (y/n) agrees to the conditions above and to the marriage.
"So that last paper was a ruse? A test?" You scowled in annoyance but Scaramouche didn't seem phased, rather quite amused.
"Marriage is finicky, yes? I ought to see what my future spouse is truly like." He mused, smiling at you.
"Fine. I agree with these rules. There's no hidden clauses or provisos. You seem to treat this like some sort of game, Scaramouche." He visibly tensed, this was the first time you've formally used his name but he eased out of it.
"What makes you say that?" Amethyst eyes bored into yours. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow resting against the wood, propping his arm up to support the weight.
"The tone in which you speak to me has the same cadence as when you address your subordinates. In your letter, you expressed how you hope that I would meet the expectations in which you've heard of me. Do you not recognize me as an equal?" You challenged, brows furrowing together.
"Now that I've met you, I can confidently say that I recognize you as my equal." He laughed jovially. "You've exceeded all my expectations."
Soft pink dusted across your cheeks at your future husband's unexpected compliment. You coughed into your fist to retain your composure, breaking away from his gaze.
"Glad to hear that I did. Now, once I sign this, what will happen next?" You inquired, tapping your index onto the blank line where your signature should be.
"We'll be officially engaged to one another and the marriage process begins. An announcement will be made followed by a banquet in celebration. You will remain here until we work out the nuances of this marriage." Scaramouche answered, flashing you a smug smirk. "The world will know you as my spouse."
"Why do I have to stay here?" You frowned, the idea of living in this dreadful, frozen badlands is rather dismaying.
"Because I want you to stay here."
You raised your suspicions. "You do? I'm surprised."
"You wound me. Why wouldn't I want you here?" His words came out fluidly, with little to no hesitation. It made you quite dubious as to what his intentions are but you also knew there could be no way to refute this marriage.
In almost every way, it was perfect. Your adoptive father and his board approved of him. You are plenty amused by him and he possessed every quality you sought after. The only factor that remained was whether he truly cared about you or not. Perhaps with the development of this already rather bleak marriage, something could change. It was a desire of yours to have an idealized marriage; something that your birth parents had tarnished the imagery of. You wanted to prevent a repeat of history; to have something of a well off marriage.
"I didn't think you'd be so fond of me already." You teased, smiling at him though he didn't find the same mirth as you.
"You jest. Do not confuse responsibility with love." Scaramouche commented which caused you to falter in tone.
Right, this was a political union. You thought to yourself in quiet contemplation. A sigh left your lips before you fetched a fountain pen from your coat pocket and signed the blank line.
"There. We're officially engaged." You dropped the pen onto the desk as Scaramouche went to collect the document. A smile laced his lips in doing so.
"I am looking forward to our marriage, (y/n)."
"As do I, husband."
—
END OF CHAPTER ONE