❝ あなたのために燃える ❞
burn for you
PARALYZED IN THAT moment, you sat still on your shared bed with the man you were currently arguing with. It made you terribly nauseous— his words, the smell of wine, everything about this very situation. Once again, Scaramouche had shut down any sort of argument by going for the sore spot.
"I'm the only family you have left!"
You hated how right he was; that you had no family other than him. Scaramouche is your fiancé, your fiancé. He's the only one you could rely on to protect you from that cloud of death but even then, you lacked faith in him. Any feelings of affection or otherwise were constantly smothered by the clear incompatibility between the two of you. Even when he displayed brief instances of genuine concern or oppressed endearment, it lacked to provide you any sort of solid foundation of his actual perspective on you. Scaramouche would admit his love for you in one moment and would be completely consumed by his own pride and indulgent in the next. There was just too much fickleness in his demeanor for you to comprehend.
"You—! You self-righteous, pompous bastard— how dare you!" You swore at him in acrimony, furiously shaking your fist at him. "You know nothing about me!"
"I'm not wrong, am I? Challenge my words, be my guest." Scaramouche hissed, keeping up his high and mighty attitude to infuriate you.
"As my fiancé, I would've hoped you'd be a bit more sensitive to my quandary!" You raised your fist up, hitting the bedcovers in trembling, hideous fury.
"And as my future spouse, you ought to be less foolish in your silly beliefs! I said I fancied you because I believed you'd be my better half but right now, you're irking you with your ludicrous doctrine!" He hollered, shooting up from his seated position, glaring at you before noticing dew around your eyes. Immediately, his voice fell, his previous outcry settled into silence but the atmosphere persisted. Scaramouche's eyes fell to the ground, unable to look at your poignant state of tears.
"I'm going on a stroll," your fiancé didn't spare you a second glance as he walked past the bed towards the door. He lingered by the door, hand hovering the handle to see if you would do anything but nothing except silence was exchanged. Scaramouche left you alone, casting you to wallow in the aftermath of the argument.
You squeezed your eyes shut, failing to trap the tears of which you felt spill over to trail down your face. Loneliness encapsulates you in a husk of your own misery. An ugly, quiet sob left your mouth as you pulled your knees close— wailing in isolation. All without the sympathy of your heartless future husband. Twilight conquered the remainder of the night, casting a spell of lethargy over you. You fell asleep once again, the recollection of the argument repeated in your mind before the lullaby of repose sung you to sleep.
WHEN DAWN FINALLY broke, you woke without Scaramouche's presence in your shared bedroom. Not that you wanted to see him first thing in the morning after that argument that occurred in the middle of the night. But waking to the retrospect of last night greatly soured your early morning mood.
Without Wenling, you felt a discernment of your own loneliness as you dressed yourself without her. After freshening yourself up in the bathroom, you chose a simplistic yet comfortable outfit. A light blue zipper sweater with a silver zip running down the center over top dark trousers tied off with a leather buckle belt. You chose matching blue ballet flats to finish off the outside before stepping out of the bedroom for the first time since early yesterday night. As always, the corridors of Zapolyarny Palace were empty and quiet. It was dreadfully silent as each step you took made the loudest of noise— the soft pitter pattering of your ballet flats against the carpeted floors.
Twisting and turning, you attempted to navigate the labyrinthine paths of the palace to no avail. You couldn't locate the dining room nor could you find your fiancé anywhere thus you assumed that he had gone to his office. Your shared bedroom is on the second floor, a floor unfamiliar to you. Though you had the first floor of the palace and the location of your fiancé's office memorized, going to see Scaramouche wasn't very high on your list of priorities— especially what transpired last night; thus you opted to just go about and explore the palace a bit. After all, this was to be your second home after Liyue once this hasty engagement finally goes through.
"Good morning, Master (y/n)." The cleaning servants of the house greeted you with unfeeling smiles, bowing lowly in respect of you as you passed them on your stroll. Most were cleaning out their own servant quarters, occupied with tidying up the place.
You nodded to them, bidding them a 'good morning' as well before moving on with your walk alone.
As you were wandering the halls, the impressions of the past engulfed you in a montage of everything that had transpired in the past month. The receiving of Scaramouche's letter discerning a potential marriage. Your hasty engagement to him through a flimsily signed document that provides no comfort to this relationship. Your adoptive father's assassination and your attempted assassination. Meeting Childe the Eleventh Harbinger and learning your fiancé's jealousy towards him. Somewhere between all of that, there was still this underlying current of your elimination that has yet to be explained.
What you had previously believed to be your fiancé could still very well be true. There was also the possibility of your adoptive father's first choice and your childhood friend, Yi-Eun, being the culprit as he certainly had a motivation to harm you. Then finally, there could just be a plot to exterminate you formulated by some third party for the sake of money or reputation.
You didn't dwell on the thought for too long— allowing those thoughts to simmer in the back of your mind before suddenly running into someone. The sudden harsh collision caused you to stumble back and fall onto the ground, a hiss escaping your lips as you collided with the floor.
"My apologies, are you alright—"
Your eyes fluttered open to meet brilliant sapphire eyes. Hues of blue that resembled the joint sky and ocean reflective; the pools of abyssal deep seas. You stared, practically ogling him before realizing that you were blatantly gawking at your fiancé's rival. Childe extended a hand to you, smiling as you graciously took his hand into yours. He pulled you up with ease, releasing you once you've found your footing.
"Archons— I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to absentmindedly run into you like that." You expressed fervently, shooting the Eleventh Harbinger a weak apologetic smile.
Childe laughed in mirth, shaking his head. "Oh no, I should be the only one apologizing. Are you alright?" He asked again, taking a glance at you.
"Ah... yes." You answered, eyes falling to the floor. After what your fiancé had explained to you just a day ago, you felt incredibly at odds in regards to the Eleventh. Scaramouche had told you not to interact with him but you didn't see the harm in doing so. Childe seemed, nice enough to idly chat with.
"Is the Balladeer not with you?" Your stomach twisted at the mention of Scaramouche.
"No, he's not... Have you seen him at all this fine morning?" You withheld your snide comments about your fiancé and kept the pretense that everything was going fine.
Childe brought a hand to his chin, hooking his thumb beneath. "Can't say I have. May I ask why you're looking for him? He hasn't caused you too much trouble, has he?"
Ah, he already knows. You figured that you'd keep the whole squabble under ropes but it seemed that your fiancé's fellow Harbingers had already begun to suspect his treatment of you.
"No, no... nothing of the sort." You lied, watching for his reaction. Childe didn't seem to notice, if he did, he wasn't interjecting. "I woke up without seeing him and wondered where he had headed off to, that's all."
Childe hummed quietly, nodding his head. "Ah, I'm surprised he even offered to have you moved to his room. Even the servants don't have permission to enter his room— he does all the cleaning himself."
Huh... so he does trust me a fair bit. It was rather interesting to hear that from a potential suitor— Childe seemed rather unfeeling towards the very fact that you could've been his fiancé.
"I never knew that about him..." You laughed sheepishly, trying to keep the conversation going. "I suppose he's a bit of a control freak, yes?"
Childe groaned at your words, rolling his eyes. "Oh, you have no idea how infuriating he can be during meetings from time to time." You hummed in agreement, nodding.
"If you're looking for him, I presume he's likely in his office. I will escort you there, if you'd like." Childe offered, gesturing down the lengthy hallway.
"Ah, thank you." You appreciated his kindness, whether that was from a place of intention or not. Even though you already knew where his office was, maybe a conversation with your other suitor could prove to cast the thoughts of your fiancé away for a moment.
Childe walked in front of you, occasionally looking back at you to make conversation.
"Have you been enjoying your time here?" Childe asked, shooting you a charming smile.
"The view is quite nice... I live in a nation who only knows of summer so the change is gratifying." You replied back moments later, taking quick glances at the passing windows at the wintry view beyond the glass. The evergreens covered in white snow, the glittering flakes drifting from the sky, the absolute white of the scenery— the complete opposite of your homeland.
"The palace does get quite cold at night. Be sure to keep yourself warm." His eyes observed over your outfit, remarking about the frosty climate of Snezhnaya.
"Yes, I shall keep that in mind." You answered, acknowledging his concern for you. In a different world, perhaps you would've been engaged to Childe rather than Scaramouche. It made you think, would that change your current position? Change your unhappiness and displeasure in this difficult relationship?
"What's it like to be engaged?" You snapped out of your thoughts, looking up from the floor at Childe. His back faced you, head facing forwards. His action struck you as odd, conceivably he was hiding something from you.
"Engaged to him? It's like a never-ending reverie full of twists and revelations. One minute, he confesses that he has feelings for me and another, he is scolding and belittling me to no end." You professed, sighing with heaviness weighing your chest down. It was somewhat relieving to admit your dilemma to someone else— even if that someone is a person you supposedly almost got engaged to.
"The Sixth is hard to deal with. I do hope that your presence will make him more amiable." Childe chuckled a bit, his laughter bouncing off the walls. "Apologies if I had spoken out of term, this is only our second time meeting one another."
A tinge of mortification washed over you; realizing that both times you had run into Childe— it was all because you were in some sort of distress. It was almost unsightly to think about.
"Oh no, there's no need. If anything, it's me who's speaking so candidly of my difficult relationships." You responded, wondering what your fiancé would have to say had he heard what you said.
"If you have a problem with me, we can discuss it right here."
Speak of the devil— how does he have such perfect comedic timing? You thought to yourself as you spun around on your heels to greet your less-than-pleased fiancé who was standing behind you. Irritation etched his handsome features, which led credence to your fear that he had overheard everything.
"Ah, Scaramouche. I was just looking for you! Tartaglia very kindly offered to escort me in the direction of your office." You explained with a feigned smile, watching your fiancé's irk mark grow more prominent each passing second.
Serves him right.
"You damn well know where my office is. You didn't need Tartaglia's help." Scaramouche snarled, snatching your wrist and pulled you close. His eyes fixated on the Eleventh, glaring at him down.
"Scaramouche, let me go." You tried to pry your wrist from his iron grip to no avail. The Balladeer did not budge, ignoring your pleads and instead, he pushed you behind him.
"Balladeer, play nice. You ought to start acting like a husband if you intend on becoming one." Childe said cheekily, poking fun at the shorter Harbinger. Evidently, he was enjoying this situation far too much.
"Silence, Tartaglia. I don't want to hear another word from you." You heard your fiancé snap, growling at the auburn-haired Harbinger.
"Oh? Did I strike a nerve? Perhaps (y/n) would be happier with me than with you." Childe's words certainly did strike a sore spot in your fiancé, prompting Scaramouche to grasp your wrist tighter.
You winced, feeling his fingers dig into your flesh. A tingling sensation from sparks fluttered over your skin. "Scaramouche—"
"If you insist on trampling over my affairs, I'll have no choice but to put you in your place." Scaramouche shoved you harshly, causing you to stumble three feet back.
"Scaramouche, what the hell are you doing?!" You yelled, watching as your fiancé ready himself for a fight. You sprung at him, grabbing onto his wrist to stop him from casting a thunderbolt.
Scaramouche's glare snapped to you. "Release me." He ordered brusquely, his fist trembling with wrath. The electricity around his hand crackled, causing you to flinch as the sparks touched your skin, jolting you.
"Not until you cease this foolishness—!" You hissed as another spark struck your skin, a sharp burning sensation impacting your skin.
Purple sparks flickering immediately died out once Scaramouche noticed the way your face twisted into pain. He ripped his hand away from your weakened grip, eyes slightly widening at realization of what he had done to you subconsciously.
"It seems that you two have plenty to talk about. Since you decided to come to us, my job here is done. Enjoy yourself, Balladeer." Childe chuckled darkly, musing in Scaramouche's fleeting distress. The Eleventh nodded to you before turning to leave the two of you in a muddled mess of emotions.
Without sparing you another word, Scaramouche dragged you to his office (which wasn't that far away). He's furious, you could tell. The glint of rage, the way his jaw is clenched, his tight grip— oh, he's beyond furious. In the moment he pulled you into the room, the clicking of the door locked out any sort of escape. You were trapped in his turf and unprepared to be dealt the blow of wrath.
"You think of me so lowly, huh?" His voice fell an octave, the words that left his mouth dropped venom. Scaramouche walked around his desk, hand brushing over the wood surface.
"No, I don't. However I am quite sick of your erratic attitude." You snapped back, leaning against the wall of his office with arms crossed.
"Me? Erratic?" He scoffed at you. "That's rich coming from you."
"Excuse me? First, you insult my family name and now me? Your fiancé?" You raised your voice, bellowing at him in hideous fury.
"Celestia forbid you act like a proper fiancé!" Scaramouche scolded, slamming his fist into the wood of his desk. "You possess an honorary Fatui title and are my fiancé! Act the part!"
"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know I needed to become one of those brainless eye-candy wives for you! Evidently, I don't fit into your 'perfect wife' ideal! Archons— I feel like I'm losing my identity under your scrutiny! You want a trophy, not a human being for a spouse!" You yelled, feeling a migraine build from straining your mind to educate your fiancé on your queries.
"Don't be ridiculous, you're not a trophy. You're my fiancé." He continued to frown at you with a look of discontent.
You grimaced at his words, taking a long sigh to calm yourself. "I am used to becoming someone I am not but I am not willing to change myself in a marriage like this. We can fake this romance all we want— we can fake love. But I am not changing myself for your sake, for your title."
Scaramouche looked displeased at your choice of dialogue.
"What are you insinuating?" He scowled, leaning against his desk for support.
"That you're being a manipulative asshole."
Scaramouche didn't seem to take your words too kindly. "And you're being an arrogant child. Get over yourself, you spoiled brat."
"You—"
In the rush of adrenaline in that moment, you marched over to his desk. As you did so, your right hand reached to yank the engagement ring off of your finger. You threw the expensive jewelry upon his desk in a flight of anger.
"I'm calling off this marriage."
In that split second, he showed an ounce of apprehension but that glint in his eyes disappeared.
"You can't." Scaramouche sneered, ireful amethyst hues boring into yours. "You can't call off this marriage, because you don't hold that power."
You bit the inside of your cheek at his words. "And why do you say that? Are you doubting my authority?"
Scaramouche laughed darkly. "Because if you do, that empire you supposedly inherited would fall into the hands of your father's men. You alone, don't hold any authority in the eyes of the wealthy businessmen from all over Teyvat. That's why your father agreed to have you marry me."
You froze, realizing something that you had not understood before. Exactly why your adoptive father had been so adamantly to marry you as soon as you turned eighteen. Why did you marry a Harbinger, of all people. But what's at hand aggravated you more; the fact that your fiancé seemingly understood and knew your adoptive father better than you did.
"You wouldn't want that now, do you?" Your words from earlier hold true. He truly is a manipulative asshole, an enemy you did not wish to make.
"I've had enough of this. I'm heading home."
You turned on your heels to leave his room before Scaramouche called out to you.
"Where do you think you're going?"
You clicked your tongue at his redundant question. "I'm going home to Liyue." You grimaced, awaiting his berating response.
"No, you're not." Scaramouche plucked your tossed engagement ring up from the desk, walking over to you. "We have a dinner party to attend tonight. We're the honored guest and therefore need to make an appearance. It's in commemoration of our official engagement.
He grabbed your left hand which caused you to reflexively pull away. His eyes flickered up to observe your frown. "Stop being stubborn."
"I want to leave this place." You snapped back, feeling him grasp your left hand tightly. "This place makes me feel dreadfully alone."
"You're not alone." Scaramouche remarked in annoyance as he slipped your engagement band back onto your ring finger. "I'm here."
You don't make me feel welcomed. You held back another slew of protests and allowed him to put your ring on. It wasn't just in your mind, you felt trapped and lost in the frozen palace. It's unfamiliar, confusing, and the atmosphere was affecting your perspective.
"We can return to Liyue after this party. That way, I may speak to your father's former posse." Scaramouche pulled away from you, his eyes fixed on you. "There, does that arrangement make you happy now?"
"No." He sighed, rolling his eyes at you. "What else do you want?"
You paused, pursing your lips together in thought of an activity that could loosen the tension you felt in your chest. "Take me shopping. For my evening dress tonight."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." You rolled your eyes at him.
"You can afford the finest clothes yourself. Why do you need me to come along?" Scaramouche questioned, puzzled by your request.
"It's the gesture that counts. I'm positive my wealth rivals yours so, spend your money on me. You can also choose my outfit tonight." You pointed out the incentives, hoping that he would go through with your ruse.
Materially speaking, the clothes itself didn't matter to you. The ploy only served to take your mind off of what had transpired minutes ago— to take your mind off the fact that you almost lost your marriage to him.
"Is that all?" You nodded, watching as your fiancé took a great inhale before answering your 'frivolous request'. "If it's the means to make you stay, then I suppose I shall indulge you a bit."
"WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS?"
YOU STEPPED OUT of the changing room in a bright red suit and matching dress pants. Darker crimson lining striped the black lapels, running down center front. The suit jacket is slightly oversized, the loose fit made the nature of the regalia seem less formal and more boyish. It fits your youthful image as one of the youngest, most wealthy and influential directors to ever grace Teyvat.
Scaramouche glanced up briefly, eyes quickly scanning over your figure. He sat across from the changing room, legs crossed and backside pressed against the velvet cushion of the seat. In his hands, he was reading a fashion magazine to pass time (at your insistence for some sort of inspiration). Per your request, Scaramouche had brought you to the fashion district of Snezhnaya, designated for the highest of Snezhnayan society. The street was full of boutiques, high fashion bordered every inch of the boulevard. The finest of silks, satins, wools, velvets, and linens could all be found here.
The staff members of the boutique stared from afar in fear, taken aback at the fact that a Harbinger and Teyvat's most beloved had actually entered their store in search of garments.
"Too tacky." He commented, pointing out the brightness of the suit. "You look better in cool or neutral colors."
You rolled your eyes at him. "I rather like this color."
You observed your fiancé scanning through last month's issue of Fontaine high fashion. At least he was acting civilly now. "What about this?"
You held up a statement pair of baby blue corduroy pants with patchwork details. Two chain details hung from the side of the pants, contrasting silver and the blue.
Scaramouche glanced up from his magazine before scrunching his nose up in disapproval of the trousers. "No. You're not wearing that to tonight's soirée."
You groaned and tossed it aside at the frightened staff member standing by your changing room, her arms full of tried-on clothes. "What do you want me to wear? A haori?"
Scaramouche tossed the magazine aside, taking a deep sigh. "As a matter of fact, yes. I would like that."
It was your turn to frown at him. "A haori seems too formal."
"You're representing me at this party. I expect formality and elegance." Scaramouche reminded you, standing up from his seated position to gesture to one of the frightened employees. "You, there. Bring me a few of your available haori and hakama."
The poor girl whom your fiancé had unfortunately pointed to rushed to find him the catalog he desired. You almost felt bad for those who weren't on you and your fiancé's level of jurisdiction— those farther down on the levels of influence were treated with even less kindness than what Scaramouche treated you with.
She returned shortly with armfuls of different patterned haoris and matching hakamas. Naturally, before you could even make a decision, Scaramouche had already picked one out based on design.
"That one," your fiancé pointed at the violet-dyed one. "Bring that to me."
The employee obeyed without a fuss and quickly brought it over to your fiancé for inspection. You eyed the design, eyes glazing over the tyrian purple snowflakes printed over black silk. You assumed he had chosen this out of convenience of his own personal wardrobe.
"It looks stylish..." You offered, staring at the haori and matching dark hakama. You weren't necessarily against wearing a haori though the traditionalism weaved through the article of clothing bogged down your personal youthfulness.
"Then we'll take it." Scaramouche gestured to the poor attendant holding onto your evening wear. "Wire the payment to my bank account."
Once again, he was making clear cut decisions without your approval or solid judgement.
"I would've liked to make that decision on my own." You remarked, rolling your eyes at Scaramouche.
"You asked me to bring out shopping and to pay for your purchases. As your fiancé, I think my input is applicable here." He answered back, walking over to you with hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes glazed over your outfit once more before commenting, "take that off. We have what we came for. Let's go."
Scaramouche left you baffled, departing towards the exit of the boutique with the desire to return to the castle in time to prepare for the dinner party. A sigh left your lips as the girl returned with the haori in a luxurious velvet box in hand. You thanked her and instructed her to place the box aside so you could change out of the 'tacky' red suit your fiancé so despised.
As you were changing out of the suit, you stared at yourself in the mirror hanging across from you. Your eyes flickered from scar to scar, disfiguration to disfiguration. Your back is marred by blemished markings, every inch of skin upon your back is streaked with torture.
For a split second, one image flooded your mind— your adoptive father's cold, dead glare that he spared you when you disobeyed his orders. Your body shudders, paralyzing you in a moment of fear which causes you to fall back against the wall behind you for support. Erratic breathes left as you stared at your reflection in horror before Scaramouche's voice cut through your trance.
"(y/n)!"
Instantly, you snapped out of your diluted thoughts and hurried to change back to your former outfit. You hastily thanked the staff for their consideration and patience before taking the box with you and hurried out the door of the boutique before Scaramouche could snarl at you again. Beads of cold sweat dotted your face as you stepped back out into the iciness of Snezhnaya. Your fiancé's gaze turned to you, noticing your nervous disposition.
"What took you so long?" He asked out of half concern, taking note of your sudden shakiness. You exhaled quietly, watching as the puffs of stream float past your lips and into the frosty air.
"Nothing. Let's head back, shall we?"
—
END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN