Scaramouche was not noble, not important. Just a servant of the Lysira castle, an anonymous face blending into the shadows, doing his duty without asking questions. And yet, when he looked at the princess, his mistress, he realized he was no longer the same man.

She was the daughter of the king, the jewel of Lysira, destined to become queen. Elegant, aloof, always surrounded by a court that adored her, she was a dream beyond reach, an idea that wandered the castle towers like a queen already crowned.

He, on the other hand, had always been invisible. A presence never truly noticed, except to serve. Yet, there was something he had learned over the years in his service: in silence, truths hid that no one dared see.

Every day, his hands moved at the service of her beauty, bringing food, organizing rooms, arranging garments. Yet, between her loud laughter and conversations with the court, their glances met often. In her eyes, a silent curiosity studied him. And him? He couldn't help but answer her call, even though he knew it was dangerous.

Their days were marked by these little secret moments: his hands brushing hers, their eyes meeting in the reflection of a mirror, stolen smiles as he bowed to her orders that seemed more like an invitation. And he always wondered, secretly, if she knew, if she understood what he was becoming under her light.

But none of this had ever been said aloud, not even between the sheets of the castle, when one night, without a word, they broke all barriers. It had been her who had pulled him into a dark corner of the castle, her eyes like flames ready to consume him. He had been unable to do anything but respond. And so, as if the world around them no longer existed, they found each other. Their forbidden love had been born there, in the shadows, in a breath of desire with no name or limit.

Since that night, they had become lovers in silence. No one could know. Every encounter was a secret kept between their lips and bodies, meeting in dark corridors, hidden gardens, locked rooms where no one could see them. Their kisses were stolen, their caresses taken in secret, but the love growing between them was unstoppable, a force neither could control.

That evening, the castle seemed to be asleep. The flickering lights of the torches only illuminated the corridor where Scaramouche walked, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. She had called for him, told him to meet her in her private quarters. There was no one else. Only her and him.

He closed the door behind him. The sound of the wood sliding against the latch echoed in the empty room. She rose from the bed, her hair falling down her shoulders like a river of gold. Her eyes, however, were serious, intense. The air between them was thick with emotion, something they could no longer hide.

She didn't say a word, but moved toward him slowly, as if each step was a promise that could no longer be ignored. When she was close enough, he pulled her into his arms. Their bodies met like a gust of wind. Her eyes closed as his lips found hers, hungry, eager. There were no more doubts. No more fears.

His hands slipped beneath her dress, caressing the smooth skin he already knew, and she pressed closer to him, as though he were the only thing that could hold her together in that moment. He gently pushed her backward. The door closed behind them, sealing them off from the rest of the world. His kiss trailed down her neck, and her hands found his face, guiding it back to her lips with an intensity that stole his breath.

"Finally..." he murmured against her skin, his voice almost broken with desire. "I couldn't wait any longer."