Ruins

1

He'd so long dreaded the day when the prince would obtain a reason to march him towards the other end of the palace, but he hadn't imagined going there as a visitor, not a prisoner– Which wasn't any more reassuring.

The other end of the palace– Nasty rumours about it. They said the captive's terror-filled shrieks kept you awake at night. They said sweltering hot rods were used to punish to who stepped out of the line. They said captives were starved for days on end, just to be mean. They said the harsh treatments would make the prince look like a cuddly puppy. They said a lot about that place, and it all was frightening enough that no one even unintentionally wandered there.

Every child was taught to stay away from the other end. Nursemaids didn't collect the clothes from the prisoners' cells. Servants didn't sweep this side's floors. Only the jailers resided here, and let's just say they were not very pleasant people.

He kept his head low, avoiding looking anyone in the eye. As he shuffled, the guards with what looked like laser guns surrounding him walked in accordance. It was a strange procession– An underfed adolescent blocked by some raucous men with unduly combed goatees, led by three men, including the royal hair– and any onlookers they met didn't hang around long enough to judge the spectacle.

They remained silent the entire journey– an unspoken agreement.

Mac tried not to look at the iron-barricaded doors as he passed by. He tuned out the infrequent desolate wail arising from one of the doors. He even turned a blind eye to the jailers standing dutifully, some of their expressions barely concealing their excitement.

But what he could not ignore was the thick, wooden door towards which they were heading. The prince stopped in front of it and twisted the circular iron ring replacing a typical keyhole. A holographic tablet appeared on the desiccated wood.

A moment later, the door swung open to reveal an empty, dark cell. There was a passage of sorts located at the other end leading to a void of blackness. The air was still, and the absence of any insects proved how abject this place was. Though this tension reminded him of...

Just as the flashbacks of the previous night were about to take over, he realized that the cell wasn't entirely empty.

In the center of it, lay a familiar figure with coffee skin and imbibing green eyes. The usual mess of black hair had dirt and soot lining the messy strands. And alloy manacles confined him to his secluded spot. His shoulders drooped as if he'd lost all his hope, and the set of his figure showed that he hadn't heard them enter.

Mac would have liked to say that his heart stopped. He burst into a sprint, running towards his one and only, eyes brimming with tears. Instead, he froze where he was. An unmistakable aura of calm-before-the-rage filled him. "What did you do to him?" He murmured to no one in particular.

The prince had apparently decided to address the accusation. "Nothing," He whispered, his voice crested with daunting malignance. "Yet."

An arm shoved him forward, though the only way he knew was due to his hearing since his nerves had nulled. As if his brain had just finished processing what'd happened, he ran across to Zey, muttering, "Oh god, Oh god, Oh god under his breath."

----

Zey started at the sound of approaching footsteps. Really, couldn't they leave him alone while he was foreboding about the oncoming misery he was to face in this cell?

A few hours ago, while everyone was asleep, he'd pasted a note on the dorm's door stating that he had decided to head early into his shift and helpfully mentioning that Mac had no reason to worry. After that, he headed straight to brush his teeth when a few armed men barged in and catered him off to the prince's quarters. Well, yes, Zey was stunningly attractive, but that didn't mean the prince should choose to make out with him when he was half-dressed in a blooming pair of trunks with images of chicken imprinted on them and a toothbrush midway down his throat.