They don't 'put me to work' (read: begin my slavery) right away and instead I'm dragged right back to the cell in the basement and given what's probably a poor excuse for a meal in this place—a plate with what looks like it was all canned at one point; rice and beans, corn, and a slab of something that looks like meat, I think. What they don't fucking know is that this, to me, is a goddamn treat. It's probably the biggest meal I've had in several years and, as a result of my poor appetite and my shitty, skinny body only being used to surviving off maybe a thousand calories a day, I can't even finish it all. I savor every goddamn bite I can get down, though, before my stomach starts to hurt. It actually has fucking flavor, and it's warm. I have to admit, it's almost tempting to deface some sort of property in this shithole of a place while I'm doing my 'work' so they do lock me up and feed me like this for the rest of my life or whatever—that is, if it weren't for my practically starving mother and friends (who are basically family anyway) waiting for me down in The Outskirts.
I can't keep the delicious food down, though; it's like it's too nutritious or something and my body doesn't believe it's real so, probably half an hour after they'd taken the tray away, scoffing something about me not being appreciative of their 'generous meal' or whatever, I'm leaning over the toilet/hole in the floor thing in the corner, heaving everything up. And while it tastes fucking awful coming back up, I've put worse-tasting things into my mouth before, so it's not all that hard to recover.
Oh, and guess who's lucky enough to get a second visit from the prince himself, right in the middle of heaving up my food? Yeah—me. Fucking wonderful.
"Oh shit, are you okay?" comes his voice from behind me when I'm sitting back up, wiping my mouth on my already stained and ripped t-shirt.
"Fine," I mutter, not bothering to look back at him. "What do you want?"
"My parents gave me permission to come down and uh, 'meet you'." The air-quotes are apparent in his voice, making me want to roll my eyes.
"Lucky you," I mutter.
"Hey, don't you think you should be a little nicer to me?" he asks, almost teasingly. "I got you out of a lifetime of living in this little cell."
"A lifetime, huh?" I snort, finally turning around. Sure enough, his face is peeking in through the little barred window again.
"Well, nah. Probably just a few months. Maybe a year. But it probably would've felt like a lifetime."
Yeah, I think, like you'd fucking know.
"So how long am I supposed to be your shitty slave, anyway?" I ask, flopping onto the mat in the corner.
"Not sure. My parents haven't figured that out yet. I think they wanna wait and see how you do first, ya know? Make sure you're going to behave."
"Right, 'cause all I am is some shitty dog to them, eh?"
"...no," he says quietly, in a weird, dragged out way.
"Liar."
"Not a dog," he says quickly. "But they think very lowly of you."
"Like that's a fucking surprise," I mutter. "Bet you're exactly the same."
"No, dude. You're a person, ya know? They haven't talked to you, anyway, so they don't really know."
"Whatever. So why'd you vouch for me, anyway?" I ask, like I don't fucking know. Guess I just want to hear him say it even though I don't know why.
"'Cause I'm curious about you. I've never met anybody like you before. Plus, I haven't forgotten about that scar, the one that matches—"
"Never met anybody like me? You mean a homeless guy who wears rags for clothes, hasn't had a proper shower in a couple months, and whose ribs are visible? Someone who needs shit and does what he can to help his family and people who are like him, 'cause he's not selfish as fuck like you and the other royal pricks? Or do you mean someone who breaks the laws to help people?"
"That's not—"
"Yeah," I mutter, laying down. "Sure it's not." I turn onto my side, facing the wall, showing him my back. "It's not hard to tell what rich, powerful fucks like you are thinking when you look at someone like me. Spare me your shitty denial in trying to be a decent human being. I'm getting some sleep before my slave shit starts, so wake me up whenever that is or whatever."
I try not to feel too surprised that that alone shut him up. I feel him stand there and look at me for a few more moments, my eyes already closed and the ringing in my ears amplifying with the silence. I think I might hear him mumble something past it but I can't make it out, and then the feeling of finally being alone settles over. All I can do to keep the ringing at a bearable level is hum to myself until I do finally fall asleep, abso-fucking-lutely exhausted.
---
I have no idea how long it's been by the time I'm being woken up by the agonizing sound of the cell door being pulled open, its hinges squealing and its bottom scraping across the concrete. It stops just before I think my ears are about to start goddamn bleeding, and a shadow has fallen across the room from where light floods in through the doorway.
"Hey, you awake?"
I have to squint against the light in the hallway when I roll over. None other than the prince himself is standing before me. His bright red hair is tied up in its usual bun and he's wearing surprisingly casual clothes. Other than what's probably pure silver in the lobes of his ears and the diamond-studded emblem tucked into his bun, there's no indication at all that he's the prince.
"I am now," I grumble, sitting up.
His smile is surprisingly apologetic. "Your work starts today," he says, "so I came down to get you since I'll be accompanying you."
"Joy..." I grumble under my breath and pull myself to my feet, still half asleep.
"But hey, I brought you a change of clothes," he says, holding out a bundle I hadn't noticed before.
I have to shake my head a bit to make sure I'm hearing this fucker right. "What, you're trying to be nice to me?" I ask. "Even though I'm just some 'pesky rat' or whatever?"
"I don't think you're a rat, man. We've been over this," he insists. "Take it."
I don't need shit from you, is what I want to say, but I can't bring myself to. It's like I'm being handed new clothes on a silver fucking platter, and I did come here for supplies. So I take the stupid clothes—ones that are probably his—and stare at them for a second. It's just a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, but what catches my interest are the shoes sitting on top; I haven't had a decent pair of shoes since I was a kid. That aside, though, I'm questioning why the fuck the prince would own such commoner's clothes.
"Don't you think your prissy parents or family or whatever are gonna notice when I'm wearing different clothes?" I grumble.
"It'll be fine because yours are so torn up, so I don't think they'll care. They probably won't even notice anyway, since they have more important things to worry about."
"Right, like how they can hoard more money..." I scoff under my breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"...I'll give you a sec to change," he mumbles, stepping back out into the hallway. I brace myself for the god-awful sound of the door being shut, but he leaves it when he disappears behind it.
Changing takes two seconds, and it's not like I would've given a damn if he'd stayed right there. New clothes are a luxury I've never really had—just old, recycled junk I've had to steal out of dumpsters and shit. Plus, I'm used to changing in front of other people, and I couldn't care less about him being the prince.
...but that's only until the whole soulmate thing occurs to me again, and it comes with a wave of surprise that he didn't stay and try to see the rest of the scars marking up my body to find out if they match his or whatever. Ugh. I'll never say it, but I'm silently thankful he left.
While the clothes are a little baggy, they're much better than the shitty rags I'd been dressed in before. They're clean, and there are no tears or stains to speak of. Even still, it only makes me even more aware of how disgusting I am and how much I wish I could take a fucking shower for once in my life.
I leave my old clothes on the mat that acts as my bed, assuming I'll be back in this shitty cell when I'm done with whatever slavery shit they're having me do today. They might be rags, but they're still usable and I can take them back and give them—or these new ones—to someone who needs them (on the assumption they'll eventually let me go...).
"So what are you assholes making me do, anyway?" I ask, stepping out into the hall where the prince waits behind the door.
"Yard labor," the prince says from behind the door. I wince as he's pushing it shut, but the pain in my ears is quickly forgotten because this is my first real, good luck at this motherfucker, and if I wasn't an emotionally constipated piece of garbage, I'd almost want to fucking cry, looking at him now.
Seriously, he's fucking gorgeous, and I hate it. I mean, it's not like I've never seen him before, it's just been brief. I don't exactly get internet access down in the slums, nor do I pay that much attention to headlines and shit about him; I've got much, much more important shit to worry about.
But he's... definitely a descendent of the queen and the royal family that has ruled this country for who the fuck knows how long. Even though he isn't dressed the part and his casual way of speaking, of holding himself, in no way indicates his position, it's not hard to tell by looking at him that he's of high status. He's got giant, red eyes and thick, dark lashes to frame them. His cheekbones are high and his jaw is strong and straight. His skin is an even olive tone. And while he's gorgeous, he's still masculine as fuck; he's my height but with broader shoulders (only because he's been well-nourished for his entire life, unlike me) and a sturdy build...
But taking this closer look at him, in the light and from just a few feet away rather than across an entire throne room, my stomach drops right into my ass or someshit. Because yeah, there it is—that scar. Right on his eyelid. I'd seen it before, but I'd been internally hoping and praying to some higher power I don't believe in that it was just a trick of the light or whatever. But nope. I can't deny it now. It's there, and scarily similar to the one on mine.
"...have to put it on you, since nobody trusts you around here. Naturally," he's saying when I zone the fuck back in. My eyes focus on some sort of black hoop he's holding up, and then I take in the slightly rueful expression in his eyes. "Sorry."
"The fuck is it?"
"An electric collar," he says. "Weren't you listening?"
A fucking shock collar. Of course. Why in the hell should I be surprised? Because apparently handcuffs aren't enough, and neither is a relatively muscular prince with a supposed ten years of combat training and a literal eight inch, sheathed blade hanging from his belt. No, they have to go and put a shock collar on me—probably one strong enough to knock me the fuck out at the touch of a button. Awesome.
I don't bother to stifle my heavy sigh of disgruntledness when I turn around to let him put it on me while simultaneously making a mental note to tell everyone in the slums not to break into this shitty palace because, even though it's bulging with riches and food and supplies that could probably support everyone I know for several months, it's not worth it. No fucking wonder Mom was so against me doing this...
"I'm really sorry about this, man," Eijirou is saying when he's clipped the stupid collar in place, making me feel even more like a dog or some shitty zoo animal they're trying to train up than a human fucking being.
Yeah right, though. I doubt he's really sorry; honestly, he's probably just trying to find some shitty common ground with me or whatever because he suspects we're 'soulmates.' So I bite my tongue; the last thing I want is to find myself trapped in a conversation with him and end up saying some shit he doesn't need to know.
"If it were up to me," he continues, "I wouldn't go this far, but my mother insisted on some insurance. I don't think she really believes I'm as strong as I am."
I scoff lightly as we head back toward the elevator, but say nothing. He presses a button once on the inside and the thing starts to ascend immediately, and it's so quiet that the ringing in my ears has me almost starting to hum out of habit to ease the pain a little.
The elevator doesn't take us far. It opens to a long, perpendicular hallway and, just across it, is a set of large, heavy-looking doors that go into what I can only assume is some giant dining room, judging by what I can see through the windows of the doors. I can't even be surprised that they're automatic when we head toward them, either, and slide open rather than swing. The prince leads me through the entire room, set up with round tables with fancy cloths and chairs, centerpieces, and individual chandeliers hanging from gold chains above them. That's all I have time to take in, though, before we're heading through an identical set of doors out into a ridiculously sunny day for autumn. We step into some sort of courtyard looking thing with shrubs, trees, a fountain and everything. Again, way more than anybody fucking needs, but go nuts I guess...
"Most of the stuff they decided for you to do is outdoor work," the prince explains. "Cleaning up leaves, weeding the yard, cleaning the pool, stuff like that."
I say nothing as he continues to lead the way, and for a moment I consider trying to book it. There's a tall white fence surrounding this courtyard looking place—probably six to eight feet tall, I guess just by eyeballing it. There isn't much to grab onto, but if I'm determined enough I can probably scale it and run.
But then I remember the shitty collar hanging around my neck, heavy and still slightly cold. He'd probably shock me into submission before I'm able to get halfway to the fence, and even if I somehow was able to make it over, I'd probably have more of their asshole guards gang up on me the second my feet hit the ground on the other side.
Best thing to do is just humor these assholes and hopefully plot a way out as I learn the basic floorplan of this shitty place.
Apparently the damn palace is more domesticated than I thought because in one corner of this huge yard are literal sheds, holding garden supplies and tools and other shit I couldn't even begin to name, let alone describe the functions of just by looking at them.
In all honesty, I expect him to just tell me where shit is and make me do everything myself so it's a genuine surprise when he reaches up himself and pulls down a box of trash bags. He even hands me a pair of gardening gloves and all I can think is how many mixed signals I'm getting from these assholes. One thing's for sure—they're not nearly as black and white as I'd anticipated, and that's saying a lot.
"Since the trees have barely started turning I figured we'd start with the weeding, especially since it's pretty easy and the most straightforward," says the prince. "There shouldn't be much, either because the gardener only went on maternity leave two days ago and she's great at keeping up with everything."
I feel my eyes narrow in skepticism. So they let their staff go on maternity leave but don't give a fuck about thousands of people living below the poverty line in The Outskirts? They make one kid who's clearly underfed and dirty a fucking slave to punish him for trying to take something they should provide in the first place? What new kind of bullshit is this place, anyway?
I don't have much time to mull it over because the prince is leading me back out of the shed and into the yard again, towards all the shapely shrubs and autumn flowers swaying in a cool breeze. At least the day is nice and it doesn't look like I'll get rained on.
"All you have to do is pull out anything that looks like it doesn't belong near the plants or in the grass," he explains. "Try and get it from the root so it won't grow back."
"So what, you rich assholes don't have weed killer?" I snort. It was meant to be a thought but it's out of my mouth before I know it.
"We do, but I guess weeds evolve?" Eijirou mumbled. "I'm not really sure. I don't know too much about being a botanist."
Whatever the fuck that means...
All I can think about as I crouch down with a newly opened trash bag—scented with some nauseating floral smell, because of course rich assholes have smelly trash bags—is how fucking shitty I feel for getting myself into this mess. I feel fucking degraded, yanking stupid weeds out of the ground as the prince watches me with weirdly... observant eyes. It's starting to freak me out once we're halfway across the yard until it hits me—the fucker is probably still thinking about the scar.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" he pipes up right as I'm realizing this.
Here we go. "...I guess," I quip. Can I really say no? My life is almost quite literally in his hands, and fuck if I know what kind of temper he has. Besides, I might as well be on my best behavior if I wanna get out of this shithole anytime soon.
"I'm... just curious, I promise—but where'd you get that scar? The one on your eyelid?"
Even though I saw it coming, my stomach tightens in irritation all the same. Fortunately, I'm good at lying, and lying fast.
"Got into a fight," I mutter, yanking out another weed. "Bitch had some sharp nails."
"...really?" he mumbles, almost like he doesn't believe me. Even out of the corner of my eye, though, he seems to deflate in disappointment. "It's crazy how similar it is to mine, man. I got mine when I was a toddler. Guess I ran into the corner of a table when I was playing. Mom said it bled so much she almost had a heart attack." He finishes with a chuckle.
At this point I'm trying really hard not to grind my teeth in irritation and channel that energy into pulling the stupid weeds. In all honesty, I don't have a damn clue where I got the shitty scar. It's been there as long as I can remember, and since my mother's vision was too far gone even then, she had no idea herself. Just remembering this makes me feel fucking sick, because it's just more evidence that this shitty prince might be—
No. Fuck no. I won't think it.
"So a fight, huh?" Eijirou asks. "That's pretty crazy."
"Not where I live."
It's quiet for a moment; I can almost feel the thoughtful energy radiating off of him, even though I haven't looked directly at him in almost fifteen minutes.
"What's it like where you live?" he asks suddenly.
I glance up at him, perplexed, and spit out the first thought that comes to my head. "Why do you care?"
"I told you, man—I'm curious about stuff. Oh, you missed one," he says, pointing at a small thistle. I yank the stupid thing out and throw it in the bag.
"I doubt you'd even be able to imagine it," I mutter, swiping my forearm across my brow, because of course I spoke too soon about the weather; summer's still got a bit of fight left and as the sun has ascended, it's began to beat straight down on us without the hope of a cloud crossing in between. Great.
"Aw c'mon. Try me," he says, and I know he's grinning. "I've got a pretty vivid imagination."
"Yeah? Then how do you imagine it, just knowing what you know now? Just lookin' at me and that's it?" I ask, almost challengingly.
The prince hesitates for a minute, almost like he's afraid of offending me, which in the back of my mind I find downright hilarious. Why the shit should a likely stuck up prince like this asshole care about offending a slum dweller? Jesus, this fucking family confuses me.
"...dirty," is the first word that crosses his lips. "Maybe a lot of open space? It probably doesn't smell very good, either."
I snort. "What tipped you off to the fact that we don't have rose-scented carpets and trash bags down there?" I mutter sarcastically.
He doesn't answer that, though. "Doesn't seem like there are too many people, either."
My back cracks in protest as I stand up when we've made it around the entire yard, but I ignore it as he says, "Am I right?"
"...only a little," I admit, bunching up the bag in my hands. "What's next?"
"Let's go clean the pool."
I have to roll my eyes at that—let's. Like he's gonna fucking help me. Fuckwad.
"So what am I wrong about?"
"It's crowded," I quip, dropping the trash bag in the dumpster he actually holds open for me. "And there are thousands of people. Maybe even tens of thousands, all packed into tiny, rundown and unmaintained housing that was abandoned by you people decades ago."
"...oh," he mumbled. "Wow."
"Tons of kids, too," I tell him. "And sick people. Elderly people. People who have diseases you can cure and prevent here with a simple shot, but who can't get those cures because they don't have money. People who have to scrape meals out of the trash more often than not."
As I keep talking, describing the grimy, practically unlivable conditions in which I live—or used to, because who the fuck knows if I'll ever be allowed to go back—I'm fully aware that I'm trying to make him feel guilty. It's not an emotion I'm sure someone like him can feel, but I'd be damned if I don't give it a shot. I didn't come here for nothing, after all.
"I had no idea," he murmurs, almost like he's fucking surprised, as he hands me some weird net attached to the end of a pole. "My parents never talk about The Outskirts. They say there's nothing there worth our time, that there are more important things to worry about."
A snort blows from my nose as I take the stupid pole. "You expect me to be fucking surprised at that? Your damn family hasn't lifted a fucking finger to help us in decades. Of course they wouldn't tell their spawn about it."
The prince gives me a... look, one I can't exactly read, but I think it's some weird combination of pity and confusion. He says nothing more before he leads me to the pool—a huge one, expectedly. Fortunately it isn't that dirty and all I have to do is scoop out leaves, dead bugs, and other gunk from the surface. All the while I'm wondering why the fuck all this shit isn't already pristine as fuck, being the royal palace and all. I'm just scraping the last of the shit out of the net with my gloved hand when I remember part of his argument to let this be my punishment instead of a peaceful imprisonment is that they're understaffed.
Weird.
---
lmao this chapter is so weak, sorry. also very lazily edited, so if there are any grammar mistakes or whatever please lemme know~
also if you guys wanna donate to my ko-fi or become a patron (both links in my bio!) to help me out financially and take off the stresses of life so i can write more for ya, i'll be forever grateful (really, i swear ToT) ♥
have a wonderful weekend ♥