#I will probably have to contiue this because I need to make aikaterine more sad and unhappy

[kira-the-whump-enthusiast]

Content: even more aftermath of whump and implied abuse, fantasy slavery, extremely bitter whumpee, mentioned lady whumper, transfem whumpee, non-malicious misgendering, angsty angst angst

Tagging: @whump-in-the-closet @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

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The past few years had been nothing but perfectly wonderful. 

Oh, the tragic disappearance of Prince Acacius had plunged the entire kingdom into mourning for months, yes, but the crisis of succession was quickly resolved. 

It was really only a whim, honestly, but all Laith needed to become the heir apparent was a little flattery and an appeal to the regent, backed by their fellow council members.

Now their estate was flourishing, their future secure, and the kingdom was shining brighter than ever. Everything was only better now that the arrogant little brat of a prince was gone—rumor had it he was still in bondage, being passed around the nobles of the North like a party favor.

Laith… preferred to believe he was only dead.

And as the prosperous years unfolded, it became easier and easier to convince themself that it was so. There were so many things that could have gone wrong, after all. The prince had undoubtedly died, and the kingdom was better for it. How could it not have been the right choice, to get rid of him, considering all the good his disappearance had done?

And still, Laith couldn’t help but wonder how long he had to suffer before his misery ended. 

No, no, no need to dwell on that. And especially not now that they were so busy. Building connections was surprisingly strenuous work—their estate had been working for months to prepare for a visitor from the North. Her name was Lady Mirella, and she would come to sort out some minutiae of a treaty that promised to promote some peace between the kingdoms. 

They’d made all the proper accommodations for their foreign guest, making space in the stables for the horses, stocking the kitchens, and preparing rooms for the entourage of servants and family that’d arrived with her. Lady Mirella settled in with no hassle at all. 

Except…

They’d noticed the man constantly kneeling by Lady Mirella. She’d called him her “personal companion,” but he looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here. He wore a strange, tight leather collar around his neck, one that Laith would say was better fit for a dog. They might have brushed it off as a simple eccentricity, but—

His wide-collared shirt fell, and before he could readjust it, Laith saw something on his shoulder that made their blood turn to ice. 

That burn.

Like art carved onto a canvas. 

They’d seen it before. 

But no, this couldn’t be—this obviously wasn’t the prince. His hair had been short and sandy brown, not long and braided and dyed a lurid shade of purple. He looked paler too, much thinner, and his lip was pierced with a silver ring. And even if they thought he was the prince, half the man’s face was scared horribly, torn up and burned, so they would never be able to tell for sure anyways.

Nevermind his eyes—the same piercing dark color as the prince’s, hopeless and pleading as the last time they’d met his gaze.

Laith might have been able to let it go. Lady Mirella was only set to stay for three months, and she’d certainly be taking her servant with her when she left.

But… if this was the prince, then everything Laith had worked for suddenly fell into jeopardy. 

They must question this mysterious man tonight.

—

The past few years had been—to put it quite crudely—nothing but complete and utter bullshit.

As a prince, Aikaterine would never dare use such uncouth language, would fear even thinking any sort of word that might not be fit for a royal mouth.

As a prince, she’d expect ten lashes for such an offense.

But she was a prince no longer, and now she wasn’t even spared the dignity of being a person. No one cared about the words that fell out of her mouth—hells, she couldn’t count all the beatings she’d received for speaking when not spoken to.

There was no one in the world now who cared to listen to her, and Aikaterine could only be happy that they’d dropped the pretenses. 

She wasn’t blind. She saw the looks in their eyes. As if she was no better than a hound, made only to follow orders. The sight felt depressingly familiar—how many times had she practiced looking down on others in that manner?

But even as degrading as it was to be looked upon as less than human, Aikaterine would choose it over the venomous glanced and poisoned politeness of the court, every time. They so obviously hated her. 

Almost more than she despised herself. 

So it was no joy to return to the kingdom that had forsaken her, living in the home of the one who’d sent her down this very long and painful path in the first place.

And always, Aikaterine wondered why they did it—what had she done to Laith to deserve this? Had they truly been so petty as to damn her for a few unkind words? Gods, if only they had known. 

Her only solace was that Mirella liked to keep her alone at all times, so she’d likely never have to run into Laith again—but the gods seemed to always find a new way to laugh at her misery. 

The lavishly dressed councilmember entered the bedroom her mistress was staying in, and Aikaterine felt her heart drop and twist in her stomach. Bitterness gave way to instinctive fear, and as much as she would like to pretend to hold onto some semblance of dignity—dread made her choice for her. 

She flinched away as Laith approached her, felt her hands tremble uncontrollably. That face that haunted her nightmares spoke to her, and she felt her mind give away. 

“Who are you?” 

Aikaterine didn’t quite hear her own words, barely felt the forced, practiced smile creep onto her face. 

“You know me very well, don’t you, my lord?” 

Laith recoiled, and in the back of her mind Aikaterine was aware that this was a very bad thing, but the only thing she truly registered was that surely, Laith would not let this aspersion slide. 

They locked the door behind them. 

Aikaterine almost screamed. 

“I—I’m sorry…” she quickly muttered. Like that would make up for anything. Like that would change anyone’s mind.

“Acacius. Why are you here?” 

Aikaterine felt her heart shrivel up and die another little death, felt her breath stick in her throat. That name had been forced onto her like the collar around her neck—and she had no choice but to respond to it. 

“What other choice would I have?” Her voice cracked, desperate, and choked, despite how much she tried to hide it. “I am a slave. There is nothing else I can do except follow her.” 

She felt tears slide down her face as she curled her arms around her chest, felt the fragile semblance of sanity she’d attempted to maintain through the lonely years crumble and wash away like sand in the waves. 

Laith collapsed against the wall, knees buckling, clutching their forehead. “You should be dead. You—you shouldn’t be here.” 

“Then why did you not kill me all those years ago?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, broken up by quiet sobs. She fell to her knees, collapsing on the richly carpeted floor. 

“I—you know I couldn’t.” Laith wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and Aikaterine felt her vision color over with red and almost give out. 

“And this was the better alternative?” 

“It was the only one.”

Aikaterine didn’t believe them for a second.

But who was she to contradict them? Here, where they had the endless power to do so much worse than that fateful little night. So she forced herself to swallow her words and bottle up the resentment that she didn’t realize was so endless until now. 

“Alright,” she whispered. And they both knew that Aikaterine did not accept the answer. 

Laith strode over on shaky legs, lifting her chin with a single, unsteady finger. She froze, expectant, terror flooding her eyes.

“You are not Acacius. You will never be Acacius, ever again. Do not try to reclaim your name, or I promise—I can make everything that’s happened to you already feel like a mercy.”

Their gaze held a thunderous storm, their voice dropped to a grave whisper.

A single tear slipped down Aikaterine’s face. “I understand.”

There was no reason that she’d ever want to be a prince again, to go back to that secret little slice of hell. But who would bother to care? Certainly not the person who cast her away to years of suffering.

Aikaterine could imagine their laugh, and despair wrapped its icy hands around her throat. 

“I don’t have a name an–anymore. I haven’t one since—well.” She swallowed nervously. “No one calls me anything.” Her true name burned in the back of her throat—Aikaterine. The only name she had ever wanted to know herself as. But there was no way in the seven hells that she’d empty her soul to the very person who helped to destroy it.

“Alright. I…hope you’ve learned your place.”

Laith looked away, unwilling to meet her gaze. But she kept her eyes on them as they hurriedly evacuated the room. 

The moment they shut the door, the slam almost deafening, she buried her head into a nearby pillow and screamed.

That bastard! Bastard! Couldn’t they tell already?

Of course she knew her place. That was all she knew. There was nothing more of her left, and nothing at all worth resisting for. 

---

AN: This did not take me two months to write. Definitely not. You will definitely see a continuation of this in a timely manner.

cw: aftermath of whump, implied abuse, fantasy slavery, violence, manhandling.

based on this prompt by @howls-ghost

"Trite details bore me. I'll leave it to you to complete, and complete quickly," said Prince Acacius.

"I've had enough of your dimwitted blathering. See yourself to the door," said Prince Acacius.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

Laith was sick of it. Sick of the arrogant little brat prancing around the palace like he was already king. They hated Acacius and his cold, dismissive attitude. The spoiled twat didn't know a thing about running a kingdom, and wouldn't know humility if it bit him on the nose.

The only reason the country wasn't already in ruins was due to the competence of Laith and the rest of the high council. Even the regent, as good a man he was, was taken out of commission by Acacius, forced to keep the aloof young man at his side at all hours for supposed education. Not that Laith believed Acacius absorbed any of it. He was a horrid prince, and he'd make a horrid king.

And Laith intended to do something about it.

It started as something small and reasonable; a daydream about teaching the prince a lesson, of having him whipped for insolence, or beaten in the streets, or simply pushed off the balcony.

But none of those were realistic dreams, and none of those were enough. Acacius needed a punishment that would stick, something scarring, something humiliating.

The thoughts danced across Laith's mind through all their waking hours, turning sharper and more creative with every insult from the rotten prince.

But then, they thought, why bother with a mere punishment? Why not be rid of the arrogant heir for good? Death was too quick for his poisoned heart, but there were alternatives. Slavers in the West and enemies in the North, and either faction would jump at the chance to own the pretty prince. Should Laith's goal be realized, it would do more than sate their need for justice; it would spare the kingdom from a heartless ruler.

They'd lock him in a cell with no sunlight for a year. They'd remove his acrid tongue, put out his disdainful eyes, somehow they'd hurt him in a way that mattered.

They took their time making the arrangements; letters delivered in secret, coded messages, quiet plans and plots to cover the prince's upcoming disappearance. At last, the hour was drawing near. At last, Acacius would get all that he deserved.

But of course, Laith would have their fun with him first.

They came upon the royal in the dead of night. Laith had been making note of Acacius's movements, and by now they knew to expect the young man's midnight journey to the library. Too good to be seen there in daylight hours, when servants were dusting and lesser lords were reading. Too good to even peruse the shelves alongside those he deemed as unworthy.

Laith fell upon the prince as soon as he reached the library doors, wrapping their arm tight around a torso clad in a loose silk shirt, their other hand clamped over Acacius's mouth to dampen his startled cry. The prince made fearful noises beneath their hand, but there was no time to savor the sound. Laith knew they must move swiftly or risk alerting the night watch.

They slammed the prince's head into the heavy oak door behind him. Once, twice, and then their royal prisoner's struggling lessened. Laith forced him to the ground, stuffing a wad of cloth into his mouth and tying it in place with a cord. That same cord trailed down from the prince's head to wind around his wrists, then back up again to circle his throat, forming a makeshift collar and leash to better Laith's control of him. He tugged harshly at the rope, and the dazed prince stumbled to his feet, whimpering softly from behind the gag.

There was no haughtiness in his eyes, only something meek and fearful. It was nearly enough to make Laith second-guess their plans, but their memories of the man they knew Acacius to be strengthened their resolve.

They would not fall for this docile ruse. They knew the truth.

Laith delved deeper into the castle, making for one of the secret passages in the stone that would lead them outside the keep. There was a cottage at the edge of the woods, overlooking the river that ran alongside the castle's walls. A peasant girl had sighted it after Laith offered her a penny to find a covert location. It was perfect; well away from anyone who could hear them, and the river would make an easy path for the slavers' skiff.

They hauled Acacius into the cottage, unable to resist giving the prince a sharp kick in the back that sent him tumbling to the ground. The slavers weren't set to arrive until just before sunrise. Laith had nearly an hour to get revenge for every petty insult that had ever been flung their way.

Laith dropped a knee into the prince's chest, holding his head in place while he removed the gag.

Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith refused to let the act sway them. If anything, it only fueled their fire. How dare this impudent brat act like this was unearned? Now safe behind a closed door, Laith let their fury burn, raining fists and kicks down on the prince's helpless form, relishing every muffled cry. No, they shouldn't be muffled. They wanted to hear Acacius plead for mercy.

"N-nnh please... Please don't," the shaky words left Acacius's throat with the balled-up cloth. Laith answered him with another blow, and the prince squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened again, there was a distant look to them, tears trickling from the corners.

No matter. Soon they'd be rid of him for good.

Small whimpers and gasps left Acacius's throat as Laith continued the beating, but aside from a few weak pleas, the prince didn't speak, or even look their way. Like he was only waiting for it to end. Their blows slowed, the enjoyment fading as the royal seemed to detach himself from the moment. Laith huffed. Even bound and beaten, Acacius was still ruining their day.

Ignoring the blank look on the prince's face, Laith drew their knife, cutting away Acacius's clothing. Even if that didn't get a reaction, it served the practical purpose of making things a shade easier on the slavers.

The prince lay very still, his breaths small and shaky as Laith removed the ruined clothing. And underneath the silk... Laith was unprepared for what was underneath the silk.

Old bruises covered Acacius's torso, scars layered beneath, some fresher than others. The wounds didn't stop there; more scars scattered the prince's legs, some framed in a sickly yellow-green.

"What is this?" Laith whispered, the question half-directed at themselves. Acacius didn't answer, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that looked glazed over.

Seeing another wound on their prisoner's shoulder, this one oddly shaped, Laith grabbed Acacius's upper arm and rolled him onto his stomach. The prince answered the action with a startled cry.

"N-no, please, please don't---"

"Shut up," Laith hissed, taking in the prince's back. It seemed the brat had been whipped before, and on more than one occasion by the looks of it. They couldn't say whether the dark feeling welling up in them was more akin to pity, or bitterness that they hadn't been able to witness the lashings themselves.

Starker than the whip scars was the image burned into Acacius's back. An intricate pattern, asymmetrical and varied in color, like its artist had begun months or even years ago and was still perfecting it. The newest mark was still a bright, skinless red, as if it had been smouldering mere hours ago.

Laith let out a disgusted sigh, turning their back on the sniveling prince. It seemed Acacius had been getting what he'd deserved for some time now, but it had done little to improve his attitude. Who had done this to him? Could it have been the regent? Why was pity seeping into them, like poison from a soured wound?

Acacius didn't deserve their pity. Wounded or not, he still paraded the palace ground like a bejeweled goose, hissing and biting at anyone he seemed lesser.

But why? came a small voice inside them. Why put on such an arrogant mask?

It didn't matter. Wounded or not, the prince should have better respected Laith and their peers.

There was a sharp rap on the door, and Laith pushed it open an inch to peer out into the darkness. A pale woman with a shaved head stood on the other side, wearing clothing that was clearly foreign, despite its simplicity.

"Here to collect your gift?" they said, and the woman smiled.

"Aye. The North'll pay a pretty penny for your little heir."

"Wonderful," Laith said, but the word felt insincere. They couldn't let themselves doubt their plans now, the deed was nearly done. They opened the door further. "Take him then. Let's have this over with."

Acacius lay still on the ground, though his hands were trembling. He'd ceased his begging and was now crying softly and hells, Laith couldn't stand to hear it.

They bent over the prince, grabbing a fistful of his hair and roughly stuffing the gag back into his mouth to muffle that damned pathetic noise.

"Take him," they said again, more insistently. "Take him and be gone."

"S'wrong with his back?"

"I don't know." Laith shook their head. "Take him."

"Not a word of me," they said. "You'll make a fortune off him, all I ask is my name and face remain unknown."

"Alright, alright." The woman seized the rope, the leash Laith had formed, and tugged on it, forcing the prince to his feet. Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith turned their back on him.

"Your wish is my command," the woman chuckled, leading the prince towards the rocky shore, where her boat lay waiting. A sob escaped Acacius as he passed the threshold.

"Wait." Hells, what were they saying? They wanted nothing more to do with the royal. They needed him gone, but when the prince turned back to look at them, the flash of hope in his eyes wrenched in their gut.

Those damned eyes. Those haughty, arrogant, judging eyes.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

"Nevermind," Laith said quickly. "Go. Get him out of here."

The woman tugged on the leash, nearly causing the bound royal to stumble. Fresh tears wet Acacius's cheeks, but Laith looked away, pretended not to see.

They could pretend a lot of things. Surprise at the prince's sudden disappearance, sorrow and outrage at his captivity in the enemy North. For themselves, they'd pretend they were satisfied, that they'd never seen Acacius's scars.

And as they watched the skiff disappear on the dark waters of the river, they pretended they had no regrets.