arm
noun
a weapon.

{Taemin can only hope that Minho makes it out.} | 908w

Taemin knew his place, and the prisons weren't one of them. But as future ruler of the empire, he didn’t understand why he was forbidden from anything, especially venturing underground, right below their very chambers.

For a long time he listened to his parents, following rules and orders without question, but the day came when his curiosity got the best of him.

He waited until his parents were both asleep one night, then slipped from under the sheer canopy of his bed and into the shadows. Leaving his sandals behind, he tip-toed through the echoing halls of the palace and made it outside undetected. Warm summer air smelling overwhelmingly of roses filled his lungs and he remembered the feast from earlier. Thanks to the excess of food, women, and wine, the men who usually guarded the inside of the palace were nowhere to be seen. He crept forward to a narrow staircase that led down, the coldness of the dark marble below his feet making him shudder. It was nothing compared to the chill that enveloped him once he reached the bottom. That and the stench alone almost made him stop and claw his way back up the steps, but he swallowed down his disgust and kept going. Torches lined the high brick walls, and when his heavy-lidded eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could tell individual cells apart. Cross-hatched iron bars contained sleeping prisoners who laid on dirt and no doubt their own filth. He didn’t need to walk the stretch of the chamber to know that he’d seen enough. He couldn't bear to obtain more images of those he knew would be beheaded, or worse... He backtracked, hugging his white tunic closer, but froze when a voice came from the cell beside him.

“Why are you here?”

Taemin spun to the side, his bare feet making the floor screech. He straightened his posture when he saw two rough hands resting on the horizontal bars. Squinting as he stepped forward, he made out a figure that was easily bigger than his. “I am the prince,” he said firmly, thinking it would be enough explanation.

The person scoffed and kicked the ground, sending dirt across the floor and onto Taemin’s toes. “You’re not allowed down here.”

Taemin grimaced at the ground and anger flared up inside him. He stalked forward, shoulders pulled back and chest pushed forward to intimidate the prisoner, forgetting the fact that nothing about him was threatening. “How do you know? How do you know who I am?” he hissed, grabbing the metal between them.

“Do you not recognize me, your little excellence?” He stepped from the shadows, revealing his once delicate face, now hardened by whatever life had thrown at him.

The cold bars in his grasp were the only things keeping Taemin from collapsing. He hadn't been called that in years, and hearing it right then from the boy who'd brought so much happiness to his life made him feel like he'd gotten slapped across the face, leaving him dazed and speechless.

“No, you certainly do.” The young man in the cell chuckled and Taemin wondered how anything could possibly make him laugh when he was in such a position.

“Y– You left,” Taemin choked out.

“Is that what they told you?” he spat. “I was taken. After my mother died. They took me and I was put to work like I'd never known your family, like I was just another orphan slave! I'm only here because I tried to come back.”

“You didn't leave?” he asked weakly, staring into the other's eyes incredulously.

“I never would've left your side, Taemin.”

Taemin couldn't watch, but he also couldn't look away as the next group of young men were forced into the circle below. His parents looked on, much too amused when the cart full of weapons was drawn into the arena by two horses.

“Choose your arm!” A man wearing a golden plate over his white gold-bordered toga shouted.

“You'll allow this, father?” He hid the panic in his voice by digging his fingernails into the creases of his palms. “He wasn't a slave.”

His father barely turned his head to give him an answer. “He ran away from his master. And I cannot relent. The people will lose respect. You must learn to understand this, son.”

“I understand that it was a mistake. He shouldn't be down there.”

“Honey, don't bother your father. This is simply how criminals are punished.” She moved to pour wine into two golden chalices.

“He's not a criminal! He's Minho!”

His father became still in his seat and a sadness washed over his aging face. “I am aware.” He sat back, eyes fixed on the back of the young man below. “It would be a real shame for him to lose.”

There was nothing Taemin could do if his father wouldn't lift a finger to save his life. He stepped closer to the edge of the balcony and spotted Minho. Despite having been imprisoned for who knows how long, he looked to be in decent condition compared to the others. He watched Minho select a sword and his heartbeat soared at the glimmer of hope that shone like the blade in his hand. If Minho was still a better swordsman than he was, there was a good chance that he would make it out alive.

A/N: Minho is meant to survive so yay and all that ...but at what cost  LOL