The servants placed Taemin in an immense, steaming bath full of rose petals. They washed him with soft cloths, and perfumed soaps. They massaged his scalp and rubbed his skins in glistening oils. When he emerged, they placed a soft, white robe around his shoulders and sat him on a lavish chair.

There, he was served a splendid meal. He didn’t want to touch it. He still sat, in shock, after hearing the dreaded news about Lauren and halemoni. How could he eat when his heart was weighed down by grief…and when he’d join them soon enough anyway?

“Master,” one of the servants said to him, “You must eat. You must at least have enough strength to stand for the event tonight.”

“Your food would have to be magic.” Taemin replied, “To get my starving body in any shape to do whatever you want it to.”

The servant picked up a delicate spoon and dipped it in a bowl of light broth. She raised it to his lips. Although Taemin wanted to refuse it, his body wasn’t about to reject any type of nourishment headed its way. It was determined to survive. Even if all it had, was till tonight.

“His Majesty has sent the best healers.” The servant said, spooning another mouthful of broth and lifting it carefully to Taemin’s chapped lips.

“Our food has been filled with high-potency healing properties. You will be surprised, but if you rest all day, and take the medicines we have prepared, you will be able to function by the time of tonight’s event.”

She talked so matter-of-factly of his impending death. Taemin eyed her. But took another mouthful of broth.

If he rested, would he have enough strength to call forth his powers?

He finished the broth. If the Mages could concoct something that brought him that much healing, it would be the only chance he had.

When he had finished the broth, another servant approached with an array of brilliant red garments draped over his arm. He wordlessly bowed and handed them to Taemin, beckoning him to a changing screen.

Surprisingly, Taemin found he had the energy to take the garment from the servant and strode behind the screen. His thoughts were suddenly much more lucid. Behind the screen, he raised a hand that no longer shook. It was steady and firm. Eagerly, he tried to summon fire but nothing happened.

Frowning, he decided it must take longer for the potency of the herbs to kick in. Perhaps it gave general strength first, and then later, he’d be able to use his powers.

He pulled up the pants that reached way down into his black boots. He pulled on a crimson turtleneck and his arms through a jacket that had sleeves that reached way past his arms.

“Just who designed this outfit?” Taemin asked as he frustratedly tried to tie a matching red sash around his waist to hold the outfit in place. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of crimson fabric. As he secured the sash, excess fabric bunched up around his midriff and the sleeves sporting extra-large cuffs extended well past his fingertips by a good couple of inches.

“It is a costume that is meant to be a more aesthetically pleasing, visual effect rather than to have any practical use.” The servant who’d handed him the cursed outfit inclined his head.

“This is aesthetically pleasing?” Taemin scoffed. He hated this outfit. He hated the people who were making him dress up; trussing him up for his own execution. He ran an angry hand through his hair and stalked past the servant to gaze out the windows.

The sun was high in the sky at this point. He could see people lining the streets, waving banners and playing music. People thronged the bright, colorful shops below. Some laughed and danced. Their joyful revelry ascended to the upper rooms in which Taemin was being kept. He hated them all.

The double doors behind him opened and a young maid entered. Eyes averted, she bowed to Taemin. Taemin took in the maid’s appearance. Her hair, secured in a long braid down the back of her work dress, and the symbol of a leaf that was inked onto her forehead branded her a palace servant.

“My lord, more food has arrived.”

Taemin followed the girl from the room back to the meal room. There, he fed himself. He sipped two more bowls of broth, and his strength grew. He also drank lots of water, trying to rehydrate himself.

The rest of the day, he lounged around in a foul mood. This distorted set-up was just so wrong. Why the suspense? Why the theatrics? Why not just kill him and be done with it? His people were gone; everyone he cared about gone in a single moment. On top of that, he still wasn’t able to call forth fire despite the fact he’d rested and tried regularly throughout the day.

Eventually, night came on.

Taemin found himself seated once more on a set of soft cushions. A cosmetic artist entered soon afterwards. She placed a healing balm on Taemin’s bruised face where he’d been hit earlier and within moments, the bruise disappeared. A white powder, served to whiten his already pale face.

She then dipped a thin brush into what appeared to Taemin to be black ink. With it, she lined his eyes, and darkened his brows. When she was done with his features, she styled his hair.

She offered to show him the transformation with a mirror she carried, but Taemin refused. It sickened him the pride she took in her work when she knew full well what it was for.

The door in front of him burst open and Taemin looked over to see General Ji enter with several guards trailing behind him. Arrayed in his new uniform that gleamed in the light, he approached them with the air of a confident military man. As he laid eyes on Taemin a glint of contentment lit his eyes and he nodded his approval.

“You managed to transform him well. He looks like a completely different creature than the one that was dragged in here this morning.” he said glancing at the maid who bowed her head in acquiescence at the praise.

General Ji appraised Taemin and with a gloating, patronizing tone he said, “I hope you’re ready. Your moment has come. It’s time for the regal prince’s last moments. Come.” He beckoned for Taemin to follow him. Accordingly, Taemin stood.

He tried, yet again, to use his powers...but they still remained repressed as if something were holding them back...He felt as if he could feel the power; swirling like mist under his skin just waiting to be tapped into. But every time he tried to call it, to give himself up to it, it slipped from his grasp.

The guards that had entered with General Ji came forward, surrounding Taemin. He had no choice. He followed General Ji from the room.

“So,” he asked with a straight face and a voice to match, “What will my execution be like? What specifically do you have planned for me?”

He walked just behind General Ji; the guards silently trailed them. The only sound from them, were their footsteps.

“Your execution will be glorious.” The general replied, “And I won’t go into the particulars of our plans for you. It will be more satisfying to see your reaction when we get there. But rest assured, the stage has been set, the audience awaits, and the leading character is about to make his grand appearance.”

When they made their way to the front doors of the castle they had been staying at, the general rolled up his sleeves to reveal a pair of identical wooden bracelets hanging from his wrist. With a snap of his fingers, the wooden clasps came undone. He grabbed Taemin’s hands and slid the bracelets on him. As the bracelets transferred to him, Taemin felt how they cinched painfully into his skin. The general overlapped Taemin’s wrists, and in a moment, the two bracelets melded together into a pair of ridiculously strong handcuffs.

“Sorry, boy, but we can’t have you trying to escape now, can we?”

Taemin’s eyes zeroed in on the handcuffs. He reached within him for the power to burn them to ashes...but nothing happened.

“How is it,” Taemin asked casually as he was made to follow the general out the door and into a waiting carriage out front, “That I am healed physically, but can’t seem to access my powers?”

The dark carriage was polished and gleamed under the light of the moon. Torches were secured on the four corners casting their light on the gravel path in front of them, and on the brilliant white horses attached to the carriage.

The general opened the door, climbed inside with a flourish, and seated himself. Taemin climbed in after him, sitting across from the man. Behind them, the guards saluted, shut the doors, and two of them climbed into the driver's seat, while two more climbed onto the spots behind designated for footmen.

The crack of a whip echoed through the night and the carriage lurched forward at a quick pace.

“You aren’t too bright, are you boy?” The general cocked his head as he eyed his prisoner. “We aren’t about to let you have access to your powers until the event tonight, when there will be nothing you can do about it. You seem to forget our talents lie with plants and creating brews that can strengthen, or diminish power. You’ve been eating the food we gave you that was filled poultices to give you physical strength, but to hinder your abilities to use your powers. We’ve had many ages to develop it, throughout the years. Never fear. No permanent damage done. We’ll give you the antidote when we get there.”

“You drugged me?” Taemin should have known. All the broth, and the rest of the food. The maid’s insistence that he eat more. He didn’t feel drugged though. That perhaps, was the scariest part of all...But did it all really matter anyway? He was headed to his death.

“Drugged is a rather strong word,” the general noted disapprovingly, “I prefer to think of it as we’re saving your power for the final act for tonight.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a