Sungmin woke up to the sound of chopping against a wooden board, eyes clearing to see the back view of a man dressed only in a pair of slacks. He groaned softly as he pulled himself up from the straw mat he was lying on, noticing that the makeshift pillow was a balled up shirt.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.” The man, whom Sungmin thought was still a young boy from the youthful face, approached him after placing his knife down on the chopping board.

“Where am I?” Sungmin observed his surroundings – it looked like a kitchen.

“Kitchen,” The boy answered, as though having read his mind. He handed out an old mug to Sungmin, which he had filled with water while the prince was looking around the room.

Sungmin lifted his right arm to receive the mug, only to drop it abruptly in pain before his fingers could reach the ceramic. He looked down at his forearm wrapped in an old piece of cloth, stained slightly with his blood.

“Careful. It still needs time to heal.” The boy squatted down, taking Sungmin’s left hand instead to wrap around the mug, before reaching out for the shirt on the mat to slide over his head.

“It’s your shirt?” Sungmin commented in an unintended surprised tone, but the boy didn’t seem to be affected by it.

“Slaves don’t get much here, not even a change of clothes unless the ones you’re given are beyond wearable.” The boy explained, gesturing at Sungmin to drink.

Sungmin sipped at the water, grateful for the liquid that soothe his dry, rough throat. He recalled the incident that happened before he lost consciousness, realizing that he had probably screamed too much. Glancing once more at his right forearm, he wondered how the marking looked, but decided that it didn’t hurt not knowing about it.

“Thank you.” Sungmin said, pulling himself up from the ground with slight difficulty. He placed the now empty mug on the counter, taking two steps closer to the boy who had resumed his vegetables chopping.

“You should thank Jaejoong hyung instead. He was the one who got you the bandage and the little antiseptic.” The boy replied, the rhythmic chopping never ceasing. “Slaves don’t get treated here, especially not for marking and punishments.”

“Then how did—”

“He recognized you.” The boy cut him off curtly in a rather hostile tone.

“I…” Sungmin frowned, not knowing how to resolve the sudden tension. “I don’t deserve it anymore than you do.”

“Oh no.” The boy spun around. “I don’t mean it that way. It wasn’t because you’re a prince. Jaejoong hyung does it for everyone. I’m just… worried for hyung.”

“Why? Will he be ostracized or penalized for helping slaves?”

The boy smiled upon realizing Sungmin’s misunderstanding. “Jaejoong hyung is a slave too.”

“Esprit?” Sungmin questioned confusedly, to which the boy nodded. “How did he get the medical supplies then?”

“Jaejoong hyung’s master is the doctor here… Yunho-nim probably knows that hyung steals supplies, but he closes one eye about it… He’s a nice guy, but if others find out…” The boy shook his head, turning back to his chopping board.

“Who is your… Who are you attached to then?” Sungmin asked, uncomfortable with the term ‘Master’.

“My master?” The boy said for him. “He’s a guard of King Heechul and is in charge of us slaves. Shindong-nim’s not a nice guy; keep out of his way.”

“And you… cook?”

“My master put me in charge of this kitchen. It’s for slaves. Though every slave has a master, most are put under general duties if their masters don’t need them for the day. So if Prince Kyuhyun doesn’t indicate that he needs you for the day, you will come under the charge of my master, who allocates all the general duties around the castle to us. I prepare the meals for these slaves.” The boy swept all the vegetables into a plate with the knife, picking up the tomatoes next. “If you’re working under the prince… you need to ask for permission for meals though. If he doesn’t give you food but you get permission, come here and I’ll try to make something for you. We don’t get much food, but I always make sure to keep a little in case someone needs food out of the fixed meal times.”

“Thank you…” Sungmin muttered, overwhelmed by the information, as he stared at the small basket of tomatoes.

“We’re all on the same boat. Who else to help if we don’t help our own kind?” The boy grinned, a smile so childlike Sungmin’s heart ached at the thought that a child who should be enjoying his love of his family was working as a slave here.

“How old are you? Oh, I’m Sungmin. What is your name?”

“I’m Changmin, 18.” The boy chirped. “And I know your name, Your Highness.”

“Your Highness?” A foreign voice sounded from the door, causing Changmin to jump in his spot. Changmin dropped his knife on the board, spinning around and fixing himself into a bow.

“Shindong-nim.”

“What did I tell you to do after that new slave wakes up?” The man of rather bulky built in a guard uniform demanded, stepping into the kitchen.

“To inform you. I was just about to go get you.” Changmin answered without a trace of fear in his expression, though his head was bowed.

“You are to clean Prince Kyuhyun’s room now.” The guard met Sungmin’s eyes. “Come with me, slave.”

The guard turned to leave, but paused at the door. “And Changmin, if I hear anyone address this lowly slave in that way again, both that person and this slave will get punished.”

“Yes, Shindong-nim.”

Sungmin threw one last glance at the boy who smiled at him, waving for him to follow the guard quickly. 

~--~

Sungmin had changed the bed sheets, wiped down the main furniture, and was arranging Kyuhyun’s bookshelf when the prince returned.

“You’re messing up my bookshelf,” Kyuhyun said, throwing a set of clipped documents onto his worktable. The room wasn’t a suite compartmentalized into rooms Sungmin had back in his castle, but it was still bigger than an average room with half used as a study and the other half as bedroom, along with an attached bathroom.

Sungmin retrieved the book he was about to slot in, turning around to Kyuhyun to acknowledge his presence for the first time. “Luna-ssi said I should arrange it by alphabetical order, but I thought I would do a further genre classification.” Sungmin explained, relaying the words of the previous slave who was in charge of Kyuhyun’s room.

“Do you do it that way in your castle, little prince?” Kyuhyun asked, taking a seat behind the worktable, right beside where Sungmin was arranging the books.

“Yes, it’s more convenient.” Sungmin answered, ignoring the sarcasm in Kyuhyun’s tone as he reached out for another book. He let out a yelp when pain shot through his right forearm, the tight grip forcing him to drop the book he was holding.

“I’ll have you know that things don’t go according to what you think and want here.” Kyuhyun tugged him closer by his forearm, tearing the bandage to reveal the red, scarred marking. “And if the rules didn’t change, slaves don’t get treated for their marking here.”

Throwing the bandage to the floor, Kyuhyun released him with a harsh push, sending Sungmin to the floor as well. “You—”

“You will arrange the books back in alphabetical order later. I want to take a bath now. Prepare the water for me.” Kyuhyun ordered without a second glance at him, spreading out the old papers on the table.

Staring down at the skull marking and Kyuhyun’s initials on his arm, Sungmin swallowed a lump that collected in his throat. He couldn’t cry, not here in front of that bastard who would derive the most satisfaction out of his tears. Recalling his previous resolution to save the Esprits here, Sungmin picked himself up, ignoring the tingling pain that were still running through his right forearm. He made his way to the bathroom to pick up the bucket, before walking down to the laundry room at the end of the corridor to collect hot water.

He would do as told to keep himself alive, until he could figure a way to get everyone out and cut the marking off his skin.

~--~

Sungmin wasn’t a prince that had servants who did everything for him. Though he lived comfortably in his own suite, he had learnt to tidy his own room, change his bed sheets, clean the windows and more since young. Leeteuk deemed it necessary for his children to learn to take care of themselves. But ever since Sungmin was of age, he spent most of his time out helping his fathers with Esprit matters. He could hardly remember the last time he did fetch water for his own bath, always returning home to everything prepared for him.

As he struggled with carrying the bucket of water back to Kyuhyun’s room, the constant pain and strain on his right arm made him realize how thankful he should be to the servants back at his castle. With the weight mostly on his left arm, he could hardly balance the bucket while walking, resulting in the tepid water spilling all over his pants and the floor. Sungmin groaned as he lifted the bucket with difficulty, bearing the pain in his right forearm. It was the last bucket that would fill the tub adequately, but the lack of strength left to hold the bucket up caused him to stumble backwards, a large swirl of water splashing into his face and upper body as he hugged the bucket tight.

“How much more water are you planning to spi