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