Message received. “If you want out of prison, do it yourself—and prove to me what you’re capable of.”
Genyou’s only options were to prove his innocence or bribe his jailer. Either way, he couldn’t get through his current predicament as the Woodwork Prince.
But is it truly worth speaking up over something this inane?
If his mother determined that he could deal with the problem on his own, she would go right back to expecting great things from him. It would be a return to the same old days of being controlled via flattery, pleas, outrage, threats, and violence. He would be forced into a battle for a throne he didn’t even want.
Just as he’d turned away from everything, it was as if someone had come along and dunked his face right back into the sewage.
I’m so tired of it all.
Rather than scowl, Genyou erased any trace of an expression from his face and curled up in a corner of the cell.
After who knew how long, the scruffy-looking jailer made his entrance. “I’ve come to question you, milord. Mweh heh heh!”
For someone about to conduct a “questioning,” the man reeked of booze, and he was already gripping a branding iron used in torture sessions in one hand. He had obviously been paid off by one of the other princes.
“I have a message from a certain someone higher up the chain. Once I’ve branded you with this, he’ll let you go in the spirit of brotherly love. Aren’t you lucky to have such a generous sibling?”
In a practiced motion, he stuck the iron into a pot of red-hot coals sitting in a corner of the dungeon. By the time he took it back out, the same mark given to cattle was sizzling on the branding head. Were that to be stamped on a prominent part of Genyou’s body, his very status as a prince would be in jeopardy. Thus was the true aim of the boy who boasted of brotherly love—the fourth prince of Ei.
“Come now, loosen your collar and show me your chest. Or would you prefer it on one of your limbs? Your face, perhaps? One quick poke of this, and your torture will be over.”
The jailer slowly closed in. Genyou stared back at him, unblinking. He had to decide if he was going to move or keep still. Shout or stay silent. Fight back or give up.
The branding iron was within arm’s reach now. It had yet to be pressed to his skin, but he could already hear that sizzle so akin to a snake’s hiss. Those of Gen descent would never be comfortable in the presence of such raging heat. Its mere proximity turned his whole body stiff, though he desperately tried to deny it.
Right when Genyou clenched both hands into fists, a light blinding enough to blot out the red iron flooded the dark dungeon.
“Stop right there!” came a booming voice. “Who gave you permission to use a branding iron?”
It was none other than Crown Prince Gomei who had graced the dungeons, a torch in his hand.
“Y-Your Highness!”
“His Majesty’s horse was old, and it hadn’t been eating much for the past week. Did I not conclude that it couldn’t possibly have been poisoned? The charges against the youngest prince were dismissed. Untie him at once!” the crown prince barked. As the jailer fled the scene in a panic, he shouted at the man’s retreating back, “And get a branding iron ready for the fourth prince!”
With the two of them left alone in the dungeon, Gomei turned back to Genyou. “For the record, I’m not entirely happy with you at the moment either. You should have taken steps to protect yourself. Why didn’t you put up a fight? Punch out the jailer? What were you planning to do if I hadn’t made it in time?”
He took a dagger from his breast and made quick work of the rope. Upon noting that it had been tied tightly enough to leave the youngest prince’s wrists red and swollen, Gomei frowned. “Ouch. Looks like you won’t be back to playing the qin or the flute for a while yet. If only you’d called for help a bit sooner, I would have come running to your rescue. Is it so hard to manage a scream to keep yourself safe?”
The moment the rope dropped to the floor, Genyou felt something snap inside him.
“And whose fault…is that?” It had been years since he’d last spoken, so his voice caught in his throat, feeble and hoarse. Frustrated, Genyou started over, doing his best to punctuate each and every word. “Whose fault do you think it is that I’m in this mess? This all happened because you refuse to leave me alone.”
Was this what it used to feel like to speak? As his emotions were given sound, they sharpened into focus. His once vague distaste and idle irritation swelled inside him as though they had abruptly gained heft, only to spill outward.
“You have some nerve to speak of keeping me safe or running to my rescue! If it weren’t for your incessant pestering, I would have been left alone to live in peace!”
“Genyou, I…”
“Oh, you liked how I play the qin? Yes, yes, what a refined nobleman you are to love music so. Now leave me out of your posturing!”
Genyou meant to confront Gomei with the fact that his interest was strictly performative. A pair of brothers forging a bond through music? The benevolent crown prince seeing the true worth in his black sheep of a younger sibling? It was one long, bad joke.