#capture the crown | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

potatomountain · 1 year

Text

“Fallen Crown” pt 2

Pt 2: Fate Sealed

Captured prince Yeosang[Ateez] x “tainted” Princess fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of r*pe, manipulation, trauma, reader is a royal “puppet”, Yeosang is a captured prince of a neighboring empire, Yeosang in chains. Reader is lowkey a badass. Mentions of death, fights to the death, torture, gladiator ring- gladiator fights. Lashes, some slight flirting, sexual implications, non-con implications (not yeo, never yeo). Blood, sword-fighting, injuries.

Word count: 4.6k

An: figured it was time for part two of this, and honestly it didn’t go just as I imagined- Yeosang kinda took over and decided he was running the show xD any and all feedback is appreciated.

Masterlist | Previous | Next

also, taglist (message or ask to be on): @lelaleleb / @hwaightme-recs / @candypop1611 / @inkpot-winters / @avantalem / @ammystri /

Part of me wondered how it managed to come to this, stepping down from the stage until I stood face to face with my opponent. He won all ten battles, with surprisingly less injuries than I expected, but it was clear he was at his limit… the fact he had handled ten of the strongest fighters this Arena had and was still standing, no deep injuries.

I should be scared, the fact this was my opponent, when I was still such a novice fighter myself. The King had sounded both pleased and disappointed at this outcome, and I wondered which one of us he wanted to see lose more. Which one he wanted to see lashed and bleeding for his audience. His own daughter? Or this captured Prince?

I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of this at all, but I knew I had to obey. What else could I do? They would not make my death quick, and they wouldn't make this man's death quick either. Obliging the horrendous demands of the tyrant King was the only option.

I didn't have to like it. "Just… make this quick." I called over to him, taking in his labored breathing, all sorts of scratches and brushes on his body, pieces of torn fabric darkened further by his blood. His dark eyes lifted to mine, an unreadable expression as we were both handed swords. I swallowed hard, trying to moisten my sudden dry throat even a little.

I should be scared, definitely, after watching how skilled this man was taking down skilled fight after fighter without a single weapon, no matter his injuries or the like, there was no comparison in our levels. This wasn't a fair fight, I lost from the beginning.

So why wasn't I scared? Why did I feel a sense of calm when I looked upon his form, more concerned that I might mar his pretty face or accidentally injure him [or myself]? I didn't really have time to process why, as the horns blew to signal the start of the fight. We were both given short swords, with him twirling his with ease with one hand and yet I still needed two- another contrast to our skill.

"I'm going to attack your left." He called out, just enough for me to hear, before he charged forward.

I moved out of instinct, jumping back but getting knocked ever so slightly in the stomach before I brought my own sword up, clashing with his. Cheers erupted from the stands but I paid them no mind. He announced his next attack, this time giving me more than enough to process and counter.

I couldn't, for the life of me, understand why he was doing this. The fight was getting dragged out, out of instinct I was following his commands, even when he told me to attack him. Was he doing this to put on a show? One the crowd was loving. He looked beyond exhausted, struggling here and there as we continued a sword dance that he was constructing.

Dodge left, swing up, roll back, press forward. Command after command, and yet I was obeying. Why was I following along? I should just let him land a hit, end this embarrassment. It’s not like I wanted to obey, I found that I rather detested it, yet here I was, following his commands to a tee.

The crowd loved it, the scene that this man was orchestrating; my lack of abilities still shone through, and it was his apparent exhaustion that led to my ability to dodge his attacks. Even I believed that he was simply exhausted, that he didn’t have the strength to put into each swing of his sword, if not for the gentle commands he spoke before each swing.

Minutes had gone by, sweat beading my neck and forehead and the sword beginning to feel heavy in my own hands. “Are you ready to end this?” He had muttered, our swords locked in a clash at the hilts, faces so close I could see the sweat running down his too pale skin, mingling with a cut to his cheek I had just put there a second ago. I wanted to reach out, wipe the blood away and apologize for hurting him, but this was not the time. So I simply nodded.

“I’ll take the lashings, you’ve done enough.” I breathed out, taking a step back and pushing his sword out of the way. His eyes widened with shock, the weapon flinging out of his hands to land several feet away.

My eyes followed the object, tensing up at this new development. “Aim for my right shoulder.” But of course he was giving another command, and I obeyed, hoping he would just dodge it and dive for the sword.

The sharp edge of the sword digging into his flesh as he fell to his knees before me was the last thing I expected, the last thing I wanted. He cried out, perhaps more for show than in actual pain, the stands rumbling with the loud cheers and stomping of feet.

Finish him. Cut off his head.

I tried to ignore the harsh chants, staring down as blood pooled from the wound I had made, pulling my sword out and stumbling back out of shock. All other wounds had been shallow, while this was not. A large gash- bone would probably be visible once the blood stopped gushing out and soaking the black and white fabric of his tunic- stared back at me tauntingly.

“Enough!” The King boomed out, quieting the crowd and effectively saving me from doing more damage to the man before me than I’d like. Except, I had forgotten in my panic that there was more to come. “The fallen Prince shall receive the ten lashings from our royal whore. Bring out the whip.”

Stiffening, I looked down at the top of Yeosang’s head, his hand covering his shoulder as if that was going to stop the bleeding. My mind was in overdrive, replaying the fight, his words, his actions, until I could only come to one conclusion: He planned this. He had every intention of taking the lashes from the beginning, to play the perfect entertainment and put up just enough of a fight no one else would question my victory.

My stomach churned with uneasiness as I blinked rapidly to fight back the tears. Whatever pride I had left was in shambles, as the realization hit that my opponent was more concerned about my pride, my wellbeing, then the kingdom that I belonged to. His concern cut deeper than any sword, spread and burned in my veins more than any poison, and threatened to consume me.

It was the sword being ripped out of my hand, and replaced with a whip, that had my mind focusing on the situation once more. “Ten lashes, my dear daughter.” I could only nod at the King’s words, watching as Yeosang was dragged and chained up to the pole. I had no choice but to follow, stepping onto the stage as his tunic was ripped in half, exposing his back while the torn fabric hung loosely on his arms. “Make them count.”

I swallowed to try and get some moisture into my far too dry throat, but to no avail. The whip felt far too heavy in my hands, the exposed skin on his back unmarred aside from some small nicks during his fights today, blood running down his shoulder but at a much slower pace now. That was my only solace, that perhaps he would not bleed out, that I could repay his fucked up kindness some other way even if I was about to scar the man ten more times.

My hand tightened on the whip, the guards giving me ample space and staying out of range, perhaps afraid I might try and use the whip against them in a fit of anger. Either way, they left me free to speak without being heard. “You should’ve let me take the lashes.” With as much strength as I could muster, I swung down, the whip cracking against his flesh, the sound echoing in the arena. “He’s going to do plenty more to you anyways.” The second whip, dragging a bit of the blood from the first lash, both beginning to welt almost instantly.

The fact Yeosang was silent, nothing more than a meager grunt with each new lash mark added to his back. Three, then four, then five. My hand was trembling as I lifted the whip for the sixth, angle off and hitting too close to his torn shoulder. He cried out, loud enough for the nearest onlookers to hear, and I felt my heart clench at their cheers. I had tried, as much as I could, to avoid his right shoulder, but I had never held a whip before or harmed someone in this way… I could only do so much.

As if he knew, which he probably did, he looked over his shoulder, a soft smile as if to reassure me peeking over the bloody gash for my eyes only. “It’s alright, I can handle more than this.”

I found myself once more blinking back tears, bringing down the whip for the seventh with a much louder crack. His back was more red than the pale white of his skin, from the blood to welts to bruises beginning to form. “I can as well, Your Majesty. In fact, it is only a matter of time before I am on the receiving end of this whip.”

It wasn’t a lie, I didn’t mention my fate to receive pity or sympathy, and he didn’t seem to give me either. There was a shift in his gaze, as if looking at me with new found appreciation. “And yet you aren’t afraid?”

I shrugged, bringing the whip up. “Why would I be? It is my fate, whether as a pure princess married off, or this-” I brought it down, catching his left shoulder dangerously close to his neck. Two more to go. “You can’t hope for more if there was never a chance to begin with.” I knew how sad, how heartbreaking my situation was- Clara would often cry for my fate as I had no more tears to shed. Any solace helped ease the reminder I had a nose around my neck since birth, a fate I long since grew accustomed to.

To spare myself the look in his eyes, the ninth lash was a bit harder than before, resulting in another cry and his head falling forward. It hurt more to hear his pained cry, than my own situation. He was someone who had more, and yet he had it taken. I had nothing, even this cursed punishment was more than my previous life, and even then it wasn’t much of an improvement.

I pitied him, but I could not pity myself.

The tenth lash came quickly, marring his lower back to avoid the cluster of gashes just below his shoulders. With disgust I threw the bloody whip to the side, turning to look up to the pavilion where the man responsible for all this stood with a sadistic smirk, hands gripping the railing. “Perhaps I underestimated you my dear Daughter, you could’ve been as cruel as I.”

The words stung, but they were an opening for something more, a string I could grasp on to get a bit more solace in this life. “Cruel? Your Majesty, allow me to prove how cruel I can be, for your entertainment.” I motioned to the bloodied man. “Give me responsibility over this prisoner, from his lashes to his care, as I’d like to see him live long enough to appease your entertainment, long after his skin is no more than raised scars and deformed features. What say you?!” I was amazed at how steady my voice rang through the arena, the cheers at the idea just what I liked to hear.

While they may take it as cruelty, I knew Yeosang could decipher the truth. It was my form of mercy, putting myself on the line to try and ease even a bit of his pain- but if he protested now, it would come back to me. I didn’t know much about this man, but I had discerned a weakness he didn’t show the hundreds of onlookers: he was a gentleman who didn’t want to cause even a tainted whore like I any pain. It was a kindness I wished to repay, albeit a little, and this was the only way I could think of.

“Very well.” The King called out appreciatively. “If he dies before we grow tired of him, then your head will fall with his.” Just like that, your fate was tied to the man before you; the man who was now being picked up and dragged towards the exit.

Perhaps he did see this move of yours as cruel, and not as the mercy you saw it as, but the dead was done.

He met your eyes briefly, and for the first time, seemed to glare at you, the rage you had long expected finally appearing in those gorgeous dark eyes of yours.

Your life was bound to his.

Night was falling, only the torches lit the cells as I passed and yet the majority of them were still dark. There were few with barred windows that gave the prisoners some connection with the outside world, but the moon hadn’t risen just yet, the last bit of the sun’s rays unable to reach the dark crevices even through the bars. Only my lantern and the guard’s torch lit up Yeosang’s cell, a frown pulling on my features as I took in the sight of him.

“Why did you do it?” He didn’t look back at me, slumped in the middle of the floor once again covered in the chains I had removed from him before, no care what-so-ever had been given to him, not even a meal or clean clothes.

I had expected this, all such things in the large basket I carried as I nodded at the guard with me to unlock the door. I was silent as the keys jingled, the click of the lock opened, and I was let in. “One hour, and then I am to fetch you.”

“Thank you.” I nodded towards the guard, who only sneered before walking away with half my light. I turned the lantern up, moved past Yeosang to set the lantern on the table by the far corner, taking my time. I could feel his eyes on me, demanding an answer to his question, but I wasn’t ready to give it just yet. “Why did you show mercy on me? We both know that fight should have been yours, the lashes should have been mine.”

Keeping my back to him, thankful for the black fabric of the gown I wore, I slowly took out each item I had brought. Bandages, clothes, some bread and cheese, a large canteen of water, and a few rags to clean him up with. There was alcohol and some needle and thread, which I was hesitant to bring but I knew his shoulder needed it.

When he didn’t answer, I glanced back, a brow lifted. “Well?”

He sighed, hands at his sides gripping the chains. “I did not wish to harm a lady.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “I am no lady, Your Majesty, has that not been obvious?” I moved closer, reaching out to grab the chains. “I am a pawn, always have been, always will be, to the Tyrant I ironically call father. I am what he says, and therefore I am no lady. This… arrangement is as much for me as it is for you.”

He watched my hands as I pulled each chain off him gently, setting them at the foot of the bed and out of the drying blood around him. “How so?”

“Well for starters, as long as this form of entertainment amuses him, he will not try to find another use for me.”

When I didn’t continue, he prompted softly, as if not really wanting to hear the answer. “And what other use would he have?”

I shrugged, pushing his torn fabric down his arms to lay at his waist with the rest of the fabric. With his torso exposed fully, I hissed through clenched teeth. “I am but a prize to his favorite fighters. A few of the men you had fought today had won before. They enjoy partaking in the fight, to win a so-called Princess for a night and do as they desire, and have chosen that over freedom.” I stood back up, avoiding his gaze as I grabbed the rags and equipment I needed, coming back to kneel before him, reaching out to wipe the blood from his shoulder with a rag. “It’s only a matter of time before he presents you with the same option- or, God forbid, gives one of them the option to have their way with me in that arena.”

I felt him tense under my hand at my words and I risked a glance. My breath caught at the unbridled rage crossing his features, the way his upper lip pulled up in a snarl. “He would do that- to you?”

Slowly I nodded, perplexed by his words. “He has mentioned it before, if I do not behave.” It was an odd thing, someone getting angry on my behalf: a stranger no less. “Were you not aware of how he is? You led a rebellion against him.” It was a poor attempt to get the focus off me, but I could only hope it would work so I could focus on the wounds.

He didn’t answer, opting for silence as I dabbed away as much of his blood as I could, exposing each wound that littered his chest. He was indeed beautiful, even with the gashes and bruises marring the muscles. The type of beauty I would often dream of as the male lead of those books Clara would bring me, that had me hoping for a Prince to sweep me away from this place. Perhaps I would’ve been married to him, or another one of his brothers, if I had remained a Pure Princess; a fact that was unlikely, but nice none-the-less.

We settled in a comfortable silence as I cleaned up him, a silence that was a little less comfortable as I moved to his back, my guilt eating away at me as I took in just how sweltered the lashes were. “You know… I try not to despair over my fate, over the things I have done, over what I am meant to do… but I would say today is the first time I regret this life.”

He stiffened over my wandering fingers as they lightly traced over each lash after I cleaned it. There was an unspoken question on his lips, in the way his breath hitched and he turned just enough to watch me out of the corner of his eye. I wonder if he saw the sadness I felt, the guilt, no doubt reflected in the set of my lips or the tears threatening to fall in my gaze. “The last time someone had shown me kindness, she died in this arena. And now this time, it is a stranger that shows me kindness, that questions my existence as if it is unnatural… I suppose it is, but I tried not to mind it. But this?” My fingers ran up the bit of smooth skin from the top lash to his right shoulder. “To harm that stranger with my own hands, leaves quite the nasty taste in my mouth.”

“Then why-”

“Because it is the only mercy I could think of. Better my hands, my damnation, than that of the brutes who enjoy the power play of harming someone who they believed to have been above them at one point.” Emotions clouded my head, my actions of their own violation without confirmation of a thought as I leaned forward and pressed my lips just next to his wound, my eyes meeting his. “This is the only kindness I can give to the man who has shown me more than I dare ask for.”

He didn’t say anything, all emotion falling from his face as he turned to face forward, leaving me to my own devices. The silence that followed was both heavy and yet comfortable; he didn’t protest as I cleaned him up and took care of each wound, even haphazardly stitching up his shoulder and a few of the lashes that were much deeper than I thought and intended. He winced, muttering curses as I cleaned them with the alcohol, and even more so as I wrapped the bandages around his torso and over his shoulder.

I stood up, motioning for his clothes. “Strip, I have clean clothes for you for now. Don’t worry, I won’t look.” I handed him the black coarse tunic and trousers, the only ones I could find really but they would have to do.

As he changed, the shuffling of chains and fabric the only indication, I busied myself with putting away the dirty rags that were now stained with his blood, and the empty alcohol container. Only when he cleared his throat did I turn, holding out the now half empty water container and the bread and cheese wedge. “I hope this will suffice for food for now, I will see about what other meals I could bring you.”

He nodded, taking them from me, before sitting on the harsh cot that was more wood than fabric. “And you? What about your wounds?”

I bit my lip at his question, my eyes locked on the cut on his cheek. “Mine can wait.” I had hoped the black dress would hide the fact I had yet to tend to my own wounds, but mine were not as deep or in need of care. “Your cheek-” I reached out, only for him to grab my wrist and lock eyes with me. “Your Majesty I-”

“Call me Yeosang, Princess, I am no royalty here.”

“Neither am I, so don't call me Princess.” I didn’t pull out of his grip, just watched as he turned to place a kiss on the inside of my wrist. It was gentle, but I was sure he could feel my pulse skip at the sensation of his lips.

“Then what am I to call you?” He pressed another kiss up my arm and I could feel my cheeks redden.

This time I did pull my hand away. “Please do not try and seduce me, Yeosang- while the King would gladly let you have your way, there is nothing I can do for you outside of what I have so far.” I warned softly, motioning for him to eat.

“I could say the same for you Princess. You are as trapped here as I, do you think I could free you from here?”

I shook my head without hesitation, taking a few steps back and avoiding his smoldering gaze. There was a shift in the tension between us, both accusing but also like a thousand sparks threatening to burn me alive in a way I was sure I would welcome. “If you think that is my true intention with the deal I made with the King, you are wrong. I am merely trying to make the last of my days as painless as I can, but I will not run from my fate.”

“I see… prideful to the end?” He took a sip from the canteen, breaking eye contact as I smiled wryly.

“Not prideful, merely stubborn. I cannot take my own life, I cannot do something to have it taken from me. Any attempt at escape would be meaningless as it would only increase the surveillance and suffrage I am meant to forgo until the day the King decides my head shall meet the guillotine. Perhaps it is simply cowardice on my part, to work with the hand I’ve been given and try for some semblance of a life in this hell, but it is all I’ve known so there is comfort in that.” I pointed a finger at him. “But you, you chose to come here, to fight, I do not see you sitting pretty as I do, nor playing into the hands of the crowd and the King. Does that not make you the prideful one?”

He didn’t answer, the only acknowledgement to my statement was a smirk playing on his lips before he bit into the cheese. I could hear the guard from earlier approaching, the hall illuminating slowly by his torch. “My time is up, I will stop by once more tomorrow. The Arena is only active two days per week, so you have time to rest.”

I went over to finish cleaning up my mess, grabbing his discarded clothes to add to the rags. “I’ll have these cleaned for you.” As in I was going to wash them myself.

Just before the guard came into view, I felt an arm wrap around my waist, the warmth of his body pressed against my back and his hot breath on my neck. “Four months.”

I turned to ask what he meant, only to hear the chuckle of the guard as he knocked the keys against the bars. “My, you work fast don’t you whore? Already have this fucker wrapped around your finger too? Just remember you don’t get to fuck anyone your father doesn’t give permission for, doll.”

I stiffened in Yeosang’s hold, pulling away and grabbing both the basket and the lantern before hurrying to the door as the guard unlocked it. “That must be tortuous for you then guard, that a prisoner like myself has a better chance of fucking her than you do.” Yeosang’s words were cold, pointed, and I nearly missed the clench of his jaw.

The guard just snarled. “I doubt this pussy is worth your freedom, scum, as for me it could be just a fortnight’s pay.” No sooner had I stepped out was the crude man gripping my chin. “I hear she’ll spread her legs for anyone for the right price, a Princess still likes to spend money after all.”

I slapped his hand away, forcing a smile. “Aye, and if you think a fortnight of your pay is enough for a Princess, even a slut like I, you are dumber than I as well.” I walked past him, scurrying ahead. “Don’t try to touch me again, as you said… my father likes to choose who gets the privilege to do so, beg him first.” The words were only added to prevent the man from acting out in anger, yet it was another guard making rounds that ultimately saved me from humiliation.

I didn’t look back, nor listen for any final words.

This was my fate, and I was not to be ashamed of it in front of him- he was not a knight in shining armor, but just a man who shared my fate. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder… What did he mean by that? Was it a declaration of his conquest over me? Was it an answer to my previous question over which of us would break first? Was it a prediction of how long this farce would last? Or how long he would have left to live?

Four months… there was no good outcome I could think of, so the time frame only filled me with dread.

____

Next Chapter