"Papa! Mam! alsjeblieft!—“ he yelled, cries echoing through the wooden floor.

“Yes we’ll take 50 silver.” His mother nodded. Eyes fixated on the mess being dragged out the floor.

“Good.” The stone cold guard nodded towards the door, as he was hauled into the carriage.

Father’s steaming cold glare bored into his skull as he desperately tried to claw at his jacket. Max would rather chew lava bricks than want to be with his father-

Yet now he wanted nothing else.

The carriage door slammed shut.

The inside smelled of horsesweat, mold, and the kind of iron tang that made you taste blood in your saliva.

Max went to bang at the window, but his wrists were already bound, rough rope biting his pulse.

..

What was…happening.

The carriage lurched forward, wheels crunching against gravel. Max's stomach pitched with the movement. Fifty silver. That's what he was worth to them.

"Sit down, boy." A voice from the shadows. A man with a face like crumpled leather leaned forward, his uniform expensive and of royalty. "We don’t want you getting damaged.”

Max's throat closed up, choking on words that wouldn't form. Questions swarmed his mind, buzzing like angry hornets. Where were they taking him? What had he done?

"I don't—I haven't—" he stammered, his Dutch accent thickening with fear.

The man snorted. "Save it.”

..

Max bit his lip. A silent cry leaving his mouth anyway as he leaned against the harsh cold metal wall.

.

They reached the castle after a few days. With sunken cheeks and shivering frail body, he stumbled out of that damn cage.

The guard tugged him along like a horse, even if he barely was fed like a foal.

.

The castle loomed before him like a predator's mouth, all gleaming white stone and gold-trimmed windows that caught the sun.

Max's legs trembled as they climbed the marble steps, his bare feet slipping on the polished surface.

"Welcome to your new home," the leather-faced man said, his voice carrying the weight of finality.

A woman appeared at the massive oak doors—tall, elegant, draped in silk the color of fresh blood. Her dark hair was pulled back severely, and when she smiled, it didn't reach her eyes.

"Ah, the Dutch boy." She circled him slowly, appraising.

"Young. Strong bones beneath all that dirt. Good breeding stock, I'd say."

Max's face burned with shame and confusion. "I don't understand—"

"Hush.” She huffed. “You talk too much.” A loud whip crackled in the background.

“I-I’m-“

They said nothing, leading him into the brutal place.

His feet squeaked against the marble, leaving streaks of dirt across the pristine floors.

The woman's heels clicked a steady rhythm ahead of him. "You'll be cleaned first," she said without turning around. "The Prince has particular standards about cleanliness."

Prince. The word hit Max like a physical blow. His knees nearly buckled.

They descended a spiral staircase into what could only be described as a bathing chamber—marble pools steaming with heated water, shelves lined with oils and soaps that smelled of lavender and something Max couldn't identify. Foreign. Expensive.

"Strip," the woman commanded.

Max's hands shook as he fumbled with his clothes. Fighting tears from his eyes.

"I..." Max's voice faltered as he clutched his tattered shirt. His fingers wouldn't cooperate, frozen with terror.

The woman snapped her fingers. Two attendants appeared from alcoves he hadn't noticed, their expressions blank as water-smoothed stones.

"Take them off," she ordered. "He's trembling.”

..

Eventuallyone of the elders explained.

He was sold. To serve the prince.

…tears slipped through his lashes, staring out of the metal windows.

.

That day he was forced to wake up early, teachings and duties beaten in thoroughly.

As he ran through the hallways with folded up royal garments, he stumbled into someone.

Letting out an indignant squeak, oh god he was gonna get in so much troub-

oh.

.

Handsome. The first word he thought.

As they both made eye contact.