Chapter Text
Lance was roughly shaken awake by a soldier clad in the official royal crest of the Galra Empire.
"Again? What did he do today?” he groaned, wishing to go back to dreams of peacefully farming and worrying about his next meal.
The soldier sighed, probably having done this around a hundred times, “We should go, as to not keep the royals waiting” he answered, evading the question completely.
Lance trudged behind him to the throne room, where the whipping boy, as Lance was called by everybody else, was greeted with the familiar sight of the king crossing his arms and glaring at Prince Keith, who was staring back, lavender eyes glimmering defiantly. The guests situated at the dining table were all exposed in their bald glory, their wigs glued to their seats. Lovely. Looks like his Highness has thrown yet another prank.
The King, Lotor, called for twenty whacks to Lance, meaning he got whipped twenty times to punish the prince. This practice may seem queer, but princes were royalty, and were to be treated as such, meaning not a hair on their heads could be harmed (even if they oh-so-deserved it).
Lance squared his jaw and gulped back his body’s screams of pain as he got the thrashings. Lotor turned to the prince, anger still blazing. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson” he stated curtly, turning away. The prince turned to Lance, his eyes still brimming with anger. He spun on his heel, following his father.
Later, the prince confronted the whipping boy in his bedroom.
“Why do you never bawl like a normal whipping boy? At least try to scream and shout a little!” he growled, flinging a pillow at Lance. He was lying awake in bed and ignoring the other boy.
“Okay, if that’s how this is, the next time you stay silent when you get your whipping, you will be thrown out into the streets again!” Keith slammed the door shut behind him.
Good, Lance thought, Soon, I’ll be back on the farms, with not a trouble in mind!
Another day went by, the prince skipping class for training with his knives again. He was dragged into class a few minutes later, pouting at Master Shirogane, who didn't even relent when the prince shot him a glare. Unlike everybody else, the professor was not scared of the prince, for he considered him human, which Lance never understood. The prince was a heartless man, even labeled with the moniker Prince Stoneheart, which all the villagers called him behind the royals’ backs.
The master sighed, pinching his nose. “If you keep on skipping your lessons to practice knife-throwing, you’ll never be fit to rule a kingdom. When will you get this?”
“I can order somebody to read and write for me.”
Master Shirogane massaged his temples.
"Probably if I got some beatings, I would learn my lesson?" he asked sadly, as if he was the one getting whipped. Shiro glanced at Lance (ha, that rhymed!) with an indecipherable expression, gesturing for the whipper to come.
The whippings hurt like fresh burns from a fire, but Lance bit his lip and squared his jaw with each blow. When being escorted back to his room, he caught a glance at the prince’s face, stony with suppressed anger, and did not feel bad at all for what he did.
Later that night, the prince broke into Lance’s room again that night, wearing a black cape, a silver dagger sheath on his hip.
“We’re going to run away” he announced.
"Is this your way of tricking me into leaving the castle? I'll leave, alright!"
The prince rolled his eyes. “No, I’m running away, and you’re coming with me” he repeated.
“Why are you running away?" Lance asked, shifting in bed uncomfortably.
“I’m bored of this place”
“What! Don’t you have fun torturing and pranking poor people?”
“Boring. Let’s go already”. The prince swung his feet out of the window and jumped down. As if possessed, Lance followed him.