Magnus was not barred from going down to the dungeons, but he never had any desire to do so in the first place. Just hearing stories from the guards about what went on down there made him feel sick to his stomach, and he figured it would be better if he just didn't see for himself. After all, there wasn't much he could do for them.

The castle dungeons were rarely full because offenders to the crown were usually executed, sometimes on the spot of their supposed crime, and without any sort of trial. Those who found themselves in the king's dungeon were usually those needed for further interrogation or, in special cases, kept alive only to be further tormented and tortured.

The putrid and dank smell hit him first, making him clamp a hand over his mouth and nose in disgust. He stalled at the doorway, his heart racing in his ears, but one of the guards shoved him forward, forcing him to enter what felt like the dark depths of hell. Torches lining the corridor revealed lines of cells and the unfortunate inhabitants chained to the wall. All of them looked emaciated and battered, from the lack of food and their cruel treatment. One man lay slumped on the floor, his shackles hanging loosely around his thin wrists and ankles. Magnus wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't even lift his limbs off of the ground. Some prisoners scrambled in panic and fear at the sound of guards approaching while others didn't move from where they were curled up. The eyes of those who dared to look at them were filled with pain and loathing, and Magnus wanted nothing more than to comfort them, to give them some sort of respite from their suffering. But he couldn't, and they continued to look at him like he was just another monster, only there to add to their anguish.

The group came to a halt, and the guards at the front dragged Rook over to one of the walls, ripping off his shirt and chaining his arms to the cold stone. One of the guards held a whip with tails lined with small spines and, with a swing of his arm, lashed Rook a couple of times. The pain was white hot and intense, spreading from the area of impact all the way up to his neck and down to his legs. Rook gritted his teeth, trying to bite back groans of pain in an attempt to deprive the onlookers any sort of satisfaction, but he couldn't stop the tears prickling in his eyes. The next barrage of lashes made him bite his lip so hard that he drew blood, and the next elicited a ragged gasp from him. The guard was relentless, seemingly encouraged every time he managed to coax a sound out of Rook.

Magnus tried to look away, but his father wouldn't have it, grabbing him by the chin. "What? Can't handle a little blood?"

"You know that's not true, Father."

The king's eyes narrowed. "Stop." The guard came to a halt, and the room fell silent, save for the sound of Rook's heavy breathing. "Give the whip to my son."

Magnus's blood ran cold. "No..."

"Take it and continue," the king ordered, his voice low.

Magnus looked down at the horrid tool being handed to him, but he couldn't bring himself to take it. "Father, please..."

"Please, what? Are you so spineless that you cannot enact justice?"

Magnus felt his heart race in his chest. "This isn't justice. It's needless torture."

"Needless? Lord Victon is dead! That could have been you!"

Magnus shook his head. "Rook would never hurt me. Besides, you don't care about justice. If you did, then you'd understand why Rook did what he did."

The king's eyes narrowed. At his command, one of the guards struck Magnus in the gut, causing him to double over in pain. Leaning down, the king grabbed Magnus's face again, forcing his gaze upward. "You will swing that whip or else I'll have you flogged as well. Right next to him just like any common criminal."

Magnus forcibly blinked back the tears of anger and frustration burning in his eyes. He tried to struggle, only to be stomped back down to his knees by the surrounding guards.

"Just do it," Rook's voice rang out, his voice uneven but fierce. "You don't deserve it. I do."

Magnus's face fell. "Rook..."

Rook let out a dry, bitter chuckle. "Go make your father proud."

Magnus stared at Rook's shredded, bloody back, utter hopelessness washing over him. As bad as things had been, Magnus's father had never tried to force him to do something like this before, but it seemed that the more Magnus resisted, the more extreme measures his father took. Magnus was already powerless to protect others, and now he had to be the one hurting them too.

With shaky hands, Magnus took the whip from the guard and rose to his feet, not even believing himself what he was about to do. As he drew within range, he watched Rook's body heave with ragged breaths as he waited for the next blow. The king was dead set in forcing Magnus into submission, and Magnus could almost feel himself being molded into a cruel beast. Was that really what he was on the inside? Just a monster like his father under the facade of a good man?

His mind drifted to his mother and the way she pulled him in the opposite direction, constantly urging him to do the right thing despite hardship.

"Sometimes doing the right thing is difficult," she had told him. "It might be easier to turn a blind eye, to stay in line, to save yourself, but the harder it is, the more you must do it. It'll hurt, and it might never stop, but I promise you, it'll be worth every ache."

He clung to those words, to his memory of her, even as each day seemed to whittle away at them. There was only so much pain he could take, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do whatever it took to try to fight back with whatever strength he still had left.

Steeling his nerves, Magnus turned to look back at the tyrant, gripping the handle of the whip. "I won't do it."

The king scoffed. "Think very carefully about what you're about to do."

Magnus raised his chin. "I won't punish someone who does not deserve it."

The king was silent for a moment, contemplating what to do to bring his son to his knees. He could beat him like he always had, but he knew he needed to break more than just the prince's body in order to get him to fully yield.

"Tell me, my dear idealistic boy. Would you consider it justice to punish those who tried to do you harm? Someone who, you would say, deserved it?"

Magnus hesitated. 

Seeing a worried and questioning look cross his son's face, the king pointed over to a nearby cell and motioned for him to come. "How about her?"

Magnus approached cautiously, and when he peered in, his breath hitched in his throat.

"Cleo," he gasped.

His former maid stood facing the wall, metal shackles encasing her wrists. There seemed to be no part of her once beautiful olive skin that was left unscathed. Her back was scarred beyond repair, and some of her wounds were infected and rotten smelling. Her head was shaved bare and her tattered clothes hung loosely at her waist. She was just barely breathing.

"I'm sorry," was all he could murmur, knowing she would find no solace in it. Opening her eyes, she stared at him, her expression unreadable. It wasn't hate, it wasn't forgiveness, just hopelessness and exhaustion.

"She tried to kill you, remember?" the king murmured, his breath hot on Magnus's ear. "She would have cut your heart out without an ounce of remorse and could have gotten away with it, had she not been so careless. Don't people like this deserve the highest punishment?"

"No...no one does," Magnus responded, but his voice faltered.

This was someone he had the right to hate, someone he could have punished if he wanted to, but despite everything, he still only saw her as a poor, scared girl driven by desperation and pain. Did that make him weak? Did these people truly not deserve his compassion? He didn't know the exact reasons why Cleo did what she did, but she never seemed like a malicious person—not like his father who would hurt anyone for the sick pleasure of it. And even if she was, he could see no point in continuing to torture her like this.

Magnus touched Cleo's cheek gently with the back of his fingers before turning back to face the king. "No, she doesn't deserve it. She's suffered far enough already."

The king clenched his jaw, staring at his son in both disbelief and frustration. Was there nothing he could do that could get Magnus to react? How did he manage to be riddled with such a feeble excuse for a man as his son and heir? Once Magnus took the throne, Cordia would likely fall to the first invading kingdom, and everything the king had fought for would be lost. The king could envision Magnus bending and complying with the demands of others in order to please and avoid conflict—something he would never do.

The worst part of it all was the powerlessness he felt, though he would rather die than admit it out loud. He was the king, the most powerful person in the land, and arguably the most fearsome monarch in the history of the realm. Everyone conformed to his will. Everyone but his own son.

The king took a step closer, his eyes fierce and blazing. "I'm sure you've thought about hurting me for all I've done to you, right? Who's more deserving of your anger than me?"

Magnus felt a chill run up his spine, and his whole body tensed. It was true and they both knew it. He knew his father was trying to trap him, trying to force his hand, and he found himself at a loss for words.

"Go ahead. Strike me if that's what you want," the king taunted, holding his arms open. "Enact your righteous justice."

"That...wouldn't do me any good."

"You wouldn't be compromising your precious morals."

Magnus gritted his teeth, hating the way he was feeling. He wanted his father to suffer like these poor people were suffering, but further angering him now when he held all the cards would only result in more pain for himself and everyone around him. It was just another taunt meant to further break his will.

Magnus stared into his father's eyes, a deep blue that almost identically matched his own. But in them, he didn't see a reflection of himself. Instead, all he saw was the eyes of a twisted man, a monster masquerading as a human. Yes, they shared the same face, same name, same blood, and perhaps part of the darkness that tainted his father's soul resided in him as well, somewhere buried deep down. But he was not his father.

Magnus threw the whip to the ground. "I'm not like you, and I will never be like you." Mustering every bit of courage he had left, he held his arms out the way his father did just prior. "If I'm such a disappointment, why not just kill me now? Wouldn't your life be so much better without me?"

The king's eyes narrowed, hating the way his authority continued to be challenged. They both knew that the reason Magnus was still allowed to walk the earth was because he was the only living son, and therefore the heir to the throne according to the law of the land. 

Cordia had had many terrible kings in its history, but none so cruel that would slaughter his own child. Filicide and patricide were viewed as the worst possible offenses, and even in a world where most other morals were dispensed with, that was a line deemed too wicked to cross. But there was always a possibility. Maybe his father would prove to be the worst of them all.

The silence that filled the dungeon air was heavy and tense, and the whole room seemed to be holding its breath.

"No, I won't kill you," the king lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "But I'll make you wish you were dead."

The guards moved in toward Magnus, but he stood firm, refusing to show fear even as his heart raced in his chest. Keeping his gaze locked on his father, Magnus took off his white gloves and dropped them to the grimy prison floor, revealing his pale, scarred hands. Next, he removed his fine dark blue coat and his silken white shirt, letting those fall to the floor too. All could see that his entire torso was littered with old scars from past torments. He was no stranger to pain, no safer from the king's cruelty than any other man.

Keeping his head held high, Magnus willingly took his place next to Rook, kneeling down and allowing the guards to chain his wrists to the wall. His hands clenched into fists and he squeezed his eyes shut at the first impact of the whip, feeling a familiar pain course through his entire body.

Magnus leaned his head against the cold stone and let his mind drift, something he learned to do to get through torture sessions like these. He thought of his mother singing to him, her voice soft and sweet and gentle. He thought of Sylvan's strength and steadiness, his hand constantly on his sword at the ready to defend. He thought of Kydia's laugh and Finley's playful eye roll when they were children with no other care in the world. He thought of Dyian's smile and encouragement, saying things he would never hear from his own father. He couldn't help but think of Cleo and Rook, admiring their bravery and resolve, but dreading the bleak fate that lay ahead of them. And, for the first time, he thought of Mina. He thought of her dark eyes, her rough hands, her lips constantly turned to a frown, and he thought of her fierceness yet helplessness at the hands of the king. It was too late to save those already here within the king's dungeons, but maybe he could still save her. Maybe he could still save more.

After what felt like an eternity, the barrage finally ended. He heard footsteps and muffled voices behind him, but he was too delirious to understand what they were doing.

"I'm sorry," Magnus whispered, opening his eyes and weakly glancing over at Rook, gritting his teeth at the searing pain that lingered on his skin.

Rook shook his head. "No, forgive me. I shouldn't have doubted you. I didn't see it until now, but...you're going to be a good king, a strong king who isn't afraid to fight for his people. And I'm sorry it took me so long to see that."

Magnus did his best to smile in appreciation, but all he could muster was a half hearted nod. "I would've liked you on my side. There's so much good we could have done together."

Neither was able to say more before the guards roughly unchained Magnus from the wall and forced him to his feet. As they dragged him out of the miserable dungeons, Magnus knew his suffering was far from over. He cast one last glance at the other prisoners, still wishing he could have done something for them. To his surprise, some struggled to their feet, a new sense of strength filling their gaze as they looked upon him.

"Long live Prince Magnus!" one man called, soon joined by a chorus of voices throughout the cells. The guards sprung into action, trying to hush the chant, but the prisoners continued.

Magnus tried to look over at Cleo, but she remained still, her face hidden from view. If he had earned her forgiveness in her final moments, he would never know.

Most of the prisoners knew that there was no hope left for them, but maybe some still remained for the rest of the kingdom. And for once, the future looked a little less dark.