Front and Centre

well here i go, first pancake, it’ll probably burn 

TW: Non-consensual touching, creepiness, implied threat of violence

Make yourself smaller. 

It was habit, and a peculiar one at that. The idea of such a tall boy folding into himself like a particularly gangly piece of origami was almost comical. But it was something Aris always found himself doing. In the hallways, in the ballrooms, even here, as close to hell as he had ever known. There was always that need to not be noticed, to fade into the background, to make himself smaller. 

It was this need that explained his discomfort. Not the rope scratching at his reddening wrists. Not the man staring intently at him from across the room, or the knife being twiddled between deft fingers. No, Aris was uncomfortable because he was in the centre of it all, and the word exposed kept nipping at his mind. Bound to a chair in the middle of a basement. Chest exposed, neck exposed, exposed, exposed, exposed.

How long had he been sitting here? How long had it been since he’d been outside?

A flash of silver, a rush of hands. Metal clanking, horses whinnying, Hunter calling his name. Then darkness. A long, long darkness.

“Um... hello?” Aris asked the figure across the room, unable to stay silent any longer. His voice croaked slightly from disuse, and he wondered how long it had been since he’d used it.

The twiddling stopped, and beneath the man’s dark hair Aris could see eyes flick up. With one fluid movement, the man took to his feet, pulling out a brass pocket watch and eyeing it casually. 

“Twenty five minutes?” The man tsked and flipped it shut. “I must confess, I’m disappointed. Here I was thinking you’d be easier.”

Easier? Easier than what? Ignoring that thought and the disturbing questions it probed for the time being, Aris marvelled on the time that had passed. Twenty five minutes? Twenty five minutes since he’d had the blindfold removed, been tied down and left to stew in the silence that followed? It had felt like a hundred. Or maybe it’d felt like five. He wasn’t too sure. 

Taking careful, measured strides towards him, the man drawled, “No matter. The quiet ones seem to have a certain... grace to them. The chatty ones have a fire, yes, but it fizzles out after too long. Grace is a much more valuable investment.”

As he approached, Aris could feel his eyes clawing into him, and a flush spread across his cheeks as his muscles tensed. He was acutely aware of his legs, which felt too long, and his arms, which felt too skinny. Skin blemished by freckles, strewn all across his face and chest and limbs. He was never the sort who was comfortable in their own body. Not like Hunter. Hunter seemed to own every part of his compact, well-built frame, never apologising for the space he took up. 

Aris was not like Hunter.

Polished boots came to a halt on the rough granite floor. The man leant over, and with fingers like spider’s legs he tilted Aris’ chin upwards. Their eyes met, and for a moment Aris was taken aback by how sharp they seemed. 

“Do you know who I am?” he breathed.

Aris thought of Hunter, wondered how he’d handle the situation. He could see it in his mind, the prince bound to a chair and spitting chains of witty insults at his captor, resorting to profanity if all else failed. As if to remind Aris of just how much he wasn’t Hunter, all he could muster was a gentle shake of the head.

Letting his fingers brush Aris’ skin before relinquishing his grip, the man straightened up and began to pace around him, slowly. “Let’s just say I’m man not to be trifled with. Let’s just say I have a little quarrel with a certain prince. Let’s just say your master has a rather poor idea of whom it is safe to anger.”

Oh cripes, Hunter, what have you done now?

Aris felt the cold kiss of metal as a blade was placed on his throat from behind, and every instinct screaming for action was silenced by paralysing fear. 

“Let’s just say a little birdie told me that a one Prince Hunter has quite the attachment to his servant.”

Aris felt a hand worm its way into his hair, restraining him, steadying his throat for the cut- 

And the knife was gone. As quickly as it had come. 

The man completed his circle. Standing before him, the blade tucked between his fingers. 

“My name is Sebastian De Castro, and soon you will forget what it was like not to know.”