Arthur was thrown to the floor. His knees collided with the stone floor. The guards tossed a bucket full of soapy water and a scrub brush down next to him.
"Clean this entire hall," one of the guards said.
Arthur resisted the urge to groan. The long hall, probably a main thoroughfare to the castle, was massive and almost the entire floor was massive and almost the entire floor was stained with mud.
"This better be spotless when we come back," the guard said.
Lightness spun through Arthur's head. He braced himself against the stone floor. Everything in him wanted to protest, but he didn't have the physical strength. He nodded.
The guards chuckled as they left.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. He was in a castle—possibly a kingdom—taken over by the lower classes, and bitter ones at that. From what they'd said, Merlin would probably be fine, oddly enough. Arthur was the one in trouble. They wanted to "teach him a lesson" because he was born a prince. He was already weak due to blood loss. Surviving might be difficult, let alone escaping, if the work was as hard as their attitude promised. But he had to heal enough to get himself and Merlin out, because Merlin wouldn't be able to put a successful escape plan together on his own.
He pushed his thoughts away. He needed to tackle each day at a time, and this day was cleaning. Merlin and Gwen did it all the time. How hard could it be?
Arthur rested his head on his arms, panting. His eyes slid closed. He jolted himself awake. The stone floor floated in front of him, the stubborn mud almost taunting him. Gwen and Merlin would never have been set to such a large task alone, and they would need far more than one bucket. He'd try and get more—or fight this task, actually—if he could even stand up. But he couldn't stand up without blacking out, as he had found out the hard way.
He tightened his cramping hands around the cleaning brush. His wet shirt clung to his skin. He raised his head. The water in the bucket was a cloudy brown. He jutted his jaw out and his stomach clenched. Father would arrest anyone that tried to make Arthur do this—and so would Arthur. But if he didn't work, they might beat him, or maybe even Merlin if they got mad enough. The shackles still on his wrists didn't help any. Not to mention he couldn't stand up.
Even so, Arthur burned at himself for giving in. He dipped the scrub brush into the bucket and slammed it down on the floor.
A door burst open. Arthur jumped. Several sets of footsteps echoed throughout the large hall. A hand latched onto the back of his shirt, hauling him up. He choked, dropping the brush.
"Just what I expected," a guard said. "The pampered prince didn't even bother trying to clean the floor."
"I did!" Arthur protested. "I tried! This isn't possible with the tools and the time I was given."
"You're lazy," the guard said, shaking him. "You know what lazy nobles get?"
Arthur scowled. That was it, then. This was just an excuse to beat him up. He jabbed his elbow back into the guard's stomach.
The guard's breath rushed out of him. The guard shook him. Two more guards grabbed his arms. The first guard let go of Arthur's collar and walked in front of him, raising his fists.
"You think you can just push us around?" The guard sank his fist into Arthur's stomach.
Arthur curled over as much as he could pinioned by the guards, pain driving his breath from him.
"You think you are better than us?" The guard plowed his fist into Arthur's ribs. "You are no different than the rest of us. It's time you learned that!"
"Nobility of the heart matters more than titled nobility," Arthur ground out. "From the looks of it, you don't have either kind."
The guard yelled and furiously beat Arthur. Pain spread throughout his stomach and chest. Pressure built within him. Always before in a fight, he had been able to give as good as he got. Not being able to fight back burned him.
The guard finished with one punch to Arthur's jaw, snapping his head around. He picked up the bucket and dumped the filthy water over Arthur's head.
"Do better next time," the guard snapped.
He turned and led the two guards, dragging Arthur between them, down the halls into the dungeon.
"Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed. "What did you do to him?"
The guard opened a cell next to Merlin's. The guards removed his chains and tossed him in.
"Sleep tight," the guard said. They laughed as they left.
Arthur swayed and collapsed to the floor, wrapping his arms around his throbbing torso. He couldn't restrain a groan.
"Are you okay?" Merlin asked. "What did they do to you?"
"Made me clean the floors," Arthur said. "Set me up to fail and beat me when I did."
Merlin frowned. "They made you work for them?"
Arthur shrugged but froze when it sent a stab through his side. "I think this kingdom was taken over by a lot of bitter peasants that want to punish nobility. They said they want to teach me a lesson."
Merlin drew in a sharp breath. "We have to get out of here."
"What? I had no idea," Arthur drawled. "Of course we need to escape! The question is how. The best time would have been before we got here."
"There was a chance, but… I couldn't carry you away with me," Merlin said.
"You should have taken it," Arthur said.
Merlin shook his head. "I won't leave you."
Arthur gritted his teeth. At least Merlin probably would be safe until they were free.
"How are we going to escape?" Merlin asked.
"Fight our way out," Arthur said. "We'll have to wait, though."
"Wait? For what?" Merlin asked.
"Until I can stand up and wield a sword," Arthur said. "Be ready."
"They'll keep making you work and beating you around," Merlin said.
"I'm not a fragile lily, Merlin," Arthur said. "I can take it. Just be ready."
