[color=#b97703][i]‘Civil,’ my ass,[/i][/color] Caspian though scathingly as Ethan continued to try to persuade him to give up the crown’s secrets. It seemed like the rebel was just as stubborn as he was. Waiting for the sound of the gunshot was torturous in and of itself, but he stood his ground, unwavering in his decision to take everything he knew about the monarchy and the military to his grave. Ethan was wasting his time by trying to scare him into talking. Perhaps if he’d had even a sliver of hope that he would come out of this prison alive, he would have been more careful to avoid provoking him into doing something rash; but with no expectations that he would survive, he was uncharacteristically obstinate. He just hoped the rebel had a good enough aim to kill him quickly, so he wouldn’t suffer for too long before his life was snuffed out.

When the loud crack of the gun finally sounded, the prince felt his blood pressure drop dangerously with a spike in fear. For half a second, he worried that he’d just drawn his last breath, but instead, the bullet ricocheted off the concrete floor beneath his feet. The rebel was still trying to wring information out of him. He felt weak with relief and swayed slightly, unbalanced as he fought to regather his composure. The feeling was premature though, as Ethan immediately chased the first shot by lunging at him with his fist cocked back to swing.

Stumbling to get out of the way, Cas wasn’t as prepared for the attack as he had been the first time. The rebel’s hand grazed his side as he reeled backwards, inadvertently throwing his weight too far just before Ethan struck again. His breath caught in his throat as he realized too late that he couldn’t move fast enough. In the next moment, he felt pain explode across his jaw, and stars danced in his vision when his fist made contact. Already unstable before the impact, he staggered and fell on his rear. Hitting the floor jarred his ribs, and he choked on his own breath, but he didn’t have time to recover before the rebel was upon him again.

His adrenaline surged, and he rolled out of the way before Ethan could land another punch, climbing ungracefully to his feet. If he wanted to fight back, this was most likely the only chance he would get. Tasting blood—the cut inside his cheek had reopened with the rebel’s last hit—he let out a feral holler and fell on Ethan with a punch of his own aimed for the other man’s face. He was sick and tired of letting Iris’s ex throw his weight around like he was better than him, like he knew her better than he did. He was too arrogant for his own good, and the prince was going to put him in his place before he died.

[color=#b97703]“Fuck off!”[/color] he snarled as his own fist connected with Ethan’s jaw, any semblance of dignity forgotten in the heat of the fight. He knew that if his father had seen him behaving like a bruiser rather than a respectable royal, he would have been appalled, but there was no room for etiquette when he was going to be killed. He wasn’t going to play the rebel’s degrading games, and he wasn’t going to lay down and let him walk all over him. Determined to hold his own, he coiled back his arm to deliver another blow to the other man’s head.