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The Prince always returns to the House covered in blood. The river's, not his own. His own life will spill out in time, when next he tries to break free. Then, he will return to the House again.
He stands now on the overlook in the courtyard, beside Asterius. Fists balled tight, gaze fixed on the maze below. The walls of Tartarus shift before their eyes without ever showing a clear path through. A perfect prison, capable even of caging gods. The sight awakens a familiar urgency inside Asterius; his hands itch to fight.
"Everyone thinks I'm a fool for attempting this," the Prince says. He often comes to Asterius with such frustrations, though Asterius has no comfort to give. "That I'll never get out, no matter how hard I try. There is no escape, as Father loves to say."
Whether escape is possible or not is irrelevant, so long as the prisoner can never achieve it. The Underworld King knows this, as the King of Minos did. "You disagree. Even though your failures prove him right."
The Prince winces at that. He has always worn his rebellion as armor, but underneath it he is soft. It is a shame. If words alone can wound him, he will never be a match for the blades of his foes.
"Straightforward as ever, I see." He laughs, though it's a humorless sound. "You must think I'm a fool, too. Don't you, sir?"
Asterius thinks of wandering in darkness, blind and alone. Weak with hunger, hallucinating the smells of the world outside, or rather the smell of outsiders. Fear and sweat and blood.
"What I think makes no difference," he says. "I am trapped here, just as you are."
"I—I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to stir up bad memories. I just..."
"Enough." Asterius speaks and the Prince falls silent. "I have no use for pity. Neither do you."
"No," the Prince agrees.
It is good that he understands. He follows without hesitation when Asterius makes his way back to the courtyard. There, Asterius hefts his axe. The Prince in turn selects a weapon of his own, the sword, and stands several paces away. He faces Asterius head-on, as eager a challenger as he's always been.
"We have use for strength," Asterius tells him. "And we have endless time to hone it, together."
The Prince nods. "I'll make you proud, sir."
It isn't pride that Asterius feels. It is companionship: the bond between two souls caught in the same fate. But there is no point in correcting the Prince now. He will understand, in time.
"Prepare," Asterius says, and charges.