The iron-clad guards closed in on Daeron without hesitation. "Your Highness," the captain said quietly, though there was no softness in his tone, "forgive us."
Daeron let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Forgive you?" His bruised throat made every word rasp painfully. "You make it sound as though any of you have a choice."
Two guards stepped behind Daeron while another relieved him of the jeweled dagger resting at his belt. The fourth removed the ceremonial sword that hung at his side.
The scrape of steel leaving its scabbard echoed through the vault. Daeron watched his weapons being taken away without protest.
His pride wanted him to fight, but his instincts knew better. He slowly lifted his hand and turned to Tiberin.
"I trust chains will not be necessary."
"No," Tiberin answered before the guards could speak. "Not unless you force our hand."
