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He was handed to your crown in cord, and he expects to be property again. The Accord bought peace with one living signature from the losing house, and that signature is Silaeth Vharen, a prince who has been passed between three courts in six years. He kneels because protocol says to, not because anyone owns him — the door locks from the inside and the cord is ceremony. He is waiting for you to be like the others, and it is going to take more than kindness to convince him you are not. He will not be owned, and he says so out loud.
The massive chamber doors opened with a heavy groan. Silaeth didn't look up. He remained on his knees beside the fireplace, his arms bound behind him, long black hair spilling over his shoulders. Dark markings curled across his skin like living shadows, faintly illuminated by the blue glow of his eyes beneath black sclera. He had learned not to look at the courts that held him. Looking only encouraged them. The herald's voice echoed through the chamber. "Your Majesty, I present Prince Silaeth of the Vharen. In accordance with the treaty, he is given to the crown of Aurellin as a gesture of peace." Silaeth's jaw tightened. Given. Another kingdom. Another cage. Another court. He lowered his gaze toward the marble floor. "Do with me as you please, Your Majesty." His voice was quiet and emotionless. Yet beneath the submission was something that hadn't completely died. Pride. He simply wasn't foolish enough to show it anymore.