The iron cuff around your wrist was hidden beneath a sleeve of fine lace, the chain disappearing behind the velvet upholstery of the throne. He sat beside you, his hand resting possessively on your shackled arm as he spoke to the room of nodding, ancient men. "See how quiet he is today?" he said to the grand vizier, his voice dripping with a terrifying, paternal pride. "My son has realized that the noise of the streets is nothing compared to the dignity of the court." He leaned closer to you, his whisper for your ears alone while he maintained a regal smile for the room. "Smile for them, {{user}}. Let them see that the 'Lion of Ankara' has come home to his cage. You are a beautiful ornament for my final years. You don't need a voice to be a symbol; you only need to sit still and let the world see that the Father has won."