The young man was trembling so badly that Keiser couldn't tell if it was from nerves… or from something else entirely. His hands clutched at his chest, knuckles white, the fabric of his tunic bunched between his fingers as though he were holding himself together by force.
But Diego seemed to understand. His brow tightened as he stepped forward, voice stern, heavy with the weight of familiarity.
"Tyron, how many times must I say it? Running to the capital just to chase your father isn't something you can just do on your own." His tone carried the strained patience of someone who had said the same thing too many times before.
He jerked his head toward the procession, already moving a short distance ahead, urging the young man to follow.
