Chapter Text
The palace gardens on Denra, Shiro thinks, are lovely. The sudden appearance of palace guards is… not so much. He’s admiring a pale, vining flower that reminds him of Earth morning glories when six uniformed figures materialize from the twilight and ring him with the kind of ominous intent that has Shiro’s hackles rising and his tech arm readying itself. The grim expressions on the guards’ faces look wildly out of place against the backdrop of delicate foliage.
This was supposed to be a peaceful visit to solidify an alliance. Call him paranoid, but being suddenly surrounded by guards doesn’t seem particularly peaceful.
“Black Paladin, please come with us.”
It's an outdated title. Shiro doesn’t move. “May I ask where we’re going?”
“King’s orders,” says the one who’s already spoken. “His Excellency requires your presence.” The rest of the guards remain silent, watching, and a chill goes down Shiro’s back.
One breath. Two. Relax your fist. There’s no way to extricate himself without causing a political incident, so he gestures with his other hand and says, “Lead the way.”
The apparent head of the guard turns toward the palace. Shiro has only taken two steps after her when, in rapid succession, there is a loud zapping sound, a sharp spike of pain hits the back of his neck, and everything goes dark.
When Shiro wakes, his arms are bound behind him, and the tech one isn’t responding.
He thinks he must white out for a moment, because when he comes back to himself he’s backed up against the wall and his heart is pounding, his heels scrabbling at the floor, his breathing loud in his ears. Both his arms are pinned behind him.
He counts his breaths until they begin to slow.
The walls around him are bare concrete, same as the floor, and the door holds a single, narrow window but there’s no handle on the inside. The only other feature in the room is a grated drain barely as big as his palm, right in the middle of the floor.
Definitely not a peaceful visit, then.
“Give us the Black Lion. This all stops if you give us the lion.”
Shiro doesn’t know how many times he has to tell his inquisitor that he not only won’t but can’t, that Black isn’t his to give in the first place, that she has a mind of her own and would reject them if they tried just like she’d rejected him when he got back, but it obviously hasn’t been enough yet. Whatever answer he gives, it will never be enough. He knows this song and dance.
“No,” he spits. He’s bitten his tongue and his mouth tastes of blood.
The electric rod approaches again.
At first, Shiro doesn’t even notice when Allura kicks down the door. But his captors scatter at the interruption and the worst of the pain stops, though Shiro still aches and twitches all over.
“Shiro!” several voices cry. It’s hard to make sense of everything; Keith and Lance are both suddenly by his side, before he could even register them approaching. The world moves in fits and starts around him as his awareness slips. He’s not sure how long he’s been bound to this table. Days? Who knows. His nerves jump with remembered shocks.
Keith’s hand touches his cheek.
“Can you hear me, Shiro?”
“Yeah,” he manages to reply, though his voice cracks.
“We’re getting you out of here,” Lance says, slicing through the shackles binding his wrists and ankles to the table.
When Shiro looks around, Allura is holding up one of the guards by the throat and Hunk has his bayard trained on the rest while Pidge handily binds them. There are angry words, but they pass him by.
They came for him. He’s not stuck here. He’s safe.
Consciousness flees again.