"Who are you?"
The man stepped closer. Moonlight fell upon his face, revealing features cold and sharp, carved as though from iron.
The garment in Yvaine's hands slipped into the basin.
"L–Lord Thorne…?"
Rhaegar looked right at her. "Where is she?"
Yvaine froze for a heartbeat. "My sister? She… she should be in the embroidery room. She was on duty today…"
"She is not there."
The color drained from Yvaine's face. "N–not there? Then… where could she have gone? I… I truly do not know…"
Rhaegar stepped forward. "You do not know?"
His voice turned cold—cold as steel quenched in ice.
Yvaine shuddered violently, her face paling.
"I truly do not know!" she cried, her voice trembling. "This afternoon I was learning from the master for a while, and then I came here to wash clothes. My lord—I truly know nothing!"
Rhaegar fixed his gaze upon her. It was a gaze so cold that her legs gave way beneath her, and she fell to her knees.
