Rhaegar looked steadily at his father.
"Father, the merits of the Thorne family were won upon the battlefield—paid for with blood and life. They were not earned through currying favor with the Empress, nor by clinging to the Tanmin family."
Before the final word had fully fallen, Xarion's hand struck.
A sharp crack rang through the hall.
Rhaegar did not evade it.
He merely turned his head with the force of the blow, then raised a hand to wipe the blood from the corner of his lips. When he looked back, his gaze was calm—unyielding.
"Have you finished, Father?"
Xarion trembled with fury.
"You—do you even comprehend what you are saying?"
"I do," Rhaegar replied. "Those girls were abducted and sold. Some were no more than fourteen or fifteen. They have fathers, mothers—families who await them still. They are waiting for justice."
Xarion stared at him, eyes colder than snow. "And what of the Thorne family?" he demanded. "Who will give us justice?"
