"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Elder Ashe demanded sharply, perhaps too sharply. "You have insulted the Duke Heir!"
Within his chamber, Elder Yorke's lips buckled out of anger. "Duke Heir," he grumbled. "He has not my loyalty or my love!" He looked at Elena, her legs folded over the other on the settee. "I have given such things to Lord Conall, not the Duke Heir."
"Are you mad? Conall is a bastard! It's hardly a comparison between the Duke Heir and Conall. They want to whip you, you blasted fool!"
Yorke's seamed eyes appear to blaze fire. "Whipped! I am a Transcendent Elder to House Rivia! I—"
Elder Ashe slapped him. "Recognize where you are! The Castellan is one of the Dukes Bannerman. They'd sooner have you dead than ruin this Engagement, or is it you believe the Marquis will plead for your life? When you spat over the face of House Nier before commoners and noblemen alike?"
"I've done nothing wrong," Yorke insisted.
