Branimir's face darkened to a shade of crimson that Caelan found privately satisfying.
"However." Thorne's voice hardened. "In the matter of Prisoner 817, the Council is not satisfied with your account of her death. No body has been recovered. No evidence of her destruction has been presented. Until such evidence is produced, you remain the primary suspect in her disappearance, and the Council cannot in good conscience allow you to continue exercising the full authority of your title."
Here it comes, Caelan thought.
"Your seat on the Council is hereby suspended. Your command of the Night Guard is revoked. Your title of Duke remains, but in name only — you will exercise no judicial, military, or political authority until Prisoner 817 is recovered or her death is confirmed beyond reasonable doubt."
The words hit him one by one. Each one a blade. Each one precise.
