Malric's jaw clenched. The silence from the elders was deafening. Betraying nothing, they kept their eyes lowered, hands folded, but their lack of protest spoke volumes. "I don't believe it!"
Theon took a step forward, closing the space between them. "You don't have to believe it, Malric. But deny it all you want, the blood of the house of Vael runs through me. And unlike you, I've earned every drop of respect I've bled for."
A low growl escaped Malric's throat, but he didn't strike. Not yet.
"That blood you speak of," Malric sneered, "was diluted the moment your father chose to bear a bastard with no name and no worth."
"I made that name worth something," Theon snapped, his eyes flashing. "While you were drunk on your privileges, I was spilling blood on the frontlines, cleaning up your family's failures."
Gasps rippled through the hall. One of the elders shifted uncomfortably, but still, no one spoke.
