CHAPTER 179: IN THE MORNING LIGHT

The morning sun crept through the high windows of the judgment hall like a quiet intruder, casting long, golden rays across the polished marble. Dust hung in the air, dancing on the light, giving the chamber a surreal calm. But beneath the quiet, tension pulsed like a second heartbeat. The nobles were already seated—rigid, fearful, dressed in desperate elegance. They whispered, but not too loud. No one wanted to be noticed. Not today.

They remembered what they saw yesterday. And more importantly, they remembered who was still hanging.

The Renarr family remained suspended, though their bodies had been repositioned. Still gagged, still naked, their flesh now bore additional words etched with magical ink—burned phrases scrawled across their chests, thighs, and faces. Guilty. Coward. Human-chattel. The wax was gone, but in its place were bruises and welts—new decorations added in the night, as if to remind everyone that time did not ease punishment. It only made it evolve.

The great doors opened with a low groan.

Allen stepped through first.

Clean. Composed. Cloaked in black with a silver clasp, not a single wrinkle on his tunic, not a hair out of place. His boots clicked with each step, sharp and steady like a metronome. Behind him came Fina and Rinni—one in a tailored navy robe that hugged her hips too tightly for court, the other in a sleeveless tunic, arms crossed and expression bored. And then...

Her.

Queen Soreya crawled behind them.

A golden leash was clipped to her collar, held loosely in Fina’s hand like it was an accessory rather than a shackle. Her wrists weren’t bound, but it didn’t matter—her arms never left the floor. She moved low and slow, knees red, thighs trembling with each movement. Her skin still bore faint marks from last night. Her back, her neck, even the backs of her thighs—Allen had left his memory on her body.

She was naked save for the collar and a delicate silver tray strapped to her back. Balanced on it was a teapot and six porcelain cups, each with an elegant filigree pattern. Not one drop spilled as she crawled—she had learned quickly.

The chamber fell silent.

Not from shock. From calculation. Every noble in the room was trying to understand—what was the point of this? What would Allen gain from making a queen serve tea like a crawling pet?

Soreya didn’t look up at them. Her face was composed now—blank. Not defiant. Not broken, exactly. Just... erased. She crawled to the center of the hall and knelt still, the tray perfectly level on her back.

Allen reached his platform, turned, and gazed over the room.

"No announcements. No speeches," he said, voice calm. "We begin with Meros."

Two guards opened the side doors, and the Meros family was ushered in—Lord Harrin Meros, his wife Alisi, and their twin sons, both barely of age. They walked like ghosts—shoulders high, faces composed—but the fear was beneath the surface, swelling with each step.

Allen gave a small nod.

Fina yanked Soreya’s leash once, sharply.

"Pour," she commanded.

Soreya moved—gracefully, even—but her position was humiliating beyond words. On all fours, she lifted one hand to stabilize the tray as she turned. Her breasts swayed slightly with the motion, her thighs parting just enough to expose the evidence of last night’s use. She crawled to the tribunal seats one by one, carefully placing a teacup in front of each of the six elder foxkin.

No one spoke. Not even the elders. Lira flinched slightly when the former queen placed a cup before her. Yoru simply stared, expression unreadable. Jass let out a quiet hum, but said nothing.

When the tray was empty, Soreya returned to her place in the center and resumed her position: kneeling, hands flat to the ground, leash taut.

Allen finally spoke again.

"The Meros family is accused of hosting a garden of concubines—beastkin and human—bound and bred without consent. Hidden chambers beneath the manor. Magic to keep them docile. Permanent silencing enchantments."

Lord Harrin stepped forward, trying to speak—but Allen raised a single finger.

The air chilled.

"I’m not asking for denial."

He turned slightly.

"Soreya."

She flinched.

Allen gestured toward her. "You were queen. You attended the Meros estate twice for private banquets. Do you deny knowledge of this?"

Her mouth opened—then closed.

"I... I was told they were servants," she said, voice low. "I didn’t question it."

"And if one cried while serving your wine?"

"I told them to be removed."

The admission made several nobles in the audience go pale.

Allen gave a slow nod. "And now, here you are. Servant."

He looked back to Harrin.

"Bring them out."

The side doors opened again, and this time it wasn’t nobles who entered—it was girls. Dozens. Mostly beastkin. Some barely clothed, others covered in bruises, all of them quiet, stunned by the sudden exposure to daylight. One of them collapsed halfway down the aisle. Guards helped her up. Another stared at the nobles like they were monsters in a nightmare. None of them spoke. Their silence was louder than screams.

Allen didn’t say a word.

He didn’t need to.

The nobles were already whispering. Muttering. Recalculating alliances.

Fina smiled faintly, her grip still firm on Soreya’s leash.

Rinni walked to one of the girls and knelt, offering her a sweet from a pouch. The girl recoiled at first—then slowly took it, hands shaking.

"I’ll let the council vote on the punishment," Allen said, tone clinical. "But the garden is being burned. The enchantments are broken. And every noble with direct knowledge of that garden is being reviewed. Starting with the guest lists."

He turned to the rest of the room.

"That includes every one of you who sipped their wine and smiled at the screams."

Soreya shivered. Her mouth trembled, but she kept it shut. She didn’t ask for forgiveness. She knew it wasn’t being offered.

Allen turned his gaze back to the Renarrs, still hanging, still twitching weakly in their bonds. Then he looked to the Meros sons—staring now at the girls they once owned.

"Strip the sons. Chain them with the others."

Gasps echoed.

The guards didn’t hesitate.

The two boys shouted, panicked, but were silenced with magic. Their clothes were torn away, their wrists bound, and soon they were dragged to the far side of the tribunal, where they would hang like the rest—another pair of reminders.

Allen sat down, finally, and reached for a teacup. It was still hot. The porcelain clicked gently against the saucer.

Soreya knelt, motionless.

"You may remain here," Allen said to her without looking. "Until the sun sets."

"Yes, Master."

"No food. No water. If the tray spills, you’ll be whipped."

"Yes, Master."

And just like that, judgment continued.

One name after another.

One crime after another.

And behind it all—collared, naked, forgotten—Soreya remained. Not a queen. Not even a woman.

Just another weight in the silence.