CHAPTER 180: UNDER THE TABLE

The sun had risen to its highest point by the time the tribunal had processed four more families. Each arrival followed the same ritual—nobles escorted in with trembling pride, masks of composure barely holding. Accusations read aloud like death sentences. Evidence paraded out in the form of living victims or damning records. Silence from Allen. Silence from Fina and Rinni. The foxkin elders spoke little, only nodding or shaking their heads while the weight of Allen’s authority rendered their positions increasingly ceremonial.

And always—always—Soreya remained kneeling.

Her back had begun to ache hours ago. Her thighs screamed with a steady, burning throb. The tray on her back trembled each time a breeze passed or she shifted even slightly to keep her balance. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs tingled. But she didn’t fall. She didn’t dare.

No one acknowledged her anymore. That was the most humiliating part.

At first, eyes had clung to her—shocked, scandalized, voyeuristic. But as the hours passed, she became a fixture. A piece of furniture. The fallen queen wasn’t a queen at all anymore. She was a tea tray. A beastkin slave could have held her role and it would have earned the same recognition.

Rinni was the first to break the silence.

She rose from her seat beside Allen, stretched, and strolled leisurely to Soreya’s kneeling form, circling her like a lioness might examine a half-dead deer. Her boots clicked sharply around the stone, and every noble present watched without blinking.

"Still holding it," she murmured, half-impressed. "Damn. I thought for sure she’d spill something by now."

Soreya said nothing.

Rinni crouched beside her, brushing Soreya’s cheek with the back of her hand.

"You’re lucky Allen doesn’t believe in wasting tools." She leaned in, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Because if it were up to me, I’d have you mounted under the table. Hands bound. Legs wide. And your throat trained to stay open while we drink."

Soreya’s breath hitched—but she didn’t flinch.

Not anymore.

She had run out of flinches hours ago.

Rinni smiled, straightened up, and walked back to her seat without another word. Allen didn’t even glance at her. He was reading a parchment passed by Dael—a full list of families tied to the Trelvine cousins, who were being escorted in at that very moment.

More crying. More panic. Another woman fainted before the first accusation even finished being read. Allen didn’t flinch either. He didn’t look at her when she collapsed, nor when one of the guards dragged her limp form back into place. He read, listened, and then gave a single nod that determined the fate of an entire bloodline.

It wasn’t cruelty. It was efficiency.

Another name. Another scream. Another pair of trembling sons dragged out to be judged.

By the time the tribunal reached its final case of the day, the sun had already begun to dip. Shadows stretched long across the floor, and Soreya could barely feel her legs. Her arms were numb. Her entire spine throbbed. The tray on her back still balanced, the cups half-full with now-lukewarm tea, and her mouth had long since gone dry.

Allen stood.

The final judgment had been passed.

The last noble had been dragged from the chamber weeping and stripped of title, wealth, and name. In his place, silence returned. Not the tense, choking kind that clung to the beginning of the day—but a dull, exhausted silence. The kind that follows a purge.

Allen looked down at Soreya.

"Stand."

Her muscles screamed. She nearly collapsed just lifting one leg. The tray wobbled, and Fina rushed forward to catch it before it tipped. Soreya gasped softly, a broken sound that wasn’t quite a sob. Her hair clung to her face. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked motions.

But she stood.

Eventually.

Naked, trembling, collar still glinting in the candlelight.

Allen stepped down from the tribunal platform and circled her once. Then again. Then stopped behind her. His fingers brushed her lower back, then slid down between her thighs. She flinched—but didn’t resist. He pressed a single finger against her slit and found it soaked.

A pause.

Then his voice, low and cold: "You’re wet."

"I—" she rasped, voice hoarse. "I didn’t mean—"

"You enjoyed this?"

"No, Master. I—please—"

But Allen’s fingers slid inside her without warning, two knuckles deep, dragging a slow moan from her throat before she could clamp it down. Her legs nearly buckled. She had no energy left to lie.

"I told you no pleasure," he said, voice tight.

"I couldn’t help it," she whispered, shame thick in every word. "The eyes. The leash. The heat. The tray on my back. I—"

He shoved his fingers in deeper and she cried out, collapsing to her knees again.

"It’s pathetic," he said. "That this is what you’ve become."

"I know."

"Lower."

She dropped further, pressing her face to the marble, arms sprawled at her sides, ass raised. The familiar pose of submission. Of punishment.

Allen stepped in close behind her, his cock already heavy in his hand.

"You’ll stay here tonight," he said, lining himself up. "Here. In the tribunal hall. Anyone who passes may look. May spit. May watch. But no one touches. No one fucks you but me."

"Yes, Master," she gasped.

He thrust in without warning, bottoming out with one brutal push.

Her scream echoed off the walls.

It wasn’t her ass this time. He took her pussy—raw, swollen, denied for so long that even air made her twitch—and fucked it like a reclamation.

Each thrust slammed her hips forward on the stone, her tits flattening against the cold floor, her voice reduced to broken gasps and whines. The sounds were vulgar, soaked, wet with shame and need. Her body betrayed her over and over, pulsing around him, tightening with every stroke.

"You wanted this," he growled, pulling her hair back.

"Yes."

"You wanted them to watch."

"Yes."

"You want to be owned."

"Yes."

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The rhythm of degradation.

Fina sat nearby, sipping the last of the tea Soreya had served hours ago. Rinni stretched out across a bench, legs up, watching with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile.

They didn’t interrupt. They didn’t speak.

This was Allen’s moment.

Soreya came first—her entire body seizing around him, legs shaking violently, mouth open in a silent scream as fluids poured down her thighs. He didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, forced her to feel it, forced her to stay in it.

Then he came.

Not inside her.

He pulled out and smeared it across her back, ropes of hot white streaking her spine, dripping slowly down to her tailbone. A mark. A flag.

His seed on her body, his leash on her neck, her pleasure forbidden and her shame overflowing.

He stood, adjusting his clothes without a word, and walked past her.

"Chain her to the tribunal doors," he said to the guards. "She’ll be the first thing they see tomorrow."

Fina rose. "Do you want her cleaned?"

"No. Let them see what she is."

The guards moved without hesitation.

Soreya didn’t fight.

Not even a little.