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?