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.