Chapter 189: Trial of bastards
The morning sun didn't reach the tribunal hall. The towering stained-glass windows glowed dimly in red and gold hues, but the weight inside was colder than stone. Allen entered without a word, his coat trailing behind him like a shadow. He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't have to.
They were already looking at him.
At his feet knelt the five Rhelgar sons—stripped of titles, armor, and all the noble arrogance they once wore like armor. Each one had been dragged in shackled and silenced, stripped of every false veneer of dignity. Their faces bore bruises from resisting arrest, but it wasn't the bruises that made them tremble.
It was Allen's eyes.
Fina stood beside him, her expression unreadable. Rinni sat on the throne's armrest, one leg swinging lazily while she twirled a dagger between her fingers, licking a sugar candy she absolutely did not need. She glanced at the kneeling boys and grinned, lips sticky. "Aww. Did the baby lords not sleep well in the dungeon?"
"Quiet," Allen murmured, though without real heat. He wasn't here for jokes.
He was here for blood.
The nobles filled the gallery in silence, shoulder to shoulder. Foxkin elders lined the side seats, with Yoru seated upright and stony-eyed at the center of them all. None spoke. None blinked. They had seen enough yesterday to know the world had already changed.
A clerk stepped forward with a scroll in trembling hands. "The tribunal is in session. Sovereign Allen presiding. On trial: Lord Endrik, Lord Vashin, Lord Cedran, Lord Karo, and Lord Jule of the House of Rhelgar—"
"They are no lords," Allen said, voice sharp enough to slice. "Not anymore. Speak their names."
The clerk swallowed. "Endrik, Vashin, Cedran, Karo, and Jule. Accused of human and beastkin trafficking, sexual assault, repeated abuse of indentured staff, and conspiracy to cover up noble crimes against the council's laws."
Gasps rippled through the audience, though no one looked truly surprised. Just publicly scandalized, like actors caught off script.
Allen stepped down the dais and walked toward the kneeling brothers, each one flinching as he passed. He stopped in front of Endrik, the eldest—once tall and golden, now pale and hollow-eyed.
"Do you deny the charges?" Allen asked.
Endrik didn't speak. His lips moved, but the sound caught in his throat.
"Speak."
Endrik's jaw clenched. "I… I did what was necessary to keep the staff obedient. We all did. That was our right. They were ours."
Allen nodded once. Then punched him in the face.
The sound was wet and heavy. Endrik collapsed sideways, blood pouring from his nose.
The clerk winced, but didn't object. No one did. The weight of Allen's authority was a smothering thing—present and unyielding. Not a performance. Not vengeance.
Justice.
He turned to the others. "Anyone else want to call your victims 'property'?"
Jule, the youngest, started sobbing.
Allen crouched in front of him. "How old was the first maid you took?"
"I—I didn't—"
"Don't lie." His voice dropped lower. "She had red hair. You tore her uniform. Tied her to your bed. Called her your little beast."
Jule's face crumpled. "I was told it was allowed. I thought—"
"No," Allen said. "You didn't think."
He stood and looked to the elders. "We have statements from thirty-two former staff. Marks on their bodies. Testimony matching locations, names, dates. And from Soreya herself, who was aware and did nothing."
Soreya stood behind the throne now. Silent. Barefoot. The ink on her body still fresh. Her eyes were unreadable—but not cold. She had accepted the role fate handed her.
Allen raised a hand. Fina stepped forward and tossed a satchel onto the floor. It spilled open—letters, photos, scribbled threats. Contracts of silence, signed in the names of staff who had long since vanished.
"I don't need a jury. I don't need debate," Allen said. "You know what this is."
Yoru's voice cut through the silence like a slow knife. "You seek execution."
"No," Allen said, stepping back toward the throne. "I seek an example."
Fina walked forward again, holding a set of five leather collars in her arms.
Not for decoration.
Not for play.
But for permanent ownership.
The chamber erupted in whispers.
"They'll be sent to the mines," Allen said, as he sat once more. "Collared. Branded. Bound to decades of labor under beastkin wardens. They'll sleep where slaves once slept. Eat what they fed to maids. No surname. No titles. Just numbers."
Rinni licked her candy again. "And if they try to run?"
Allen smiled. "Then we do worse."
Yoru rose slowly. The other elders followed suit. And one by one, in solemn silence, they bowed.
They accepted.
The chamber followed.
Nobles who once dined with the Rhelgar family knelt. Council assistants dropped to one knee. The remaining guards lowered their weapons.
The five brothers sobbed, too stunned to understand the full sentence yet. But the chains binding them were already being tugged as Fina approached, her voice cold.
"Strip them."
Guards obeyed.
The sons of Rhelgar were unwrapped before the world—naked and sobbing, as ink-stained maids watched from the chamber's edges, no longer silent. No longer slaves.
Allen watched every second.
This was not a spectacle.
This was history.
And history, from this day forward, would remember Allen—not as a noble, not as a man, but as the one who corrected the world's balance with a single, unforgiving hand.
The echo of the tribunal's verdict still lingered in the air like smoke from a snuffed flame. As the guards led the broken Rhelgar sons away—barefoot, red-eyed, silent—Allen stood motionless at the base of the throne. The collars gleamed under the torchlight. Branded on each boy's back was the mark of servitude: a fox's tail wrapped in barbed wire. No illusions now. They were property. A sentence cruel only because it mirrored what they'd inflicted for years.
But Allen wasn't smiling.
Justice was rarely satisfying. Just necessary.
Fina slid up beside him, her hand brushing his knuckles. "That was mercy," she whispered, almost disappointed.
"I know," Allen replied, eyes still locked on the chamber doors. "But mercy is louder than blood."
Behind them, Soreya hadn't moved. Not a twitch. She stood where he left her, ink crawling down her thighs, the word TRAITOR still visible beneath the sheer cloth of her shift. The elders hadn't acknowledged her since the trial began. Not once. It was Allen who finally turned toward her.
"Soreya."
She raised her head. Her voice was dry and cracked. "I await punishment."
"You already wear it."
Fina tilted her head. "You're letting her live?"
Allen stepped closer, until they were only inches apart. "Her sons rot in the dark. Her name is gone. Her power is ashes. She'll live with what she watched and allowed. That's the punishment."
Soreya didn't argue. Her chin dipped again, and she whispered, "Then... may I serve?"
Allen said nothing for a long beat. Then: "Go to Elira. She'll assign your duties."
That hit her harder than any slap. Elira—the humiliated maid, now risen by submission and obedience. Soreya didn't hesitate though. She bowed low, so low her forehead touched the floor, then turned and left, her bare feet whispering against stone.
Allen turned to the elders. "We're not finished."
The old foxkin blinked. Yoru folded his hands in his lap, slowly nodding. "You want to speak of the mines."
Allen crossed his arms. "I want to speak of what we build next."
The chamber had shifted. The fear that once clung to Allen like a dark cloak was now reverence. Uneasy, unfamiliar, but thick enough to taste.
He looked to Jass and Lira. "You've hidden slave routes. Lied about contracts. You sold beastkin children to the Rhelgars in secret caravans and called it 'economic exchange.'" His voice was low. Controlled. Deadly. "You think that's gone unnoticed?"
Lira swallowed hard. "We acted in desperation. The drought—"
Allen raised a hand. She stopped mid-sentence.
"Don't speak unless I tell you."
It wasn't rage anymore. It was order. Control. The kind that couldn't be challenged without consequence.
"I'm not interested in confessions," Allen said. "Only in actions."
He took a scroll from Fina's hand and let it unroll on the table before the council. "This is the new charter. All trade routes in and out of Faer'Ren will be monitored. Any slave movement will be traced and punished. Fina will oversee the inspections herself. Any resistance will be met with public stripping, binding, and flogging."
Rinni clapped softly. "Mmm. Don't tempt me, Allen."
Lira's voice came out weak. "You'd humiliate council members in front of the beastkin?"
Allen looked her in the eye. "Yes. Just like I did to you."
Silence.
Yoru finally nodded. "And if we comply?"
"Then your titles remain. Barely."
No applause. No arguments. Just acceptance.
The weight shifted again, and Allen turned, heading for the back doors without another word. Fina followed, and Rinni skipped behind, humming something filthy and cheerful.
The throne room faded behind them.
—
They returned to the central estate in silence. The old Rhelgar manor was unrecognizable now—cleansed of family crests, its banners burned, its marble scoured. At the entrance, Calla and Tessa knelt, scrubbing the blood from yesterday's lashes off the tiles. They looked up as Allen passed, but said nothing. He nodded to them—subtle, but kind. They lowered their heads again, but their cheeks were flushed.
Inside, the hallways hummed with soft activity. The maids—his maids—were moving more confidently now. Still marked, still obedient, but no longer hollow. They had purpose. They had Allen.
And he had all of them.
In the grand chamber, Elira stood with arms crossed, naked but proud, reading from a list scrawled in Allen's hand. Beside her, Soreya knelt again, this time on her own. She held a scrub brush, her fingers bleeding from overuse. Elira didn't even glance down.
Allen raised a brow. "How's she doing?"
Elira smirked. "Not bad. I've made her clean your entire throne with a toothbrush. She hasn't spoken once."
"Good. Keep her busy. We'll see if humility sticks."
Then he stepped forward, and without warning, kissed Elira on the mouth.
She gasped against him, more from surprise than resistance. When he pulled back, her knees trembled.
"Y-you've never kissed me before," she whispered.
"I hadn't decided you earned it yet," Allen replied.
Elira bit her lip. "Does this mean I'm not just your punishment pet anymore?"
Allen leaned in, brushing his lips near her ear. "It means I trust you with more than shame now."
Her shudder was visible. She nodded, then turned back to her list like she hadn't just nearly melted.
Rinni clapped. "Gods, Allen, you're turning all of them into little sex-addicted priestesses."
Allen raised a brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Fina chuckled from the couch, undoing her boots. "What now?"
Allen looked at her. Then at the girls around the hall. Brin was organizing crates. Niva was polishing whips. Mira was balancing a tray of food on her bare back while two younger beastkin fed off it like a table.
He exhaled.
"Now?" he said. "We rest."
And he dropped into the central throne like it was a second skin, letting his girls swirl around him like gravity itself bent to his command.
Because it did.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow would be worse.
For his enemies.