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?"
