The council chamber was colder than usual, as if the air itself recoiled from what was about to happen. The morning sun poured in like a judgmental eye, throwing sharp shadows across the polished stone floor. Elders filtered in with stiff backs and wrinkled brows, their expressions carefully composed—but that thin veil of decorum was already cracking.
At the center of it all stood Allen.
He wasn't dressed like royalty. He wasn't armored like a general. He stood in a loose robe, open at the chest, the hem brushing bare feet. He looked unbothered. Relaxed. Dangerous.
And then the doors opened again.
Fina led them in—his five marked maids.
Calla, Mira, Tessa, Niva, and Brin. All of them fully nude except for the thick, black ink declaring their sins. They walked in two by two, then Brin followed last, chin high, ass cheeks clearly inked with NOTHING in bold letters. Their shame wasn't hidden—it was celebrated. Like tattoos of devotion.
Gasps filled the chamber.
