Allen barely spared another glance at the groaning knights, now twitching in puddles of their own misery.
Instead, he turned sharply toward the elders—his eyes locking onto one in particular.
"Lira," he said, voice low and venomous.
The old foxkin matron stiffened.
"You wanted me to lick clean your crusty old pussy, right?" he said, the words sliding out like a whip crack. "You old bitch."
The entire hall went dead quiet. The other elders turned slowly, horrified, toward Lira, who had gone pale beneath her grayed fur.
"I-I never said—"
"Don't lie to me," Allen snapped, stepping forward. "You remember. You offered it up like it was some kind of reward for obedience. Thought I'd be honored to lap at your saggy folds like a starving dog."
His lip curled.
"I don't lick what I wouldn't even feed to my fuckdolls."
Lira trembled. "I… I was only—"
Allen turned his head lazily. "Veyna."
"Yes, Master?" came the sweet, obedient purr behind him.
