CIARA
The high collar of the velvet gown was rubbing against the fresh, raw sting of the claiming mark. I didn't focus on the pain; my eyes were locked entirely on the head of the mahogany table where Hayes sat.
In the center of the marble floor, a young omega servant was on her knees, her hands shaking against the stone.
"The ledger is explicit, Alpha," Elder Vance barked, slamming his palm down on the wood so hard the silver platters rattled. "Three loaves of barley, a jar of lard, and a sack of dried salt from the winter reserves. The lower cast belongs to the logistics pool. If we allow petty thievery in the kitchens, the ration distribution collapses before the first frost. She must face the cells."
The council members murmured, nodding in agreement.
Hayes didn't move. He sat bac
