The silver light did not fade.
It spread beneath my skin in clean, bright lines, following the path of the old mark and then moving past it, climbing my forearm in a pattern I had never seen before. Across the courtyard the Alpha King stood frozen, one hand still pressed to his own wrist. The same light rose under his skin—bright, living, impossible.
Someone near the colonnade gasped.
“Look at their marks.”
Another voice rose. “That’s not possible.”
A third, sharper: “Call the High Priest. Now.”
The quiet courtyard filled in moments. Servants stopped walking. Nobles turned from their conversations. Warriors who had been standing guard moved closer. The light on my wrist pulsed once, hard enough that I felt it in my teeth. The Alpha King’s light answered it.
Lucien pushed through the
