The Alpha's Sacrifice.

CHAPTER 4: Cast aside.

Marigold's POV.

Astrella tapped my back lightly as sobs raked through my entire body.

My head was strewn over her lap, and my hair, which had come undone from its bun, fell onto the floor.

Was something wrong with me?

Why didn't my Wolf appear?

Did it have to do with my clothes?

All those questions do nothing but intensify the burning tears seeping out of my eyes.

“You're going to fall ill Mari.” Astrella tried to warn me.

Her hands arranged my hair back into a braid, removing it from my eyes, while she wiped my tears with a wash cloth.

I'm too distraught to listen, not when I just got humiliated in front of everyone on the supposed biggest night of my life.

Not when even the servants in my own Palace deem me unworthy of their respect, or when I saw the look of confusion on my Mother's face.

And not when I saw my Father rise up in a fit of rage, demanding answers regarding my failed transition.

How could I dare to keep calm, or even wonder about the aftermath of my excessive crying at this moment?

I felt like a traitor, a liar, a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Discard that last part, my Wolf didn't even appear in glimmers, no sharp nails, neither did my teeth nor hair grow.

There was just nothing.

More choked sobs escaped from my lungs as Astrella murmured something to herself.

~~~

“Widen your mouth.”

I obeyed.

My jaw ached as the healer carefully inserted a slender wand between my teeth. The room had fallen strangely silent. Even the crackling fire seemed to have quietened, as though it, too, waited for an answer.

“Hold still, my lady.”

I tried.

The wand scraped lightly against my tongue before the healer withdrew it.

“Very good. You may close your mouth now.”

I shut my jaw and swallowed.

The healer placed the wand inside a small glass vial, then lifted it toward the candlelight.

My mother sat rigidly across from me, her fingers tightly clasped in her lap.

Leon stood beside the window, his arms folded over his chest.

No one spoke.

My heart beat harder with every passing moment.

My mother had insisted we summon the healer after my wolf failed to awaken. She had refused to believe that there could be no reason for it.

There had to be an illness.

A weakness.

Something, wrong within me.

The healer examined the vial, then checked my pulse, my eyes, and the markings along my wrists. He repeated the tests twice before finally setting his instruments aside.

“Well?” my mother asked, tapping her fingers with impatience.

The healer remained silent.

I held my breath.

At last, he shook his head.

“There is nothing that I can find, my lady, nothing that speaks of sickness.”

The words should have comforted me rather, they made my stomach twist.

Leon stepped forward. “If it is not an illness, then what is it?”

The healer offered no answer.

He merely hummed beneath his breath, his gaze fixed upon the glass vial.

Leon frowned. “I asked a question!”

Still, the healer said nothing.

He lifted his eyes to mine.

For a fleeting moment, something passed across his face, panic, then with a blink it vanished.

I straightened in my seat. “What?” I whispered, my throat already sore from crying.

The healer looked away.

“My lady…”

His voice had changed.

“What is it?” my mother demanded.

The healer slowly gathered his instruments into a small pouch.

“I fear,” he said, “that your daughter’s condition is beyond the healing arts.”

Silence swallowed the room.

My heart stopped.

Beyond the healing arts?

My mother rose so quickly that her chair scraped violently against the stone floor.

“Explain yourself.”

“I can not.” The healer lowered his head.

“Cannot, or will not?” Leon added, already walking closer.

The healer's fingers tightened around his satchel.

“I have searched for her blood, her breath, and her very pulse. There is no sickness within her.”

His eyes returned to me.

“And yet… there is something I cannot name.”

A chill crawled down my spine.

Something…..

He could not name?

For the first time since my awakening night, I wondered if perhaps the chiefs had been wrong.

Perhaps there was nothing missing inside me.

Perhaps something else had taken its place.

…..

“Umm….Mari, this is for wolves with rank Gamma and above.”

I blinked.

I had been attending painting lessons since I was a child. I knew every corner of this room, the long wooden tables, the shelves crowded with paints, even the faint scent of lavender that clung to the curtains.

Apparently, now none of it belongs to me.

“There was no such restriction before,” I said. “None of us had our wolves then.”

The instructor shifted uncomfortably.

“Yes, I understand. But now that we do, it is important that we follow the proper order.”

I raised a brow at her repeated use of we.

A few students snickered.

Heat crawled up my neck.

For a moment, I wanted to turn around and ask them what exactly was so amusing.

Instead, I swallowed and calmly gathered my brushes.

“I see.”

The words came out steadier than I felt.

I carried my supplies out of the room without another word.

Only after wandering through the corridors did I discover that the other classes had similar restrictions.

Gamma and above.

It seemed that everywhere I turned, there was another door I was no longer permitted to enter.

Yesterday, I was Marigold Ashmoor.

Today, I was simply Lowborn.

I tightened my grip around my paintbrushes.

It was humiliating.

It was unfair.

But I would not give them the pleasure of watching me crumble.

I had survived worse things than a locked classroom.

At least, that was what I told myself.

…..

I returned home to find Mother in the middle of her meditation.

I had barely finished explaining what had happened before she rose.

She abandoned her work without hesitation and marched me straight back to school.

Somehow, facing the Principal felt worse than leaving the painting room.

“Mrs. Ashmoor,” the Principal said, barely looking up from his desk, “there is nothing more to discuss. The school has revised its curriculum. Certain classes are now restricted according to rank.”

“Restricted?” Mother repeated.

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“My daughter has attended that class for years.”

“And she may continue her education elsewhere.”

The Principal finally looked at me.

His gaze traveled from my face to the stripes on my wrist marking my rank.

“Certain privileges,” he added, “are simply not meant for everyone.”

My fingers curled against my skirt.

There it was again.

‘Not meant for everyone.’

I wanted to tell him that I had earned my place in that classroom long before I ever awakened.

Instead, I lifted my chin.

Mother's hand closed firmly around my wrist.

“If that is the school's decision,” she said coldly, “then I shall find my daughter somewhere that values her ability rather than the rank of the wolf she carries.”

My eyes stung.

I blinked quickly.

Not here.

I would not cry here.

Not for them.

General Rami's words rang at the back of my head, “Stop fighting like a warrior who wishes to lose.”

I took one quiet breath and stepped closer to Mother.

If they wished to make me feel small, they would have to do so without my permission.

I would not cower at their mercy.