Chapter 10 — The Mark Beneath the Moon
914 Words
**POV: Aria Silverfang**
Today was my sister Seraphine's imprint rite with Alpha Kael—a wedding, plain and simple.
How ironic. This union was meant to be mine. My sister wept and begged me to take her place, then slipped free herself; now the family had pushed her up to fill the pit I left. She thought she had caught the moon, yet tonight she would fall from the clouds before both clans.
Moon-ropes hung from the stone eaves of Thornheart; torches bleached the dais white.
The imprint rite fell on the fullest moon. Both clans had come, Silverfang's blue and Thornheart's black banners twisted in the wind. I wrapped myself in a grey cloak, lost among the vassals, scent-masking water rubbed at my wrist. The audience seat—best seat in any house.
The officiant climbed the dais, unrolled the script, and called in a loud voice for the bride and groom to mount the stage.
Kael walked up from the line. The robe covered his shoulders, yet that shoulder line was drawn iron-tight, his steps unhurried, as if he were mounting a scaffold rather than a wedding altar. He was reluctant—I could see it. Yet I could not say what exactly he resisted.
Seraphine was led up.
My sister. The wedding robe was new, fine cloth. She thought that jar of salve had hidden the mark at her throat for good; a smile even dared to touch her lips—but beneath it, guilt she could not press down, her eyelids fluttering and her steps drifting as she reached his side. What she feared, I knew at a glance.
The officiant sang the old litany and bade the Alpha set his mark upon the bride.
Kael leaned in, toward her neck.
I watched, and my chest tightened, suddenly, for no reason I could name. He was only setting a mark on a woman—what was it to me? Yet a sourness climbed like vines, and I clenched my sleeve, nails biting my palm.
The whole square held its breath.
He stopped. His nostrils flared, as if something had burned him, and he recoiled a full step.
The warmth that usually lived in his eyes went cold, inch by inch. His wolf had moved within him—beneath the moon, what hung at her throat was no mark of his, but another man's. The scent came sharp and clear—before the moon goddess had even stirred, the moonwort I had stirred into the salve had already drawn it out of her skin.
He straightened. Did not touch her.
"This woman," his voice was not loud, yet it crushed the whole dais. "Wears another's mark at her throat."
Silence.
Seraphine went white as paper. She tried to laugh; it wouldn't come. "You smell wrong—"
"Another man's scent," Kael cut her off and stepped back another half-pace, leaving her bare in the moonlight, the stain at her throat exposed for all. "It won't hide. Beneath the moon goddess, did you think I wouldn't know a lie?"
The dais broke like a stoned hive. Thornheart's elders paled; Silverfang's envoys stumbled back two steps—the alliance's pawn had become spoiled goods in full view. Seraphine opened her mouth; words caught in her throat. Pushed to the front of the stage, then pushed away by everyone.
I stood in the crowd and did not move.
This was the seat she had fought for. She wept as she pushed me out to take her place, then slipped free herself—now the family pushed her back, into my pit, yet she stood beneath the moon goddess bearing another man's mark, stripped and disgraced before them all.
The audience seat was perfect.
As the guards dragged her off, her head turned suddenly.
Her eyes cut through the crowd and pinned to my face.
For a heartbeat I thought she would cry my name. Her lips moved, but in the chaos no one listened. She had recognized me—the "healer" she had sent men to seize and never could, the sister she had assumed long swallowed by this game.
She did not call out. Dragged into the dark.
But I saw what was in her eyes: not fear, but hate. The resentment of "you dare keep your eyes on me from here."
Wind rattled the moon-ropes. The dais stood empty; the two clans' banners still twisted, yet the thread of the marriage was severed.
I turned and withdrew into the sea of faces. A gaze behind me pinned to my back—my sister's, burning with hate. She had recognized me, recognized the one she had shoved into the fire and who now stood in the dark watching her fall.
But what of it. The day she wept and begged me to take her place, she should have seen this coming. This scene was sweeter than I had imagined—I had mixed that salve myself. The thing she had cradled like treasure, I had tampered with: the moment the imprint rite began, the mark on her throat would surface for everyone to smell.
Kael still could not scent me.
My sister had been mere appetizer. The healer who had humiliated him stood three paces off, and he did not even know who I was.
The scar beneath my ribs gave a small twitch. The bond remembered him, knew him before he knew me.
This debt would not be settled by hate alone.
- Writer
