Marked

Chapter 6

RIV POV

The door opens after a beat too long.

A female stands in the threshold—Fae, older, composed. Her silver-streaked hair is braided back. There’s an apron around her waist and the scent of herbs clinging to her sleeves.

She doesn’t flinch when she sees me. But her eyes sharpen. Just slightly.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors this late,” she says.

I nod. “Apologies. Just a routine inquiry.”

She raises a brow. “Routine, huh? Soldiers don’t usually knock when they’re being routine.”

“This one does.”

She glances over my shoulder at the soldier who brought the report. Her eyes flick to him, then back to me. I see the moment she realizes who I am. Not from a name.

But from the mark burned into my chest, visible just barely above the edge of my tunic.

I step forward. “I won’t take much of your time.”

She hesitates. Then opens the door wider.

“Come in, then. Tea?”

“Sure.”

The house is warm. Quiet. Too quiet. No footsteps. No fire crackling. No background noise at all. Just the hum of warded stillness.

She moves around the kitchen calmly—too calmly. Her hands don’t shake. Her voice doesn’t waver. She’s hiding something. And she’s good at it.

I sip the tea she sets in front of me. It's strong. Slightly sweet. Harmless.

“Name?” I ask.

“Selene.”

“Healer?”

“I am.”

“Live alone?”

“Yes.”

I study her. She’s not lying. But she’s not telling the truth, either.

“You get many travelers through here?” I ask, setting the cup down.

She shrugs. “Some. Not often. Not lately.”

“There’s been word of fugitives in the area,” I say. “Magic wielders. Rebels. Have you seen anyone… unusual recently?”

“I see pain,” she says. “Sickness. Infection. None of it’s rebellion.”

She’s clever. Cagey.But not afraid.That’s what makes me suspicious.

My eyes drift to the hallway. To the slightly uneven rug tucked near the far wall. To the barely disturbed layer of dust just beside it.

I set the cup down slowly. And smile.

“Nice place you have, Selene.”

I let the silence stretch for a moment, then glance back toward the hallway again—toward the rug.

Selene follows my gaze. Her jaw doesn’t tighten. Her hands don’t twitch. She’s trained for this.

But I’ve lived for it. I push my chair back slowly and stand. She straightens, not quite blocking the doorway, but close enough.

“I appreciate the tea,” I say. “Truly.”

She nods. “My pleasure.”

“I just have one more request.”

Her chin lifts slightly. “Which is?”

I keep my voice calm. Even.

“May I look around?”

A pause. The air stills.

“Why?” she asks.

“No particular reason,” I lie. “You know how it is. Protocol. Strangers in villages. Magic in the woods. I like to be thorough.”

I give her a polite smile. Cold. Controlled. Not quite a threat. But not a request either.

She holds my gaze for a beat too long. Then steps aside.

“Be my guest.”

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RYN POV

It’s hard to breathe.

The air under the house is still, damp, and tight with magic. The walls hum faintly with Selene’s wards, but they won’t stop steel if he finds the trapdoor.

Teryn crouches beside me, hand already resting on the hilt of her blade. Her body is tense, but her breathing is calm. Mine isn’t. I close my eyes and try to still it. But I can hear him.

His voice is smoother than the others. Lower. Controlled. He doesn’t ask many questions—but every one feels like a blade pressed just shy of blood. And when he speaks again, I know we’re in trouble.

“May I look around?”

My pulse spikes. Teryn’s head snaps toward me. We both know what that means. Selene’s answer is too faint to hear. But the footsteps that follow are not.

They move across the floor above us, slow and deliberate. Pacing. Closing in. Each one feels like it lands between my shoulder blades.

I press myself flatter against the stone, barely daring to blink. Teryn reaches over, silently tightening the curtain of fabric along the hidden vent near the floor—cutting off even the sliver of light from the kitchen.

Darkness swallows us again.

And then—

A creak.

Right above us.

He's standing on the rug.

--------------------------------

RIVENN POV

The floor creaks beneath my boots.

It’s old wood—well-oiled, carefully swept—but I can feel the faint shift in weight beneath me.

There’s a hollow space here. Hidden. Deliberate. I don’t look down. Don’t draw attention to it.

Selene watches from the kitchen doorway, hands folded neatly in front of her apron. Her expression doesn’t change. But I smell a small trace of fear, and it’s not coming from Selene.

I step off the rug slowly and move toward the rest of the house. A narrow hall. A bedroom with a low cot and jars of herbs strung from the ceiling. A storeroom packed with dried roots and salt-cured meat.

Everything is exactly as it should be. Everything is wrong. Because I know there’s someone in this house. I know they’re beneath my feet.

And still…

I don’t say anything. I don’t lift the rug. I don’t draw my blade. Not because I’m afraid.

Because something in me pauses. Holds back. A whisper of a thought, sharp and intrusive:

Not yet.

I return to the main room. Selene meets my eyes. I finish the tea and set the cup on the table. Then I nod.

“Thank you for your time.”

She says nothing. Just watches me go. Outside, the soldiers are waiting.

I signal the captain. “Take your squad. Camp in the woods just west of here.”

He frowns. “You’re not joining us?”

“No.”

“You have orders?”

I meet his eyes, cold and flat. “I’m following a lead.”

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t argue.

“Send word to the capital,” I add. “Tell the king I’ve picked up a trail. I’ll report once it’s confirmed.”

He nods and disappears into the dusk, his soldiers following behind.

I walk to the edge of the village, toward the treeline behind Selene’s house. The shadows are thicker here. I crouch low in the brush. Silent. Watching. Waiting.

Because someone’s going to leave that house eventually. And when they do… I’ll be right behind them.

The woods are hushed.

The only sound is the occasional rustle of wind through the branches. The house sits quiet under the moonlight, its chimney curling faint threads of smoke into the air.

I crouch in the shadows, eyes locked on the back door. Every instinct tells me someone is down there. Not just anyone.

I should’ve kicked in the door. Should’ve torn up the floorboards.

Dragged whoever’s hiding out by the throat and delivered them to the king like I’ve done a hundred times before.

But I didn’t. I walked out. And I don’t know why.

Maybe it was the calm in Selene’s voice. Or the look she gave me—the look of someone not afraid to die, but willing to burn you down with her if you made her.

Maybe it was the rug. The way the air shifted when I stood over it. I press a hand over my chest, over the mark the king burned into me a hundred years ago.

It’s quiet now. Still. But a flicker of warmth lingers underneath the skin—like a coal buried deep in ash.

Not pain. Just a feeling.