Marked By The Alpha

Chapter Seven – A Spark in the Shadows

The sun was high when Ivy was led from her chamber, her wrists finally unchained but her freedom still nothing more than an illusion. Guards shadowed her every step, their heavy boots thudding against the stone floors as though to remind her of the prison she walked within.

She kept her head high, though inside, Selra growled with quiet impatience.

He thinks we are tamed, Selra murmured. But the fire still burns. Don’t forget that.

I won’t, Ivy promised, her gaze hardening.

Arthur had not appeared since the morning feast. His absence made the air easier to breathe, though the mark on her neck throbbed faintly with his presence, a cruel reminder of the bond that chained her in ways iron could not.

The guards escorted her to the healing wing. At first, Ivy thought it was another trick—a way to test her compliance—but when the heavy doors creaked open, she found herself in a chamber filled with the scent of herbs and clean linen.

A woman stood by the long table, her hair streaked with silver, her hands busy grinding leaves into a paste. She looked up as Ivy entered, her eyes sharp but kind.

“This is Mira,” one guard said gruffly. “She will tend to you.”

Then, with a glance at Mira that carried unspoken warning, the guards stationed themselves by the door.

Mira wiped her hands on her apron and approached Ivy, her gaze lingering on the angry red marks circling her wrists. “Sit,” she said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

Something in her tone—a quiet gentleness Ivy hadn’t felt since before her capture—unraveled the knot in Ivy’s chest. She sat.

Mira worked in silence, applying the herbal paste to Ivy’s wounds. The coolness seeped into her skin, easing the sting.

“You’ve been through much,” Mira murmured, her voice low, careful enough that the guards might miss it. “Arthur’s ways are… not gentle.”

Ivy’s throat tightened. She glanced at the guards, then leaned closer, whispering, “He nearly killed Michael last night.”

Mira’s hands stilled for a moment before she resumed her work. Her eyes flicked toward the guards again, but her lips pressed into a firm line. “You’re brave to speak of it aloud. Be careful.”

Something in her words—an edge, a warning—made Ivy’s pulse quicken. Could Mira be trusted?

She is cautious, Selra murmured. But there’s no fear in her scent. That is rare here.

Ivy swallowed hard, then whispered, “Do you know of the Severing?”

Mira’s fingers faltered. Her gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, Ivy thought she had said too much.

But then Mira leaned closer, her lips barely moving. “That word is forbidden here. Speak it again, and Arthur will tear it from your tongue himself.”

Ivy’s heart raced. “So it’s real?”

Mira’s expression gave nothing away, but her silence was louder than denial. She pressed a final layer of salve onto Ivy’s skin, then straightened, her face once more calm and composed.

“You will heal,” Mira said louder, her voice now for the guards. “But the wounds will scar if you strain them again.”

The guards shifted, bored and inattentive.

But Ivy caught the fleeting glance Mira gave her, a spark hidden in her eyes. It was enough.

For the first time, Ivy felt less alone.

---

That night, Arthur returned.

The sound of his boots echoing down the corridor sent a shiver through Ivy’s spine. Selra bristled inside her, hackles raised.

Arthur entered her chamber with a quiet authority, his gaze sweeping over her as though he had the right to measure her every breath. He carried no chains this time, no threats—only a small tray of food.

“I had them prepare something for you,” he said simply, setting the tray on the table. “You need your strength.”

Ivy stared at him, wary. “Why? So I can be strong enough to endure your cage?”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t lash out. Instead, he took a step closer, his eyes darkening with something she couldn’t name. “Ivy… I don’t want to keep you in chains forever. I want you to walk beside me willingly.”

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. “You want the impossible.”

Arthur’s hand lifted, as though to touch her face, but he hesitated—hesitated, for the first time she had seen. His fingers curled back into a fist.

“You will see, in time,” he said quietly. “You will understand that everything I do, I do to protect what is mine.”

Her stomach twisted. “Michael wasn’t yours. Yet you nearly killed him.”

The air thickened, his dominance pressing down like a storm. But Ivy didn’t bow her head this time. She held his gaze, her pulse thundering but her chin high.

Something flickered in his eyes—frustration, admiration, longing. He stepped back, breaking the tension, and turned toward the door.

“Eat,” he ordered softly, then left.

The silence he left behind was heavy, but Ivy’s chest swelled with quiet triumph. She had defied him, however small the act.

That was the first strike, Selra growled approvingly. Do you feel it? The spark?

Ivy pressed her hand against her chest, where her heart hammered fiercely. Yes. I won’t stop.

---

The days that followed were a careful dance. Arthur alternated between tenderness and dominance, his obsession wrapping tighter with every passing moment. He brought her gifts—a cloak of soft fur, books from his private library, food she hadn’t tasted in months.

But for every gesture, there was a shadow. Guards followed her every step. The mark on her neck burned hotter whenever Arthur was near, a reminder that he controlled even her body’s responses.

Ivy learned to smile when he demanded it, to stay silent when he pressed too hard. All the while, she listened, watched, waited.

And Mira returned often, always under the guise of tending to Ivy’s healing. Her words were sparse, but her eyes spoke volumes.

One evening, as Mira adjusted the bandage on Ivy’s wrist, she slipped a small scrap of parchment into Ivy’s palm, hidden from the guards.

Ivy’s heart skipped as she palmed it, waiting until she was alone to unfold the message.

The handwriting was hurried but clear.

The Severing is real. But it is dangerous. If you are brave enough, seek the Well of Echoes when the moon is full. Do not let Arthur know.

Ivy’s breath caught. Her fingers trembled around the note, hope and fear crashing inside her.

Selra’s voice was fierce with excitement. The path opens. The first step is ours to take.

For the first time since her capture, Ivy smiled—not with bitterness, not with mockery, but with true fire.

She wasn’t just surviving anymore.

She was beginning to fight back.