The Wolven Mark

by Megan Linski

  I smelled the burning of torches as I came close. The King’s Circle was the official royal court of the Arcanea. Every Faction— the wolvens, the griffins, the dragons, and the alicorns— elected two officials each to serve on the council, along with their mates. The males were given the title of Lord, and the females the title of Lady. I’d have to show all of them I still deserved a chance— but at least I had one ally.

  I came to a halt and shifted back into my human form when I saw a battalion of guards standing alert in a circle around a closed-off section of the woods. A man stood amongst the darkness, waiting for me.

  Lord Lucien’s brown hair was long and fell around his shoulders. He was in his fifties, and had a rugged and trim face that was slightly scarred, as he had seen a lot of battles with monsters. His form was lithe and muscular.

  I knew many women were in love with him, and the men respected him. He was smart and clever in a way most people could only wish for. He was one of the best warriors the Arcanea had and the most popular teacher at Arcanea University. I felt honored he’d spent his time over the summer mentoring me when I certainly knew he had more important things to do.

  He was a wolven, like me. For some reason, he still wanted me on the throne. And he’d committed himself to it.

  Lord Lucien shook my hand as I came near. “Ethan. I’m glad you decided to come.”

  “There was no decision about it.” I kept my tone clear. “It’s the least I can do, to repay you for what you’ve done.”

  Lord Lucien was the only one who’d made sure I still stood a fighting chance at winning the Contest. He’d re-taught me how to hunt and fight with a prosthetic as a man, and using only three legs as a wolven. We’d trained every day, from sun-up to sunset, until I was exhausted and could stand no more.

  During those first few weeks, I wanted to give up. I was angry. I didn’t want to fight anymore. But Lucien wouldn’t let me. He forced me to keep going until I collapsed, allowing me to rest for a while before demanding I get back up again. As a result, I became better than I ever was before— stronger, even, than I had been with both of my legs.

  The relentless training kept my mind off of what had happened. I was too busy learning how to fight again to wallow in endless grief. I thought I’d lost everything, but Lucien gave me a purpose— to win the King’s Contest at all costs.

  If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here. Most likely would’ve taken my own life out of shame and guilt. That man made sure I retained a fighting chance.

  I was a more powerful warrior than I ever had been. Now all I needed to do was prove it to the Circle.

  “Don’t thank me. I’ve done nothing worthy of repayment,” Lord Lucien said. “I merely did my duty to the crown.”

  Lord Lucien clapped a hand on my back and guided me toward the guards. “Now let’s hope you can pull this off.”

  The guards remained stiff as we came near, their hands on their axes. Their eyes were weary as we approached.

  “The Prince of the Arcanea wishes to speak with the King’s Circle,” Lord Lucien announced to them. “He uses his birthright to demand you let him pass.”

  The guards glanced at each other, as if unsure what to do, before they meekly stepped aside. I wondered if someone in the Circle had told them not to let me in. I would remedy that.

  As we entered, both Lucien and I changed. He became a large brown wolven with giant wings and yellow eyes as we moved forward.

  The trees parted, creating a circular area that was surrounded by blazing torches. In the middle of the space was a large flat cauldron, hanging from three chains and suspended over a bonfire. In the cauldron burned a variety of herbs and incense, making the area smell sweet.

  The Sacred Gathering. It was named so because it was a place of power. Magical energy was drawn from there. Our ancestors had used it for thousands of years prior to perform spells and healings. Miracles and wonders had been performed at the Gathering, but it had been many years since the site had deemed anyone worthy enough to use it. The Gathering was a living, breathing soul, and it determined who its power went to depending on the plea of whoever came to use it.

  Not just anyone was allowed into the Sacred Gathering. You had to be a member of the Circle… or of the royal family. It was a concern that an untrustworthy soul could use the power of the Gathering for unholy purposes and their own personal gain, convincing the spirits that lived in the earth there to work for evil instead of good. As such, the Gathering was only allowed to be visited by members of the hierarchy, for meetings only, and never alone. It was protected at all times, our most precious law. Penalty for a peasant wandering into the Gathering was death.

  Members of the Circle were spread out in an oval around the Gathering, each of them with their mates. The drums and chanting grew silent as I approached. On the silver throne directly across from me sat the current leader of the Arcanea.

  Now that my father was gone, a steward had taken his place. Bartok Solomon had been a hurried replacement by my father after the last Steward had unfortunately died, and his position was supposed to be temporary. He’d only been chosen to become the Steward a few months ago, and only then because there were few willing to take his place. Offspring of the Steward could never compete in the King’s Contest for up to three generations, as it was supposed that such temptation would make the Steward disloyal to the king and partake in assassination attempts, to get their own children that much closer to the throne.

  Steward Solomon had no children, so he’d been an easy option. But he was never meant to be permanent. Steward Solomon would run things until the King’s Contest was over and a new monarch had been chosen. He was part of the griffin Faction, and as far as I knew, had a good heart.

  I almost felt sorry for him, being shoved into this. He was close to retirement and had taken up the position as a favor. Never had he imagined that he’d have to hold the throne temporarily.

  As I approached the Circle, the sorceresses exposed their palms to me. Each of them had dark marks on their right hand, indicating which Faction of the Arcanea they belonged to. There were paws for wolvens, a dragon’s foot for dragons, a hoof print for alicorns, and a bird’s foot for griffins.

  I went to the Marked that belonged to Steward Solomon and licked her hand. Ursula Solomon barely hid a sneer as my tongue touched her palm. Lord Lucien likewise licked her palm, and we fell back to an empty section of the Circle before we transformed.

  I looked around. I knew my mother should be here, but she wouldn’t be. She was too caught up in her grief.

  Though something was curious. Lady Magdalina, Headmistress of Arcanea University, wasn’t here either. What was so important that she’d dare to miss a Circle meeting?

  Steward Solomon cleared his throat. He looked extremely uncomfortable. “Prince Ethan, why are you here? You are not permitted to interrupt our sacred council meeting.”

  I dared to step forward. “I am permitted by birthright. I am here to announce that I fully intend to participate in the King’s Contest this December. I henceforth put forward my desire to compete.”

  Whispers, among with a few outraged cries, echoed around the Circle. Steward Solomon tried to quiet the crowd and failed. Lady Ursula raised her hand with a sneer, and at her cruel gaze, the rest of them fell silent.

  “Why would we nominate you?” Lady Iris asked. She stood beside her alicorn mate and threw back a harsh laugh that had no humor in it. “You killed our king.”

  Her words were like a dagger in my chest, but I ripped the dagger out and threw it aside as I said, “My father intended that I be the one to take the throne. That doesn’t change now.”

  “You must have the backing of one of the Circle to participate. No one will nominate you after what you did,” Lord Morgane snarled. He was a dragon, and close to my father. I knew he blamed me for what had happened.

  Lord Lucien stepped forward. “I have already chosen to nominate him. He has my backing for the King’s Contest.”
>
  The rage was louder this time. For all the objections I’d believe the court would have, I didn’t think it would be this bad.

  My father was popular, well-beloved. It didn’t matter that I was his son. People considered me his murderer.

  Lord Morgane gave Lord Lucien a smoldering stare. He was minutes from transforming any instant. “You only wish to back the wolvens, Lucien, to keep the crown within your Faction’s power. Give another Faction a chance. One that didn’t cause the death of our leader.”

  “The leshane killed Lycus Nowak, none other,” Lucien announced, and he turned in place to gaze at all of the Arcanea standing near. “He died in battle, and is certainly roaming the Great Hunting Grounds with Tomir by his side in the Eternal Hunt. We should not punish his son for Lycus receiving an honorable death.”

  The rageful protests turned to mumbles. “Aye,” Lord Boris said, one of the griffins. “He’s with his sister now, Tomir be praised.”

  The heads of the Circle bowed in respect. It was a horrible thing for an Arcanea to die old in his bed and not with his sword on the battlefield. At least Da had been given a death that those in the afterlife would find honorable.

  Lady Iris shifted uncomfortably. “Merely being in the King’s Contest doesn’t mean that he’ll win. Though it would be… questionable if the boy who had been unsuccessful to save the former king succeeded in winning the throne.”

  “I fail to see how he could do that, without having all four legs.”

  A low and surly voice came out of the darkness. A man my age was illuminated by the fire as he came forward. He had short black hair, hooded eyelids, and even darker eyes. His form was thin and lithe as he proceeded into the Gathering. He smirked over the shadows flickering across his face.

  My cousin; Elijah Zlodia. We used to be close. Like brothers, even. Not anymore. I didn’t even know that he was here. Too busy hiding in the shadows waiting to spring on me, no doubt. What was he doing here? As a member of the royal family, he had the right to attend Circle meetings, but what interest did he have being here on this night?

  A fellow wolven came forward. My great uncle and Elijah’s father, Lord Zlodia, spoke up. “My son wishes to make his intention known. He also will be competing in this year’s King’s Contest, with my backing and nomination.”

  Elijah’s mother, Lady Korva, beamed with sickening pride at her mate’s side.

  Elijah’s grin grew bigger, and I felt sick. Of course. Elijah was here to make his King’s Contest declaration, just like I was. He couldn’t even wait until the mourning period was past and my father was cold in his grave.

  Elijah threw back his shoulders. “It’s time the Arcanea had a real king around here. One who isn’t so weak as to fall to leshanes and leave behind a crippled son.”

  I couldn’t hold my temper. I attacked. I exploded into my wolven form and charged at Elijah, leaping into the air with exposed, snarling jaws.

  He was waiting for me. Elijah changed into a black wolf the moment I came near, and met me with an open mouth. Both of us sank our fangs in at the exact moment. He bit harshly into my shoulder, missing my neck. It should’ve hurt, but I barely felt it. We fell into a growling, writhing mess on the ground, scratching each other with our claws and sinking our teeth into flesh. I saw red, and the rest of the world fell away. We were equal fighters, and Elijah had yet to earn his wings, like me. This was a fight I could win.

  There were enraged shouts and screams echoing throughout the Circle, and I heard shifters stampeding forward. A griffin pulled me off Elijah, while a dragon yanked him away from me. We transformed, and fought to get back to each other as we were dragged apart.

  “That is enough! How dare you defile the Sacred Gathering!” Lady Iris screeched as Elijah and I were separated. Her alicorn mate, Lord Radcliffe, herded me away with his horn, while Lord Morgane kept Elijah away by bearing his fangs. When I got back to Lucien, he put his hands on my shoulders, though I felt it was more an act of keeping me in place than a sign of comfort. The shifters went back to their places and transformed back to their human selves, though everyone looked on edge.

  Elijah baited me. He’d know I’d lose my temper and provoked me to attack him, so that I’d piss off the council and he’d look like the victim.

  A momentary thrill of fear went through me. Elijah had I had broken the law. We’d drawn blood and fought in the Sacred Gathering. Would I be prevented from entering the King’s Contest for such an act?

  Steward Solomon glanced around, looking nervous. His eyes locked with Lord Zlodia’s, who was giving him a penetrating stare.

  The steward cleared his throat. “Ethan, Elijah, if you two wish to have a Companion’s duel, now is not the time to do so. Another infraction will cause severe penalties for the both of you.”

  Relief ran through me. It was a miracle that the Circle had let that pass. Lord Zlodia had to be pulling strings. He really wanted his son on that throne.

  “This type of thing cannot be allowed. It’s been chaos ever since Lycus died. The Circle is in shambles,” Lord Tremaine announced.

  “Our world will be back to normal once we have a proper king,” Lord Morgane insisted, and he raised a fist. “We must remain unified. The Contest will weed out the weak and determine who is our rightful king.”

  “By the Seven Gods, it’ll be me,” I announced boldly. Lucien’s grip tightened on my shoulders, telling me to calm down.

  Steward Soloman raised an eyebrow. “If you wish to take the crown, you need a mate. Companions aren’t allowed to take part in the King’s Contest unless they’ve bonded with a sorceress. You know this.”

  He had me beat there. At my age, I was one of the few shifters at Arcanea University who hadn’t bonded yet. I knew I needed a mate… a sorceress… one called Marked… to be my queen. I wouldn’t be able to compete in the Contest otherwise. It had been my father’s last worry that I’d never bond.

  I didn’t want to before. But I’d changed my mind. Not for myself, but for my sense of duty and honor to the country. I’d promised my Da before he died I’d find a Marked to share the throne with, and I wouldn’t break that vow to him.

  Elijah had a cocky grin on his face, and the steward noticed. “That goes for you too, young master. You are also unbonded. I suggest the pair of you spend your time searching for mates instead of bickering with each other on who’s going to earn the throne, for if you are both single by the time the Contest arrives, neither of you will be allowed to compete.”

  The grin fell from his face. I couldn’t keep glee from running through my veins. I had Elijah beat in that department. What woman would want to be with a sniveling, sneaky coward like him?

  “I’ll find a mate before the King’s Contest begins,” I announced. “At the Choosing ceremony before the trials, I’ll be bonded. You have my word.”

  “I suggest you hurry, young prince. You have four months before the King’s Contest begins,” Lady Iris spoke. “Then we shall see how serious you are.”

  It was clear that my declaration was over and that the council intended to return to other matters. I turned to leave. Lucien stayed behind, to conduct business with the rest of the Circle. Elijah followed me on the way out.

  “You know, you’re a grown man now. You can stop being my shadow,” I told him under my breath. “It’s rather pathetic you keep trying to copy everything I do.”

  “That crown is mine,” Elijah snarled. “I’ll spill blood before you get your hands on it.”

  He slammed into my shoulder as he left the Circle. I avoided rolling my eyes. He could be so dramatic.

  I passed the section of guards, then shifted. I ran on the way back to the castle, looking skyward at the stars and wondering what it would be like to fly… wondering what it’d feel like to finally gain my wings… if I ever did.

  Four months to find a mate, the supposed love of my life. That wasn’t enough time. I didn’t even know where to start.

  But I’d make it work. I had to. My ki
ngdom, my country, depended on it.

  Chapter Four

  Emma

  Nearly a month passed, and though I stayed on high-alert, nothing happened after the mysterious wolf attack. I went to work, went to the rink, and went home without being attacked or followed. Nothing suspicious or weird happened. It was quite boring. I was starting to think I’d somehow made the whole thing up in my head.

  Except for the mark on my hand. It wouldn’t go away. I’d tried everything I could think of to get rid of it, but it never faded. If anything, it became more prominent, growing darker and darker with every day that passed. It looked like I’d gone to a tattoo shop and gotten an inky wolf print permanently embedded on my hand. I kind of hated it. It was messed up that a random-ass mark had appeared on my hand out of nowhere like magic. If the judges saw it during competitions, they’d mark me down for it, so I covered up the mark with makeup as much as I could and attempted to ignore it.

  I also tried to do the light-thingy with my hand again. No go. It wouldn’t work. I felt really stupid walking around the woods with my hand raised, trying to summon some sort of blue light I wasn’t sure I had fabricated or not.

  I tried not to think about it, but when I was working at the diner, the strange mark was all that was on my mind. It was either busy or boring at the diner, and that gave me far too much time to wonder about what the mark meant and why it had appeared. I was trying to figure out how many shifts I’d have to work to get this thing removed when I accidentally spilled a man’s drink all over him— for the second time.

  “Dammit girl, can’t you watch what you’re doing?” he yelped as he jumped back. Brown pop dripped all over his white button-up and his pinstripe pants.

  “Sorry, sorry.” I blotted his shirt with a napkin, but he shoved my hand away and sneered. I already knew I wasn’t getting a tip.

  “If you’d focus more on your work instead of getting tattoos, maybe you’d be a better waitress,” he remarked, with a snobby glance down at the paw print. I cringed.