Chapter Nineteen – The Marking Day

The castle was alive with purpose. Servants hurried through the halls, their arms laden with bolts of ceremonial fabric, trays of food, and fresh flowers plucked at first light. The scent of polished wood, burning torches, and crushed herbs filled the air, thick with anticipation. Today was the day Helena would be marked by Caelan—the ritual that would bind her to him before the eyes of the court and the gods.

Ilia kept her head down, hands busy as she scrubbed the kitchen counters until they gleamed, chopped roots for the stew with a practiced rhythm, and swept ash from the hearth as if she could erase the gnawing ache in her chest. Anything to keep her thoughts from drifting toward him. Anything to stop the vivid images of Caelan’s hands cradling Helena’s face, his mouth pressed to hers, the bite that would bind them together forever. Her heart twisted at the thought, an almost physical pain that she tried to scrub away with every harsh swipe of her cloth. But no matter how fiercely she worked, the rhythm of her labor could not quite drown out the tremor inside her, nor the taste of ashes that lingered on her tongue.

Around her, the other servants whispered and speculated, their excitement barely contained.

“Do you think she’ll wear the silver veil or the red?”

“I heard Caelan himself requested the red. A symbol of power.”

“I heard he barely looked at her this morning. Maybe he’s nervous.”

Ilia tried to shut it all out, but every word seemed to land like a stone in her gut. She didn’t belong in those conversations. She didn’t want to hear them. She wanted to forget him, forget the dreams, forget the way his gaze had once felt like it could set her aflame.

So she worked. She worked until her hands ached and her knees throbbed from scrubbing. She worked until the sounds of celebration felt like a storm outside a locked door.

Because as long as she worked, she didn’t have to feel.

Mistress Tessa’s sharp voice broke through the haze. “Ilia,” she called, making her jump. “Stop daydreaming. The alpha and his Luna-to-be have permitted all servants to attend tonight’s festivities. Everyone deserves to share in the marking.”

Tessa’s gaze softened as she continued, voice lower and touched with a kind of reverence. “You don’t understand, girl. This isn’t just another celebration. When an alpha claims his Luna before the gods, the marking is more than ritual—it’s a binding of their very essence. The mark itself travels from him to her, carrying his strength and spirit, lighting up every gift she carries and unlocking her full potential. It’s a merging of bodies and fates, power and passion, all witnessed by the pack. There’s a beauty in it—a magic that hums like a heartbeat through the halls. The bite only comes later, after their mating has consumed them both, when the bond is unbreakable and sealed forever.”

Her eyes glinted, as if remembering some long-lost wonder. “That’s why they want everyone to share in it. To see it. To feel it. Even the servants.”

Ilia looked up, blinking as though coming back from a far-off place. “That’s kind of them,” she replied, voice subdued. “But if it’s alright with you, Mistress, I’d prefer to stay here tonight. A quiet evening would suit me better.”

Tessa paused, studying her face for a moment before giving a brisk nod. “Suit yourself. Just make sure everything’s in order before you go.”

- - 

The light outside was already turning gold as the sun began its slow descent. Ilia left the kitchen and made her way back to her quarters, her hands still trembling despite the day’s work. The halls were alive with hurried preparations and gleaming decorations, but Ilia kept her gaze fixed ahead, determined to make it to her room before anyone could pull her aside.

When she reached her quarters, she eased onto the cot and stared up at the ceiling as the fading light crept across the walls. A knock at the door startled her, soft but persistent. She crossed the small space and pulled it open to find her friend Nessa on the threshold.

“Come on,” Nessa urged, her eyes warm and hopeful. “You can’t hide in here all night. Everyone’s going to the ceremony. Even if you don’t want to celebrate, at least come be with me.”

Ilia hesitated, glancing back into the quiet sanctuary of her room, her fingers lingering on the edge of the door as if it might anchor her there. “I just want a little peace tonight,” she murmured, her voice distant and tired. Memories of the day, of Caelan, and of the ceremony ahead tangled together in her thoughts, making her heart feel heavy. But Nessa’s hands were already tugging her gently into the hall, and Ilia felt herself pulled along by her friend’s quiet determination, the muted light and far-off hum of celebration already drawing them onward.

“Please,” Nessa pressed. “Just for a bit. ”

With a resigned sigh and the faintest of smiles, Ilia nodded. “Alright,” she agreed softly.

And together, they disappeared into the corridors, the distant sound of the gathering crowd drawing them onward.