Mark Of The Fool Novels & Stories

His hair was a tangled mess, his clothes were ragged, and his shoes didn’t even match. Even as he sat silently, without moving, he couldn’t stop the spasms in his body. His limbs twitched from time to time, his jaw jutted out, and his mouth was contorted in an unnatural angle. This was Fool. He was already over twenty, but his physical development was no different from that of a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old. He slouched in the chair, eyes fixed on the uniformed officers at the door with a mixture of awe and longing.

Once a Fool, Now a Queen Aurora Sinclair’s POV ⸻ Trust was a dangerous thing. And as I sat across from Killian Wolfe in the dimly lit lounge of a private club, I wondered if I was making the biggest mistake of my life. Between us, a half-finished bottle of whiskey caught the low light, the amber liquid reflecting back at me like a warning. “Say it,” Killian said, leaning back against the leather booth, his gaze locked onto mine. “Say you want my help.”

“Oh, darling. What a pity it is for you. The best friend who has always been there for you is my accomplice. Ever wondered how those thugs got to know your location?” “Mark? No, that's not true! Mark will never betray me!” He promised never to hurt me. Mark never breaks his promise. She's just lying! “Oh, love. Seems like you are still as delusional as ever. The old Mark wouldn't mislead you, but the current one has. And that's because you were too blind to see his love!”

“It should weaken the mark, potentially enough for your old one to return.” I don’t waste any time. I swallow it down, heart hammering, hope and fear tangled in every beat. But nothing changes. I pull the collar of my shirt down to see if it works. It doesn’t. The mark thrums beneath my skin, glowing faintly as if it’s mocking me. The witch hisses and puts the last stool on the bar. “Follow me around back. I have a few other ideas.” More attempts follow—chants, powders, another potion that tastes like iron and ash. Each failure drives the truth deeper: this mark is unshakable. Finally, the witch shakes her head.

Before I could even get up, Noelle burst into tears and threw herself into Marcus's arms. "Dad, Mom went crazy again. She wouldn't let us eat cake!" "Yeah! We got scared and tried to hide. She was chasing us, and then she fell down the stairs by herself." "Zoey." Marcus looked as if he was about to explode, but his expression quickly settled into something cold and controlled. "I think you've been cursed. You're losing your mind. I'll call the elders and have them take you to the altar to cleanse it." He pulled out his phone, but I snatched it away. Gritting through the pain, I forced myself upright and rasped, "I'm not crazy. And I'm not cursed."

Stamped on the front: the crescent and three slashes. My stomach tightened. That mark is pack ink. It doesn’t belong in human soil. “That’s not supposed to be here,” I said, and I meant it in every way. A twig snapped behind the fence line, too close. A voice drifted over, amused. “Found something, witness?”

Each symbol pulsed with a strange energy, making my heart race as I whispered the words aloud, one by one, my voice low and careful. The syllables felt heavy, like they carried the weight of centuries, but when I finished, nothing happened. Just silence, thick and heavy, pressing down on the clearing.I shifted my weight, dirt crunching under my boots, and that’s when I saw it—right at my feet, half-hidden in the earth, a single marking, different from the rest. It was smaller, almost delicate, but it thrummed with a quiet power, like a heartbeat trapped in the ground.

Fate worked in mysterious ways. Now that I had presented him with proof, David couldn't come up with a way to counter my claim. Instead, he was frantically trying to make himself seem less guilty. "I don't know if the fingerprint is fake, but we did manage to find prints on the drug vial. I'm just calling it like I see it," he declared. Just like that, David cleared himself of all responsibility. Fortunately, Max's mother was a clever woman. She figured everything out almost immediately.

A towering man, nearly two meters tall and built like a fortress of muscle, stepped into the room against the light. The moment Nathan saw him, his eyes lit up with glee. He hurried forward with an obsequious grin plastered on his face. “Mr. Morgan Williamson? Are you Mr. Williamson? Fantastic! “There’s a shameless fraud here pretending to be Mr. Brooke. Please, teach him a lesson—show him what happens to impostors! “Beat him to death for all I care. He has no parents and no background. He’s just a stray, despised by everyone.”

I knew because I lived it every day. "I'm serious. The way he treats you is disgusting.” He lowered his voice. "We have options and ways to get you out. You just have to trust me." "What kind of options?" I asked warily. He glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. Then he pressed something small into my palm. I looked down. It was a vial made of dark glass, with a cork stopper. "What is this?" I whispered. "Insurance," Marco said quietly. "It's a slow-acting poison. Mix it into his food or drink, and within a few hours, he'll develop symptoms that look like a simple illness. Nothing that would immediately raise suspicion."