Chapter 2 - The Trial of the Three Marks
The silence in the grand hall was so dense it felt physical.
No one moved. The noble lords, who hours ago had been barking orders and complaining about lukewarm tea, were pinned to the floor by the sheer physical weight of Sol’s divine aura.
Graham Prescott was still frozen, his hunting dagger hovering in mid-air, his breathing coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Every instinct in his Alpha blood was screaming at him to run, but his pride kept him rooted to the spot.
"This is a mistake!" Graham screamed, his voice cracking as he pointed his shaking blade at Aloan. "Your Majesty! Look at her! She’s an Omega! She doesn't even have a pack bond! She’s a servant who cleans blood off the cobblestones! She must have used a hex—a dark spell from the Eastern Wastes!"
Briar, the charcoal wolf, didn't growl this time. He simply took half a step forward.
The air pressure in the room doubled. Graham dropped his dagger. It clattered uselessly against the stone as he fell to his knees, clutching his throat as if he were drowning on dry air.
"Silence, Heir Prescott," King Callum commanded, his voice cold enough to freeze water.
Callum slowly forced himself to stand, his muscle strain evident as he fought against Sol’s heavy aura. He stepped down from the dais, stopping at the edge of the silver boundary ring. He didn't look at Graham. He didn't look at his council. He looked at Aloan.
"What is your name, girl?" Callum asked softly.
Aloan swallowed, her hand still resting on Aster’s thick white fur. The fur was warm now, radiating a soothing, steady heat that washed away her fear. "Aloan, Your Majesty. Aloan Hartley."
"Aloan Hartley," Callum repeated, as if testing the weight of the name on his tongue. "You claim you used no magic?"
"I don't know any magic, sire," she said, her voice growing steadier. "I only... I felt them suffering. I told them they were allowed to say no."
"She told them they were allowed to say no," Nolan whispered, stepping forward with a leather-bound book clutched to his chest. His eyes were wide behind his spectacles. "Your Majesty... the ancient texts. We misread the Third Prophecy of the First Bound."
Malcolm, still resting on one knee near the royal chairs, hissed, "What are you rambling about, scholar?"
"We thought the wolves required a master whose aura was strong enough to break their wild spirit!" Nolan said, his hands shaking as he flipped through yellowed pages. "We thought it was a test of domination! But the word used in the ancient High-Valen dialect isn't Vanquish... it’s Relieve. The Royal Spirits weren't waiting for a king to conquer them. They were waiting for someone who wouldn't try to chain them!"
"Preposterous!" Malcolm snarled, finally forcing himself to his feet. "A kingdom cannot be defended by an Omega maid’s tears! The Law of Silver Crest is absolute! The summoner of the Royal Wolf commands the Northern Armies and sits as Second to the King! Are you suggesting we hand the command of forty thousand Alpha legionnaires to a girl who washes dishes?!"
"The Law is the Law, Counselor," Callum said smoothly, though his eyes remained dangerous. "However... the Law also states that a summoner must survive the Trial of the Three Marks to prove the bond is real, and not a temporary anomaly of the veil."
Aloan blinked. "A trial?"
"It is an ancient ritual, girl," Malcolm said, a dark, wicked smile slowly spreading across his withered face. "A human body cannot contain the spiritual weight of three Royal Beasts. Within three days, if the bond is not recognized by your blood, the magic will burn you from the inside out. You will suffer a scholar's fever, your veins will turn to ash, and you will die."
Aloan felt a sudden chill run down her spine.
"Counselor," Callum warned, turning a sharp glance toward Malcolm.
"I am merely stating the law, Sire!" Malcolm countered, holding his hands up in mock innocence. "If she is truly the Chosen of the Veil, she must undergo the Three Marks at the ancient altar in the Sunken Sanctuary. If the beasts mark her, she is elevated to High Sovereign of the Wilds. If they reject her... the bond severs, and she pays with her life."
"I don't want to be a Sovereign," Aloan said quickly, looking up at the three massive beasts surrounding her. Aster was nuzzling her elbow; Briar was lying at her feet like a shadowy mountain; Sol was still bowed before her shoes. "I don't want armies. I just want... I just didn't want them to be hurt."
"It is not a matter of what you want anymore, Aloan," Callum said, taking another step closer. He reached out, offering her his bare hand. "The moment they stepped through that rift, your fate was tied to theirs. If I send them back now, the shock will destroy the veil permanently, and our borders will be left defenseless against the Frost-Blight. If you stay, you face the Council's judgment."
Aloan looked at Callum’s outstretched hand. His palm was lined with scars from years of sword play, but his grip was steady, and his eyes held no deceit. Then she looked down at the three wolves.
Sol lifted his head. His pitch-black eyes met hers, and in her mind, a soft, echoing thought touched her consciousness—not words, but an image of a dark cell, heavy iron chains, and then... the sudden, beautiful sight of an open sky.
They had been prisoners on the other side of the veil, trapped by two hundred years of Alphas screaming demands at them. She was their doorway out. If she walked away, if she surrendered to fear, they would be pulled back into that dark, agonizing void.
Aloan took a deep breath. She reached out and placed her small, scarred hand into King Callum’s warm palm.
"I will take the trial," she said clearly.
"No!" Graham shouted, scrambling to his feet, his face red with humiliation. "Your Majesty, I challenge this! An Omega cannot hold trial! By the rights of House Prescott, I demand a Trial by Combat for the right to claim the bond!"
Callum didn't even turn around. "You challenge a maid who holds three Royal Spirits at her flank, Graham? Feel free to step into the circle and take them from her."
Graham looked at Briar. The charcoal wolf slowly opened his jaws, letting out a hot, wet breath that smelled of ozone and ancient earth.
Graham took a step back, his face pale, his knuckles white. "This isn't over," he spat under his breath. "The Prescott name will not be humiliated by a kitchen servant."
"Take Heir Prescott to the outer quarters," Callum ordered the guards. "He is barred from the Citadel court until the Trial of the Three Marks is complete."
The guards hesitated, but with Briar’s golden eyes tracking their every movement, they quickly ushered the fuming Graham out of the grand chamber.
"Mistress Marion," Callum called out.
Marion, who had been hiding behind a stone pillar, practically threw herself onto the floor, trembling violently. "Y-yes, Your Majesty! I had no idea! I told her to stay outside! I swear on my life I had no part in this insolence!"
"Gather Aloan’s belongings from the servants' quarters," Callum said calmly. "She will no longer be sleeping beneath the kitchens. Move her to the Solar Suite in the East Tower."
Marion’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "The... the East Tower, Sire? But those are the quarters for visiting royalty!"
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"She is currently hosting three kings of the wild, Marion," Callum said, a subtle, dry spark of amusement touching his voice. "I believe the space is required."
Callum turned back to Aloan, his grip on her hand loosening slightly, though he did not let go. "Come, Aloan Hartley. Let us see if you can survive the gifts you have been given."
