Chapter 3 - The Mark Beneath the Feathers
Dawn broke in a pale, sickly hue over the frozen peaks. Pushing higher, past the beaten paths where trappers were already being offered exorbitant bounties by Blackthorn agents, Rowan sought refuge in a deeper, hidden cave. The eagle was shivering violently, its breathing shallow and strained.
Determined to check the extent of the damage, Rowan gently parted the blood-stiffened feathers along the bird's damaged wing. He expected to find torn muscle or broken bone. Instead, his fingers brushed against bare skin bearing a strange, intricate tattoo—a perfect circle flanked by two feathered shapes, crowned by a small imperial emblem.
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As Rowan’s fingertip touched the center, a sudden, blinding warmth pulsed from the skin. The symbol flared with a soft, ethereal light, illuminating the dark stone walls of the cave. The eagle emitted a deep, resonant warning growl, quickly shifting its feathers to obscure the mark once more.
Rowan staggered backward, breathing heavily. "You were hiding that," he whispered, his mind racing back three years to the winter banquet at Blackthorn Hall, where he had worked quietly in the kitchens while the state's elite celebrated under crystal chandeliers. That royal crest wasn't just an animal branding; it was an ancient, secret seal of bloodline ownership—one that connected the majestic beast directly to the darkest secrets of the Blackthorn dynasty.
