The Mark

There was absolutely nothing more that she wanted in that moment than death's sweet embrace. And she was hoping, with every fiber in her being, that he would meet the same fate.

One doesn't simply make the Oath and receive the Mark without serious contemplation or feeling a great sense of devotion first.

“Son of Melchior, you do realize the severity of your words, do you not?” Rue Kieran of the Council inquired.

The room was already quiet, though now the silence seemed to resound within the chamber, the stillness in the air becoming thick with tension, her breathing even becoming slightly labored as it proved harder to breathe with each passing second. Everyone was eagerly awaiting his answer, listening for the words that would soon leave his mouth. It was obvious Kieran was giving him a second chance, and it was one that anyone with a good head on their shoulders would take in a heartbeat, because if there were any time to back out, to correct oneself, it was now.

“Yes, I do,” his confident tone of voice rung throughout the room with authority, causing for all of the Council to stir in unease and for her stomach to drop to the soles of her feet in despair.

The elderly men who resided in the stands all looked to one another in a disorientated state, not sure what to do about his proclamation or even if they could for that matter. They murmured softly as their eyes darted to every being in the room, their gazes sharp and judgmental when they landed upon the odd pair, almost as if they were in disbelief that he would waste such words upon the lowly girl before them. What were they to make of this absurd declaration?

Finally, Kieran cleared his throat, bringing his fellow Council members and the rest of the chamber into an instantaneous silence while staring down the pair of young adults before him.

“Very well,” he began. “Alexander Chale, son of Alaric Melchior, from this moment on, you and Oriana Lambert, daughter of Rowan Lambert, are hereby betrothed. You will be joined in holy matrimony in one year's time in accordance with the laws and traditions upheld in the Kingdom of Canaan. The betrothal ceremony will be carried out in thirty days, and till then, the Mark will begin to appear, signifying your unity. You are dismissed.”

With those parting words, Alexander took her wrist gently into his grasp, leading her out of the chamber and into one of the hallways with haste. As he guided her, her body stumbled across the corridors while she was stuck in a daze, her mind elsewhere as she was trying to somehow trick herself into thinking this horrendous nightmare was just that. But as the situation began to sink in, her brow furrowed together in aggravation while her hand grew a mind of its own.

After having pulled her wrist away from his loosening hold, which caused for him to look back at her curiously, her fingers curled inward for her right hand to form a fist. It then catapulted itself directly at him with a velocity that she never imagined possible. It made contact with his chin and it sent him staggering back a step or two, and he stared at her with a dumbfounded expression, his eyes showing a little bit of resentment as he waited for an explanation.

Even as he gazed at her with a bitter glint in his eyes, she wasn't going to try to justify her rash action, nor would she apologize. Instead, she posed a question.

“Are you an idiot?”