MARKED FOR PRETEND - Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Breakfast in the palace was usually loud. Clinking utensils. Whispered giggles. Chairs dragging on polished floors.
Not today.
As Chelsea walked into the dining hall, the silence folded over her like a shroud. Every head turned. Every fork froze Mid-air
She wasn’t wearing anything special.
No crown. No sash.
But her presence weighed heavier than gold.
She didn’t look at them.
Not the girl who pretended to faint when their eyes met.
Not Ariel, who hadn’t spoken to her since the night Chelsea’s skin sparked under her fingertips.
“Witch,” someone muttered behind a cup.
Chelsea kept walking.
She sat alone.
Like always.
The guards stood differently now. Sharper. Stiffer. Not facing the door —facing her.
As if whatever the hell she was… might detonate.
Even the matron watched her with narrowed eyes, hands wringing her lace gloves too tight.
“Why haven’t they sent her away?”
“She wasn’t supposed to be picked.”
“They said her name just appeared…”
“She doesn’t even have a wolf.”
Chelsea chewed slowly.
Tasted nothing.
*******
Later that afternoon, she found herself in the practice court. Unarmed. Untrained. Pitted against a girl who clearly wanted blood.
The court master barked a command.
The girl lunged.
Chelsea sidestepped just in time, boots scraping stone.
“Don’t touch her,” another hissed from the sidelines.
“You heard what happened to Arelle."
Chelsea flinched — not from fear, but from realization.
They think I did that on purpose.
She didn’t.
At least… she didn’t think she did.
But Arelle hadn’t touched her since that night in the hall, when Chelsea’s skin had crackled and the other girl stumbled back like she’d been burned.
She caught her breath against a column, trying to slow the hammering in her chest.
That’s when she felt it.
The stare.
She turned.
He stood at the far end of the court, cloaked in black, arms folded — Alpha Kaden.
Silent.
Still.
Watching.
Chelsea could feel his gaze like frost trailing down her spine. Her fingers twitched at her sides, the mark beneath her sleeve beginning to thrum again — like it recognized something even she didn’t.
The crowd whispered. They stared. But she didn’t dare look up.
Not at him.
Not yet.
She turned slightly, just enough to keep him in her peripheral view — still there, unmoving.
But then, somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, he wasn’t.
She didn’t hear footsteps.
No one gasped.
No one moved.
And yet, she felt it — the shift in the air. The weight of his presence at her side.
Her breath caught.
He was beside her now, not facing her but close enough that the warmth of his body brushed her skin. Like he’d only meant to pass her by.
“You’re trembling,” he said, voice low — so low only she could hear it.
She turned, just a little. Her pulse thundered.
He wasn’t looking at her.
“You chose me,” she whispered, barely trusting her own voice.
He stopped mid-step.
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then—
“No,” he said, still not meeting her eyes. “I marked you.”
He looked down at her then, gaze dark and unreadable.
The mark beneath her skin burned.
His eyes lingered on her sleeve. “There’s a difference.”
She doesn’t understand yet, but the word marked hits her — like he knows something she doesn’t.