MARKED FOR PRETEND - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The memory faded as sunlight pierced through the palace’s stained glass window, pulling me back into the present.
Back into the suffocating softness of a room I didn’t belong in.
The knock came like a warning.
“Up,” the Matron snapped through the door. “Orientation begins in thirty minutes. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
I blinked at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up, . The silk sheets tangled around my legs like vines. Too smooth. Too clean. The gown from yesterday had been taken, replaced with a lighter training robe and shoes that didn’t quite fit. The robe left for me hung on the bedpost, pale blue and soft to the touch. But no matter how many times I changed, I still felt like I was wearing someone else’s skin.
The room they gave me was small but elegant white walls, crystal mirror, no windows that opened. Beautiful and suffocating.
I dressed and followed the others into the main hall, where we were herded like cattle into rows. The air was thick with perfume, hairspray, and nerves.
Today was the first official day of Selection preparation.
Girls giggled beside me, adjusting their curls, practicing smiles in the glass. Some of them had spent their lives preparing for this. They walked like queens already.
I just tried not to trip. When I took my place at the end of the row, the closest girl Arelle, I remembered from yesterday wrinkled her nose.
“Witch perfume,” she murmured to the girl beside her. “Smells like weeds and swamp water.”
I smiled without teeth. “Better than desperation. That reeks worse.”
Her mouth dropped open, but before she could reply, the doors swung open and a matron appeared.
We were led into a gold-trimmed ballroom, where A group of elderly women “Selection Matrons” stood waiting with clipboards and judgment in their eyes.
“You are here to become more than girls,” the head Matron said. “You are here to learn what it means to be Luna. To lead. To carry grace, strength, and loyalty in equal measure. Every move had to be perfect. Palms flat. Chin raised. Eyes lowered.
You will be tested. Watched. And if you fail to rise above your station… you will be removed.”
Her eyes found mine when she said the last part. I didn’t blink.
Training began with etiquette; how to walk, how to bow, how to fold your hands like you held power in your palms.
The others glided through it like they’d been practicing since birth.
I moved like someone born in dirt.
I barely lasted an hour before one of them snapped.
“Too rigid,” Matron Irene hissed, slapping a stick against my thigh. “You’re not a soldier.”
At one point, I tripped on the hem of my robe. Arelle stifled a laugh, and Matron Irene’s cane snapped down against the marble.
"Clumsy isn’t cute,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And clumsy won’t get you marked.”
Laughter rippled around the room. My face stayed blank, but my ears burned.
I bit the inside of my tongue so hard I tasted blood.
The day stretched on; Posture lessons, Luna history, Wolf bloodlines. Things I didn’t care about, spoken in voices that dripped with importance.
Then there was the ritual etiquette segment, where girls practiced how to kneel before an Alpha. How to hold still while waiting for the mark. How to accept rejection with grace.
My stomach churned.
I was paired with a smug girl named Arelle, who’d been practicing her kneel since she was ten.
“You’ll be gone before the third moon,” she whispered as we waited. “They’re only keeping you here to fill a quota.”
I smiled sweetly and let a small jolt of energy flicker at my fingertips. Her eyes widened.
“Touch me again,” I said softly, “and you’ll feel what a quota can do.”
She didn’t speak to me after that.
The music started, a slow instrumental meant to mimic the tone of a ritual. Arelle took the lead with fake elegance, all show and zero rhythm. I tried to follow her steps, but halfway through the turn, she added an extra spin—on purpose.
I caught myself just in time, but the stumble didn’t go unnoticed.
Matron Irene’s pointer slapped the marble floor.
“Again,” she snapped. “And if either of you ruin the rhythm, you’ll both be dismissed from the next round.”
Arelle narrowed her eyes at me.
I smiled sweetly and took my place.
This time, I moved smoother. Lighter. Sharper. Not for her. For me. To prove that even if I didn’t belong here, I wouldn’t be broken here either.
The day dragged on like a punishment. We practiced kneeling. Holding still. Eye contact without challenge. Submission without weakness.
None of it felt like me.
Until we reached the simulated mark test.
Each girl had to kneel as if she were being marked by an Alpha claws to the collarbone, awaiting fate. It was all pretend. No real marks. Just training.
But when Arelle stepped up and placed two fingers on my shoulder to mimic the motion, I felt something.
A flicker.
A pulse.
Like heat under my skin. Like a thread being tugged that didn’t belong to her.
I jerked back.
Just slightly,but enough to get Matron Irene's attention.
“What was that?”
“Reflex,” I said quickly.
She studied me. “You flinch like someone with something to hide.”
I didn’t reply.
Because I didn’t know what had stirred in me either.
The rest of the day passed in drills and lectures. My shoulders ached. My patience wore thin.
And as we lined up for final inspection, I caught sight of a figure watching from above.
A balcony. Shadowed.
Someone was there. Tall. Still. Silent.
One of the Alphas.
He didn’t move.
But I felt his gaze settle on me just for a second.
Then he was gone.