Marked Twice by the Alpha King Chapter 93

**Ava's POV**

"A few days ago," Sophia replied with a casual shrug. "He ran it by Father, who gave it his stamp of approval."

"He's planning to take me to the festival?" I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to process this news. "And he hasn't bothered mentioning it to me yet?"

"Wait—you didn't know?" Sophia's eyes widened. "I just assumed he'd talked to you already."

"We spoke briefly the morning after..." I trailed off, guilt pricking at my conscience. "But nothing since then."

"God, I'm so sorry." She bit her lip. "I wouldn't have blurted it out like that if I'd known."

"Don't worry about it." I managed a small smile, though confusion swirled inside me like leaves caught in a whirlwind. "I just need to have a chat with Steven before making any decisions."

Something twisted in my chest—a jumble of feelings I couldn't untangle if I tried. My fingers drifted to my neck where the mark pulsed warm beneath my touch. I'd been the one who'd told Blake we needed to keep things strictly professional. So why did his blessing of Steven's plan feel like a pebble in my shoe?

"Blake's on board with this?" I asked, keeping my tone light despite the circus in my head.

"He seemed to think you'd be good together," Sophia nodded. "Called Steven 'a suitable choice,' whatever that means."

"Huh." I fidgeted with the strap of my bag. "Surprising, considering my training schedule with Lucas."

Sophia studied me for a moment, her head tilted slightly. "Look, I know this is out of nowhere, but... would you consider coming? We could make it a foursome—you, me, Steven, and Jackson."

My body tensed at Jackson's name. The man who'd marked me, walked away, then left me chained in that cellar when he chose to save Sophia instead.

Sophia noticed my reaction immediately. "You two wouldn't have to talk. You'd barely see each other in the crowd."

"I'm not sure it's a great idea, Sophia."

Her confident facade cracked, revealing something fragile underneath. "Ever since that night, I can't sleep through the night. I close my eyes and I'm back there—the smell, the silver burning into my skin." She wrapped her arms around herself. "Father watches me like I might shatter. I've gone from daughter to glass figurine." Her voice wavered. "You're the only one who really gets it. Who was there."

Looking into her eyes, I saw the same shadows that haunted my own reflection—that particular brand of fear that only survivors recognize in each other.

"I'll think about it," I sighed, feeling my resolve crumble. "But I need to talk to Steven first."

"That's all I'm asking." Her face brightened like sunshine breaking through clouds.

We fell silent as the carriage rolled through the trading zone. My thoughts ping-ponged wildly—Steven's kiss at Moon Falls, that mind-blowing night with Blake, and now this festival bombshell. 

*What a mess I've made*, I thought, watching buildings blur past the window. *Kissing Steven one night, then falling into Blake's bed the next. Some virtuous warrior I am.* I almost smiled at the irony. The Academy's top fighter, defeated by her own terrible judgment in men—and from the same family, no less.

Our carriage stopped outside a shop draped with flags from every major pack. Inside, fabrics caught the light in ways that made it clear I couldn't afford a handkerchief from this place, let alone actual clothing.

"Morgan Miss," a willowy shopkeeper practically folded herself in half with her bow. "How may we serve you today?"

"Festival preparations," Sophia answered with practiced grace. "This is my friend Ava Rivers, Warrior Academy's champion fighter."

The woman's eyes widened. "Rivers? *The* Ava Rivers? Three-time trials champion?"

I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with the recognition. "That's me."

"My niece trains at the Academy!" she gushed. "Has your poster on her wall!"

While Sophia flitted between rows of elaborate gowns, I hung back, feeling as out of place as a wolf in a chicken coop.

"The festival's our chance to flex," Sophia explained, holding up garments that probably cost more than my monthly rent. "As Alpha King's daughter, I've got to nail it."

"I just need something that won't make me stick out," I muttered.

Sophia's laugh bubbled up. "The opposite, actually. As Steven's plus-one, you're a reflection of his choice. You need to turn heads."

The shopkeeper returned with what looked like liquid moonlight poured into fabric form. My stomach knotted when I spotted the neckline.

"That's... pretty low-cut," I said, eyeing the silver warrior ceremonial dress.

Sophia tilted her head. "You could always add jewelry. Maybe a choker?"

"I've been into higher necklines lately," I said, trying to sound casual.

"Since when?" Her eyes narrowed playfully. "Got a secret hiding under there?"

The fitting room was bigger than my entire bathroom at home. Once alone, I carefully examined the mark in the mirror—gold had nearly consumed Jackson's silver brand, with just traces of silver remaining at the edges. How could I possibly explain this to anyone?

"Ava? Everything okay in there?" Sophia called after I'd been silent too long.

I hastily wrapped a scarf around my neck. "Fine! Just wrestling with all these weird clasps."

When I stepped out, Sophia's jaw actually dropped.

"Holy—" She pressed her hand to her heart. "You look incredible."

I turned to the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The silver dress somehow managed to honor both sides of me—the warrior's strength in its clean lines, and a feminine grace I typically ignored. The fabric rippled with each movement, like I was wrapped in captured moonlight.

"Warriors don't typically accessorize with scarves," Sophia noted, eyeing my makeshift cover.

I adjusted it stubbornly. "I'm cold."

"You've been different since that night," she said softly.

I tugged at the scarf. "Just like my neck warm these days."

"Father's changed too," she mused, almost to herself. "Stares into space during council meetings. Trains like he's fighting ghosts. Even the Elders have commented on it."

My pulse quickened. "Festival planning probably has him stressed."

Her smile turned knowing. "Maybe. I just worry about you both."

I turned back to my reflection, fiddling with the dress. "This would work, if I decide to go. But I need to talk to Steven first."

"Of course," she nodded. "But please consider it? I could use a friend who doesn't look at me like I might break."

I studied my reflection—this strange hybrid of warrior and woman, strength and vulnerability wrapped in silver—and whispered, "I'll think about it."

I turned toward Sophia with a light smile. "I'm supposed to be helping you, but somehow I'm the one playing dress-up. Your turn now."

As I moved to step down from the fitting platform, I collided with a woman I hadn't noticed entering the fitting area.