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Ironic that the first prince to change that would be me.

“Your Highness,” the guard breathed as a second came up behind him, “the Votarists have arrived.”

“Thank you,” I said before Simeon could make another derisive noise. “Are Phoebe and Mallory nearby?”

“They’re with the omegas.” He motioned over his shoulder toward the farther edge of the camp.

I turned to the second guard. “Have Phillip alert them that the Votarists are ready.”

Once he’d hurried past me, toward where the other alphas were, I motioned for the first guard to lead the way to where the Votarists waited. Various servants bowed as I passed, ducking their heads. It grated on my nerves, just like always. Thirty years hadn’t been enough time to adjust to the deference. I wasn’t sure I’d ever truly adjust, to be honest.

Not that my mother hadn’t been respected. Any Diviner was, especially those housed within the temples dedicated to Persynthia, the Goddess of all creation, but being the son of a highly revered Diviner was very different from the attention given to the son of the King.

As we neared the edge of the camp and the shoreline, the mist grew thicker until it sat around us in a heavy, curtaining fog. Before I could dispel it, Simeon pulled his hand from his pocket, made a motion at the level of his hip, and murmured a small incantation in the ancient language. The mist receded at once, pulling away from us like it, too, was a wave landing along the beach.

Its retreat revealed five people gathered in identical light green robes that drowned out the shapes of their individual bodies. They stood stock-still, their faces shadowed by the overly large hoods adorning their heads. Simeon sighed as he looked over his shoulder. I followed his gaze and then breathed out, too. Mallory and Phoebe walked with Phillip, their own circlets with black stones resting against their foreheads. Phillip stood in full plated uniform, Marish’s crest blazoned on the chest plate formed to his torso.

The other three alphas participating on behalf of my kingdom slowly eased out of the tents, emerging from different paths. Arden walked with Hugh, their heads close together, their indigo tunics less ornate than the mages’. They, too, were armed with the court’s traditional two daggers, though Arden also carried a sword along his back, the ornate handle that of the guards’ formal regalia. Comparatively, Hugh always seemed uncomfortable under the weight of the daggers at his hips. Elise came from the opposite side, just a path away to my right. She was a decade younger than me, but her fierce disposition held no innocence. Today, her red hair was drawn away from her face, silver pins in the shape of leaves woven through the simple bun sitting at the nape of her neck. It brought attention to her pointed ears that each had decorative piercings through the shell. Her indigo court dress brushed the ground, a tad too long. The sides and underbust cutouts were covered, revealing none of her skin, as was tradition of an unmarried woman of the court. If she chose an omega tomorrow, the panels would be removed after their wedding to reflect the union, the underbust portion removed to display the marriage tattoo if she chose to have her union anointed in Persynthia’s temple.

One of the Votarists stepped forward, drawing back their hood, exposing black hair shorn short to the skull and a series of tattooed dots running from the side of their throat to around their ear. Each dot signified one year served within the temples of Freia. I couldn’t count every single one this Votarist had, but it was certainly more than my entire lifetime—probably more than my father’s as well. Over a century of service to the Goddess of Abundance. Their purple eyes brightened as they took in each person before settling on me.

“Prince Callum of Addis,” they said, their voice smooth and silky. “Second son of the King of Marish.”

I inclined my head as Phoebe joined me, flanking me behind my other shoulder. She was the opposite of her spouse, relaxed with a general air of interest.

“It’s an honor to have the Addis family join us again. How many alphas does your kingdom offer this year?”

“Four,” I said.

A different Votarist pulled a small book from inside their robes and recorded the number.

The one with the lowered hood nodded. “May they present to the Goddess for the record.”

The four of us took a step closer to the Votarists.

The person’s purple eyes didn’t leave me as they spoke again.

“As it was written in the Treaty of Losthallow, the gods have bestowed their blessing on a chosen few to maintain the delicate balance found within our world’s people,” they said, voice still calm. “Every five years, Freia welcomes those chosen to the sacred island of Magefall. This year, it is with utmost honor that we welcome you to the sixty-second iteration of our beloved peacekeeping tradition. We invite you to participate in selecting an omega chosen of the goddess Freia. With your sacred unions, you continue to bring peace and balance to Avicourt and keep the five kingdoms of these two continents prosperous.”

Arden shifted beside me, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, already impatient with the formality. The Votarists eyed him for a moment before returning their attention to me.

“Do those who stand before us submit themselves to the will of the gods and enter their names freely into the Grand Rite?”

The four of us murmured our agreements.

Three of the still-hooded Votarists lowered their hoods and drew quills fashioned from the great Acora of the southern continent, each approaching one of us presenting for the Rite tomorrow.

As they discussed in hushed voices, the Votarist in front of me, their purple eyes now avid, pulled the same feather, the tip sharpened to a deadly point, and held it in the space between us. I offered my right hand, palm down.

“Callum Addis, second prince of the Kingdom of Marish,” the Votarist said, “Freia welcomes you to the Grand Rite. May you be fruitful in your search and bring honor to the Goddess.”

Their voice echoed around me, the magic threading through it making it both hollow and yet overwhelming. They touched the tip of the quill to the soft flesh between my thumb and forefinger until blood welled beneath it. My stomach roiled from the pain, but I breathed through it, refusing to react further even as fire spread under my skin from the point of contact.

Beside me, Elise whined. Both men grunted, and Arden cursed viciously under his breath, something that would have a scowl pulling at Simeon’s lips. From the tip of the quill, ink spread, marking my skin with a green hue nearly identical to the Votarists’ robes. It shivered, continuously moving. After a full minute, the Votarist pulled away. All at once, the ink ceased moving, freezing into a small mark—a long line with two intersecting it diagonally, one above the other, all within a perfect circle.

The Mark of Freia.

No turning back now, I thought with grim humor.