INTRO

Birley Renold was perplexed. As his wife of two years' screams continued to erupt from the depth of her chambers, his steps outside her wards quickened and nothing his friends who were present said to him, eased his mind. He loved his wife. The people around could see it just looking at his face. It had been hours and every passing second solidified the maternal curse. His beautiful wife might not make it. Lord Birley cursed that thought and prayed to the goddess, Adora, that she shine her divine light on his house. His wife's cries of pain continued to grow in intensity as the murmurs of the midwife and assistants cooed. Child birthing was a dangerous venture, even for those with noble blood.

As the night wore on, the screams from his wife's chambers grew louder and more frantic, causing his heart to race with fear. He paced back and forth, trying to keep his mind occupied with thoughts of their future as a family.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her screams abruptly ceased. Lord Birley froze in place as that silence could mean only two things. With bated breath, he waited for any signs of what was happening behind the chamber's closed doors. His heart thumped as the seconds trickled carelessly. But then, the midwife emerged, her face etched with a deep sadness. Lord Baron's heart sank as the pale aged woman approached him.

"The Lady has given birth, My Lord," The midwife whispered, her head turning to the floor out of respect.

"Are they both alright?" He asked. "The babe and the mother?"

The midwife nodded. "Yes, it was a girl."

Was that it? Lord Birley wondered. Did the midwife really carry that long look because his beautiful Seraphina didn't have a male child on their very first try? The Lord was beyond that. Children were a gift from Adora. He would love them no matter their sex.

"There is something else," The midwife spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Tell me," The Lord demanded.

The midwife was hesitant. She looked around as if the information she carried was dangerous. "I fear that your wife has been carrying a secret. That secret is not something I can share with you here. Amongst your friends, family, and well-wishers."

Without question, Birley Renold followed the midwife back into the chambers, where his wife, Seraphina lay pale and weak from her ordeal. He knelt by her bedside, taking her hands in his as he whispered words of comfort and love. But his wife had that look in her eyes too. Sadness and. . . fear. In the corner of the room, the midwife brought the child forward and turned the babe on her back. The Lord snapped his hands away from the clasps of his wife. There was a birthmark on the babe's back. It was an irregular shape. It was dark and ominous, against the otherwise smooth skin. The mark was about the size of a man's hand, jagged around the edges as if it were seared onto her flesh with a hot iron. He knew immediately what that meant.

"I don't understand. . ." The Lord stammered. "How is it an Arcan? Nobody in my family is."

"And what about your wife?" The midwife instigated. "Does she come from a blemished bloodline?"

Lord Birley's thoughts turned to his wife, Seraphina. He had met her when he was just a young squire. She wasn't of noble blood but he had been entranced by her beauty and her gentle nature. They had fallen in love quickly and had been married for two years. But now as he looked back at their life together, he realized that she had never once revealed that she had Arcan heritage. He trusted that she didn't know. He had to. But he also had to confirm. He turned back to his wife and spoke, "Do you have the mark? Are you an Arcan?"

Seraphina was holding back tears. That answered it all. He felt a cold anger rising within him, knowing that this could not have been an accident. Saraphina had tricked him, had hidden this secret from him all these years. He was betrayed.

Seraphina crawled from her bed to his feet. The tears could no longer be hidden. Neither could the lies. Her only hope was to reach out to his humanity.

"How could you?!? How could you hide this from me?" Birley demanded, his voice heavy with rage and sorrow.

"I was afraid," Saraphina answered, tears streaming down her face. "I did not want to be shunned or be hated. Look at you, you love me- You loved me and now because you find out I am an Arcan, all those moments we have cherished together are gone? Birley, it is still me. I am still your Saraphina. I might be an Arcan but I cannot access magic. I swear, I cannot word weave. I will make sure our baby cannot do the same. You don't have to worry. We can keep this a secret. We can-"

"No!" Lord Birley cut in, his voice cracking with emotion. "I cannot trust your kind. I cannot trust you."

"What?!" Saraphina's heart shattered when she heard Birley's words.

"We will let the dust settle first," Lord Birley continued. "I will...tell them the baby died. You will lay low and I will divorce you quietly. I cannot be married to an Arcan. I have to protect my reputation and that of my family. I will however keep your secret and you will be spared from public shame."

Lord Birley left after saying those horrid words. If he had known, perhaps he would have been softer in his approach. Because things took an even darker turn when news reached him that his wife, Saraphina had taken her own life. He did not believe it at first, and he rushed into her chambers, hoping to find her alive. But there she lay, lifeless on her own bed, her body cold and stiff. Close to her body was the baby and a note. Birley reached for the note and read it out loud.

"I will name her Marigold." It said.

Marigold she was named. But it did not matter. Birley Renold, advisor to the king could not raise an Arcan as his daughter. Marigold Renold was raised in secret until her first name day. Most children would expect a grand ceremony filled with joy and laughter. But instead, Marigold found herself being dragged by her stern-faced father to the towering temple that loomed over the city like a scepter.

With each step, Marigold's heart sank deeper into the pit of her stomach, and the ominous creaking of the temple's heavy doors filled her ears. She knew something was wrong, terribly wrong.

And then, without a word of explanation or a backward glance, her father pushed her through the doors and disappeared into the shadows beyond, leaving Marigold alone and bewildered in the dimly lit temple.

It wasn't until much later that she would realize the true horror of what had happened on that fateful day. Her father had abandoned her, and left her to the mercy of the temple priestesses, who would take her in and raise her as their own.