The East men kept their hair long because it was considered a sign of virtue.
From the moment a male child was born, his mother tended to his hair until he was old enough to care for it himself. It was considered offensive for anyone else to handle it, unless you were someone special to him, precisely, a chosen mate, or a Fated one.
Hence, the moment both are paired and recognized by the pack, the female is expected to cut the male’s hair. It marks a transition as the male goes from the care of his mother to his mate.
He belongs to her now. Everything from his treasured hair to the sole of his feet. So, his hair has to be cut to the root to symbolize the end of an old life, and the blossoming of a new one.
Although Violet had known about it, the reality hasn’t dawned on her until now.
Right now, she was being escorted by a herd of girls she hadn’t seen in her entire life. They were young maidens of the East pack, and apparently, it was tradition for them to lead the mate of the heir to the hair-cutting ceremony.
Although it wasn’t the Cnáimhseáil Anama, Violet sure felt like a bride being led to her groom. Except this bride wasn’t happy at all.
For over an hour, she had argued with Irene and Griffin over the cutting of his hair. Did she really have to cut the whole thing? Couldn’t they just trim it? Maybe spare a few inches?
Not that she minded seeing Griffin with barely any hair, he’d still look dangerously good. But she loved his locks. No, she envied them. She liked touching them, tugging and twirling the hair around her finger. She couldn’t just let them go like that. She had to fight for them!
But Griffin had promised they’d grow back before she knew it, and that this had to be done.
So here she was, heading off to commit hair murder. The gods help her. Her heart was already breaking.
Violet could hear traditional drums and the melodic echo of voices raised in a chant as they approached the courtyard. The place was already full with members of the pack gathered in neat rows, some seated, and the others standing, all of them waiting to witness the symbolic ritual.
Violet was dressed in a flowing red gown, her hair cascading freely over her shoulders and decorated with tiny golden ornaments that clinked gently with her movement.
Kaia and the twins were part of her entourage. As she walked, she felt a small hand slide into hers and looked down to see Blaire peering up at her, offering her silent support. Violet smiled softly, heart warming just a little. Not to be outdone, Vivain quickly took her other hand.
And just like that, Violet found herself being led to her fate by the mischievous twin duo.
As she approached, Violet could make out the elders of the pack. They were the older-looking ones, clad in ceremonial robes, and seated in an exclusive spot at the front under a stone arch. They were still, their expressions grave as they watched her with eyes that had seen a lot.
The same arrangement was mirrored to the left, where the alphas of the other sub-packs under the East were gathered. She could feel their curious gazes too assessing her. They had all come on such short notice to witness their future leader’s Fated Mate, and Violet wasn’t sure if that was comforting or terrifying.
At least she’d called Nancy earlier and explained things. Since it was late already, she and Griffin would return to Lunaris tomorrow so she wouldn’t need to come down here and murder Irene in cold blood.
But all those thoughts quickly evaporated from Violet’s mind the moment her eyes fell on Griffin. He was standing on an elevated stone platform beside Irene and a woman she presumed to be the priestess. He exuded effortless regality despite the vulnerability of the moment.
Griffin wore only loose crimson pants, the fabric hanging low on his hips. His chest was bare, his muscles taut with every inch of him painted with the ceremonial oils. His glorious red mane of a hair was left to spill over his shoulders in waves, gleaming beneath the light like blood and fire.
Violet’s throat tightened, her heart aching. She felt tears prickle her eyes, yet forced herself to breathe. She had to do this.
The girls helped her up the steps of the platform and then stepped back. Griffin turned to her, his eyes full of love and encouragement as he reached for her hand and tugged her gently to his side. She moved with him with her heart hammering against her chest, as they turned to face the crowd together.
And then the priestess stepped forward, her own the deepest red Violet had ever seen. She lifted her arms gracefully, and spoke with a rich and sonorous voice over the entire courtyard.
"The goddess be blessed, for she, in all her wisdom, has once again smiled upon our people."
At once, the members of the pack bowed their heads in reverence.
"It is not every day that the heavens open and bestow a bond as sacred as the one formed by fate itself."
Her eyes was on Griffin and Violet.
"And tonight, we stand here to witness the passing of tradition."
The crowd erupted into cheers, howling, clapping, with some thumping their chests in celebration. The sound rolled like thunder across the courtyard.
A young servant ascended the platform quietly, carrying a tray. On it sat an ornate pair of scissors, a gleaming clipper, a fine-toothed comb, and other small instruments, all neatly arranged atop a white silk cloth.
The priestess turned and took the tray, then stepped toward Violet. Her expression was solemn as she held out the tray to her.
"It is time," she said.
Violet gulped. "Wait, can I have a minute —"
But she didn’t get the chance to finish because Griffin had already gone down on his knees before her, and bowed his head.
The sight knocked the air from Violet’s lungs. The moment was here and there was no turning back.