Jealous stares followed Dasma wherever she went. From the most skillful of hunters, to the strongest fighters and even the most beautiful of wolves. Dasma met their contempt and scorn with her head held high, and a smirk playing at her lips. And why wouldn't she?
The others had every right to be jealous of her. The Favourite. The King's protege. One of the few wolves Sibyl allowed into the Circle despite being a complete outsider. Oh, how they sneer and snap and whisper things about Dasma behind her back. Like she didn't know. Like she didn't revel in the fact that she haunted their sleep, they she lorded over her favour over their heads, like she didn't know that Sibyl would... overlook... certain transgressions of hers. Dasma could "accidentally" get an injury and have to sit out a hunt and Sibyl would only huff and let her. Others would get a bite or a scratch or worse for daring to pull off such a stunt.
But Dasma got away with it.
She got away with it simply because of the little white mark on her forehead. The blaze marking that Sibyl also had. Dasma's wasn't as prominent but oh, that mark endeared her to Sibyl immediately. Dasma loved the attention. On Sibyl's rarer good days, they spent hours together. Dasma learned where to strike to inflict a fatal wound, which spots on the mountain were best for sunbathing, what were the best stones used to sharpen claws.
And with each passing day, she grew more terrified that Sibyl would find another favourite.
The mark was just one small thing that gave Sibyl amusement. Dasma knew better than anyone that the Wesen King was fickle. Dasma was nowhere near the kind of wolf Sibyl wanted as an heir. Her status in the pack hung by the spider thread that was Sibyl's heir. All it would take was one child with that same white mark and Dasma would be cast aside.
She wasn't cunning like Kahel or ruthlessly loyal like Mallus. Wasn't personable like Maras and she didn't have any strong ties to anyone in the pack like Vigil did.
All she was is the Favourite. The protege. Once Sibyl finally has her heir, where would she be?
So Dasma holds her head high, walks with the confidence she doesn't have and the power she knows she could lose at any moment. She's one white mark away from losing everything she has, but damn if she'll let the others know it.
She'll drink those jealous stares down with a smile and hope against hope that no one realises how terrified she is.
Hunter 
Hunter